Thursday, 28 June 2007

Thursday 28/06/07

On Wednesday after work I go to the gym and Scott is there working, so we don’t work out together but we chat a bit and I do legs, which I quite like, and I listen to Heroine by Suede on a constant loop. And I’m starting to think that this might be a good title for my first book, even though there will be very few female characters and definitely no heroics involved.

In the gym I also see a guy that I recognize from when I used to live in Manchester and went to the gym there (about 4 years ago) and I guess he’s just moved to London, but I don’t talk to him, because I remember that he used to use the gym towel to dry between his toes very meticulously and carefully and I don’t really want to be friends with somebody as anal as that. Also they are giving out free samples of a protein shake but they’re very small so I go back 6 times and then when I go home I don’t have to drink my own, therefore saving some money.

I also go on the sunbed while I’m there and Heroine is still playing and Brett Anderson is singing some contrived double-entendre lyrics about a woman or is it actually heroin, I guess we’ll never know. And then I hear the line about the woman being so beautiful she should be in a magazine or something, and how she impresses the boys in the office towers, and I’m thinking do I count as a boy in an office tower. Well I suppose the building where I work has 10 floors so that’s almost a tower and then the machine beeps and turns off and I have to get out and take a shower.

Then I take the tube to go home and I read lots of very furious letters in the free newspaper about Paris Hilton coming out of prison written by bored secretaries in Zone 3 and I’m thinking this really isn’t the biggest problem people should be directing their efforts towards, but I suppose it’s an easy target and it might help people get by in their daily lives.

On Thursday I go to work and at lunchtime walk down Neal Street and I’m stopped 3 times by charity people asking for money and I’m thinking for fuck’s sake, do I look charitable? No, I look prissy and aggressive and up my own arse. And at the end of the day if I give money to charity it will be a charity I’ve chosen myself, not some hippy charity called Friends of the Earth represented by unwashed women with tangled hair wearing wellies in the centre of London on a Thursday afternoon.

I have plans to buy two things this lunchtime: a) sunscreen and b) socks. I end up buying nothing but I will probably regret the sunblock thing, because last time I went on holiday somewhere (Ibiza last summer) I didn’t use any and I got a terrible heat rash which made me look like a leper. I do go and try on 16 pairs of sunglasses on though, but I don’t see anything I like, plus I never get to wear sunglasses anyway, because I’m embarrassed and I think I look like a twat.

Also, I find out this week that the last of the Lads (Nats) had been promoted in her current job. As I have said a million times we all started working at the same time, at the same company. Then I made a really wrong career choice and took a different job that I really shouldn’t have taken. Then I nearly died and had to take 4 months off work, which kinda stalled my career a bit more. On the positive side, I didn’t die and also I left that horrible job so things are really looking up and if the Lads get a near-fatal disease at some point (collectively) and get knocked back a year or so, I will catch up.

Finally, Matty tells me today that he wants to buy a new car. The obvious choice in my opinion of course is a Hummer, so I suggest that. Matty says he doesn’t think so because it might be a bit awkward to park in central London where he lives. I tell him that he has the wrong idea, because in fact, a Hummer is easier to park because you can park on anything: pavements / squirrels / other cars / etc.

Here is a picture of a Hummer and here is a picture of my back, which we don’t get to see very often because I’m busy taking pictures of my front where my abs and chest are located.

Remember, I’m going to Madrid so I will probably next update this on Monday.

I have 4 songs by All Saints and I've played them 24 times
I have 3 songs but All Seeing I and I've played them 35 times
I have 2 songs by Alliance Ethnic and I've played them 16 times

Wednesday, 27 June 2007

Wednesday 27/06/07

On Wednesday it’s still kinda rainy and a bit cold and at lunchtime I walk around Covent Garden and I’m disappointed to see that the street performer who dresses up as a Roman soldier and doesn’t wear a shirt and is very muscly is not out yet – probably due to the weather. So I make a mental note to go around to his spot only on warm days, because otherwise he’s not likely to be there and it’s a waste of time.

Then I go in Boots and I browse the moisturizers section but I don’t actually use any moisturizer so I don’t buy anything. Then I decide to get some eyeliner, so I text a couple of friends and ask them what the best choice would be – normal pencil or liquid. I get a liquid one in ebony black but then I go back to the office and American Girl tells me that the pencil would work better for the smudged look I want, so I swap my liquid eyeliner with a used pencil of hers. Later that day I spend some time in the bathroom at home trying it on and take some pictures but I decide my hair needs to be a bit longer for it to look good.

On Wednesday I also go on the London Underground website and find out that it would take me an estimated 22 minutes to walk from my house to Madonna’s house in London. But if I walk to the my nearest station (4 minutes), take the tube for 2 stops (3 minutes) and walk to her house from there (4 minutes) it will only take 11 minutes in total.

In the gym after work I do back and biceps, which I hate, but I listen to the Bangles singing Hazy Shade of Winter non-stop which makes it a bit more tolerable. I also see Steve there and we chat about the following topics:

- The weekend: Steve’s staying in London and wondering which club to go to. We decide Matinee might be his best option. I am going to Madrid but I haven’t bought tickets for the parties there, as my priorities are to relax, sunbathe and generally chill out. We concede that what will actually happen might be very different to what I’m currently planning

- Working as a dancer in clubs: Neither of us has done it but we’ve been asked to. We agree that it’s a long way from thinking “yes, I might do that” to actually going there and dancing on a podium covered in grease, wearing very few clothes. We decide it might be a last resort when we’ve lost our 9 to 5 jobs (and just before prostitution)

- This guy in the gym who’s incredibly tan and quite muscled: Why does he look wired all the time? Is he always on coke? What will kill him first – heart attack from the coke or skin cancer from the sunbed? Debate unresolved

- Different guy in the gym who looks American. Steve’s view: hot. My view: not so much. Wearing a baseball cap whilst working out. What is he hiding?

After the gym I go home and:


Apply eyeliner (as discussed earlier)

Watch en episode of Frasier

Gamble and lose £160 online

Trim my legs at a no.2 all over

Check the average time readers spent on my blog and the top 50 cities visited from through Google Analytics

Read a bit of Less Than Zero

Download 3 remixes of D.A.N.C.E. by Justice

Go to bed

I have 1 song by Alisha’s Attic and I’ve played it 12 times
I have 4 songs by Alizee I’ve played them 93 times
I have 9 songs by All-American Rejects and I’ve played them 41 times

Monday, 25 June 2007

Monday 25/06/07

So this Friday we’re off to Madrid for Europride (or something). I’m going with Scott, Donnell, Jimmy, Brendan and about a thousand other people we know from going out in London. Funnily enough I’m not really in the right mood to go, but it seems to be the thing to do and I’m not one to resist peer pressure. Everyone else is going on Friday and coming back on Monday at the earliest, but I’m actually flying back on Sunday, because I want to have a good rest before I have to go back to work on Tuesday (it looks like it might be a very trashy weekend). Every time I mention this to someone they look devastated, because I will miss Space on Sunday afternoon/evening, but I’m really not going to get upset about missing some party, you know? I’ve been to enough. Anyway, that’s what’s happening this weekend and hopefully I will have lots of debaucherous stories and pictures to post on Monday.

Anyway, moving on, I may have hinted on my odd eating habits on here before, but I haven’t posted my actual diet. And I know that everyone wants to develop a self-harming eating disorder, so here it is – this is what I have every day:

0830: Protein shake before you leave home. Try to buy the most inexpensive protein you can find. It really doesn’t make a difference, let’s be honest it doesn’t do anything anyway. So go for dirt cheap.

0930: A couple of bananas when you arrive at the office. Bananas taste horrible and they’re fucking dull, but at least they don’t rot your teeth as much as oranges or other acidic fruit does.

Occasionally, allow yourself to eat a peach or something, but always use a knife, fork and plate. Take all this equipment to your desk and make sure that your colleagues see you when you dissect the fruit in strict geometrical shapes which you then stuff into your mouth without letting them touch your front teeth. This technique will make everyone in the office think you are mental and your boss will hesitate before dumping any more work on you (to avoid a nervous breakdown).

1100: Can of tuna at 1100 on the dot. Eat straight from the tin. Do not use any seasoning. Look smug. Again, eating this in public view at your desk will work wonders for your career.

1300: A couple of chicken breasts, some low fat cottage cheese and maybe some tomatoes.

Between 1400 and 1730: Having eaten no carbs in the day so far, by this point you will be starving. I know that there is always somebody in the office who just came back from New York with 3 boxes of Oreos and left them on the microwave for “everyone to share”, but please do refrain.

Sometimes, when I get really desperate around that time, I have some toilet paper. Toilet paper has no nutritional value whatsoever and you can have as much of it as you like. I find that 2 sheets soaked in water a) go down easily and b) work a treat. Unlike the other meals, please do not consume these in public view because it is generally frowned upon by office folk. Just lock yourself in the toilet and eat.

1930: Protein shake when you get home from the gym.

2100: Half a chicken, some salad. After that have some fruit dude, I don't know.

Until you go to bed, keep munching whatever comes your way, as long as it’s not carbs or dairy.

And now a couple of tips:

1) If you get a sudden craving for carbs (which you shouldn't be having), you can get a loaf of bread, chew it and spit it out. Do not swallow. It is strangely satisfying.

2) Occasionally, you're allowed to eat AND swallow a pizza or something. However, be careful - afterwards you have to remember to make yourself sick. Don't do it too often, because it will rot your teeth, and who wants to be fit and/or slim, if they have rotten teeth, hmmm? Approximately once a month it's OK.

3) You can eat all the chocolate that you want between meals (and within meals actually) - it doesn't count. However, there is a catch. You cannot eat chocolate products of very solid consistency. The general rule of thumb is: would this melt in the sun? If the answer is yes, it’s allowed. If the answer is no, move on.

For example – chocolate bars: yes, chocolate mousse: yes, ice cream: yes, chocolate cookies: no, chocolate covered chocolate: yes, chocolate covered beans on toast: no.

Oh yeah, finally, don't drink anything that's coloured or alcoholic. I.e. Only water allowed. Or paint stripper.

I have 2 songs by Alice Cooper and I’ve played them 5 times
I have 2 songs by Alicia Keys I’ve played them 19 times
I have 1 song by Alien Ant Farm and I’ve played it 11 times

Sunday, 24 June 2007

Sunday 24/06/07

Saturday morning I’m in a better mood because I’ve slept almost OK (about 7-8 hours). I watch TV and clean the house a bit cause I’ve got a friend coming over for dinner and I make a new playlist on iTunes with lots of songs I used to like when I was 16 and all that mattered to me was who was on the cover of the NME and where the new Marion single charted. But I overdo it a bit and I end up putting 724 songs on the playlist and I get a bit upset because I listen to some of the songs and remember that time when I was younger and I wasn’t broken and jaded yet.

That’s a big coincidence actually because I also get a text from my best friend back in Athens who I went to school with and we used to listen to all this music together and it meant so much to us, because we were a bit sad and didn’t have anything better to do. Let’s call him Axel. And Axel says that he’s missed me (and I’ve missed him too) and also asks me if I ever read that book he gave me (When Nietzsche Wept by Irvin Yalom) and whether I liked it. Which of course I have and I did.

Then we start emailing cause he haven’t chatted for a while and it turns out that Axel is equally jaded (although less broken) but just in a different city than me. And then I wonder if there is anyone who’s 27 and lives in a big city and spent 4 years at University and now has a 9 to 5 job and ISN’T jaded.

Also, Axel isn’t aware of this blog but he reminds me of the weekly emails I used to send out long before I started writing on here (about 2 years ago) and he says he’s missed receiving them and he liked them because I came across as both very distant and intimate at the same time. Which I think is a very accurate way to describe me and my writing style and shows why Axel has been my best friend and knows me very well. So I give him the link to this blog.

Then I meet Scott and we go to the gym. At the gym we do chest and triceps (and abs of course), which I like and it isn’t half as bad as doing back for example, which I can’t stand.

On the way home I stop and buy some food cause my friend Enid (nickname her choice) is coming over for dinner. And it doesn’t matter that I bought the food and didn’t cook instead, because Enid is my friend of 13 years now and I know that she won’t mind / think any less of me.

So I’ve known Enid since we were both 14. At that time Enid lived in London and I lived in Athens and for quite a few years we used to lie to people and say that we met when we were both on holiday somewhere or something. The truth is a bit less exotic – we started writing letters to each other after I put an ad in a British teen magazine asking for penpals. I specifically remember stating my interests as “listening to chart music and Bjork”. Understandably we didn’t admit this to anyone for the first 10 years or so.

During dinner on Saturday evening the following things happen:

- We talk about jobs and how much we would prefer to not work at all or work from home, and how we don’t understand those people who say that if they didn’t have to work they would get really bored and have nothing to do with their day

- We discuss relationships / married life (Enid got married last November) and assess that our respective partners like to take the scenic route when telling a story and diverge quite a bit and we get bored with all that and why can’t they get straight to the point

- We daydream a bit about my blog being made into a book (in the style of the “anonymous diary” book called The Intimate Adventures of a London Call Girl that came out in 2005) and me being a successful writer and Enid organizing my book launch party

- Enid tells me to be nice when I write about her in the blog, because she has a lot of dirt on me including a few “funny” home made videos I used to make with my friends when I was a teenager and send to her. And that at the end of the day I really should be nice because we’ve been friends for a very long time and “she helped create me”. Then she says, no don’t put that in, it will make her sound like a wanker, but I think it’s very funny so I put it in anyway

Then Enid goes home and Scott comes and picks me up and we go over to his house.

I have 2 songs by Alex Reece and I’ve played them 9 times
I have 1 song by Alexi Murdoch I’ve played it 4 times
I have 1 song by Alfredo Lietor and I’ve played it 5 times

Saturday, 23 June 2007

Saturday 23/06/07

On Friday night I’m home until 2230 and then I leave and get on the tube so I can spend the night at Scott’s. And I got my book with me and my iPod and I’m happy with that. But then the tube only goes two stops and stays there and they don’t know how long it will take to move again. So basically I wait there for 20 minutes and then I ring Scott and I tell him what’s happening. And he says that I should have taken the bus and I repeat for the millionth time that I don’t take buses and he should stop saying that. Cause that’s a fact – I don’t take buses. I will never take a bus and I’d rather not go anywhere if it involves taking a bus. So then I get on the tube back home (which is running as normal) and I go back the two stops and I spend the night alone.

And I sit there reading Less Than Zero and that books upsets me so much because it’s talking straight to me and it was written for me and it’s the book I would have written if I could write so well. And even though I’ve read it a hundred times before, I want to keep reading and see what happens in the end and how the main character deals with it all and how he manages to escape all these feelings of alienation and loneliness and despair. And I’m thinking is he gonna kill himself cause that’s what it leads up to and that’s how it would all end, but he doesn’t kill himself and that’s the point, that it doesn’t all end. And he continues living with all these feelings of alienation and loneliness and despair and he goes through the motions and there’s no way out.

And then I wonder am I still thinking about the main character or am I thinking about myself and then I decide to call it a night. And these are the thoughts I’m having sitting at home alone on a Friday night.

I have 1 song by Alex Gaudino and I’ve played it 5 times
I have 3 songs by Alex Gopher I’ve played them 11 times
I have 2 songs by Alex Party and I’ve played them 31 times

Friday, 22 June 2007

Friday 22/06/07

On Thursday night I can’t sleep again and I take a pill, possibly for the sixth time in the last two weeks. I don’t know where this is going to end really, surely you must reach a point where you’re so tired you can actually have a proper night’s sleep. I’ll have to wait and see.

I text Donnell – who’s a doctor – about this and he writes back: “Sleeping pills are for party nights only. You will become dependent on them and not be able to sleep without them. Lecture over”. I tell him I know but I’m in a bad cycle right now and I need them, but I’m gonna sort it out this weekend. I.e. the plan is to not take anything at all even if I’m lying there at 0500, wide awake staring at the ceiling.

I go to work on Friday and it’s not bad and I stay on for a bit afterwards and chat to people. But then I’m too tired to go to the gym, so I come straight home.

This week I’m feeling: tired, bored, disappointed.

After yesterday’s kinda heavy post, I thought I’d lighten up a bit and poke some fun (at myself). So here’s an overview of the 4 glorious magazine covers I’ve been on in my life so far, with some bloody hilarious commentary.

*Please note that neither are the magazine covers glorious, nor is the commentary hilarious.

Cover No.1: Boyz June 2006
I got a message on gaydar from the photographer. He was looking for a couple to shoot for the Europride cover in June 06. We said OK. The concept is that we are traveling to London to attend Europride. Personally, if I were traveling anywhere I would be inclined to wear a top.

Good things about this cover:

- I still have my hospital hairdo (i.e. shaved no.2 all over) and I don’t really look like me, so not many people recognize me from it

Bad things about this cover:

- We are wearing rucksacks with European flags pinned on them. Read this statement again. Do I need to say any more?
- We were told to look excited. I can’t look convincingly excited even when I am. I would certainly not look excited about traveling to Europride in London
- Look at the backdrop

“Interesting” fact about this cover:

- I am standing on 10 back issues of Empire magazine to appear the same height as Scott

Cover No.2: QX October 2006
We did a shoot with a photographer we really like in April 2006. Somehow it ended up on the cover of QX a few months later.

Good things about this cover:

- I actually like this picture. There’s enough airbrushing to make us look good
- I was asked to look angry which is an effortless look for me

Bad things about this cover:

- The picture was taken very soon after I recovered from Guillain Barre Syndrome and I’m still quite thin / unfit
- The S&M gear kinda forbids from showing it to close family
- The shape of my head looks as bit like an egg

“Interesting” fact about this cover:

- I am wearing the same jeans as on the Boyz cover

Cover No.3: AXM January 2007
A few guys were doing this shoot to promote a cable music channel (which has now closed). I take no responsibility. I bet the videos they were playing were crap

Good things about this cover:

- This is a proper, national magazine that you go in shops everywhere in the UK and buy. Not a London-specific gay scene one
- It has my actual name on it printed on the cover right there. I like that cause I’m not just a naked guy jumping in the air with a stupid smile. I’m a naked guy jumping in the air with a stupid smile, whose name you know

Bad things about this cover:

- I don’t look muscly at all cause I’m mid-air
- I look a bit retarded because I’m trying to a) smile, b) jump, c) hold the pose. This is too much to combine for somebody as talentless as me
- Because of the high exposure this led to notoriety in the workplace, but we are not allowed to talk about that

“Interesting” fact about this cover:

- I got to keep the pants

Cover No.4: QX June 2007
I did a shoot back in February with a different photographer I really like and somehow this ended up on the cover of QX a few months later

Good things about this cover:

- This is my favourite picture out of all of these
- I look sufficiently melancholic so it’s representative
- I have dirt on me (always a plus)

Bad things about this cover:

- I don’t know really, I kinda like it

“Interesting” fact about this cover:

- I did not get to keep the pants

I have 1 song by Albano & Romina Power and I’ve played it 7 times
I have 4 songs by Alcazar and I’ve played them 41 times
I have 1 song by Alenka Gotar and I’ve played it 5 times

Thursday, 21 June 2007

Thursday 21/06/07

On Wednesday I go to the gym and find Scott and Donnell working out together there. I don’t chat to them much. I finish, I tan and I go home. I have chicken and watch TV and take a pill and go to bed. In the last two weeks I haven’t been able to go to bed and have a proper night’s sleep without taking sleeping pills or Valium. That’s because in the last two weeks I’ve been thinking a lot and that keeps me awake.

I want to do 3 things today on here. First, I’m gonna give a quick overview of the blog characters, because people are starting to get confused. Then, I’m gonna write a story that I’ve written somewhere else before, but this is a new / different blog and I’m sure there are new / different readers and if you’re one of them you should know this story. Finally, I’m gonna put down my favourite paragraph from my favourite book, cause that’s something I want to share as well.

1) Overview. These are the people I see almost every day and I write about most often on here:

Scott. This is my boyfriend. We met 599 days ago. I haven’t had a boyfriend before.

Matty, Ace, Mean, Nats. These are the Lads (even though Nats is a girl). They are my very good friends in London. We used to work at the same place. We email each other all day long. One problem with them is that they all read this blog and I can’t be completely honest about what they say about each other. Matty’s girlfriend is Nicole. She is ridiculously tan.

Andrews. This is my best friend. We lived together for 6 years. We cut ourselves and connected our blood. He doesn’t live in London.

Donnell. He is my very good friend in London. I’m not allowed to say where I met him. We don’t like going out without each other.

Pam and American Girl. I work with them. If they weren’t there I would also be taking Valium at work.

There are many other important people but those are the ones that I have daily contact with.

2) Old story. This is the story about getting very sick last year. Sorry to people who have seen this before, but as I said this was posted somewhere else and I want to have a record of it here, on this website. This story explains why I come across so cynical. It also explains why I don’t care about many things that I used to care about before. Here goes.

Basically, last year I went through a neurological condition, which left me paralysed and incompetent for 3 months and could have been fatal. In the end of December 2005 I started getting a weird feeling of numbness on my hands and toes. I didn't think much of it to start with, but in the next few days that feeling continued to progress and started moving up my legs and arms towards my body. On the 27th of December, Andrews took me to the hospital. He had to carry me from the taxi in there, because I couldn't stand anymore. I had something called Guillain Barre Syndrome, which is a syndrome that attacks your nervous system and your brain can no longer control it. There is no reason for it and no cure – you just have to wait and see if it will go away. The doctors were giving me lots of stats though, which I normally like so that's cool I suppose (e.g. 5% die, 1 in 3 are paralysed permanently, etc).

I stayed in hospital for 32 days. Get the violins out cause I spent New Year’s Eve / Day and my birthday in there.

For the first two weeks it was getting progressively worse. Every day I would wake up and I would have lost feeling/movement in a new body part. Of course I couldn't stand or walk, I had to be fed, I couldn't move my mouth to speak, I couldn't shut my eyes, I found it hard to breathe because my lungs were affected too. Also the whole thing was very painful. At that point they still didn't know whether I would turn round. I remember it being a Friday morning when I was in there and the doctors came round to do the usual handover between shifts and discuss how I’m getting on. So I pretended to be asleep so that I could hear what they said, and the said that by the weekend they would probably sedate me and put me on life support. Which was kinda scary.

Well then, just before that had to happen, cause I couldn't breathe on my own anymore, I started recovering. Very, very slowly.

I stayed in hospital for another 3 weeks, doing physiotherapy in order to learn to walk again, taking speech therapy, trying to move my fingers which was seen as a huge achievement, etc. For the first few sessions of physiotherapy, I would have 5 people around me, supporting my knees, holding me from the back and from either side cause otherwise I would collapse. Eventually I managed to control a wheelchair and I left the hospital in late January. For the next 2 months I stayed at home mainly, trying to fully recover, put all the weight I had lost back on (it's amazing how quickly muscles and definition go when you're paralysed you know), etc. So I kinda lost the first half of 2006 with all that (but at least I didn’t have to go to work).

I still get very tired because of it and I can’t really walk for very very long and maybe that’s why I don’t do cardio at the gym. But I’m alright generally now, you know?

Anyway, this whole thing has had three effects:

a) It’s made me a bit more shallow. Cause it’s made me think, I wanna look good while I can, cause this thing might come back and then I’ll have no choice how I look
b) It’s made me a bit less shallow. Cause it’s made me think, why the fuck do people go on about looks and muscles all the time, when something like that happens and you have no choice how you look
c) But above all, it’s made me not care. About anything. So it’s an odd one really.

3) My favourite paragraph from my favourite book.

I was confused by what passed for love in this world: people were discarded because they were tool old or too fat or too poor or they had too much hair or not enough, they were wrinkled, they had no muscles, no definition, no tone, they weren’t hip, they weren’t remotely famous. This is how you chose lovers. This was what decided friends. And I had to accept this if I wanted to get anywhere. On the verge of tears – because I was dealing with the fact that beauty was considered an accomplishment – I turned away and made a promise to myself: to be harder, to not care, to be cool.

I have 2 songs by Alan Braxe and Fred Falke and I’ve played them 7 times
I have 12 songs by Alanis Morissette and I’ve played them 193 times
I have 1 song by The Alarm and I’ve played it 2 times

Wednesday, 20 June 2007

Wednesday 20/06/07

On Tuesday after work I head over to the gym. I gym on my own now (without Scott) and I much prefer it that way. Firstly, I can get it over with quickly and I don’t have to wait around for anyone and secondly it pisses me off that suddenly (because he’s taking steroids), Scott can lift heavier weights than me, when a month ago he was a weakling. But that’s fine, when he goes off them again the balance will be restored. Anyway, Rat Boy is at the gym without Partner and he’s doing back. At some point he gets some paper towel and starts wiping the body sweat under his t-shirt. This brings back memories of the blow drying of his willy under the towel that I observed a few weeks ago, but it also reminds me that I should probably get off my arse and do some proper work, so that I should also break into sweat at some point. Why do I never sweat in the gym? No wonder I have reached a plateau.

After the gym I head over to Matty, Nicole and Ace’s flat. I don’t want to say exactly what happens there, but by the time I get home it’s 2100 and I haven’t eaten anything and I’m starving. Then I have some chicken and I watch the final of the Greek version of So You Think You Can Dance (that’s a dancing talent show). The winner gets a 3-year scholarship for a dance college in London (apart from cash). The winner also happens to be a sexy (albeit in an ugly way) male hip hop dancer. I make a note to keep an eye out for him and sleep with him when he gets here. This will be very easy, because he may be very successful and famous in Greece now, but when he comes to London nobody will know who he is and he will be happy with any attention that he gets. This is where I come in. He even mentioned which college he wanted to go to (somewhere in Clapham I think – I’ll have to look it up).

Then at 0000 I go to bed but I can’t sleep. At 0100 I take a Valium. At 0130 I take another half. I wake up at 0700 and stay in bed until 0730.

Wednesday I’m not in the office, but I have to travel up North with a colleague for work. I haven’t actually been that far up North since I moved to London 3+ years ago. For anyone who’s not familiar with the UK, very quick summary: The stereotype is that the South is more posh, wealthy, stuck up and unfriendly. The North is supposed to be more down to earth, poorer but friendlier / more genuine. Obviously I’m a Southerner at heart. I am not saying these stereotypes are true, so please don’t comment challenging them. I’m just reporting them to give some context for the story.

Anyway, there are a lot of people in the meetings that we have when we get there, but bioth my (female) colleague and I lose our minds with one particular guy. Let’s call him Ben. I don’t even know what his real name is (I wasn’t paying attention), but I know that he is around 6ft tall, has a shaved head, bulging muscles under his shirt and is very direct and masculine = hot. On the way back we go on about him for quite a while (it’s a long and boring journey) and we come to the following conclusions:

- Ben is straight
- He is single
- He is no-nonsense
- We love him

My colleague also tells me that Ben was looking at me and particularly my arms occasionally in a sort of straight competitive way and then looking down on himself. This makes me very happy because I realize she’s describing the way that straight guys who work out look at other guys who work out in a territorial / competitive manner. At least Ben has acknowledged me as another potential Alpha-male (which I’m not – he is, because he’s at least 3 inches taller than me).

I tell my colleague that I have decided to lead my life from now on trying to emulate Ben and his straightforward, Northern ways. I.e. every time I have a dilemma or don’t know what to do, the answer can only come from the question “What would Ben do?” My colleague agrees this is a very wise and rational decision.

We get to London and I’m very tired from not having slept much and from traveling all day and consider not going to the gym. I ask myself, “What would Ben do”. I go to the gym.

I have 14 songs by Air and I’ve played them 203 times
I have 1 song by Air Supply and I’ve played it 13 times
I have 1 song by Al Green and I’ve played it 2 times

Tuesday, 19 June 2007

Tuesday 19/06/07

Between 1730 and 2300+ last night I texted Scott 4 times and got no reply and rang him about 10 and he didn’t answer. I thought fine, he must have read the porn star blog and he’s dumped me. I’m not gonna sit at home for 10 days and cry listening to “3 weeks” by Tiga like last time this happened, but at least can I have some closure? Then I thought, nah, he can’t have dumped me, he doesn’t have a washing machine in his new flat and he needs to use me a bit more until he gets one.

So then I started to worry. I wouldn’t normally, but he has a motorbike and averages an accident every 2-3 weeks approximately. So far he has run over a couple of people (“they weren’t looking”), crashed into the back of a car and fallen off and ripped MY jacket that he was wearing. This was the worst of all.

Because I’m useless in crisis situations I sent the following message to some of my friends, asking them what to do:

“I’m a little worried about Scott. He hasn’t replied to texts or calls since 1730. He was finishing work at 2100, but still nothing. What would you advise?”

Mean said: “Dunno. Call the missing dogs helpline? Hold tight London Preppy. Sure he will be back soon”

Andrews said: “You know Scott. His phone probably ran out or he lost it or something? Do you know anyone else who was with him?”

Matty said: “Is there anyone who would have been working with him, or at least seen him? Then you’ll know if he left work ok. After that – go to his flat. After that – wait”

Donnell did not reply at all (he was at work though).

I rang a friend of his and then a girl he works with. Both were very relaxed and speculated he must have left his phone somewhere. That did make sense because this is a guy who turned up at the airport twice in a row without his passport as we all know, but I was still stressing. To be fair I wasn’t thinking very clearly because I had just watched a comedy on Greek TV that featured no less than 3 ghosts, so who can think clearly after that?

Anyway, at 2330 Scott rang and said he had left his phone in his jacket and couldn’t hear it, so I hang up on him and went to bed.

Last night I was also thinking that I haven’t read any good books for a while, so I decided to go through everything Bret Easton Ellis has written and read it again in order. I try not to allow myself to do that very often, because it’s like eating your favourite chocolate dessert non-stop every day. Fine, you know you’ll love it and nothing else you can have would compare to it, but you can’t keep eating the same thing all the time.

So I’m starting with Less Than Zero today. Reading that book upsets me to an extent. I remember the first time I ever read it and how much I liked it and how much it meant to me. Or actually how much I wanted it to mean to me. Because I wanted to be like those people that it describes: nihilistic and shallow and vacant and a hedonist and melancholic at the same time; when I wasn’t. But then my life took some strange turns and I wasn’t that far off anymore. Or maybe I tried faking this identity for long that in the end I actually became it. And now I wonder, should I have modeled myself after a Nick Hornby character instead? Things might have been easier and my life might have been less destroyed.

But I don’t really know whether I’d actually have wanted that. So maybe the Bret Easton Ellis choice was the right one. In other words, a fine setting for a fit of despair, if I were only standing here by accident instead of design*.

*This is a quote, I didn’t write it myself. I’m not that smart. If you recognize where it’s from though, you can share my bed with me.

I have 1 song by Adult and I’ve played it 1 time
I have 3 songs by Aerosmith and I’ve played them 33 times
I have 1 song by Age Of Love and I’ve played it 36 times

Monday, 18 June 2007

Monday 18/06/07

So what do you actually do in the following situation:

There is this porn star that you really like and you think is one ofthe sexiest men you've seen. You haven't necessarily seen all his films because you don't really watch porn that much, but there are lots of pictures of him around and you are aware of who he is. Then one day you find his myspace profile. You decide to message him and ask whether he would be interested in hooking up. You do that half serious / half joking, because a) you have a boyfriend, b) the guy inquestion lives in a different country and c) you do not expect him to reply. Your main motivation is reassurance in the remote possibility that he might.

Then, miraculously, he does. He says that yes, he would like that. You could possibly visit him where he lives, or he could come to your town to see you.

What do you do from the following options?

a) Take the first train / plane to the guy's city, meet him and have a fantastic weekend behind your boyfriend's back

b) Forget about the whole thing and go on in your life, happy and assured that at least he got back to you and he was interested

c) Try to negotiate something with your boyfriend, whereby he's allowed to sleep with somebody else as well if you can meet this guy

d) Suggest a threesome with your boyfriend to the guy, afterdiscussing this with your boyfriend, even though you don't generally do that

Please note that you are in a faithful, non-open long-termrelationship. This whole scenario is of course purely fictional and not based on any real events whatsoever.

Apart from this fantastic story that I came up with today, there was also some more daydreaming / fantasizing at work. American Girl and I are coming up with our escape plan. We are considering running awaytogether and the details are as follows.

Our exit from work will be dramatic, memorable and perhaps humorous if possible. There are several options for the best exit possible (and this needs to be confirmed), but it should at least involve climbing on a desk, shouting abuse and accusations at fellow employees and storming out. American Girl might also attempt a suicide stunt, taking advantage of her convenient position next to the window.

We will of course have to notify our respective partners. Personally, I am planning a simple disappearing technique, where I just leave andnever come back without any explanation. Judging by Scott's reaction when his dog ran off and never came back on Saturday evening (when he didn't seem that devastated / surprised by it and started planning to get a cat to replace him immediately), I think he will be able to deal with the loss of his partner in the same calm, collected manner. American Girl expects her husband to be a bit less nonchalant about it, so she will work on trying to convince him that her departure is for the best.

Our work prospects are very specific. I will follow my destiny and pursue a career in porn. As American Girl is a keen dinner party hostess, she will start up her own specialty dinner party hosting service. Our careers can actually be combined, as we have identified a huge demand within the porn industry for dinner party events. These people must eat a decent amount after all this effort, which makes the porn industry an unexplored niche market for this kind of thing.

We haven't considered where to run off to yet, but with all that porn money there is no limit.

I have 1 song by Adamski and I’ve played it 57 times
I have 1 song by Addis Black Widow and I’ve played it 2 times
I have 1 song by Adorable and I’ve played it 4 times

Sunday, 17 June 2007

Sunday 17/06/07

I left Scott’s place on Saturday morning and came home. Scott and Donnell were going to the gym, but I had to go to a party at 1600 and that would have been too many activities in one day so I couldn’t handle it. Instead I sat in my living room and watched American Dad until I had to leave. I was meeting Donnell in Hammersmith at 1600, but he ended up being 45 minutes late, so I had a great opportunity to go to WHSmith and read all the magazines while I was waiting.

I don’t mind being stood up in non-gay places, because I can certainly find ways to entertain myself and I don’t get bored. I do get very anxious when I’m stood up in a gay place though (for example at Soho Square / Compton Street / any gay bar), because I am terrified of standing somewhere or walking on my own when there are gay people around. I don’t know why, but I feel very self conscious. In generic places people don’t care what I’m doing and nobody looks at me, but gay people can be very stary. Maybe it’s all in my head though, innit.

Anyway, Donnell eventually turned up and we went to the party. At the party the following things happened:

- I didn’t know many people there, apart from a small number that I see out and about. So I was very scared
- Thankfully another friend soon turned up (we’ll call him Brendan from now on, his choice) and the number of people I could easily chat to doubled
- Many people were dressed up (Brendan described it as a “Versace crowd”) but I turned up wearing a rugby top, jeans and a baseball cap. I was unaware. On the positive side Brendan was wearing a hoodie, so I wasn’t the only tramp there
- There was some great food and drinks, but I didn’t eat or drink anything because I was there between 1700 and 1930, which isn’t a meal time. And if I start having food between meals (in this case lunch and dinner), I will end up like Homer Simpson who claims to have discovered a meal between breakfast and brunch (Episode 19, Season 4)
- Near the end I got a little bored (Brendan was trying to mingle even though he later confessed that he chatted to some new people but didn’t bond with anyone) and Donnell was trying to pick up somebody, but we did leave soon after that

Then I quickly went home and then Scott and I headed out to go to Area where a friend of ours (let’s call him Taylor from now on) was hosting a new night there. We weren’t really up for a big clubbing night (I personally don’t want to have a trashy night until I go to Madrid at the end of the month), so this is all that happened there:

- We spent most of the time backstage with the staff / organizers
- There were a few podium dancers there getting ready (some of which we knew, some not) and Scott spend a significant amount of time staring at one of them, whose main asset was a steroid enhanced chest
- We only went downstairs in the main club a couple of times to watch Tyler dance and/or walk around a bit
- We left around 0230, not having indulged in anything and went home to sleep

Sunday started out by being quite sunny so Scott, Donnell, Brendan and I arranged to go to the park. In this case the park was only Soho Square. Scott and Donnell had gone to the gym (for some reason they are gym buddies now) and ended up being late, so I did have to walk around in Soho on my own for a while. Understandably I was quite pissed off and nearly went home before they arrived. Anyway, I didn’t, and when we all sat down they helped me put together a new gym programme because I have been doing the same thing for months now, and I feel like I’m going nowhere.

Donnell also mocked my white socks and sandals look, but he doesn’t understand where I’m coming from with regard to clothes, so I forgive him. In my head this is a perfect preppy / ironic / geeky / cool look. Also I think it's sexy.

And finally on this subject, I prefer to wear a pair of Gucci sandals with silly white socks and H&M shorts, cause at least I'm trying different things that might not be to everyone's taste, but I sure like them myself. Here’s a picture.

Oh yeah and Sunday ended on a high. On the way back from the park I was really starving, so I went to Tesco and bought a cheese twist, because I wanted to treat myself. Of course I couldn't actually eat this (see what it looks like below), so I walked back home biting it, chewing it and spitting it out. It really is almost as satisfying as swallowing.

I have 1 song by Adam F and I’ve played it 1 time
I have 1 song by Adam Joseph and I’ve played it 4 times
I have 2 songs by Adam Rickitt and I’ve played them 123 times

Saturday, 16 June 2007

Saturday 16/06/07

Friday I had to travel outside London for work. There was a time when Mean and I had this competition going (when we first both got jobs and houses in central London), where the person who didn’t leave Zone 1 for the longest period, won. You are allowed to go to the airport and leave the country (that doesn’t count), but any other trips to visit people / for work reasons / etc are prohibited.

This is more difficult than you might think, even if you live and work within Zone 1. There’s always somebody having a party in bloody Hackney (hello Jimmy) and your company is bound to send you to Birmingham to visit a client. It’s a good game though and everyone should play it.

Anyway, after an exhausting train journey back to Paddington, I went to the gym (semi-gay Friday gym). I really can’t remember what happened there, so it can’t have been that good. Oh wait, it’s all coming back now: I started working out and a couple of people were staring at my ass and I thought oh my God I must be shit hot, but then I looked in the mirror and realized that I was wearing my shorts inside out and my label was on my bum, and my pockets were flapping about. Then I went in the toilet and changed but it was a bit too late. Conclusion: when people are staring at you, you’re probably wearing something silly.

What I definitely remember though, is who I saw when I was in the tube station at Oxford Circus on the way back. I was on the escalator and guess who walked past me – the Sexy Gym Steroid Guy from Thursday’s post! I quickly got my phone out to take a picture, but he was way ahead of me by then and to be honest the back isn’t that as good as the front really. I started walking down and he had stopped at the bottom, staring at a tube map and looking confused. He was wearing another very flimsy t-shirt, which obviously had anyone walking past staring at him. Anyway, as he was trying to see where to go – looking very confused – he was holding his chest with one hand (which does seriously need support by the way). This gesture made me fall in love with him a bit more, because it’s something I always do – when I am distracted by something and lost in my thoughts instinctively I start feeling my chest or my abs. I think it’s a reassurance thing, sort of checking whether they are still there. Then sadly he found his way and went in a different direction to me, but I am still hoping that some day when we’re going out, we can go on the tube together, get distracted by something and start feeling our body parts in a lost but endearing manner.

After all this excitement I went home, had dinner and headed out for a friend’s leaving do. He’s moving to Australia for a few years, but let’s not get into that and infuriate people who are reading this. So I stayed there for a bit with Jack, Scott, Roderick and lots of other people I recognize but don’t necessarily talk to.

At some point, Jack mentioned something that made me quite happy actually, so I made a note of it. He told Scott that he was looking shifty (I think at that point Scott was looking to get free ___ from someone). I said, “do I ever look shifty”. And Jack said that no, I never look shifty, but I often look bored, disinterested and disengaged. I was well happy with this description, because as I have written in the past there is no greater compliment than telling me I look bored. Looking bored anywhere you are makes the people around you a) think they are not interesting enough to hold your attention and b) assume you have much better places to be. In my case neither of these are true, because a) I am the least interesting person anywhere I go as I can’t chat to anyone and b) the only better place I have to be is in front of my telly watching Frasier, but nonetheless it’s a good look to have.

Then we left the leaving do and went to the Box briefly, because I thought a friend was having his birthday there. Unfortunately we were 24 hours late because I had gotten the day wrong, but still we met Mark there (yes J, this is your new nickname) and we had a chat, during which Mark mostly took the piss out of me for the QX cover (“porcelain skin with a couple of smudges of dirt here and there”), but we know that he loves me really.

Then Scott and I went to his house to spend the night, where we fell out and threw things around a bit, but it all ended well and we went to bed at 0300.

I have 1 song by ABC and I’ve played it 4 times
I have 9 songs by Ace Of Base and I’ve played them 70 times
I have 1 song by Adam & The Ants and I’ve played it 3 times

Thursday, 14 June 2007

Thursday 14/06/07

I have to start by saying how disappointed I am. Come on people, I asked you to find that boy from the gym yesterday. What have you done? Nothing. It can’t be that difficult. 152 people have read this blog since yesterday and nobody has provided any useful clues, any tracks to follow, his address, nothing. I will give you another chance though. There was this other guy in the gym today. You can send him to me instead, maybe that will be easier.

Here is some information that might help you find him and deliver him to my door. Or at least find me his gaydar / myspace / facebook profile – something.

- This was at the regular gym where I go on work days. This is again the biggest chain in London of course, and it’s not the Covent Garden site but pretty close there
- The guy we want this time was there around 1800-1830
- He is tall and has a shaved head
- He looks menacing
- He was wearing a t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms, but these clothes did nothing to conceal that he was enormous
- He did not look at me once
- He may or may not have taken steroids to enhance his look (with “may” being more likely and “may not” being virtually impossible)

Do we know him? In any case, if you haven’t given me any information on either of those guys by the weekend, I will stop writing this blog*.

(*not strictly true)

Anyway, I forgot to mention something else at the beginning of the week. You may remember that I wanted to send an article to the London Paper, because they have a daily columnist feature. And I was trying to come up with a safe topic that wouldn’t make me lose my job or go to prison? Well, I did find something and I did send it. Now I sent this on Monday and I haven’t heard anything yet. And of course it hasn’t been included yet. I don’t know what kind of backlog they have of delusional “columnists” from around London (like me), so I’m still hoping there’s still a chance they might use it at some point. Obviously now that I have a personal interest, I can’t wait to pick up the paper every evening and turn straight to that page, and I have to say I haven’t been impressed in the last few days.

On Monday some guy was writing about liking football a lot and the one true love of his life being his football team instead of some woman. This guy was 22 and he stated his job as “writer”, so we know how seriously we can take him. Oh yeah, he also lived in Basildon.

On Tuesday some dude was writing how much he likes facebook and chatting to people on there. This guy answered claimed to be a “writer and artist” and his surname was Carol, so I guess I shouldn’t have read his drivel at all.

Today we had some broad banging on about relationships and commitment and Cameron Diaz.

I maintain that my fantastic insight on barbecuing etiquette (as inspired by my first ever barbecue last week) would put any of these to shame. Anyway, we’ll wait and see.

Finally, here’s a picture of me doing press ups (taken about a year ago) – thanks to DR for sending this through to me today, I had almost forgotten these ridiculous moments. Maybe one day I'll tell the story why I was on stage at Heaven doing that.

I have 3 songs by A1 and I’ve played them 45 times
I have 3 songs by Aaliyah and I’ve played them 60 times
I have 4 songs by ABBA and I’ve played them 18 times

Wednesday, 13 June 2007

Wednesday 13/06/07

Yesterday after I dropped Mum off at the airport it turned out to be a great day. Firstly, I must say that before I went to the airport, I had some time to come back home after worming half a day, change out of my work clothes and wear a t-shirt and shorts. I can’t really think of a better feeling than wearing a t-shirt and shorts on a Tuesday afternoon walking around London. This indicates two very important events: a) I am not at work (because I don’t have to wear the dreaded shirt and trousers combo) and b) it is warm (because I’m able to wear shorts). There is very little that can go wrong on days like these.

To make things even better I had an hour long journey ahead of me from the airport back to London. On my own! So I bought Heat (shut up), I bought a chicken salad and I sat on the tube eating and reading in a state of bliss.

When I got back to London I went straight to the gym (not the normal every day one, the one I go to at the weekend which is semi-gay). I got there around 1630, which means that most people were still at work and it wasn’t very busy at all (I am telling you this was the perfect day). Also, at the gym, we had Sexy Tuesday Guy No.1. This was a guy that I vaguely recognized and had a feeling that I had seen before, but I had no idea where (my best guess is that he’s some trashy gay magazine fixture like me, so I’ve seen his picture somewhere).

Anyway, he was there working out and he looked quite sexy, but I couldn’t look properly because as I’ve said when I fancy somebody my instinctive reaction is to either ignore them or hate them. When I finished my workout and went in the changing room he was there with his top off looking into the mirror making sure that everyone around had seen him and admired him (this isn’t a criticism by the way, good on him). That’s the point where his image burnt into my brain, because he had really amazing abs, which made me want to both cry and wank. I didn’t do either at that point. As I want to find out more about this person, here’s a short description in case anyone knows him. Please find this boy and bring him to me.

- As I said he was in the gym yesterday afternoon around 1700
- This gym is the biggest chain in London and the particular site was the one that’s near Oxford Circus, but not the one on Great Marlborough Street
- The boy was around my height, i.e. a short-arse
- Early 20s
- Dark hair
- Abs
- As I was leaving he was sat there reception “working” on his white MacBook. I.e. he has a white MacBook

That’s all I have I’m afraid.

Anyway, all this happened in the gym. However, there was more to come on the way home. So I get on the tube and about 2 feet away from me, we have Sexy Tuesday Guy No.2. This guy is there with his girlfriend and he’s an American tourist. There is no way he could have been anything else. He’s in his mid-20s and he’s very big, but not in a gym-bunny fake muscles way (like me), he’s a proper big guy. He’s very muscly of course but (in my fantasy) he got these muscles playing American football. He looks exactly like the American jock-type gay people go on about and try to emulate by dressing up in Abercombie and wearing baseball caps, but they invariably end up looking like gay people dressing up in Abercrombie and wearing baseball caps, instead of the real thing. Sexy Tuesday Guy No.2’s girlfriend looks very sporty too, and I speculate she plays lacrosse (which she should give a bit of a rest cause he muscle tone is starting to get disturbing).

After I stare at them for a good 6 minutes I’m starting to guess that they will get off at my stop. Where I live is a major tourist area, so chances are that if they’re on that tube line going that way, they are staying there. I have a passing thought that maybe I should follow them and see where their hotel is. Then I can sneak in, kidnap a maid, steal her uniform, pretend I’m staff, hide in their bathroom and watch him take a shower.

Then we actually get to my tube stop, they get off too (I knew it!), I trip up in front of him and nearly fall over and quickly make my way out feeling embarrassed abandoning my shower dream.

I have 5 songs by A-Ha and I’ve played them 84 times
I have 2 songs my A-Studio and I’ve played them 75 times
I have 1 song by A Camp and I’ve played it 12 times

Sunday, 10 June 2007

Sunday 10/06/07

Against all odds, the barbecue last night went very well. We had: Matty, Nicole, Ace, Mean, Nats, Donnell, Scott and American Girl. It all started great with a complaint from the neighbour upstairs, who told us off for “smoking her newly painted window frames”. But you can’t really have a successful barbecue without the neighbours complaining, so I took that as a good sign. I started by being responsible for the actual barbecuing, but soon I lost interest so Matty and Ace took turns in helping me out. Everyone else just spent time drinking / eating / telling me what a bad host I am, but we knew that anyway.

During the course of the night, we came up with 3+1 vital rules, which will form the backbone of all barbecues we are planning to attend this summer. These are:

Rule number 1: Safety first.

When you barbecue, you can’t leave yourself exposed to all the danger emerging from the charcoal. Hence, protective wear is necessary. I chose to protect myself with a unique barbecue safety hat (customized from a fluorescent armband for cyclists), which worked very effectively to protect a 2-inch line around my head. Research has shown that this is the body part where most barbecue-related accidents occur, so I couldn’t take any chances – please see picture below.

Rule number 2: Have fun.

Even people who take barbecuing as seriously as I do must remember this is first and foremost a fun event. Make yourself look chilled out and like you’re enjoying yourself by keeping one hand in your pocket, no matter what you’re doing. This is called the “King of BBQ Stance”. The more people that adopt this stance, the more fun your barbecue is.

Rule number 3: Take breaks.

Barbecuing is similar to driving a lorry on a European motorway at 4am. Any professional lorry driver will tell you that you don’t want to fall asleep on the wheel as it might have dire consequences. Well, you certainly do not want to fall asleep on the barbecue either. Hence, you have to take breaks. Mean spirited guests might tell you that this is a rule I made up because I’m a selfish cunt who would rather leave Matty and Ace do the hard work so I can chit chat and eat, but that is only 83% true.

Additional rule: You’re not a proper man if you don’t eat things straight from the barbecue.

Every now and then, you have to pick up something from the barbecue and stick it straight in your mouth. Only then will you prove to your friends that you’re really hard and gain their barbecue admiration. This is one of the greatest types of admiration you can gain. Again, mean spirited guests might point out that the additional rule is a direct violation of Rule number 1, but please disregard them. They’re only wimps. Or gay.

Finally, it is advisable to host a barbecue party when your mum is visiting for the weekend, so that she can clean / tidy up / scrub the grill when your friends have gone and you’ve let her out of the bedroom.

Here are some more barbecue pictures.

After such a fun Saturday night, Sunday could only be disappointing in comparison. Still, whilst out shopping with mum and Scott, I found the solution to my pet-purchasing query which I posted earlier in the week. As my whole social circle decided that I am completely unqualified to be a cat owner, I decided to go for something less demanding / animated / alive. I am now the proud owner of this fantastic, non-fussy little dog, which is designed to stay quiet, not mess your carpet and demand very little attention. His name is SW1V 3DZ. This will have hilarious consequences as I can ask: “Where is SW1V 3DZ”, Scott can say “That’s in Pimlico”, then I can say “No, I meant the dog”, etc. See? Hilarious. Here’s a picture:

I have 1 song by 3 Colours Red and I’ve played it 7 times
I have 1 song my 311 and I’ve played it 7 times
I have 1 song by 3T and I’ve played it 1 time

Friday, 8 June 2007

Friday 08/06/07

Carrying the barbecue box home went a lot better than I thought. At some point I had actually managed to work out a system where I was carrying my gym bag, the barbecue box and reading a newspaper at the same time.

When I got home, things did take a more disappointing turn though. I’ve never put anything together before and I think I’ve left it a bit too late to start now. In fact, my life has gone through the following stages with regard to DIY:

Stage 1 – Ages 0 to 18: My dad put things together
Stage 2 – Ages 18 to 24: Andrews put things together
Stage 3 – Ages 24 to 26: My housemates put things together

Now I’m at Stage 4 where I don’t actually have any housemates to do things for me, so I’m at a bit of a loss. Matty must think this is hilarious, because he sent a group email to the Lads this morning asking me:

“So London Preppy

Managed to put the bbg together?”

Yes, he actually typed bbg instead of bbq but let’s not ponder on that for the moment. My reply was:

“If you mean did I manage to open the box, see there are LOTS of bits and pieces, didn’t even take them out and left the box there, then yes I did.”

Anyway, I have now arranged for Matty and Nicole to come in a bit early, help me build the barbecue, light it and then we’ll be ready for the rest of the guests.

Before all this happens though, I have to go and pick up my mum from the airport tonight. I absolutely love going to airports to pick up people. It gives you all the traveling time there on the tube, which is great for reading / listening to your iPod / not talking to anyone. In addition, you get to go to the airport and have the illusion that you’re going away but without the negative aspects of this, which are: a) actually going away and ruining your routine and b) getting on a plane which is very disconcerting and stressful.

So the journey there is great. The journey back is less good. On the journey back, unfortunately, you have the person you went there to pick up with you. This usually involves making conversation / pretending to be happy to see them / trying to come up with an answer to the all-encompassing question “so what’s new with you”.

It’s even worse when that person you accompany is your mum, because during this journey she will fix you with a unique stare of mixed pride (for being her son) and pain (for not being the son she wanted). Try to overcome this stare by pretending to look out the window (even though the only thing you can see there is the reflection of your mum staring back at you).

I will review all this in my next post.

Finally, here’s a new feature to the blog. Every time I post, in the end, I will add three lines with the name of three bands/artists that I have on my iTunes, how many songs of theirs I have, and how many times I’ve played them in total. I thought that this would provide amazing value for your money and give you priceless insight into my world. Which nobody asked for, but you’ll get it anyway. Before I start doing this, here is some background:

- At the moment that I’m typing this I have 4,363 songs on my iTunes, which means that there is a lot of shit there. And I keep adding more. I don’t only have my favourite songs ever on it (obviously). I add songs that I love, songs that I like, songs that I half like and songs that are just familiar, because I treat it a bit like the radio. I put it on shuffle and I want to hear songs that are very random apart from ones I like a lot. This is a long way of saying: sorry for having Michael Bolton on my iTunes

- I will start doing this alphabetically, by artist, so that I don’t omit anyone and also because I’m very anal like that. Also, if I move down the list alphabetically every day, I will not have the opportunity to skip the uncool bands and pretend that I have an iPod full of Portishead, Daft Punk and Bloc Party (or whatever people think is cool these days – I’ve lost touch a bit). There is a lot of Mariah Carey in there too and I deserve to be named and shamed for that

- This data covers my listening habits over the last 2.5 years only (i.e. the period which my iTunes covers). If I had a way to cover all my music-listening-life the story would be very different. For example, my favourite band of all time is The Smiths and I spent ages 14 to 19 listening to them a few hundred times a day, but I don’t necessarily feel I can’t go on in life without playing This Charming Man every day. So I haven’t heard it for a while. This is a long way of saying: that’s why Sophie Ellis-Bextor has more plays than the Boo Radleys, even though I love the Boo Radleys about 25,000 times more

So, now that I’ve covered all sides from anyone doubting my music taste, to kick things off:

I have 1 song by 10,000 Maniacs and I’ve played it 8 times
I have 1 song my 10cc and I’ve played it 13 times
I have 3 songs by 18 Wheeler and I’ve played them 7 times

Thursday, 7 June 2007

Thursday 07/06/07

The last few days have been building up to the big barbecue event of Saturday night. That is when I have decided to make my debut as the King of Barbecue, so I have started by inviting a small group of close friends, who won’t mind if I crash and burn (all their food). The guest list for the event is: Matty, Ace, Mean, Nats, Nicole (i.e. the Lads and their – one – girlfriend). As a special guest I have invited American Girl from work, but if she does come I expect she will be very disappointed, because I think she has very high barbecue standards. Also my Mum will be there, but more of that later.

Here are the steps I have taken so far in preparation:

1) Every good barbecue event, requires a barbecue. In this case, the name is literal. It’s not like a housewarming party where you don’t have heating devices or a baby shower where you don’t have a shower (or a baby for that matter as it hasn’t been born yet). Here, if you don’t provide a barbecue, people are likely to get quite pissed off.

With that in mind, I went to Argos yesterday lunchtime and bought my own 53cm Round BBQ. What I didn’t account for, is that it came in a huge awkward box and it will be a pain taking it home. That is why my brand new 53cm Round BBQ stayed in the office overnight and it’s still there next to my desk, waiting patiently to fulfill its outdoor potential.

2) I was chatting to American Girl and the conversation came to barbecue food. I was surprised to hear that apparently people expect bread, sides and condiments in such an event. I’m sure my guests know me well enough to bring their own bread rolls and potatoes for baking, but I have decided to make an effort and provide a few condiments myself. As I like my teeth very much and don’t have extensive knowledge of the condiment market, American Girl was kind enough to provide a list of essentials for a “basic, manly barbecue” like I expect mine to be. Looking at that, it became apparent that I really can’t be bothered, so maybe I’ll buy some mustard and that’s it.

3) Not to worry though, the most important elements of the evening are all prepared: I have asked Nicole to bring over my fantastic barbecue jacket (in fluorescent yellow) and I also have my barbecue hat prepared. I’m sure we can all enjoy pictures of this uniform in the blog on Sunday.

Now then, my Mum. All my family live in Greece and they like to visit me regularly just to get in my way a bit. They also use a) financial and b) emotional blackmail to make me visit very frequently too. I don’t know why that is, because even when we co-exist in the same country we don’t really talk that much (I’m still quiet in family circles) and when we do talk we argue quite a lot.

On this occasion, my Mum is coming on her own (without Dad) which I suppose is alright as she’s a bit more manageable. She is also looking forward to meeting Scott and spending some time with him, which will involve lots of awkward smiles as she doesn’t speak any English. Well she actually met him before, but she didn’t know I was gay back then and she thought he was just a friend.

I came out to my Mum just over a year ago (when I was in hospital). She didn’t take it very well and she’s gone through several stages of acceptance:

- First she though I was doing it to ruin her life and take revenge for some reason. This makes the assumption that every decision I make is directly connected to her and I spend my time trying to find new ways to ruin her life. This isn’t very true.

- Then she thought I am trying to be cool and offbeat. Obviously being gay is a temporary preference and I will grow out of this fad sooner or later. I’m not sure that’s valid either.

- Then she used the power of writing to convert me and sent me a 5-page letter (front and back) telling me I’m a horrible son and I have driven her to anti-depressants. I told her to stop being such a baby and that half my friends are on Prozac but I didn’t see them write accusative letters to their relatives.

- The she tried to convince me to get married and have children anyway, because otherwise what will the neighbours say (or something like that). I said that no thanks, I don’t want to spend the rest 45 years of my life lying to everyone I know.

Anyway, she got over all that and we are friends again now, and she’s ready to meet Scott. Can I just say that I never thought any less of her because of her reaction and the fact she found it difficult to deal with it. I understand where she’s coming from and that this is not an ideal situation for her. I think for somebody at her age, with her experiences and background, she’s done very well to come to terms with this so soon.

And even when she was really upset about it, she always told me that she loved me. “Even more so now”. Cause Mums want the best for their sons, and sometimes they think the best is when you don’t stand out from the average at all because then people won’t make your life difficult.

And she has a point with that. And I may not be so tough, but she should know that I’ll be fine.

Tuesday, 5 June 2007

Tuesday 05/06/07

Yesterday I spent a quite significant part of the day considering whether I should get a cat. This was basically inspired late on Sunday night (or Monday morning, call it what you like) when I was in bed, half asleep in an empty house. At that point, a conversation from the dinner party that I went to on Saturday started playing in my head. It was basically Jimmy talking about ghosts and saying that he had seen one. At that point I didn’t need to hear anymore, I just left the room and came back after they had stopped talking about it, but it seems that hearing that much was enough to keep me awake 2 days later.

Anyway, as I was lying in bed scared, I thought “wouldn’t it be nice if I had a cat here to keep me company”? I don’t know how exactly the cat would protect me from all these ghosts, but it seemed like a comforting idea. As I like to ask people’s opinions about what I should or shouldn’t do (and then do what I first wanted anyway), I spent Monday chatting to friends about the potential of me as a cat owner. I spoke to: American Girl, Ace, Scott, Nats, Mean, Matty. My questions with regard to cat ownership were as follows:

a) Is it difficult to maintain or is it quite self-sufficient?
b) How much does it cost to run?
c) What do you do when you get bored of it?
d) What should I name it?
e) Can I get a white cat with blue eyes?

I can’t say that people were extremely positive, with the main reasons revolving around my short attention span and the fact that I would get bored of it within 3 weeks. That was a point that bothered me as well (I have to be honest) but my idea to open the door, push it outside and leave it there in case I did get bored, did not go down very well. Ace actually said that he’s already drafting a letter to the RSPCA and will put it in the post the moment I purchase the cat. But even ignoring him, I don’t think my idea of blocking the cat outside the front door would be effective in the long term, because every time I come back home it will be there waiting and trying to sneak in behind me. This could get tricky when I come back with lots of shopping from Tesco in my hands and I have less flexibility of movement.

At that point I was told that cats live for 15-20 years, which was another knockback to my plan, as I really don’t have time for this.

Regardless, not having come to terms with the idea of not getting a cat yet, I tried to find a name for it. First I thought I should give it a normal, solid English boy’s name (like every cat should have). My idea of calling it Andrew was quickly dismissed by Nats, who pointed out that confusion would occur every time I said “Andrew has pissed on the carpet” or “Andrew scratched my face” etc. I can’t remember the last time my real friend Andrews did either of these things, but point taken.

Then Scott suggested calling it Westminster, since I like living in this Borough of London so much. I didn’t like that, because it sounds very poncey, but then we thought maybe we should give it a postcode instead of a name. Like W11 0LD. This was growing on my when somebody suggested I should give it a number instead of a name. This is the kind of thing market researchers (who number crunch all day long) find amusing.

Naturally, I loved that idea and I came up with the amazing plan to name it after the first 100 digits of the pi number (i.e. the constant number that describes the ratio of a circle’s circumference to its diameter), hence making my cat’s full name


Then Nats said, well if you name it that you will end up calling it Pi, but you can use its full name when you’re upset with it (you know, like parents do when they are telling off their children. For example: “Rachel Karen Green, are you telling me that you are keeping this baby?”). I’m sorry if you don’t find this funny, but I thought it was absolutely hilarious (maybe you had to be there) and made a note of it for the blog.

Anyway, the conclusion is I am not getting a cat after all and the ghosts will just have to eat me.

Finally, part of this conversation happened at Nat’s house yesterday (plus on email previously), where we went for dinner. At the dinner we had: Nat, Ace, Scott and me. Mean was also invited actually and we had bought him a surprise birthday cake, because it was his birthday, but he didn’t turn up, so we ate the cake ourselves instead.

Bye now.

Monday, 4 June 2007

Monday 04/06/07

After all the blog adventures over the weekend, it’s time to go back to telling some stories. So here are some of the things I did over the last few days and the consequences they had.

On Friday I had to stay late at work, which was mildly annoying, but not as annoying as having to stay late on a regular day when you have to be here the next morning too. It did result in me skipping the gym though and also pulling out of dinner with my friend, because the only thing I could face was going home and eating / watching TV. On the positive side, because I was stuck at my desk and I couldn’t go in the boardroom and play with my colleagues / take advantage of the free food as we all do from 1630 onwards on Fridays, Pam was kind enough to bring me some food over, which you can see here.

Later that night I went over to Scott’s and slept there. That’s alright and all, but I do have one problem with going over to Scott’s – he has a dog (Arfa). Dogs make me very uncomfortable, mainly because:

- They are very needy and submissive (I prefer a pet that gives you a challenge)
- They like to lick you (I can’t deal with that so I have to wear long trousers all the time and watch where I put my hands when I’m sitting down in case he jumps on me from somewhere and starts licking)
- They are over-enthusiastic and happy all the time and very easy to please. This just reminds me how miserable I am in comparison

Anyway, Arfa isn’t all that bad (at least he doesn’t bite), so occasionally we co-operate and can co-exist. This is Scott with Arfa in a park.

On Saturday evening I went over to Jimmy’s for dinner. There was Jimmy, GM and ML (couple whose lunch party I went to a couple of weeks ago), another couple who I didn’t know and I. Going there for dinner had the following consequence:

I went away thinking how on Earth I could organize a dinner party of my own, having no cooking skills whatsoever. Jimmy had made a huge effort and the food was great, but somehow I have reached 27 years of age and any dinner party hosting skills have completely eluded me. This is down to a couple of factors: a) Growing up in an over-protective family where I didn’t have to do anything around the house and b) Developing an eating disorder whereby I only need to grill meat and eat it.

Regardless, I am planning a dinner party of my own in the near future and have already purchased the cooking book where I will get all my ideas from. It’s a book on Greek cuisine, but it’s written by an English person, which could prove to be a recipe for disaster (see what I did there?). At least I can blame the book.

On Sunday I went over to Matty’s house for a barbecue. Matty, Nicole, Ace and Scott were there. When I go to events like that, I usually don’t do anything because I’m quite useless. To illustrate that and to take the piss out of me a bit, they decided to take my picture in full barbecuing action. I got into character by wearing a protective yellow jacket (I thought a manual worker outfit would fit the barbecue look) and putting my free hand in my pocket (in order to appear casual). The result is this:

Obviously the joke was on them, because I look like a complete natural. Following the success of this look I have decided to purchase my own barbecue and become the King of Barbecue this summer. I went to Argos this lunch time and looked at a few, but I really had no idea what to get and will have to take on of the Lads with me next time.

That’s all for now.

Sunday, 3 June 2007

Sunday 03/06/07

I’m feeling a bit silly saying this (like I’m not strong enough to stick to my decision), but I think I want to keep writing. I was feeling pretty bad over Friday and Saturday about opening myself up to all the criticism / comments / etc, but having spoken to a few friends and having read what you people had to say, I think it’s actually worth continuing.

I was playing the scene in my head of somebody sitting there in front of their PC, logging on to my website, reading and then typing to tell me to fuck off repeatedly and it was making me a bit sick. And yes, I may come over as over-sensitive, but if you have been reading closely over the last couple of months, you will have realized that I may put a front on, but I’m not so tough really.

Anyway, I will continue writing because a) I really do enjoy it and it’s something that makes me happy, b) there seem to be a few people out there who do get entertainment from this (at least it kills some time for them during their lunch break) and c) I’ve realized that other people writing blogs get similar comments, so I shouldn’t flatter myself that I’m the only one.

One change I will make is disable anonymous comments. I know this will still allow anyone to create a fake blogger account by providing a made-up email and then leave a rude comment using that, but I hope that at least during the time it takes to do that, they will have reconsidered / calmed down a bit and changed their minds. It’s a bit like the advice people are given to count to 10 when they are really angry before they take any action, in order to clear their mind a bit.

Also (and very old readers may remember this) here is a message I received way back when I had a gaydar profile (ahem) by somebody who took a dislike to my page, created a fake / empty profile for themselves in order to message me, and wrote:

“Thought I would message you to say that OKsome people really fancythemselves, I suppose there's nothing you can do about that. It's abit odd though when they are beyond fancying themselves and have gotto the point where they are clearly obsessed by their own looks.There's nothing wrong with being happy with the way you look andshowing it off a bit. But I really wanted to ask you whether yourealise how other people see it? Do you realise how silly and in factunattractive it makes you look. I assume that the root cause of yourself-obsession and narcissistic tendancies is very probably amanifestation of almost chronic insecurity. It usually is the reasonfor it. And whilst other people could just be rude to you about it Iactually feel a degree of empathy. If you have insecurities I guessthere's nothing much you can do about it - we all have insecuritiesabout something and for all sorts of reasons. But for God sake haveyou any idea how ridiculous you make youself look? The only people whowill have a genuine interest in your profile are those who, for aminute or two, like to look at an athletic body. Their interest in youstops there. They may message you with compliments. If that makes youhappy then fine. But anyone out there with an IQ over 100 and a lifethat involves more than nights out on 'the scene' will look at yourprofile, read it, and putting too fine apoint on it...what a dick. Sorry but that's the reaction you will get.It's all very well having nice pics of yourself if you have a nicebody, but presenting yourself as completely obsessed with yourappearance and being so drowned in your own self-importance issomething that most people will recognize very quickly. I'm sure youwant to be liked and admired but what you are achieving is makingyuorself look a real idiot. It's such a pity as you are quite a niceguy seemingly. Oh well, hood luck. No offence intended. X”

This was another instance where I felt like giving up all online presence. So for a few weeks I thought, “God I must be the worst person on the planet, and I do deserve to die a horrible death”, and I took all my pictures down and I deleted all my information because I was so hurt. But you know, I got over that. And if you manage to get over a message like that above, I’m sure I can deal with a couple of people telling me to fuck off to New Zealand or criticizing the way I smiled at them (“offered me a grimace”) when I was a bit off my face in a club.

Finally, genuinely thank you very much to people who emailed / texted / commented for me to continue writing, I owe everyone a big hug.

Friday, 1 June 2007

Friday 01/06/07 Part II

Well basically I have decided to stop writing this blog.

I’ve had more shit thrown at me than it’s worth really. These are comments from just the last 3 days:

“If you hate London so much why don't you f*ck off now?”
“We really don't need or want the likes of you”
“So please leave. Now.”
“I'm going to keep reading. I like exploring the lives of people I feel morally superior to.”
“I thought “arrogant idiot” and turned away from you.”
“Fuck off to New Zealand now please!”

Do you see where I’m coming from? I don’t understand why I’m hated so much for writing a humorous online diary. It doesn’t make any sense. This is proper, proper hate. What motivates somebody to feel such strong emotions against somebody they have never met? What is it? Is it the way I look; is it the things I write? What? If you are one of the people who wrote these comments, I would really be interested to know just why you fucking hate me so much and you spend time coming back here and reading and commenting. Why not just go and spend time with your friends or something? But if you do reply, stop being such a fag and tell us a bit about yourself as well though. Maybe your name, address, phone number, etc.

Maybe it is just one person who leaves all these comments, but I guess I can’t know that.

I don’t really want to continue an online forum that just gives people the opportunity to attack me and ruin my mood. And I better stop before some crazy dude out there posts a bomb to me like that guy did to Bjork a few years back.

I’m sure celebrities get such abuse and hate mail every day, but at the end of the day celebrities make money out of the whole thing. What do I get? Nothing, just enjoyment from writing.

And I’m sorry, but I do think I have a fucking talent for writing. But it really gets to me when people are trying to convince me I’m the worst person on earth, so I’d rather stop doing it.

I would love to continue writing and my absolute dream would be to get some stories together and have enough material for a book. Or I would even love to have a column in a magazine. But I’m not gonna keep doing it on here and keep getting the abuse without getting some compensation to make up for the shit. So if anyone from Attitude or AXM or Gay Times or Boyz or QX or anywhere else actually (although I recognize the gay focus of the blog of course) is reading this and they want to talk to me, please get in touch. I'll work on child labour rates.

And I’m sorry to everyone who has been reading this for the last two months (10,000 views isn’t bad – even though I’m sure 45% of that is me refreshing the page), but a few idiots have to ruin it for everyone.

Cheers and I really loved writing this.

Friday 01/06/07

On the positive side, I have made a pact with Orville. If neither of us is married by 2012, we’re moving to NZ together. I don’t know how exactly we expect to get married, being gay and all, but this is what friends (usually of opposite genders) say isn’t it? “If both of us are still single by the time we’re 40, let’s get married to each other”. I won’t quite be 40 in 2012, but Orville will, so I’ll make this sacrifice for him.

Also Orville is a screenwriter, so what better place to find inspiration than the natural beauty that New Zealand has to offer, “from the mountains to the sea, rolling green hills and clear blue skies” (I copied that from a tourist website, I take no responsibility). He might have to adapt his content a bit and write less about the interaction between humans and more about the interaction between rolling green hills and the clear blue skies, but I’m sure he’ll manage.

On the negative side, do you remember how Andrews broke my watch last week? Well unfortunately he found out that he can have it fixed. I am deeply upset about that, because my plan was: Andrews forks out the original cost for the watch in order to replace it. I double that and buy a really, really nice watch. Now I’m stuck with the old one (fixed).

Anyway, activities this weekend include: Tonight after going to the gym with Scott and Donnell I’m meeting a friend for dinner. She hasn’t got a nickname yet because I haven’t mentioned her before, but I’ll ask her for one. I’ve actually known her for 13 years, she’s a Londoner but we used to be penpals when I lived in Athens. I had put an ad in an English magazine looking for people to write to (it seems all I’ve been doing with my life is write stories to people in English) but obviously that was a very uncool story so we pretend to have met on holiday when people ask.

Tomorrow I’m planning to spend a significant amount of the day watching the new American Dad DVD that I bought and then I’m going to Jimmy’s house for dinner. On Sunday I will start looking at the clock around midday wishing that it would stop, but before I know it, it will be 2000 and another part of me will have died.

On this positive note, let’s respond to some of the comments people have sent in the letters page of the London Lite, that pinnacle of journalism that people use to protect their trousers when they sit on a tube seat that somebody has pissed on. Incidentally, I know this is such an easy target and these messages are probably written by 16-year-olds who get grade C or less at GCSE General Studies, but I’m no smarter than that, so I’ll go ahead.

Coop from SE9 writes: “Why are cars manufactured to be able to go 120mph when the speed limit is 70”?

Dear Coop, I don’t know where SE9 is, but try to think about life outside your village for a second. There are other villages / towns / countries in the world with different speed limits. Some of them have none (e.g. German autobahns). I see your point though, all cars in the UK should be fixed so they only go up to 69mph and then if an English driver heads over to Germany, he can get run over by the Audi that’s coming from behind at top speed.

Debs from E11 writes (in response to a question of what would the best chat up like be to pick up a girl): “The best chat up line is: “Can I buy you a drink”. Other than that, make us laugh”.

Debs babes, nice name and area (I don’t know where E11 is either by the way). Are you by any chance a secretary? Why should men buy the drinks if they want to pull somebody? I recommend going back to University, getting a solid science degree and finding a decent job. Then start buying your own drinks and stop putting the women’s movement back 50 years.

Finally, Karen from SW1 writes: “Can pregnant women wear bells? The we wouldn’t get blamed for not seeing them or thinking they are just fat”.

Finally. A reasonable comment that could only have come from somebody who lives in the City of Westminster, Zone 1. Good on you Karen, I hope your suggestion takes off.