Thursday, 30 August 2007

Thursday 30/08/07

On Wednesday lunchtime I’m walking back to the office and I go past a restaurant and this is what’s going on there: The restaurant is actually on the other side of the (relatively narrow) street. The pavement right outside the restaurant is empty apart from some big fat guy in a suit (I believe they are called minders). On the other side of the street – the pavement where I’m walking along – there is a huge crowd of people.

The crowd includes around 10 people with massive cameras (I believe they are called paparazzi) and a large number of onlookers (women, children, office workers on their break, some gays) all watching the restaurant.

The natural assumption is that some kind of famous person is having lunch and is expected to come out sooner or later. I could go even further and assume that this might be some very famous person, because otherwise I don’t think anyone would care that much. This is central London after all.

At that point I am faced with 3 options:

1) Walk past and mind my own business, pretending not to care
2) Stand there and wait with the 34 other people for God knows what
3) Ask somebody who the famous person we are getting excited about it, evaluate whether it’s worth my time and make my decision based on that

What would you do?

In the 6 seconds that I have to make my decision as I’m walking past in front of the crowd, I choose option 1 and make the additional choice not to turn my head at all (either towards the restaurant or the people), because I’m thinking that I’m too good for this and nothing can be interesting enough to attract my attention.

The conclusion is: if you’re conceited and up your own arse, you will never see any celebrities.

Also yesterday, I’m going through the usual blogs that I read and I see that Bobby over at the Bobby Vanquish, presents a superficial challenge to his readers. Apparently we have to show a picture of our legs. A superficial challenge is my favourite kind of challenge, because lacking any other traits (mental, cognitive, personality-related) this is my only opportunity to do well. So here’s a picture of my legs.

You will notice that it focuses on my thighs, because to be honest my calves aren’t anything much to write home about, so I’ve got to focus on my strengths, right?

Finally, I will play my occasional game of making comments to emails people have sent in to the London Lite newspaper, which I pick up and “read” (i.e. glance at) on the tube on the way home.

London currently has 3 free newspapers that are handed out on the streets around public transport (Metro, The London Paper and London Lite). Those are best used to cover the seat that somebody has pissed on before you sit down.

All of them run columns where “readers” write in and rant about something. Those readers are usually bored secretaries or half-educated opinionated loudmouths who were inexplicably given access to email and decided to abuse it. What’s also interesting is that most of these comments are sent by people who live outside London (judging by their postcode), so we can assume they are also poor and can’t afford a flat here.

Before you go on to point it out, yes, I realize I’m no better than them with my self-absorbed ramblings on here, but as we keep saying, you’re on my side so you wouldn’t say that.

Here we go:

Sarah from “London” says: “I hate tourist sites in London, they’re full of rip-off prices and tourists. I always make a picnic and head to one of our parks. The water pedalos in Battersea Park are a favourite”

I says: Sarah. It is amazing that tourist sites are full of tourists. What are the odds of that? Maybe everyone should take your advice and travel 2,000 miles to go to London, so as to sit in a park with a bottle of Lambrini and get pissed. Maybe when you next go to Rome, you can ignore the Coliseum too and just spend 5 days sitting on a park bench staring at a tree.

Kat from TN9 (!) says: “I took a photo at the weekend of a youth at Bluewater (this is a shopping centre) whose waistband was lower than the end of his boxer shorts legs. Ridiculous”

I says: “A youth”? Anyway. Am I the only one who thinks this sounds like a good look? I want to try it. Plus it sounds sexy. Obviously too sexy for Kat, who trawls provincial shopping centres taking picures of teenagers’ underwear on her mobile phone.

Brian from SL8 says: “Anyone else deliberately target train seats that selfish people try to reserve with bags?”

I says: No Brian. Some of us actually live in London and have better things to do.

“Stu” from Amersham (no idea) says: “Everyone: Slow down, take a breath, daydream, say hello and smile to a stranger. It’s refreshing”

I says: Dear Stu. Fuck off. And don’t you dare smile at me.

I have 1 song by The Breeders and I’ve played it 8 times
I have 11 songs by Brett Anderson and I’ve played them 114 times
I have 15 songs by Britney Spears and I’ve played them 297 times

Wednesday, 29 August 2007

Wednesday 29/08/07

On Tuesday evening I’m watching Family Guy episodes on DVD but then I get two texts asking me to switch over to BBC2. So I do that and there’s a programme about reindeer on, so I proceed to watch that for the next hour. And in the next hour the following things happen:

- Reindeer are digging the snow to find food
- Reindeer try to jump over a fence like mad
- Reindeer get dragged on the snow by their antlers because they are too tired to walk
- I look closely and evaluate which one’s antlers would look best mounted, hanging on my living room wall

Yesterday I promised I would put the abs pictures up from Sunday night, so here they are. As you can see I’m losing against almost everyone, but I blame a) bad posture and b) bad lighting (on my side only).

On Tuesday evening I also do something else, which is to steal an idea from another blog. I find out that you can set up a shop and sell merchandise with any logo you want on, so obviously I set up a London Preppy merchandise site. And I make up two logos, which are:

I don’t know why anyone would choose to wear a t-shirt or drink from a cup with London Preppy plastered on it, but a) people wear a lot worse and b) I have nothing to lose, right? There’s a permanent link to the shop on the sidebar, but here it is anyway:

Finally, this week Matty is off work so he’s gone sailing to Wales, and he sends me this picture of himself on a boat. This is the lifestyle I want to pursue from now on (in my post-clubbing days): weekends away in Wales, trips to Iceland, eating out in nice restaurants, wearing clothes that aren’t necessarily stitched around your biceps, that sort of thing. Obviously this phase will last for about 6 days and then I’ll be out again continuing my quick descend to self-destruction, but hey, I can be hypocritical until then.

I have 3 songs by The Brand New Heavies and I've played them 10 times
I have 2 songs by Brandy and I've played them 11 times
I have 2 songs by The Bravery and I've played them 10 times

Tuesday, 28 August 2007

Tuesday 28/08/07

On Sunday at 2300 Andrews and Scott and Donnell and I meet up to go to the club. And the club is very busy because Monday is a Bank Holiday in the UK and lots of our friends are there. And some of the things that happen are:

- Most of the people I know and I don’t venture to the dancefloor even once, because it’s so busy, instead we hang out and chat

- A few people mention the AXM cover to me. One proceeds to congratulate me by groping my crotch (until I push his hand away) and at that point I wonder how polite or civil you can be with people like that. Fair enough, you want to say thank you when they tell you that you look great etc, but then how are you supposed to react when they become really lecherous like that? And if you tell them off and be rude their reaction will be to go around to everyone they know and say: you know that guy from the AXM cover, he’s a really arrogant twat, he was really rude to me, etc

- Somebody I know gets caught twice by security doing something he shouldn’t be doing (because he’s stupid and is doing it in public) but he doesn’t get thrown out, instead he has that something confiscated

- Frederik tells me of the time when he overdosed on Xenical (a prescription weight loss drug which decreases fat absorption by the body) and he…err…lost bowel control so he had to run in a pub toilet and in the end flushed his underwear down the toilet because they were so dirty

- I decide to run an abs competition amongst my friends to see who has the best six-pack and we takes pictures on my phone to determine that. And the pictures only focus on the abdominal area of the contestants, and we have: me versus Donnell, me versus Frederik, me versus Scott, me versus some guy Donnell is getting off with. And sadly in most of those cases I lose, and I mean I’m not too bad to start with – looks at my abs at the top of this page. Sadly these pictures (which I was planning to post on here) are forever lost, because…

- …I broke my phone a bit later on when I was in the club. For one reason or another I dropped it 3 times and in the end it went off and it refuses to switch back on. My biggest problem with this is the loss of all the pictures I have one there (including the abs ones). Wait – I just had a thought, maybe they’re saved on the memory card, instead of the actual phone. I’m sure the memory card should still be fine. I will have to check this and get back to you

EDIT: I had this checked and I actually still have the pictures. I will post them in the next blog because Scott has my memory card right now.

Anyway, around 0530 I get really bored of all this and I’m quite annoyed about breaking my phone and I decide to go home, even though the club stays open until 0700 and everybody else is staying. I take a taxi and get home and after a quick shower and a Valium I’m in bed by 0620.

Andrews and Scott and a few others stay until closing time and then go to Donnell’s house for a post-clubbing chill out party and then Andrews and Scott roll in at my flat around 1500.

And this brings me to the point of writing all this in the first place. I don’t like doing this anymore. I don’t like going clubbing. It’s too tiring and it takes too much out of me and I actually don’t even enjoy it that much when I’m there. Everyone else out of my friends seems to be more into it (they always stay later than I do, I just want to go home and sleep and then get up and have a normal day). And of course I’m not single and I’m not there to meet some guy, so that element of going out isn’t there for me either.

And there are lots of other things that happen when you go clubbing (things that people say, things that people do) that I can’t write on here because they are too extreme, and I actually don’t feel very comfortable with all this, possibly because I’m a bit of a moralist and definitely because I’m a bit over-sensitive.

I have felt like this for the last few months, but I was still going out because Scott and Donnell and others like it, but now I think I’ve reached a stage where I’m feeling OK about them going out and me staying in and I won’t feel like I’m missing out on anything. So I think that unless there is a very good reason, or I have a very sudden change of heart, I won’t go clubbing for a few months.

Anyway, come back soon for the abs pictures, because fair enough I may have all these issues and aspire to a dull, prosaic lifestyle, but it doesn’t mean that I’ll make this blog boring too.

I have 1 song by Boyzone and I've played it 7 times
I have 1 song by Brainbug and I've played it 3 times
I have 2 songs by Bran Van 3000 and I've played them 44 times

Sunday, 26 August 2007

Sunday 26/08/07

This will be a short post but I’ll make up with longer clubbing stories after Sunday night.

On Saturday evening it’s Donnell’s birthday dinner, so Andrews and Scott and I go to this Thai restaurant in North London. I’m wearing the same outfit as I did on Friday night, (i.e. brown Gucci loafers and H&M pink shirt and Louis Vuitton belt), but I’m wearing shorts instead of jeans. And here’s a picture of the outfit that prompts no less than 3 people at the dinner to make a joke about “where my yacht is” or “are we going on a boat later”, etc.

So quite a few people are there (maybe 10 or 12) most of which I have mentioned on here before. And for his birthday I have bought Donnell a wrist support strap from a rugby shop that rugby players wear when they’re injured. Donnell doesn’t play rugby of course, but I think it will make a great accessory when we go out and it will make him look tougher because people will think maybe he has a very active and sporty lifestyle and he injured himself playing rugby. Maybe this is just me though, and not everyone has a sports injury fetish.

I love sports injuries and that’s why I often wear wrist supports, wrap my knuckles or elbows and wear protective knee supports. Is that really that wrong?

So on Saturday night I’m home by 0100.

On Sunday Andrews and Scott and Donnell and I go to the gym and then we meet Mean and we go to Selfridges and I buy this hat, because a) it goes with my reindeer obsession and b) it will come in handy in Iceland in November. Here’s Scott demonstrating it, but don’t worry, it looks better on me.

Then we go to Apostrophe again and I have another hot chocolate and that makes my day and I’m glad that I’ve got over myself a bit now and I can eat things that aren’t that good for you and I don’t freak out about it. Maybe I’m on my way to overcoming my eating disorder, which is good I guess, even though it makes me less interesting.

I have 1 song by Booker T And The MG’s and I’ve played it 0 times
I have 1 song by Booty Love and I’ve played it 2 times
I have 1 song by Boy Least Likely To and I’ve played it 6 times

Friday, 24 August 2007

Friday 24/08/07

On Friday I pill myself up and go back to work, as I’ve had enough of sitting at home, resting my foot, not being able to go anywhere or do anything fun. Not to mention that the internet is not working.

Anyway, today’s topic is inspired by a cartoon Pam sent me earlier in the week. The cartoon shows an office where people revolt, smash things up, shut themselves out from the rest of the world and eventually start their own little society – in there.

So Pam says, how would you like it if that happened in here, and I says, sure you can go ahead with that but let me get out first, and then Pam says what about if it was all men stuck in here and I says, fair enough as long as I can choose who those men will be.

And because on Thursday I’m stuck at home with no internet access and unable to go anywhere, I actually do have a think about it and choose the dudes that I want to get stuck in the office with, and here they are. I’ve chosen 11 and put them in reverse order of preference.

No.11: Russian gymnast Aleksei Nemov

This guy was a very famous and successful gymnast in the 1990s. I remember thinking he was the perfect human being, but please try to remember I was very young and sheltered. Now I can spot some issues with his face plus he’s a bit top heavy. I would go on the internet to find shirtless pictures of him, and I remember reading on messageboards how disappointed people were that he was straight and married, and I don’t really get that – even if he were gay, so what, as if I’m gonna meet him anyway.

No.10: English footballer Michael Clegg

I base this infatuation on only 2 shirtless pictures I have found on the internet. Again, this is a guy I used to like when I was 18 or something. I usually don’t like footballers because they have scrawny upper bodies (e.g. David Beckham – look at his arms, his chest. Am I really going to fancy that? No). Although they might have good legs, they still look unbalanced. Michael is an exception because (google tells me) he’s a “keen bodybuilder and owns a gym with his brother”. Michael was signed to Manchester United but he really was crap so I don’t think he played any games. In any case he has nice boobs, so who cares. Mind you, I bet he’s old, fat and married now.

No. 9: American martial arts fighter Matt Hughes

I love Matt and the fact that he’s a fighter and he has a big square head. Also I bet Matt would really love me and he would break someone’s legs if they were mean to me. Before that, he might have to leave his wife and 2 children of course. Also I love the fact that Matt is only 5’9”, so he’s short and muscled and compact.

No. 8: French straight porn star Sebastian Barrio

Sebastian used to be in straight porn that I watched before I came out. I would buy straight porn, but obviously focus on the men. I am quite sure that I have watched more straight porn in my life than gay. I don’t know why I’m attracted to this guy who looks like an Eastern European car thief, but I am.

No.7: English footballer Frank Lampard

Yes, yes I know, Frank is another footballer and he actually has thin arms and no chest, but I like him. He’s your average English lad-type person, which is quite sexy. On top of that he shaves his armpits when he goes on holiday (as seen in British tabloids), so we will get on like a house on fire. Let’s hope he doesn’t want to talk about football, because quite frankly I’m just not that interested.

No. 6: British actor Christian Bale

You all know Christian Bale and I actually only want him for the way he looks in American Psycho. I do have some issues with his face (what the hell is going on with that nose?) but I’ll put up with that I suppose. Also, because his body in American Psycho is so preened and worked out to perfection, it will be almost impossible to maintain in the long term (without religious training and diet). I am only building myself up for disappointment here. Hmm…maybe he shouldn’t be this high up after all.

No. 5: English rugby player Jonny Wilkinson

Another gay fantasy clichĂ©, I actually fancy but dislike Jonny. Jonny seems to have a complex about his appearance. After he won the Rugby World Cup for England a few years back, there was huge media interest in him. Sadly, Jonny has issues and he didn’t take advantage of any of that. It’s like he’s scared to be admired. I also imagine him to be fucking dull. What you need is that face and body, with David Beckham’s needy, queeny, attention seeking personality. Then we’d have magic.

No. 4: American actor Seann William Scott

He was quite fanciable in Dude Where’s My Car, and the he went and discovered steroids, which elevated him to the next level. Mind you, if I’m gonna spend any time with him, he has to promise to be a little less hyper and shut up every now and then. Bobby Vanquish (see blog links), has recently made some implications about Seann and a closet, which is the first I’ve heard about it. Again though, what does it matter, as if he’s gonna go for me.

No. 3: English model Will Chalker

Will is a very successful male model. He comes with a story, which is that he used to be a builder, until a friend of his took some pictures and sent them off somewhere without Will knowing anything, and then Will suddenly became an international superstar. This is obviously made up bollocks, to give him a more “down to earth” appeal and a masculine, “I ain’t bothered about this fashion shit” edge. I’m sure the truth is that Will spent 3 months trawling around the London model agency circuit until he got accidentally signed. I actually like him for his down to earth appeal and masculine edge. Oh wait, the media campaign does work on gullible queens like me.

No.2: English rugby player Ben Cohen

Ben is big and rough and hairy – not unlike a grizzly bear. He combines that with an approachable, smiley face which makes him irresistible to every gay man I’ve ever known. Mind you, I bet he’s a bit disappointing in real life, because let’s face it, he’s way too hairy and also he has the body type that once he stops playing rugby on an international level, he will lose any definition he currently has and balloon up to 28 stone.

No.1: English rugby player Josh Lewsey

I love Josh. I don’t understand how anyone can be THAT big and THAT defined at the same time, but also look natural, not like some destroyed body builder. Also he seems like a great guy, but that is obviously just in my head, because I want to like him. In terms of fitness and general appeal, Josh makes me look subhuman in comparison.

I have 1 song by Bodyrox and I've played it 12 times
I have 1 song by Bon Garcon and I've played it 112 times
I have 2 songs by Bon Jovi and I've played them 43 times

Thursday, 23 August 2007

Thursday 23/08/07

On Wednesday lunchtime I meet Scott and we go to H&M, because I want to buy some cheap shirts. If I’m going to do the whole long-sleeved shirt and jumper look I need some more new clothes. And the jumpers can be nice and expensive (well, as expensive as Ralph Lauren jumpers are really, nothing crazy) but the shirts can come from H&M, I don’t care. Especially as they only cost £10 and they’re nice enough. So I buy 3 to start me off – 2 pink ones (the same) and a white one.

After work, at the gym, I meet Stephen and Stephen is waiting for his training partner and during that time we decide to play a game. And the game is to take turns to say what we hate about this other gay guy in the gym who is there all the time and we don’t like. The main reason why I don’t like him actually is because he goes to the gym to network and be a social butterfly and chat to other gay people. Not to work out.

If he realizes that you’re gay, he’ll come and chat to you endlessly and interrupt your workout and try to be your friend.

And here’s how our game goes:

Me: I hate how he talks to every gay person in the gym
Stephen: I hate his teeth
Me: He’s really camp
Stephen: I hate his voice
Me: I hate his accent, it’s put on and fake
Stephen: He’s too short
Me: I hate his body
Stephen: I hate how he stares all the time

After that, we are sufficiently bitched out and we have guaranteed our place in hell, and Stephen’s training partner arrives. Stephen’s training partner is straight and Stephen is under the illusion that he doesn’t know Stephen is gay. Fair enough, Stephen isn’t camp or very obvious but a) he talks to other gay people in the gym who are, b) he talks about clubbing and going out all the time and c) he deals steroids.

When I point these things out to him, Stephen concedes that yes, maybe the training partner does know that he’s gay, but he doesn’t want to bring it up or talk about it, because that might put a strain on their friendship or they might fall out and then the training partner wouldn’t know who to buy his steroids from. So everyone keeps quiet and we’re all happy.

In the evening at home, I’m watching Family Guy DVDs and lying on the sofa, and on the way back from one of several trips to the kitchen to get water / chocolates / other snacks I will regret, I walk into my coffee table and really hurt my ankle. And my ankle really swells up and when I wake up in the morning it hurts even more and I can’t stand or walk on it, so I take some industrial strength prescription painkillers that I find in the cupboard and skip work.

Finally, in response to the conversation about my accent in the blog comments yesterday, I’ve decided to post a short audio/video clip, so you can hear what I sound like. I thought I might read out something from my blog, but everything I looked at seems too personal and I’d be embarrassed to read it our loud (even though it seems OK writing it and sharing it with 1,000 people a day), so I decide to read out something completely neutral and impersonal and dull: an error message that comes up when I can't connect to the internet.

Here’s the clip:


I have 2 songs by Bobby Brown and I’ve played them 6 times
I have 1 song by Bodies With Organs and I’ve played it 6 times
I have 1 song by Bodyrockers and I’ve played it 45 times

Wednesday, 22 August 2007

Wednesday 22/08/07

On Tuesday I’m in the office and I get called to the reception at the front, because there’s a delivery for me that I have to sign for and I get a bit excited, but obviously not too much – within reason (3 out of 10?).

So I pick up the envelope and I think I know what it is and I open it and I’m right – it’s the decision for my British citizenship application.

To those who haven’t been following the story, this has been an incredibly long and relatively costly and quite tedious process. I had to have worked in the UK for 4 years and I had to apply for permanent residence in the UK and then I had to study and take a test about “Life in the UK” (even though I’ve lived here for 9 years) and finally I sent off my application on the 14th of May this year. And all this cost me around £750-£850 in total (I can’t remember exactly now and I don’t care anymore), because obviously every part of the process costs.

And I had no reason to do this, I can stay here as long as I want with my Greek passport, apart from I really wanted it – for some reason which I haven’t figured out just yet.

So anyway, I open the envelope and I find all my supporting documents (passport, payslips for the last 4 years, all kinds of shit), but I don’t care about any of this, what I care about is the covering letter and the covering letter says:

“I am pleased to say that your application has been successful and you will shortly receive a letter inviting you to attend a citizenship ceremony”.

And when I read this my excitement goes up to the next level (6 out of 10?), but obviously I try to conceal that, because I make a point in my life of not being excited about anything. It works better like that.

So then I go back to my desk and I send an email to a few good friends to let them know, and my email reads:

“I just got a letter (and my papers back).

The letter says: “I am pleased to say that your application has been successful and you will shortly receive a letter inviting you to attend a citizenship ceremony”.


Ha! In your face!


And that’s it really – I can now look forward to my citizenship ceremony (whatever that is) and then I can apply for my shiny new passport.

The best reply to my news comes from Andrews, who says:

“Eeek so you are a Briton now! What happens at the ceremony? Does this mean you will stop speaking in that ridiculous accent now?”

And the answer Andrews is no, I will keep this hilarious accent, because I may be suddenly be British but Britain celebrates its diversity, welcomes people from different backgrounds and is a melting pot for international influences and cultures*. (*This is all bollocks obviously, the real reason is that I can’t shake off this damn accent no matter what I do).

Anyway, this whole thing has left me with a bittersweet taste and slightly upset (because I guess if I didn’t get upset over everything I wouldn’t be me) and what I’ve been thinking is:

OK, I lived in Greece for 18 years and I know everything there is to know about it culturally (the language, how people behave, what people do for fun, where people live etc). And I’ve lived in the UK for 9 years and I feel almost the same, i.e. I’ve figured it out and I sort of belong here.

But what upsets me is that I’m kinda old now (27) and there are some other countries out there that I would love to know more about, but I’ll never have the chance. And I could go on holiday there endlessly or I could go traveling and spend a couple of months in The Netherlands for example, but I will never really get to know any more countries and be part of them (like I am to Greece and England), because I would have to spend a good 10 years there to do that and I don’t think I have the time for that.

For example when I’m in a hotel abroad sometimes and I watch TV there (where they have a selection of different European channels) I will catch a Saturday night talent show from Germany or something, and I’ll watch it for a while and think about the millions of German people also watching it at the same time, and how they recognize the people on it, and how they’ll go to work on Monday and talk about it, etc. And I’ll never see this program again.

Basically, there is a whole other world out there (or several actually) that I will never really find out much about. And I feel a bit left out and upset.

And the countries that I would love to live in and be part of are: Germany, Holland, Australia. And to a lesser extent New Zealand and France. So 10 years in each of those would take me to 77 years of age, and I’m planning to be dead long before that.

I have 1 song by Bob Dylan and I've played it 0 times
I have 1 song by Bob Marley and I've played it 13 times
I have 12 songs by Bob Sinclair and I've played them 186 times

Tuesday, 21 August 2007

Tuesday 21/08/07

At the weekend I’m not feeling so great because I have a cold and for that cold I can blame my sister who kept turning the air conditioning on in the middle of the night (when I was in Athens) and I kept waking up freezing.

So on Friday night I land at Heathrow and on the way back home I see 4 people in their early 20s on the tube who I really like the look of (2 guys and 2 girls) and they are too stylish to be English, so I go near them to eavesdrop and inevitably they are French. The boys are wearing jeans and loafers and long sleeved shirts with jumpers on top and the girls are wearing tight fitting jeans and great shoes and holding nice handbags and I so desperately want to be one of those people, or at least to be their friend. I haven’t really met that many French people, but the ones I know are so stylish and fashionable and effortless. Does anyone in France read this? How do you all learn how to dress?

And then I get home and get changed and go straight out to meet Scott in Soho, and I’m wearing some Diesel jeans and my brown Gucci loafers and a long sleeved white shirt from DKNY (collar up) with a pale blue Ralph Lauren jumper on top, because I want to copy those guys. Also I feel like wearing something nice and smart and non-revealing and gay, because I know that AXM is out and I feel self-conscious and because I’m not wearing anything in the magazine, my initial reaction is to cover myself up as much as possible every time I go out in the next month at least.

On Saturday I go food shopping and then meet Donnell and Scott and go to the gym, where I do legs. Then we walk around a bit and try to find a restaurant where Donnell can have his birthday dinner next week and then suddenly it’s 2000 and I go back home, where the TV is waiting for me. Then a couple of hours later Scott comes over and we watch a film together and then it all goes wrong and we fall out and he goes home. By that time it’s 0230 and I can’t sleep anymore so I take some pills. Then I wake up at 1030 and it’s time for Soho Pride.

Well actually everyone else I know goes to a house party first (at 1100), but I’m feeling quite sick and not very sociable, so I hang around at home and then I go and meet everyone in Soho around 1430.

For this event I’m wearing a big hoodie (University of Sheffield written across) and sunglasses even though it’s cloudy (dark and discreet ones – not “look at me” gay sunglasses), because I’m still feeling self conscious and want to hide myself. And everyone I’m friends with is there, plus about 2,386 half-acquaintances that I see out clubbing.

So I play out with Scott, Donnell, Brendan, Moore, Jimmy, Spunky, Frederik, et al for a while (trying to avoid talking to the half-acquaintances) but everyone is getting progressively drunk and / or trashed and of course I don’t do these things, so at 1730 I take the tube and go home.

And here is a picture of some of those people walking somewhere.

And here is another picture from DTPM last week which I forgot to post and it shows me giving Anthony the Grip.

I have 29 songs by Blur and I've played them 271 times
I have 2 songs by Boards Of Canada and I've played them 1 time
I have 1 song by Bob Dorough and I've played it 6 times

Sunday, 19 August 2007

Monday 19/08/07

So on Wednesday when I’m still in Athens, Scott sends me a text and tells me that AXM is out in London. At that point obviously I freak out and I ring straight back to find out a) which pictures have been used and b) what I have been quoted as saying. Scott doesn’t remember any of these things obviously (he hasn’t bought the magazine, he just saw it) so I send him back to the shop for a thorough description.

As in the previous post about the covers I’ve accidentally been on, here is a description of this new one.

Cover No.5: AXM September 2007

Good things about this cover:

- I only look 50% retarded
- At least I’m not grinning
- I’m wearing a red Kabbalah wristband which will work wonders in protecting me from the Evil Eye (or make people think I’m even more of a cunt, I’m not sure which)

Bad things about this cover:

- I don’t know what I’m doing with my right hand – perhaps stroking myself?
- I don’t know what I’m doing with my left hand either – why am I holding an orange baseball cap there, hmm?
- I look way too thin and not very muscly

“Interesting” fact about this cover:

- Seriously, I promise it will be my last one, as I’m never doing a photoshoot again

Anyway, my interview inside isn’t all that bad and I haven’t been misquoted on anything. It’s kinda boring though and I wish I could have given funny answers to the questions they asked me, but I’m not sure how humour comes across in print and I took the safe option of not taking the piss. Apart from where I say I only take my clothes of if a magazine is around.

This is another picture I took at the newsagent’s when I got back to London – here’s my daft, naked image squeezed between Janet Jackson, Posh and Becks, some guys making out on the cover of Gay Times, a completely destroyed bodybuilder and some naked broad on the cover of Front magazine (surely my female equivalent: a trashy, self absorbed whore). Classy.

Interestingly, the only person in this selection of magazine covers wearing any clothes is Janet Jackson. That’s 80% naked vs. 20% clothed magazine covers in September 2007.

Now then, what’s more exciting is that in the next issue I will be writing an article for AXM, so feel free to check that out in a month.

In the meantime, if you want to be nice:

a) Buy this month’s issue, so they don’t have a complete failure, make a huge loss, close down the magazine and blame my picture on the cover

b) Contact AXM and tell them how amazing the picture is / what a revolution in modern publishing this month’s cover has brought / how much you’re looking forward to reading my amazing insights next month.

Let’s face it we all know I just look like some stupid kid with neck cramp holding a hat in front of his crotch but you are supposed to be on my side innit.

I have 3 songs by The Bloodhound Gang and I've played them 20 times
I have 1 song by Blueboy and I've played it 7 times
I have 7 songs by The Bluetones and I've played them 37 times

Sunday, 12 August 2007

Sunday 12/08/07

On Friday after work and the gym I meet up with Anthony to play out in Soho. Anthony is somebody I’ve been chatting to online for months, maybe a year, but this is the first time I’ve met him. Anthony is very fit and nice, but I’m not gonna go into this much more, because he’s probably reading this and we don’t want to embarrass him.

Anyway, Anthony is English but he’s working in Germany at the moment and he’s coming back to the UK in October 2008. So the plan is:

- At the moment obviously I’m going out with Scott
- Scott and I split up in March 2008
- I spend a few months being devastated and moping around
- About 6 months later I have got over the situation and I feel ready to move on
- Conveniently, Anthony comes back around that time and we go out together
- The end

So on Friday night we hang out on the streets in Soho (it’s very warm) and we discuss these plans and I drink water and Anthony drinks “vodka with the dietest of diet cokes you’ve got” and we chat to Scott who we meet every now and then as we walk around and then we go home just before midnight.

On Saturday afternoon I meet Donnell and we go to Soho Square to sit in the sun (it’s still very hot) and then Scott also turns up but he doesn’t stay very long because we fall out and he walks off. Then I go home on my own and sit there for the next 5 hours, watching TV having made the decision to not call Scott no matter what and then I arrange to meet Anthony for drinks in the evening.

As I come out of the tube Scott rings me and we make up and then we go and meet Anthony (and his friends) together. At some point during the evening, Anthony flexes his bicep for us and I realize that if I were actually going out with him I would be depressed by now because his arm measures 17 inches and mine is only 14 and ¾ and I can’t imagine I would ever be able to live with that. Mind you Anthony is 6ft tall and I’m only 5ft8 but it still hurts me how he has bigger arms than me.

So once again, I go home before midnight and watch some Family Guy and then sleep.
On Sunday I pack for my trip to Athens on Monday and then I go to the gym and meet Donnell and we work out together, but mainly we chat. Stephen is also there and we talk about other people in the gym, including:

- Some guy who’s there and Stephen knows and is a bit older than us (late 30s? early 40s?) and blatantly on steroids and I hope that when I’ve reached that age, I will have grown up a bit and grown out of measuring my biceps

- Some other guy who we all vaguely know, because he’s at the gym all the time, and he often comes up to us and gives us tips or corrects our technique when we work out / tells that that we do things wrong, and I don’t want to sound like a cunt, but to be honest he’s a bit out of shape and I don’t know why I should take his advice really

Anyway, on Sunday night I’m planning to go clubbing with Anthony and Scott, but I’ll leave early (around 0300), because I have to get up relatively early and catch my flight.

So when I’m in Athens I will try to continue blogging (because there won’t be much else to do) apart from a couple of days maybe when we go to the house near the beach where there is no internet connection.

I have 1 song by Black Rebel Motorcycle Band and I've played it 5 times
I have 1 song by Black Rock and I've played it 9 times
I have 1 song by Black Sabbath and I've played it 29 times

Friday, 10 August 2007

Friday 10/08/07

On Thursday I go to the gym and I do shoulders and I listen to David Gray on my iPod (the White Ladder album all the way through), which surely makes me possibly straight and definitely boring, because I’m not sure I have met a gay person before who has even a passing interest in David Gray.

Anyway, at the gym there is also this guy (let’s call him Tom) who I think is very sexy, and here are the things that we know about this guy:

- Tom is gay. I know that because he is with another gay guy who I recognize and even though Tom doesn’t look gay to the untrained eye, I can obviously tell

- Tom is not a queeny or camp or well-groomed gay. He is the gay that I would aspire to be if I didn’t look like an 18-year old and had the ability to grow chest hair / a full beard etc. I imagine he goes to Crash. Sadly, I can’t look like a rough, masculine sexy guy (like Tom), so I have to do my best with what I was given

- Tom wouldn’t dream about trimming his leg or armpit hair. And if he did it would look stupid on him, but now he looks perfect

- People like Tom are not attracted to people like me. They are attracted to people like Tom. Hence, the only time Tom looks at me, is when I’ve given him so many sideways glances that even a brick wall would realize and turn around and look

- I find this healthy to some extent actually, because it means that no matter how many people tell you that you are fit and sexy etc and no matter how many magazines choose you to be on their cover, there is an equal amount of people out there, who wouldn’t give a shit about you and your look. It’s good to keep that in mind

- At moments like this, I am very glad I’m in a relationship, because if I weren’t I would probably try to flirt with Tom and I would get very disappointed. At least now I can pretend I didn’t even try

Anyway, this all happens in the gym and then I go home and put my nipple clamps on but I’m still in pain from yesterday and can only wear them for half an hour or something. As the nipple clamp picture that I posted yesterday though proved to be quite popular (well actually equally loved and hated really), maybe I should start having more extensive looks in my drawers and see what other leather / torture devices I can find. And then post pictures of them.

Let’s start with an innocent, inconspicuous harness I found.

On Friday at lunchtime I go swimming (it’s very warm in London today) and then I go and buy a pair of shorts (very thin blue and white vertical stripes) to wear on the flight to Athens next week. These shorts are longer than what I would usually wear (knee length), therefore parent-friendly. I am planning to wear them with my brown loafers that I bought recently and a polo shirt, which should give the impression that I’m a nice upper-middle class, preppy 27-year-old with a healthy balance between his work and (straight) personal life. I.e. I will walk straight into that will.

Another thing that occurs to me on Friday is that all my underwear is gay. Well, they’re not thongs or animal print briefs or anything, but they’re 95% from Aussiebum. I actually don’t get this – why do I have to buy products that are targeted at a gay audience by using pictures of formulaic, shiny, groomed half-naked men? I blame myself for being an idiot and falling for this really, I guess when I came out 2 years ago I wanted to fit in with every other gays and quickly replaced all my old underwear with Aussiebums. And have continued buying them since.

Now, 2 years later, I am actually quite embarrassed when you can see my waistband and it screams Aussiebum at you. It just says: I’m just somebody who goes to the gym every day, goes clubbing every two weeks and looks at the pictures in QX to see who he’ll recognize. Oh wait, that’s exactly who I am.

Anyway, I can be hypocritical if I want and I’ll continue doing these things, but with wearing different underwear. Tom from the gym wouldn’t wear them, why should I? So I make the decision that I’m not buying any more Aussiebums ever again. Even though they’re very cheap.

I have 1 song by Black Box and I've played it 27 times
I have 3 songs by Black Eyed Peas and I've played them 1 times
I have 3 songs by Black Grape and I've played them 6 times

Thursday, 9 August 2007

Thursday 09/08/07

On Wednesday after work I go to H&M and buy some new swimming shorts in preparation for my trip to Athens next week. They have to be less gay than the swimming trunks I currently wear, in order to fool my dad so he won’t cut my out of the will. If I ever want to have a chance of buying an apartment in London I’ve got to sell all that property in Athens. Other things I have to sort out before I go back:

- Buy a whole new wardrobe really
- Be less gym-muscly
- Hide my tattoo
- Find a fake girlfriend
- Grow some chest hair (out of nowhere)

But the swimming shorts are definitely a start.

At the gym I do chest in a desperate attempt to look more like the Sexy Gym Steroid Guy from yesterday’s post, but as I have no chance really (I’m staying clear of steroids at the moment cause my internal organs too much and would rather have a functioning liver than 18 inch biceps), I decide that my only other way to emulate him is to have sticky out gay nipples.

This is a long term project of course, but you’ve got to start somewhere, so when I go home I put on some nipple clamps that I find in a drawer (by chance) and keep them on for 3 hours. This is actually very painful and by that point I can’t lift my arms / move around on the sofa / they’ve given me a headache / my stomach hurts. I don’t know how all these symptoms can be caused by a tight grip around your nipples for an extended period of time, but the picture below might give you an idea of the pain and agony.

Unfortunately, as anyone who has had a similar experience will testify, the worst pain is yet to come and it occurs when you actually take them off. For the first few seconds I am jumping around and shouting in absolute torture, but that’s fine, I’m willing to put up with this if it’s going to make me sexy.

On Thursday daytime, the following things happen:

- The magazine I did the shoot for last week had told me that I would get to see some first pictures on Friday or Monday, so today I email them for the second time and ask if they’re available yet. I get sent one picture (I’m not going to put it up here yet because I’m not sure I’m allowed to do that before the magazine is out). Then I email them again and ask if this is the picture that will be used on the cover, but I never hear back, so I presume that no, my picture will probably not be going on the cover and they have chosen one of the Hollyoaks guys instead or something. Which does make sense really, as those people are famous (well, within reason) and I’m not

EDIT: Err...I guess I was wrong, they got back to me and I'll be on the cover. Eeek.

- I receive some pictures from the Brighton Pride weekend that friends took, so here’s one from the chill out we went to after the party. This is Donnell, Brendan and me sleeping. See, it’s a real chill out with people sleeping and not an orgy “chill out” like I guess everyone else was having at the same time. Not that I look down on those, if I were single I’d probably be there too

I have 5 songs by Bis and I've played them 53 times
I have 56 songs by Bjork and I've played them 374 times
I have 1 song by Black and I've played it 20 times

Tuesday, 7 August 2007

Tuesday 07/08/07

Monday and Tuesday are very busy days at work and that’s never fun, but at least I’ve got next week off so I won’t start taking Valium at work just yet.

On the positive side, there’s something else that keeps me going: I have decided to replace my 1100 can of tuna with a carby snack instead, because I realized I was eating about 400 grams of protein on a daily basis, which a) is a bit pointless and b) would leave me with no kidneys in two years’ time. Because apparently eating too much protein fucks up your kidneys a bit and I suppose in the dilemma – big muscles vs kidneys you have to choose the kidneys (even though you have two).

So from now on at 1100 I have a bagel with peanut butter and apricot jam (toasted). Because I’m very simple, this is enough to make me excited from late evening onwards, because I can go to bed and think about waking up, going to the office, doing some work and then suddenly before I know it, it’s time to eat a nice toasted bagel.

So on Monday after work I go to the gym and I do biceps and triceps listening to Suffer Little Children by The Smiths non-stop and then I get home, where my internet isn’t working and there’s nothing good on TV, so I put on 3 episodes of Sex And The City and watch them before I go to bed. I don’t like this programme by the way, I’m just scraping the bottom of the barrel here until somebody buys me the Family Guy DVDs.

However, when I go to bed I start having some mild panic attacks and of course I can’t sleep, and the panic attacks mainly involve my photoshoot last week. And I’m worried that the picture might end up on the cover of the magazine and I’m starting to really worry about that and feel very self conscious. And more specifically my thoughts are:

- I shouldn’t have done this photo shoot, particularly after I decided that I didn’t want to have my picture taken ever again

- What exactly am I trying to achieve? It’s not going to help my “modeling career” (because I don’t have one and I don’t want to pursue one)

- Why did I do it? I don’t want to appear sexually attractive to the people that will see it / buy the magazine; there is no point in that as I’m in a relationship and not looking to sleep around

- It’s going to come across really tacky and embarrassing and I already feel like I should leave the country during the month when it’s out. Remember, it involves me wearing nothing but a hat in front of my knob and/or pulling faces at a naked drag queen sitting on a photocopier. Read back this sentence and tell me you wouldn’t want to kill yourself too if you were me

- How different is it really taking your clothes off and having your picture taken to being a prostitute? Why do I make wrong choices like that?

And with these thoughts the last time I look at the clock it’s 0330 and I still haven’t slept.

On Tuesday, in the morning light I feel a bit more relaxed and decide that it’s not that bad and at the end of the day nothing really matters.

I have 7 songs by Beyonce and I’ve played them 88 times
I have 1 song by Bill Withers and I’ve played it 8 times
I have 2 songs by Billie Piper and I’ve played them 11 times

Monday, 6 August 2007

Monday 06/08/07

On Friday I decide to give Scott both his sunglasses and the birthday card with the 32 Reasons. Well it’s more an A4 page that I tore off a notepad and wrote the reasons on than an actual card, but it still counts. So I leave work and I go to the gym and then home to get changed and then head to the party. I get there around 2030 and make attempts to chat to some people and then suddenly it’s midnight and everyone rushes to catch the last tube home because they want to get some decent sleep before going to Brighton Pride on Saturday.

It seems that around 96% of the party guests are actually going to Brighton. Note to non-UK residents: Brighton is on the coast, about an hour on the train south of London and I think it’s generally recognized that it hosts the best Pride in the UK – if your idea of a good Pride is seeing the same old people that you see in clubs in London, but getting off their faces in a different location. Which mine is.

The party on Friday night is summed up in Orville’s text message the morning after, which says: “Cheers to you and Scott for last night. You have cool friends who are a credit to the international ___ trade. Am off to Brighton after all, so I will keep my eyes open for the famous scooter”.

On Saturday we wake up at Scott’s place and I continue reading American Psycho as he tidies up / packs everything we need for our day trip (i.e. chicken breasts, sunscreen, chocolates, bottles of water). Everyone else that we know gets the train there, but we ride Scott’s scooter, which gives me plenty of time to listen to my iPod and not talk to anyone. On the negative side, after an hour and a half of sitting there my ass hurts and I can hardly walk.

Anyway, at Brighton Pride (just imagine a big park with dance tents / food stalls / lesbonyms / fairground rides / gays in all forms, shapes and sizes / police / straight people who came for the free party), the following things happen:

Scott and I park the bike and start making our way through the park. Until we get to the shallow, muscle Mary dance tent where all our friends are and we belong, I worry that we look quite blatantly like London queens whose lives revolve around the gym and taking steroids. Scott tells me that I shouldn’t worry, because this is actually what we are.

I spend the following 6 hours:

- sitting on the grass / standing outside the dance tent with Donnell, Brendan, Spunky, David, Moore and many other friends who I haven’t given nicknames to and I can’t be bothered

- walking through the dance tent / dancing in the dance tent, saying hi to and air kissing dozens of other acquaintances who I wouldn’t even know the real names of

- feeling upset and very self conscious when somebody walks past who looks unrealistically good

- making myself feel better by thinking that everyone who looks good is on steroids, even though I’m sure that’s not entirely true

Here are some pictures from the day.

Near the end I start passing out, because obviously the excitement of the day has been too much (I also blame a potential sunstroke – nothing else) and Scott is kind enough to take 3 videos of this on his mobile phone. Also, it conveniently happens outside the dance tent as the party finishes and everyone starts coming out, which I’m sure is doing wonders for my reputation.

When the event ends at 2000, we hang around a bit and eventually make our way to a friend’s hotel room, where around 10 of us spend the following 6 hours:

- lying in bed together and chatting

Err...that’s it really.

Oh wait, something else happens. At some point Brendan tells us that he found a digital camera on the ground in the park and when he starts looking at the pictures he realises that he knows some of the people that appear in them. So he plans to return it to them. Then we have the ingenious idea that before he returns it maybe we should take some more pictures with it, therefore giving them a nice surprise. These pictures include: Donnell’s abs / Donnell’s underwear / my knob.

Finally, everyone else plans to go to a club which starts at 0400, but instead Scott and I get back on the scooter and drive back to London. We get home around 0500, take some Valium and sleep for a few hours.

I have 2 songs by Beth Orton and I’ve played them 17 times
I have 2 songs by Bette Midler and I’ve played them 79 times
I have 1 song by Beverly Knight and I’ve played it 7 times

Thursday, 2 August 2007

Thursday 02/08/07

On Thursday morning I wake up and obviously I’m feeling stressed about going to the shoot, but not insanely stressed, just 6/10 maybe. It beats a day in the office, you know? So I make my way to the gym and I do a quick workout and then Scott turns up and he points at my stomach and he says – “What’s that? You used to be able to see your abs through that top, you can’t anymore”. And this is the last thing I want to hear to be honest so I freak out and hit him a bit.

You know when you see sitcoms with people doing modeling on TV and everyone keeps telling the model that they look “fabulous” and they’re doing a great job and all that, and it sounds fake and ridiculous? Well there’s a reason for that – it really is nerve wracking standing there in front of a camera / under the lights / stared at by a crew of people you don’t know having your picture taken. So basically everyone has to lie to you constantly and tell you that you look fucking amazing and you’re doing great (like standing there is a fantastic achievement) because otherwise you’ll look like a scared little animal and all the photos will be shit. So in conclusion before and during a shoot I want to be lied to thanks.

So we get there for 1130 and we have to hang around for an hour or so because they haven’t finished shooting the people before (some boyband that haven’t released anything yet). And as we wait outside in the garden my stress has reached 8.5/10 and I’m practically whimpering so I ask Scott “Do I look like a confident model to you” and he says “No, more like a gibbering wreck – almost hysterical”. And this statement is very accurate actually, so I don’t get mad.

Then eventually I have my make up done and the shoot begins and during the shoot the following things happen:

- Obviously I’m not wearing any clothes (why else would they want me there) and I’m holding a lampshade to protect my modesty and I’m asked to hold it “purposefully” so that I’ll look more “natural”. I’m trying to remember the last time I found myself in this situation to draw some inspiration from, but sadly I can’t recall when I last was butt-naked in front of 5 people holding a piece of furniture to cover my knob

- The lampshade is obviously covering too much so I’m later handed a baseball cap in replacement, which I’m doing my best to use equally well as a dignity-defending prop

- On my head various props alternate: a hood, a Prada deerstalker hat, another baseball cap

- I am asked specifically not to smile and the look we want is cocky (no pun intended), mean, aggressive, even snarly. My favourite look is “blank” so I try to work around that

- I refuse to turn sideways or even 45 degrees – I actually refuse to assume any other position apart from head on, because there are no props to cover my ass, and I can promise you that’s not going in a magazine any time soon

- Once my individual shoot comes to an end, I play the part of “naked office boy” in a different setting where a drag queen is sat naked on a photocopier and I have to look at his / her ass and pull a face of amazement. This would come naturally on a different occasion, but when I’m asked to act surprised I can only muster a wide open mouth and a blank look. If these pictures are used I will collect all the magazines around the UK and burn them

At the end of the day I do a short interview that will be used in the magazine, which will help me come across as not only a posey queen (from the pictures) but also a complete moron (sample Q&A: “Do you find yourself naked a lot”, “No, not really, I’m very modest. Unless I’m having my picture taken for the cover of a magazine, in which case I have no problem whatsoever getting my ass out”)

Finally, they asked me what I wanted to be credited as. Other people taking part in the feature are actors (from Hollyoaks), musicians (some boyband) or reality TV stars (from Shipwrecked). As I actually didn’t know why I was asked to do this anyway (having no media / showbiz credentials) I asked to be credited as a “writer” – well at least I’m writing an article for them in the following issue and err…I write this blog. And anyway, I would love to be a freelance writer and I get the idea that in the media you are what you claim to be, so there.

I have 7 songs by Ben Folds / Ben Folds Five and I have played them 40 times
I have 1 song by Bennet and I’ve played it 2 times
I have 7 songs by Benny Benassi and I’ve played them 110 times

Wednesday, 1 August 2007

Wednesday 01/08/07

On Tuesday I log on here and see that “London Preppy” has left a comment on the blog and first I get very worried because I don’t remember writing that stuff, but then I remember that I gave Matty my password so he can comment when he wants because he’s too lazy to open his own account.

So, Matty says:

“Hello. I'm hijacking your login to comment. Although your daily hits may be rising faster than your salary I feel with these flash-backs to your old blog that you're alienating your loyal "fans" (I use the term loosely; looser than a towel wrapped around your waist in the showers at the gym). All I want is new, funny and exciting news and stories on a daily basis. Not much to ask surely? Otherwise I look forward to reading about seeing Ian Thorpe, hospital antics last year and your international rowing career. Matty”

Matty appears to have a problem with me rehashing the Abercrombie story, but quite frankly it’s a good story that needs to be told. To everyone. Also there are unanswered questions left from it, like:

“What is the name of the blonde recruitment woman?”

“Dominique: Where is she now?”

“Should I have sucked Alex’s cock in the toilets at PrĂȘt to get the £6.50/hr job?”

Anyway, here’s a quick explanation on the other stories Matt mentions:

Ian Thorpe: I used to swim a lot and I was obsessed with Ian Thorpe, not because he’s hot (which he’s not) or because he’s gay (which he is), but because he’s a great swimmer. And my obsession conveniently peaked in 2002 when I used to live in Manchester and Ian came there to take part in the Commonwealth Games. At that point I was working as a lifeguard in the swimming pool where the Games took place and I spent quite a lot of the time stalking him and taking pictures. I.e. if somebody was drowning at the other end of the pool I wouldn’t have noticed them because Ian was sneezing or something and I was busy observing. (He never sneezed by the way, that would have been too good). I still have a massive picture I took of him with his nice Gold medal above my toilet in my flat right now.

My international rowing career: A few months after I moved to London in 2004, in my constant pursuit to a) make new friends, b) keep fit, c) be a normal person who plays sport and d) ogle at sexy athletes, I joined a rowing club. Obviously with a height of 5’8” I was a natural talent in a sport that requires you to be 6’2” minimum to get anywhere, but I kept doing this every weekend for about 4 months.

This involved getting up at 0645 on Saturdays and Sundays, catching a tube and a bus to the Club in order to be there for 0745 and killing myself rowing up an down the Thames for the next 2 hours with a bunch of other obsessives having nothing better to do before dawn on a Sunday in December.

This rowing phase coincided with me coming out, so eventually it occurred to me that a) I would rather pass out on the floor in Fire at 9am on a Sunday morning instead of passing out on a river bank in West London and b) the rowers weren’t that sexy after all, a bit too tall and with not enough definition. So I quit.

Finally, I have confirmed that I’m doing the AXM photoshoot on Thursday, so until then I am only eating chicken, tuna and green leaves. In case I get too hungry, Pam from the office has kindly made the following offer:

“Want me to bring you a toilet roll and a bowl of water?”

I have 1 song by Belly and I've played it 11 times
I have 1 song by The Beloved and I've played it 16 times
I have 1 song by Ben E King and I've played it 19 times