Having to do The Walk of Shame.
Yes, walking to the tube station to go to work on a Bank Holiday is particularly shameful. I really hope no-one sees me.
For this morning's purposes the Central Line (La Ligne De La Centrale) will be renamed The Train of Shame.
I think I am the only person in the carriage who slept in their own bed last night. Everyone else is wide-eyed.
Sitting at my desk, on the last day of summer. Ignominious.
"What did you do on the last day of summer 2009?"
"I went out clubbing and ended up having 7-in-a-bed sex in a cheap West End hotel. Well there were actually eight of us but one of the guys passed out. We fucked around him.
I knew one of them properly, two others I hadn't met although we've been friends on Facebook for years.
It was quite hot except one of the guys was on Grindr constantly, trying to get more guys to join us.
In the end this other bloke pitched up - he was quite muscley and really into GBL and bareback but he wore a condom.
So anyway, what did you do?"
The reason I posted that grab is because I actually do have some advice for you.
You see, this site isn't all just self-loathing and random pictures of hot guys in Sainsbury's...
Today's advice is that you should think carefully because surprising people.
I am travelling to Cape Town in 9 days and 7 hours and I phone up my parents to tell them this surprise and my mother goes "what!? Erm, we're going to be..."
And then I phone Andrew to tell him the good news. "Oh. We're going to be away for the weekend of... um. Er..."
And then there's Alex. There is no way that Alex won't be around.
"You're going to Zimbabwe? When..." Um.
Now I'm just wondering who else isn't going to be in Cape Town when I am supposed to be there surprising them!
File under: fuck up.
Of course we all know that Lancashire* boys are built tough.
* = county in England.
So how do you feel about gravy, Lancashire boys and wrestling?
I didn't think that much of it until I realised that, put together it means Lancashire boys wrestling in gravy...
Ohmygod... let's get stuck in there. Like now...
Can you imagine the smell of butch muscle boys and gravy? And check out the chair - they use props too!
About to get onto the Central Line. I think it's going to be hell. Wish me luck...
Changing for the Jubilee Line because I want to go to the gym. The Central Line wasn't the nightmare I was expecting...
This can be filed under the most important update on this blog EVAH!
Gym which is so ground-hog day-ish that you would poke your eyes out with boredom were I to tell you.
(Except for the part where this really hulky, fit muscle-boy asks me spot him and I get quite close to him but have to run away because nature has take over for an instant.)
I have list of all the things I've wanted to achieve in my life. You've probably read about some them.
For example, I have made a concerted effort to be:
1/ An Olympic swimmer
2/ An underwear model
Of course my ambition is mixed with laziness which means I will probably never achieve anything (note: ricochet self-pity)
Anyway. My new ambition to be a great photographer.
I have taken some interesting snaps in my life actually - I won't bore you with them. Oh okay then...
Anyway. I've been looking around to see whose style
So how much do we love the following snaps and don't we so wish that we took them ourselves?
First up, Matthias Vrien took this, part of a spread called Pool service:
It has all the elements; gratuitous male nudity, objectified women and hyperreality.
That's what photos should be about. They should present an image that is completely unattainable. They should be fantasy.
My fascination with women as objects comes from when I was a teen growing up and reading Hustler magazine as a decoy.
The women were presented in a completely unreal sense. They were all perfect and airbrushed to perfection. Particularly photos by Suze Randall.
Anyway, here's another Matthias Vrien picture. It is fabulous, I think...
Of course everyone loves David La Chapelle although I think he's become a little like his photos are in spite of himself...
I mean some of his stuff is the best but also like, yeah homo-erotic David Beckham. Whoopie.
Steven Klein's another one... fabulous women looking beautiful and ridiculously manicured men in hyperreal situations.
Before I become a world famous photographer I think I need a camera.
So we're all getting in a heated panic over Joel, the gravy wrestler. And well we fucking should...
More of this hot mess tomorrow.
Actually, there is something important about today.
For the first time since last Wednesday I haven't had a drink. This weekend was pretty tough as I was mostly tanked every night with Friday being the worst because I ended up having a boozy lunch and it extended into Saturday morning.
I was supposed to be at a party on Saturday but didn't go because I was feeling so rough (sorry Ash!)
But as Saturday wore on, Sally and I decided that it was going to the last time that we were able to use our terrace so we cracked open the Pinot Grigio. I carried on until around 3am.
It was mostly because I met friends in the West End on Saturday evening (Freud and then Phoenix Artists Club) where we got shit-faced on G&Ts. We were already blathered from the cocktails at Freud's (Alabama Slammers...)
It really is a vicious mixture - the weather is fabulous (a rarity), the sun terrace is huge and warm and the booze is cold and on tap. Before you know it, you've sunk at least two bottles of a crisp white.
And I dunno about you but I get The Taste. One glass and I'm unstoppable until I pass out.
I don't drink to get drunk. I just drink because it tastes so good and there's nothing nicer than being sociable with a glass (or bottle) of wine.
The problem with society / Britain is that it's anti-social not to drink.