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