On Friday I finish work and I go to the gym where I do shoulders and Scott and Donnell are also there, but they’re doing some thing else (back? chest? cruising?) so who cares about these guys – not me. Then obviously I finish from the gym and I’m ready for my jog back home, which is the most exciting part of the day. And I get to the park I jogged through last time and I press play on my iPod and start listening to Love is a Battlefield by Pat Benetar, followed by This charming man by The Smiths followed by some Amy Winehouse and then I’m at home, tired and content.
Unfortunately that evening Donnell wants to go out and play in Soho, and even though I would much rather stay in and play with myself watching Desperate Housewives, I agree to go. The only motivation I have to go is that I get the opportunity to try on my new white clueless straight boy underwear with very low hanging shorts. And this is a picture that Donnell insists on taking because he think that I look ridiculous in the, but what does he know hmm?
So Donnell drags me to the Box for drinks (= water for me obviously). I don’t know if you’re familiar with the Box, but it’s the only bar in London that’s acceptable by the gym-obsessed gays who usually go clubbing – ‘m not sure why. It’s also very, very small (the name says it all really), so basically imagine 300 muscle Marys trapped in a Rubik’s cube.
I feel particularly uncomfortable in the Box, because you are always surrounded by acquaintances you half-know from clubbing and you have to chat to them, but I actually have no small talk whatsoever, so I get really nervous. Anyway, after a couple of hours of me standing there looking at my feet (it also helps that everyone is always taller then me and eye contact is easily avoided because I’m on a different level), I am free to go home.
When I get home, my low hanging shorts have dropped a few more inches from walking around and when I look in the mirror I am faced with the sight in the picture below. Amazingly, even though my arse is hanging out completely now they are still staying up, but I think the only resistance they are finding against gravity is from my willy at the front. Regardless though, I still maintain this is a good look.
On Saturday I spend the day with Scott and we go for walks around where he lives, which involve:
- Buying a 2-litre ice cream tub from Marks & Spencer’s and eating it all with plastic spoons whilst walking around
- Going to an antique shop where I see a set of old lockers which I would really like to buy (picture below), but they cost £575 and I think I should actually buy a nice flat first before I start spending money on expensive furniture
- Picking up my mobile phone which is now fixed after I broke it by dropping it on the floor 4 times last time I was out clubbing for reasons I don’t care to go into right now
In the evening I meet Matty and Mean and Nicole and they take me to a pub in East London, so obviously this is completely nerve-wracking and unacceptable, and after I finish my glass of water I am very ready to take the tube and go back to the safety of a W postcode (= West London).
Sunday is spent walking around with Scott again, going to an “Oyster and Seafood Fair”, drinking hot chocolate from Apostrophe, eating shortbread and spitting it straight out. I am also getting the usual Sunday depression and I wonder if I should feel guilty for hoping my parents will not fulfill the lifetime expectation so that I can inherit all their bloody property soon, rent it out, live on that income and never have to work again.
I have 1 song by the Candyskins and I’ve played it 5 times
I have 1 song by Capella and I’ve played it 14 times
I have 34 songs by the Cardigans and I’ve played them 433 times