Thursday, 31 May 2007

Thursday 31/05/07

Every time I go online and see that somebody has left a comment to the blog, I get equally excited and terrified. That’s because comments fall into 2 categories:

a) Comments from people who enjoy reading the blog and want to be part of it and make a contribution
b) Comments from people who find this a great opportunity to be negative / rude / mean / say everything they wanted to say to their boss who’s making their life hell or their father who used to beat them up with a belt, but instead they say it to me, because it’s easier

Now the first category is part of the reason why I write this. I want to hear people’s thoughts and I want to hear their stories and it makes me happy when the comments are funnier than the story I’ve written (which is often the case). Also I’ve actually got to know some of the people that read and comment a lot, and we chat outside the blog and that’s another positive aspect (you know who you are).

The second category, we like a bit less. I will elaborate on this in a second, but just to clarify why I’m writing this today first – yesterday I wrote the story about moving to New Zealand in 5 years or something and somebody (anonymous of course) left this pleasant comment:

“If you hate London so much why don't you f*ck off now? Australia and New Zealand? Talk about f*cking boring. I'd rather go back to Greece if I were you.”

I’m trying to figure out where exactly in the story yesterday I wrote that I hate London. If anything, the story yesterday was melancholic and slightly upsetting (if you were in the right frame of mind) or it was pathetic and pseudo-sentimental (if you weren’t). But it wasn’t negative or aggressive. It still managed to piss off somebody in a major way though (as we can see above) and make them froth in the mouth a bit. Well if somebody feels they have the right to hate us so much then and swear a bit, we can poke some fun back – let’s do that.

The comment was left at 1322. My guess about the circumstances that led up to this is: Anon (let’s call him Gordon) was in the office. Gordon had just had his lunch of a ham and mustard sandwich and an apple (he’s trying to lose some weight at the moment) whilst reading my blog. He would like to have gone out for lunch but his cunt of a boss had just dropped a huge presentation on him to sense check by 1330. A combination of this, a slight comedown from the weekend’s excesses, and fired up by the fact that I have a picture of my stomach at the top of this page (who the fuck do I think I am – stupid self obsessed twat going on about his abs all the time), drove Gordon over the edge.

Gordon couldn’t contain himself anymore. He had to give me a piece of his mind. He typed, with shaking hands: “If you hate London so much why don’t you fuck off now”? Gordon stopped. He better go back and put an asterisk in. Who knows what might happen if he puts an uncensored rude word in? “…f*ck off…” Hmmm…that’s much better he thought.

Click on send…cue evil laugh.

Anyway, I don’t really care what people write and I don’t have any actual negative feelings towards Gordon. I just thought it would be funny to speculate a bit and it might make a funny story.

I could easily disable anonymous comments if I wanted, but I feel this is a bit of a cop out. I don’t want to make the blog untouchable and pretend everyone loves me, people can write what they want, innit.

I have been tempted to send anonymous emails to people myself. Even now 6 years after graduating, I occasionally get an urge to find the email of my Industrial Relations lecturer and let her now that she was the worst Academic I have ever come across and she made me hate my last year at Uni. And I would really love to email my first boss after I graduated and swear at him a bit for bullying me, calling me gay in the office (when I wasn’t out) and knocking my confidence so I wouldn’t complain about having a salary of £12,500 although I had two degrees.

But then I think, who would do that? Somebody who a) doesn’t have anything better to do in their life and b) doesn’t have the conviction to speak up without hiding. So I don’t. But thanks to Gordon for giving me hilarious blog material on a quiet day.

PS. To the other person who left the anonymous comment saying "agrees with the comments above" - well done, you completely missed the point too. If this blog is a bit too complicated for you, why not go back and join the queue for the final Harry Potter book which might be easier to comprehend.

Because obviously I hate England so much that I have lived here for 10 years, I have spent about £850 applying for Citizenship (when I don't need to), I have changed my surname to an Anglo-Saxon one, I have perfected the English language to a higher level than most native speakers (written at least, I still have an accent which I like actually), my boyfriend is English and my best friends are English.

But yes, send me back, I'm only here to steal your jobs and shag your men.

Wednesday, 30 May 2007

Wednesday 30/05/07

So here’s my plan. I want to leave London when I’m 32. And I want to move either to New Zealand or Australia (not Sydney) and live there with my boyfriend. I’m not saying my boyfriend will necessarily be Scott, maybe it will, maybe it won’t.

And we won’t have to work, because we’ll be getting rent from our property in London and in Athens, so we can spend the day doing things we like. Well maybe I’ll have a part-time job because I like it, not because I need to.

And I want to have a house near the sea (like the ones below) and I want to live in a small town. And I want it to be cold in the winter, so I can stay in my living room and look out at the waves and the rain, and I’ll have an open fire and lots of books. And I will be drinking lots of hot chocolate because I won’t care if it stains my teeth anymore. And we’ll be going food shopping and carrying lots of bags upstairs from the car and then we’ll be eating, watching TV, sitting on the sofa under a blanket.









But I want it to be very warm in the summer so that all the windows are open all the time and I can go down to the beach whenever I want. Not to sunbathe (I won’t care about being tanned), but just to swim and hang out and meet friends.

And I’ll still be going to the gym but not obsessively, because the gyms are nice and spacious and pleasant there, and not everything is crammed in a small geographical area that was never meant to accommodate 8 million people.

And I’ll be able to eat whatever food I want without feeling guilty, and it won’t matter if you can’t see all my abs, because I won’t be going to clubs taking my shirt off, and I won’t be having my picture taken in swimming trunks all the time.

And maybe at the weekend we’ll be going for long drives and Tori Amos and Gene will be playing on the stereo, but only in the winter. In the summer we’ll be playing Saint Etienne and the Lightning Seeds, but regardless, I will still be getting upset, because I can hear sadness in all the songs that I love, even the happy ones. And my boyfriend will be laughing at me because he knows that, but he thinks it’s silly.

And I’ll be calling my Mum and my Dad and my sister and talking to them because I will want to, not because I feel I have to. And I’ll want them to know that I’m happy there even though I’m so far away and they shouldn’t be upset.

Until then, I’ll stay here in London and do all the opposite.

Saturday, 26 May 2007

Saturday 26/05/07

As you well know, I was out on Thursday with my straight friends. For those of you who haven’t been paying attention, these consist of the Lads (i.e. Matty, Mean, Ace plus honourary member, Nats) and then a number of peripheral contacts of more or less importance. I met all those guys when I first moved to London 3 years ago and we were all working at the same place as Graduates in market research. Now we still do the same thing but earn 2 grand more.

Because most of us were new to London we were quite pathetic and didn’t have any other friends here, so we hung out together. Then I suppose we got used to each other’s company and became friends. Is that how friendships usually develop? I guess so. Back then I also used to drink and lots of us would go out every Thursday night and take turns to vomit in the toilets / streets / night bus back home. Oh yeah, people used to pull each other quite a bit too, and in actual fact one of the girls in the group is the last girl I ever kissed before turning gay / coming out / ruining my life. Specific personal highlights from those golden days include:

- Me passing out in the toilets in The Soho bar on Greek Street, being found by the bouncer, getting thrown out and then taken home by Matty

- Finding myself at the Shepherd’s Bush tube platform one late night (Central Line, westbound cause we lived in Ealing) with Bx (the girl mentioned above) and Thom (ex housemate) and taking a piss right there whilst waiting for the train (which I’m still proud off)

- Generally having no idea where we were when we went out cause we didn’t know London and needing a map to get from Shaftesbury Avenue to a tube station / any tube station in order to get home

So of course I miss those days but at the same time I can see how young and stupid I was. Well I’m still stupid but also a bit more cynical / disillusioned / destroyed. Anyway, these are my friends and we still play together a lot.

On Thursday we met at a pub on Dean Street (no need for map this time) and it always feels a but funny going in Soho with the straight friends, because I invariably will bump into some queen that I know from clubbing and the two worlds just seem so different.

In any case, we stayed there for a bit and at 2130 I decided to go home because it was a school night and I was starting to stress. I have to point out though that I like meeting the Lads et al in bars/pubs even though I don’t drink, because I find it a lot easier to talk to them and I don’t feel as uncomfortable as I do in gay places (where there are MANY acquaintances but very few actual friends). Here are a couple of pictures from Thursday:









On Friday I went to work (not so painful) and then afterwards I met Scott for the gym. Then RS turned up and we went around in Soho for a bit. By the way, RS is going to have a new nickname on this blog from now on – it’s going to be Donnell. I have decided to stop using initials for people, because I got feedback that it’s difficult to follow the stories and know who’s who. So everyone will have a nickname from now on (I’ll write a guide about this next time I blog). The best thing that happened on the evening out with Donnell (see how I used it there?) was when we were in a bar and somebody walked up to me and said my name and then told me he reads the blog and it entertains him at work. I don’t know how he knew my name because this is so anonymous (just play along), but it was great to hear that anyway. And I was so excited that I forgot to ask his name, but I’m sure you know who you are, and thanks.

Right, that’s it. This weekend my best friend ever Andrews is also visiting from up north and lots of us are going out on Sunday night, so expect a debauched review early next week.

Thursday, 24 May 2007

Thursday 24/05/07

Right. Firstly to clear something: I do not go to Fitness First in Covent Garden. I’m saying this because a few people have written / contacted me with the assumption that I do. I did go there at some point, but I haven’t been for over a year. Therefore, Rat Boy is not at Fitness First Covent Garden, the Perv isn’t there, Pale Guy isn’t there and Aussie Boy isn’t there.

The gym I go to during the week (where all these characters are based) is predominantly straight, which is why I like it. Otherwise I would have to chat to people I know instead of work out, which is obviously something I don’t want. On Fridays and sometimes Saturdays (if I work out then) I go to a different gym, which is more gay, but still not at Covent Garden levels.
I hope this clears things up for everyone who thinks they are Rat Boy / have been spied on by the Perv / have sucked Pale Guy’s cock. Chances are you aren’t / haven’t.

Moving on then. Yesterday was probably the busiest day in the swimming pool so far and here is a picture to prove it. From the few warm days this year that I’ve had the opportunity to observe the lazy sunbathers, I have seen some patterns starting to emerge. There appear to be some distinct groups who always hang out there and they seem to constrain themselves to specific areas too. More specifically:

Council Trash: This is a Council owned swimming pool surrounded by Council flats. I presume the people who live there can use it for free. Since they don’t have jobs, they hang out there a lot. Consequently, they are immensely tanned (and leathery). It’s not their fault though, they weren’t educated about the risks of skin cancer – they were too busy queuing at the Job Centre. You might mistake the men here for group number two, i.e. Haggered Old Gay Guys. That’s because both groups have tattoos, really intense tans and heavy jewellery. Council Guys are certainly not gay though. This group take over the best spots / benches, because they get there early (they only live next door) and stay all day.

Haggered Old Gay Guys: Not much to say here really. They come in couples and they look alike. Shaved head and stubble are essential. They spread themselves around and cruise intensely.
Random Unfit Brits: They live in the suburbs (zone 2+). They have heard about this outdoor pool in central London and want to try it out. So they take a day off, pay £4.90, get in and stay for a few hours. They never come back as they are too intimidated by the councils and the gays. At least now they can tell their friends they’ve been. This group stays near the entrance, because as soon as they walk in they want to spread their towel and sit, otherwise it gets too scary.

Apart from all this, the magazine with our picture from the shoot last Friday came out today. I had actually been told that the result was pretty unsatisfactory by people involved. Unfortunately this is definitely the case. It is probably the tackiest and least tasteful picture of me that has appeared in a magazine (and I am generally not that high-brow). The make up is ridiculously patchy and not well applied, the lighting completely lacks orientation and they didn’t even make the effort to crop the picture. This has resulted in being able to see our glowing white legs (where no make up was applied) clashing with our bronzed upper bodies. It is quite ridiculous. Oh well I guess it’s a case of take the money and forget about it. Here is the picture.


Can I just say – this is not the photographer’s fault by any stretch of the imagination. He is actually lovely and very good at his job. It’s the way the shoot was set up initially and also the way the pictures were handled afterwards that caused the problems. Here is a picture that came out of the shoot that is quite decent, i.e. the colours were smoothed and the non-made up body parts were cropped out (as intended).


Also, I got this comment in the blog today:

“hello
Anyway as you kindly mentioned me showering perhaps you would like to tell everyone what I was wearing. EG: the colour of my pants
And I am not gay as a matter of fact...but damn I wish I was”

Ha ha, nice one. Who is this? Anyway, I’m not sure what this is in reference to, because I haven’t actually mentioned anyone showering in the blog (well, apart from the Perv a week ago and his activities in the showers). Also I didn’t imply anyone was gay because they looked at me. I was making a comment that people tend to look at my body whether they are gay or straight because it’s surprising. Is this the Perv? If so, hi Perv.

Finally, on a serious note. Can people reading this not get hung up on things that I write? Just read it as fiction if that’s OK please. It is not 100% factual, I exaggerate things and I magnify things and I make assumptions that might not be necessarily true. And I may not make up stories completely, but I have to build things up a bit. Otherwise it would really be boring. “I went to work, went to the gym, came home, watched TV and went to bed” every day. So give me a break and don’t take it too seriously or try to identify real situations or yourselves in there. Thanks.

Tuesday, 22 May 2007

Tuesday 22/05/07

On Monday I was on this training course which was held in a hotel, so obviously there was a lot of opportunity for creating art, drifting off and stealing toilet rolls for home. It was training on sales techniques, but it wasn’t as cringeworthy as that sounds – we only had to do stupid role play games once.

This involved doing a very short pitch trying to sell the person sitting next to us (within a work context). The difficulty of this task ranged from Incredibly Easy (if you happened to sit next to one of the Directors of the company, who inexplicably has devoted his life to market research and has a long history of boring evidence to prove it) to Impossible (if you happened to sit next to me, who has devoted his life to being painted gold for half-naked photoshoots and moaning about work all the time). Despite this, D (the girl sat next to me), did an admirable job and praised my “positivity” and “can-do attitude”. I was surprised that nobody chuckled (apart from me).

We did something else that was remotely interesting though – there was a personality test. This had 20 questions and the end result involved allocating points to 4 personality groups, which were Amiable, Expressive, Driver, Analytical. Needless to say I scored the highest in Analytical and the lowest in Expressive. This explains why I am very happy running surveys on my blog readership and charting the results, but on the other hand I can’t handle being in a bar with people I know and I have to go and sit in a corner on my own and watch people instead.

Enough about being retarded though, back to my name day. Every year, I know it’s a good name day when:

- I start getting phonecalls early in the morning from aunts and uncles that I’d forgotten I have, wishing me a happy name day, asking me what the weather is like here in London and requesting that I go back to Greece to live and to stop breaking my mum’s heart who’s lost her son to a foreign land

- I receive a huge bunch of flowers from my parents, sometimes embarrassingly at the office for my colleagues to laugh (wisely this year I haven’t given them my new work address)

This year there was an added bonus though, I got a name day card (birthday card actually with the word ”birth” crossed out) from Scott and also a present.

Finally, the sun is out again after a couple of weeks and I’m going swimming at lunchtime.

Sunday, 20 May 2007

Sunday 20/05/07

So here’s the story: on Friday I was going on a work night out with all the office dudes. They were going bowling and obviously the plan was to get progressively drunk until everyone starts pulling each other / falls over / goes home with embarrassing stories. I have never gone bowling in my life and I don’t drink, but I was still going along cause it sounded like fun. But then, around 14.30, I got a phone call asking me if I wanted to do a photoshoot at 18.30 in the evening for Matinee (which is a club night in Vauxhall), so I decided to do that instead. At the photoshoot the following things happened:

- There were 3 of us, with the second person being Scott (we are obviously a great double act) and the third guy being L (who we know from going out, etc)

- The theme was Greek statues or something (how appropriate) so we were painted gold and had to wear olive branches on our heads. I loved the idea of being painted gold actually and that’s one of the reasons why I said yes to this

- There were various poses of course, but my favourite one was were we all had to lie down and sort of intertwine our bodies so you couldn’t tell whose limb was where. There were arms, legs and chests everywhere, so understandably at that point I started getting hard, but that’s OK cause I knew the other people and it wasn’t as embarrassing as it could have been

- In most shots I was positioned to best show my abs (because this was my strongest point compared to the others), L was the biceps guy (when flexed his arm has the same perimeter as my head) and Scott was something in between I guess

The picture that come out of this will be in Boyz magazine (which is out next Thursday) and I will probably post it on here (hiding our faces of course). Saying that, I always have the fear that they will cut me out of the picture before putting it in the magazine when I do a shoot, so if I go quiet about this, you will know why. In the meantime, here are some backstage pictures of us having the gold make up applied.
















On Saturday I spent quite a lot of the day with RS. He came around my house, we went shopping, we went to the gym, we went to Boots and he prescribed me some Valium, that sort of thing. Here is a picture of RS in action in Boots. It’s very useful having such friends, as I do have a weakness for benzodiazepine.



In the gym we did chest and as we tried following RS’s workout I realised that he can lift a lot heavier weights than me. Of course I knew that any muscles that I may have are just for show and I’m not that strong at all, but this was still quite disconcerting. Maybe I should start making in effort and staying in the gym for a couple of hours every night like Rat Boy perhaps.

In the evening we decided to go out in Soho for a bit – to a bar. As I may have mentioned before I actually hate bars. Reasons include that I find it difficult to chat to people as they get more and more drunk (and I stay sober), the fact that everyone is fully clothed (i.e. not shirtless), the fact that if you go out in Soho you end up seeing lots of people you half-know and you are forced to make awkward conversation with them, etc. Don’t get me wrong, I know this attitude is completely unreasonable and I sound like a miserable bastard. But I can’t help / deal with all my psychological issues, can I? I’m sure you have plenty too, you just don’t write a blog about it.

Anyway, we went to this relatively new place in Soho and ended up being with a big group of people that I actually know quite well and like (those included RS, Scott, NS, N, RF, as featured in previous blogs). I have to say, even though it was a tolerable night I won’t be rushing back to a bar any time soon. After that, Scott and I went back to his place and spent the night, which was nice.

So it’s Sunday afternoon now and I’m not completely cutting my wrists about work tomorrow, because I’m not actually in the office, I’m on a training course, and I can deal a lot better with that. Also, tomorrow is my Name Day, which doesn’t mean anything to you if you’re not Greek, but if you are Greek, it’s a big deal (like a birthday) so please ask for my address so you know where to send the presents.

Wednesday, 16 May 2007

Wednesday 16/05/07

Today I was in a creative mood, that's why I've decided to blog some artwork I created instead of writing the usual stories. That's bollocks actually, I just couldn't think of anything to write because I spent the whole day on facebook and nothing else happened.

So instead, I added a permanent picture of my torso at the top of this page (so that we don't forget that I starve myself and lift some weights every now and then) and also made a couple of drawings of popular incidents I have talked about in the past.

Here is Rat Boy blow drying his privates (as described here):



And here is The Perv in the gym, doing what he does best, i.e. perving (as described here):




This is obviously an ingenious way of illustrating my stories and showing you what people look like (err...roughly) without breaching any privacy laws. I hope you like.

Tuesday, 15 May 2007

Tuesday 15/05/07

Today’s blog might be a bit fragmented, because I have several random issues to refer to. Firstly, the Shower Perv story from yesterday has been very successful and I’d like to thank everyone for their comments. It seems that the public opinion is split. Some people think I’m a cunt for not wanting to be wanked over in the gym and some people are equally disturbed as I am. We like the people in the second category more.

I particularly loved the comment from the Perv himself who gave the very reasonable justification that he was just staring at the glass so it doesn’t break. Sadly, I suspect that this might have been a joke, even though the overall spelling, grammar and syntax of the post definitely fits the bill of a sociopath who gets sexual gratification by stalking strange men in public showers:

“I am not a perv!I waS just lookinG at the gass sO it doesnt breaKwhy u grass on me wen i dont grass on yew for salking tha guy u stalk

[The perv]”

(Note to The perv: I actually think your comment was very funny, I’m not trying to put you down in a negative way)

Also another comment that was particularly interesting to me, was one that started like this “hey, I used to go to your gym and had the same exact problems with [probably] that same exact guy”. Whoever wrote this was very nice and agreed with my point of view, but my question is…who is this? I really want to meet / talk to people in my gym who read this blog, so please do come up to me and say something. I’m just curious.

And finally, thanks to Orville for sharing his personal experience of being stalked in the gym. This will come as no surprise to those who know Orville in real life, as he’s fucking sex on legs and in this case the stalker is not to blame, he’s only human.

In the gym today I didn’t see my Perv, but I did see:

- Aussie Boy (lovely as ever – WITH new haircut)
- Pale Boy (who is a new guy I think is very sexy, possibly because he’s so white, which I find extremely appealing)
- Rat Boy’s Partner without Rat Boy (this has been happening a lot recently, for example yesterday Rat Boy was there without Partner – I think they might have given them alternate shifts at Burger King)

Moving on, I finally succumbed to another networking website today and joined Facebook. So to celebrate that, here’s a quick summary of my online presence:

Gaydar: I don’t use that at all anymore. I’ve taken all the pictures down and all the text, it’s just a blank profile, but I don’t want to delete it, just in case I get dumped at some point in which case I will start using it again

Myspace: There are quite a few people I know and chat to on there but the focus is still on it being a public, semi-naked profile for people who don’t necessarily know me. Also I accept anyone’s invite for a friend, which has resulted in my having 2,600 friends or something most of which I’ve never met and I never will

Facebook: This is where my actual, real-life friends are. People I see very often, have phone numbers of, etc. I will never ever add people I haven’t met and also I will never put shirtless pictures of me on there, just nice, decent, clothed ones

Finally, here is a message I received on myspace the other day, which says it all really:

Hey... I will come to London again on 1 May. I need you with me for 3 days 2. Please come to The Radisson May Fair Hotel, London on 28 May at 18:00pm and when you arrive hotel ask for J*** Y***. This 5 stars hotel located at the GREEN PARK underground station. The hotel just next to Land Rover Car show room. GBP 9800 plus shopping. 100% real. No joke. Money upfront to show my serious. Please consider my offer. Please send photos and how big yours cock and please send yours mobile phone number and yours MSN address so we can chart online. Please reply with thanks.

Monday, 14 May 2007

Monday 14/05/07

So as you all know, Scott and I were invited to our friends’ GM and ML’s house for (late) lunch yesterday. GM and ML have been going out for about a year now and before that GM was going out with CJ who is my referee in the Citizenship application and also the guy in Heat. ML’s ex boyfriend (Re) was also there with his current boyfriend, and Re also went out for a bit with Scott’s ex-boyfriend when they split up. I have had relations of one sort on another with both GM and CJ, and GM has done the same with RS. RS couldn’t make it yesterday because he went clubbing on Saturday night and went back home at 0700, no doubt with somebody that could end up in a lunch party I attend in months to come. Oh yes, I just remembered that RS has also had relations of some sort or another with Re too. It’s like a big family really.

In any case we are very mature and grown up now and don’t have relations of any sort with other people outside our relationships. (That’s rubbish by the way, I’m certainly not mature or grown up, I’m as daft as ever, but I don’t see the point of having a boyfriend if you’re gonna sleep around).

We were supposed to get there for 1500, so around 1100 I started panicking and not wanting to go. It was also raining and I wanted to stay in and watch TV (with blanket). This reached a peak around 1330 when I spoke to Scott on the phone and I was having a panic attack about leaving the house. Of course I wanted to go and see my friends really, but this was all happening because I was freaking out about it being Sunday and having to go to work the next day. I actually blame every difficult aspect of my personality on hating my work life so much. It makes me unreasonable and edgy.

Anyway, in the end we went and it was very nice. We had chicken and salad, because GM had checked my dietary requirements beforehand being a very considerate host. We, on the other hand were very inconsiderate guests and we didn’t even bring him anything for his new house. I really should do something about that actually.

I got back home at 1930, which gave me just enough time to relax by watching Frasier repeats and Greek shows discussing the Eurovision result.

Finally, here’s a gym story from today. Right, the showers in my gym have individual cubicles right? So far so good. The cubicles are separated by glass panels (floor to ceiling) which are painted so you can’t see through them. Some of them however, are quite faded. In the last few months I have noticed this guy, who quite disgustingly and blatantly, only ever uses the faded cubicle so he can lean over and look at naked people showering in the next shower. He spends all his time in the wet area and keeps going between the sauna and that one faded shower cubicle.

Basically he sits in the sauna and every time he sees somebody that he thinks is sexy go in that shower he runs right next to it. Then he pretends to shower and every time you turn your head or close your eyes he leans over and stares. He’s done that to me in the past and I actually took my towel and hang it on the side of the shower to block his view (quite blatantly). Today I went in the shower and he came in the next one right away. Obviously I just came straight out and went to a different one.

When I came out, he had gone, but I thought I should watch what happens. Basically soon after a guy who looked straight and had quite a nice body made the fatal mistake of going in the wrong shower. Little Perv (because he is little and also scrawny and bald) came straight out of the sauna and started doing his trick. I was actually stood opposite having a good view of both of them (well, the tops of their heads anyway) and it was so fucking obvious I couldn’t believe it. When the sexy guy did anything like turn around, Perv would stand on his tip toes and press his face against the glass! Even I with my combination of amorality and a certain Rat Boy obsession wouldn’t think about doing that, cause it’s quite low.

I don’t really have any moral hang ups about what people do to satisfy themselves sexually, but in this case I was pissed off because a) there is a time and place for everything, b) the guy was actually doing it behind people’s backs, he wasn’t fooling around with somebody’s co-operation and c) this is not a gay gym at all, I mean if you want to do that sort of thing there are plenty of gyms in central London that can accommodate you, honestly. Oh yeah and also he’s there every fuckign day doing the same thing.

At that point I was lucky enough that one of the managers was walking through the changing rooms, so I stopped him, took him to the side and told him the whole story. He then waited around to see who the Little Perv was. Ha! Take that, pervert.

Sunday, 13 May 2007

Sunday 13/05/07

On Friday after work I went to the gym, where I met Scott and RS. We all did legs and RS also got somebody’s number there, so I suppose it was a productive workout for him. Then we all came home and had dinner. Then Scott had to go out to work, so I stayed in with RS, where the following things happened:

a) We went on gaydar and browsed the “commercial” section to see how many people that we see / know when we go out are actually rentboys. Answer: quite a few

b) We went to Tesco to buy Friday night treats, which included chocolate ice cream for me and a muffin for RS (who refuses to stop eating complex carbs but still had abs)

c) We came back and watched straight porn on Greek TV (it’s on every night there and it’s VERY graphic), discussing the female anatomy and how baffling it is

Then Scott came back from work, RS went home and I went to spend the night at Scott’s new flat in Chiswick. I had quite a lot of trouble sleeping because everything was different. Different room, different bed, different ear plugs, pillows, t-shirt, pants, route to the toilet. Generally I get very stressed when things change and it really unsettles me, but I will discuss this personality disorder at a different stage. At this stage I will only go as far to say that a friend who’s studied psychology suspects that I might suffer from Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder (OCPD), which is different to Obsessive Compuslive Disorder (OCD) – less serious. As I said I will go onto this in more detail later in the week.

On Saturday daytime I don’t even remember what happened, because I was getting too excited about Eurovision later in the evening. Oh wait, I remember now – I finally sent off my final application for British Citizenship. The hardest part of that was trying to work out and include every single date I’ve left / come back to the UK in the last 5 years, and no I couldn’t look at stamps on my passport because they don’t do that when you travel within Europe. So I expect them to check, find all my dates are wrong and send it back / deport me. Another difficult part of sending off the application was that I had to include a cheque for £665, which is apparently the price to pay to become British and be officially represented by Scooch at Eurovision.

So at 2000 Scott and I went over to my friend M’s house to watch the show. M is from Cyprus but I will refer to him as Greek M from now on, cause it’s quicker to type than Cypriot M. There were about 7-8 people watching it there, including me (Greek), M (Cypriot) and two more guys from Cyprus. I suspect that between us we are responsible for the UK giving 10 points to the Greek entry in the end. In any case Greece came 7th in the end, which is an acceptable result I guess for a not-so-attractive lanky guy with no rhythm singing a version of She Bangs by Ricky Martin with a Greek accent. Some favourites of the group included:

a) The Spanish boy band. I actually went as far as to fancy one of them, with very little justification. Here’s a picture of them, see if you can guess which one:


Oh and here’s another picture with further proof that there was slim pickings this year if you end up fancying them:


b) The lesbian song, aka the eventual winner from Serbia. I don’t particularly remember the song, but the homoerotic visual was memorable enough

c) The gay favourite, i.e. the Ukraine freakshow, which prompted Greek M to try to learn the routine so as to perform it next time we go to DTPM:

Finally, today it’s rainy and miserable and I started getting depressed about having to go to work tomorrow at 0900 this morning when I was still in bed. I really don’t think this stress is very good for me, my hair has even started going grey (I’m not kidding) and I’m only 27. I don’t know how much longer I can take this, it’s not a great way to live when you keep wishing your life away cause you hate what you’re doing with it. On this happy note, goodbye.

Thursday, 10 May 2007

Thursday 10/05/07

So as we all know I went to see Brett last night. NS pulled out because he wasn’t feeling very well, but luckily when I got there I found a friend (V) and spent time with her. Isn’t London small? Anyway the gig was alright, but it didn’t really change my life. I can’t actually remember when I last went to a gig that changed my life, but that’s probably because I’m 27.

I do remember going to Suede gigs in the 90’s though and not taking anything with me in my pockets, because I knew that it would get quite messy and I would lose things. Seriously there were very few bands that I obsessed over like I did with Suede. I loved everything: the piercing guitars, the daft urban isolation lyrics, Brett’s singing voice and his cheekbones that you could slit your wrists on. Last night the cheekbones were still there, I didn’t hear any piercing guitars though. And he didn’t really take advantage of the insane back catalogue – instead he treated us to Can’t Get Enough from Head Music. We didn’t like it the first time round Brett! Anyway, moving on.

In other exciting news, I got a message on myspace yesterday (not that I use myspace) from a guy in Maine, USA who’s artist and he liked one of my pictures so he wanted make a drawing out of it. I had to check with the photographer who took the picture (Dylan Rosser) for copyright reasons, but he was fine with it, so this is going ahead. I’ll get the actual drawing when the guy comes to London later in the summer, so I’m quite looking forward to that. This is the picture he chose:



After work (and after the gym) I met Scott and we went to a tattoo/piercing place, where he had a very intimate and quite gross piercing done. Yes, exactly where you imagine. He already has several piercings here and there ranging from the pointless (nose, belly button) to the painful and uncomfortable for me (tongue), but I guess he wasn’t happy without this one too. He would also love me to get something done, but I’m not about to ruin my clean cut look thank you very much.

I was basically there to hold his hand and cringe, but mostly to take pictures for the blog. Selfishly, he hasn’t allowed me to post any elaborate, close-up shots, so here you can see him looking worried a few minutes before he had to drop his trousers. It proved to be quite quick and not as painful as you might think (apparently).


I’m off to watch the Eurovision semi-final now with Cyprus in it. We’re rooting for Cyprus and Greece obviously, remember that.

Wednesday, 9 May 2007

Wednesday 09/05/07

I think I forgot to mention what I ate on Monday when I came back from clubbing. It was a carb-fest which included a whole pizza, 2 pot noodles, 4 chocolate ├ęclairs and half a tub of chocolate ice cream. And I didn’t spit anything out and I didn’t make myself sick. I absolutely love pot noodle and I know how sophisticated this makes me sound: my food of choice is pot noodle and doughnuts – that must say a lot about my level of class.

Since then I have gone back to the usual blandness of tuna snacks, skinless chicken and the occasional banana. I wonder if I will ever allow myself to eat what I want when I want and not have an absurd diet anymore. You would have thought that I would have grown out of obsessing over having a six-pack at 27, but it hasn’t happened yet. The question is, what makes you happier: a big bowl of pasta or the feeling that you look nice?

I realize this might make me seem very shallow, so here’s a rant about beauty vs. intelligence. I really don’t understand why people can talk openly about wanting be more intelligent and are praised when they try to achieve that. On the other hand, talking about trying to be better looking or making efforts to improve your appearance is quite unacceptable and you are instantly deemed shallow, vain, etc.

What I think is unfair about this distinction is the fact that you are actually born with these qualities. Some people are born more intelligent than average and some are born better looking. If both are natural attributes in a human being, why is intelligence perceived to be superior?

An example of this perception can be found comparing such diverse people as somebody who has achieved a first class degree in Maths from Cambridge University and the guy who opens the spring/summer show for DSquared. Both of those people have got to the top of their chosen field. And as far as I can see both got there partly because they worked towards it, but also partly because they were born with the right specifications. You could argue that the Maths guy worked harder to get there, but at the end of the day, nobody who was not born smart will achieve that no matter how hard they study.

So I don’t get why we have to admire people who try to educate themselves and “become smarter” by reading / studying / whatever, but we have to condemn those who try to improve their appearance by working out / dieting / whatever.

Incidentally, I want to point out that I’m not writing this because I think I’m so hot and I’m feeling hard done by. I know I’m pretty average in both, cause there are lots more better looking people than me out there and there are definitely lots more intelligent people. I’d give myself a 6 out of 10 for both intelligence and good looks.

But I wanted to write this because I value both qualities the same. And I admire people who are blatantly intelligent and put me to shame (like some of my friends: RS, Mean, etc) but also I admire people who are beautiful and they take my breath away (male or female) when I see them on the tube / in a magazine / in the Krispy Kreme shop queue.

Finally, and just in case anyone has read this far as there have been no pictures today, here are some news:

- There’s a picture of me from DTPM in this week’s QX (online now, out in print tomorrow) but of course I can’t say what page it’s on, because this is a fiercely anonymous blog (obviously). All I can say is that despite looking trashed, I look less silly than the other two people in the picture because one of them has chosen to pull faces and the other one is wearing something stupid on his face

- A friend of mine (let’s call him CJ) is in this week’s Heat magazine in a much more compromising position, feeling the balls of the members of a rugby team. That is not the publicity one of my two character referees for my British Citizenship application should attract, but there you go

- I am going to see Brett Anderson in Shepherd’ Bush tonight, but I’m a lot less excited than before I heard the solo album

Sunday, 6 May 2007

Sunday 06/05/07

On Friday night I met up with Andrews who was in London for a few hours on his way to the airport (he was going on holiday). We just went to Soho to get something to eat and when he left I stayed on with LM a bit who was working there. Then I got bored and came home. Annoyingly by that point I had missed all the Greek shows I watch on TV on Friday nights – I have to remember to never go out again.

On Saturday I went and bought some shorts from Zara before going to the gym with LM. They were actually longer than I would have liked so later in the evening I got the sewing kit out and took a few inches off them. Actually I took 10 inches off, so there isn’t much shorts left, but that’s what I’m wearing at DTPM tonight. I do like sewing / altering clothes actually, but I don’t think you can get very rich out of doing that.

In the evening I had some people over for dinner. Matty, Mean (aka 2 of The Lads) and Matty’s girlfriend Nicole. Nicole has previously been referred to as Katie, but she didn’t like that one much. The third Lad (Ace) is in Australia at the moment, visiting some broad that he pulled once in London last year. Please see a picture from the evening below.



On Sunday I’ve been trying to take it easy, cause I’m going clubbing tonight and I want to rest. So I just did the weekly shopping at Tesco with LM and then went to the gym. I actually went to a whole new gym which is next to my house, just to try it out. I don’t have a membership there, but had a voucher for a free day there so I used that. As it’s a lot more expensive than my usual gym, it had a bigger number of wealthy people who don’t really like training, but they suddenly hit 30 and they thought, oh maybe I should join a gym. That will impress my secretary. So they go there and they have no clue what to do and no intention to sweat. You will recognize such people from the following signs:

- They usually have a personal trainer, who shows them ridiculous but pointless exercises that do nothing for you (e.g. throwing and catching a ball whilst rotating your hips or something)

- They wear baggy t-shirts, knee length shorts, white socks and big running trainers (New Balance)

- They have no muscles but a lot better hair than me (but I guess they don’t cut it themselves)

Anyway, many such people were there hogging the machines doing ineffective exercises at minimum weight but with perfect posture. Then again, I’m sure they look at me from their point of view and think, what an annoying gay muscle obsessed idiot. So we all win.

That’s all for now, hopefully clubbing stories and pictures tomorrow.

Friday, 4 May 2007

Friday 04/05/07

Friday was the best day at work ever. Nobody of any importance was in, nobody had any work to do and it was so relaxed. I took 1.5 hours for lunch and I feel like such a muppet, because when I went back the office was still empty and people started rolling in around 1500, after having been out for a couple of hours. Why can’t every day be like that? I would be more than happy to work then.

Anyway, here is some more important news

There was a very high number of comments to the blog yesterday. Let’s run through them.

Category A: “I like”. People wrote in because they liked:

a) My boyfriend (3 mentions)
b) My white shorts (4 mentions)
c) My house (1 mention)

Out of those 8 people I am most concerned about the guy who liked the house. My favourite quote, however, is this: “Ur b-freind is gorgeous! H.O.T.! u are okay tho”. Thanks guy. I am definitely not showing LM that!

Category B: “Body Part / Nudity Requests”. People asked to see:

a) More eyes (1 mention)
b) Some pubes (1 mention)
c) More feet (1 mention)
d) More teeth (1 mention)
e) Full nudity (1 mention)

I think these are all equally disturbing, but b) is probably has the edge.

Category C: “International Lunatic Fringe”. We had comments in Greek and French.

a) “Eime eroteumenos mazi sou” (Very good – I like the effort to speak in my native language)
b) “Je tais ne jous? oui?” (I don’t know what that means unfortunately – can anyone help?)

Finally, the big one. Category D: “Rat Boy Makes Contact”.

Well I’m not sure how valid that is, but I got this comment from “Tim”, which obviously nearly gave me a heart attack:

“If it is me you keep refearing to as ratboy then i am honoured. i have seen you in the gymn a lot of times my freind as you put it is called Craig if you mean us> .If i am not this rateboy person then ok. it is just i see you a lot. i will be in today so i will cach you then”

Sadly I couldn’t make it to the gym today, so I don’t know if Tim and Craig were there, or if this is even true. So, here are some points:

Dear Tim,

I’m not sure if you are indeed Rat Boy, or of this is a hoax, so why don’t you help me find out. Would you mind answering the following questions, before Tuesday when I will go back to the gym:

a) What is the gym I refer to and where is it?
b) If you are Rat Boy – what country name does the vest you frequently wear in the gym have on it?
c) Which locker do you always use when you go in the gym? I.e. when you go in the changing room – do you turn left, go straight ahead or turn right?

Bonus question: How do you know who I am if I’ve never shown my face in the blog pictures?

And finally, if it is you indeed, please don’t beat me up, I only want to be friends. And maybe get some bicep tips from you. Oh yeah and LM wants to feel your arms (flexed). Love, London Preppy.

Thursday, 3 May 2007

Thursday 03/05/07

The day started on a low, as I had an argument with LM. Then I went to the office where I found there was a lot more work to do that I expected. I was hoping to have an easy one and generally mess about, in order to take revenge for staying very late on Monday. That didn’t seem to happen, but there’s always tomorrow.

At lunchtime I met up with LM who had come near work to visit me and had also brought a chocolate waffle. Understandably, I can’t stay mad at somebody who comes with a chocolate waffle so we quickly made up. Then we went to H&M and the Gap to browse. Here are a couple of pictures from the Gap changing rooms, after the roaring success that was the H&M Changing Rooms feature yesterday. This time, not only do you get the writer of this blog, but also LM. LM is the one that looks like a lobster, because he spent last week lying on a beach with no sunscreen on.








After that I went for a swim, cause I was trying to be late back for work. This resulted in having to stay an extra 20 minutes in the office at the end of the day to finish something off, so you might say it backfired.

When I left I met LM again to go to the gym. Isn’t LM nice? He had bought me the “Local Gay Celebrity” t-shirt. Here is a picture of him wearing it.



In the gym we had:

a) Partner without Rat Boy. I’m so proud of Partner, this is the first time he’s been there without his friend, and he did very well for himself.

b) A new guy who I only saw for the first time yesterday and he was quite sexy – when he was dressed. Then he took his clothes off in the changing room and it turned out that he had never been near a leg machine, which is a bit annoying. I almost regret having a wank thinking about him in the showers yesterday, but I suppose he did look good to start with and I am very impressionable, so that’s my excuse

c) Another guy who spent the 10 minutes I was in the changing room post-workout walking between the sauna, the showers and the lockers, looking around. He might as well have gone back home to log on to gaydar, cause nobody seemed that interested

Finally, here’s a picture of me wearing the white shorts and trainers, as requested in the comments section in yesterday’s blog by an anonymous reader. I will try to indulge any future requests as well (either for pictures or specific stories), so send them if you want.



Oh yeah, and is anyone going to DTPM this Sunday?

Wednesday, 2 May 2007

Wednesday 02/05/07

Last night, after the elbow vs. face incident on Monday (and also having got used to sleeping on my own for a whole week) I decided to set some ground rules for sharing a bed. More specifically, just before we turned off the lights, I said to LM:

- Try to sleep on your front, not on your back, to avoid snoring
- Try to contain yourself to the other side of the bed, preferably right against the wall
- Do not touch me

Following this, LM lifted his fist and punched me in the head. He actually claims that he didn’t mean to, actually saying “what is your head doing there”? I do want to believe him, because he actually said sorry immediately, and LM never says sorry. He must have said sorry to me twice maybe in the 18 months that I’ve known him. He also never says thank you. On the other hand, I say sorry and thank you about 18,000 times a day to anyone at the slightest excuse, but I rarely mean it.

Meanwhile, inspired by something I read in the Metro this morning (that’s a free daily newspaper people read on the tube with week-old news and out-of-date celebrity gossip by the way), I have decided to start a new (irregular) feature on the blog. Basically, Metro has a letters page, where random idiots from around London write in to have a rant about something – usually of no interest to no one else. So it’s a bit like this blog then. Anyway, every now and then, I read a letter that pisses me off, so I thought I’d share my thoughts with you. I could write in to the Metro and start arguing with Tina from SE18 about the Kate Moss Topshop collection or something, but instead I’ll write here.

My favourite letters come from (1) bored secretaries answering phones in Zone 3, or (2) Jack The Lad type guys who try to impress their mates in the office by getting in the Metro letters page. These two categories of people usually write in:

a) To attack easy targets, such as celebrities, trying to put them down in order to feel better about themselves

b) To make contrived observational snide comments about every day life, such as slagging off women who put on make-up on the tube, couples kissing on escalators, etc

So today Kat Stiete from Surrey (Category 1a – Bored secretary with a grudge against rich beautiful people) wrote:

“I don’t really understand why the Beckhams would get a villa with six bedrooms and nine bathrooms (Metro, Tue)? Am I missing something here?”

Dear Katie. What exactly don’t you understand? The Beckhams are a family of 5 people with lots of money. How many bedrooms do you think they should get? Maybe they could all pile up in one small room to make you feel better about sharing a ground floor flat with 3 other grown ups as “housemates” because you can’t afford to get your own place? I would say one bedroom per person plus a spare room for visitors etc makes perfect sense, but maybe I’m missing something here too.

If anyone knows Kat, please feel free to forward this message to her.

At lunchtime, I went to find the manual worker from yesterday’s blog, but he wasn’t there. So instead, here are a couple of pictures I took of myself in the H&M changing rooms. I am not as sexy as a tall, fit blue collar boy with no GCSEs, but this will have to do.






Finally, in the office today I ate (apart from the usual lunch, etc): 7 (mini) chocolate brownies, 3 Oreos, 3 chocolate biscuits and a chocolate bar. I am definitely going swimming tomorrow.


EDIT: Here's another picture. I did a shoot for Jodie's club a few weeks ago and the flyer is now out. I guess you can walk on my (heavily made-up) face on the streets of Soho if you want. I'll post this here, since you can't even tell it's me really.

Tuesday, 1 May 2007

Tuesday 01/05/07

The last couple of days have been really bad at work. It’s been so tiring that I’ve actually lost my spirit to moan so I won’t even bother. Yesterday I left the office at 1930, which is the most depressing thing that could happen to me. I don’t know why it’s acceptable that I have to stay there for hours after I’m supposed to finish without getting paid etc, but it doesn’t work the other way round, i.e. when I feel like it, I can walk out 2 hours before the end of the day. Anyway, this seems to be how people work these days, so I’ll have to put up with it.

The Speedos sale on ebay ended at a very disappointing £6.55, so I’m not even sure it’s worth indulging the buyer’s request for the item to have very “clear signs of wear”. Still, I am a professional and I wore them in the gym today underneath my shorts in order to sweat in them. Nice eh? Oh yeah, and I bought them for £2.50, so I’ll have to think what to do with my massive £4.05 profit.

Oh yeah I remembered something good that’s been happening recently. For the last week or so, walking around Covent Garden at lunchtime I have been seeing this very sexy worker type guy. I guess they’re doing some construction work around there, so this guy appears to be having his lunch break around the same time as me, and every time I walk past Diesel / Urban Outfitters on Neal Street, he’s sat in the back of a truck texting on his mobile and eating his blue-collar lunch. On the warmest days he wears shorts – which is nice. If he’s there tomorrow I’ll try to take a picture to post, but there is the danger that he will spot me and kill me. I don’t think 20-year-old manual workers from council estates react very well to being perved at by passing queens. I’ll try anyway.

Also LM has now got back from his holiday. He actually came back in the middle of last night and out first interaction was me getting an elbow in my face when I tried to turn around in bed. He insists that it’s my fault and “I put my face on his elbow”, but realistically how likely is a face to be at fault in that situation? In any case, I’m already missing my nice empty bed and dish rack with only one dish on it.

This brings me conveniently to the next topic, which is something that people reading the blog have asked me a few times in the past. Why do I not mention LM more often and why do I not say more about our relationship etc? Well basically, I find nothing more cringe-worthy than people advertising their “love” and feelings for each other. Whether that is through blurb on myspace or posting pictures with “me and my man” underneath them or even when you talk to them in real life. On so many occasions I’ve seen people go on about having found “the one”, and then 2 weeks later it’s all over. So I’d rather keep a few things to myself, you know? (Shut up, I do realise this seems very unlikely coming from me, but it’s true). Yeah, we’re happy being together etc, but why do I need to make a song a dance about it?

That’s all for now. Very much looking forward to the long weekend. I’ll give DTPM a half-arsed attempt on Sunday night, we’ll see how that goes.