Wednesday, 31 October 2007

Wednesday 31/10/07


THERE ARE SOME GOOD ENTRIES SO FAR, BUT PLEASE KEEP SENDING THEM IN. DON'T BE SCARED. Also there is a great entry so far too, but it's a fake one so it won't win. I'm not that stupid.

So for the millionth time, Matty, Mean and Ace are my friends and collectively known as the Lads. As you know Matty has been going out with Nicole for, what? 5 years now? 7? 32? Something like that. Inevitably, they will get married sooner or later, so it’s only wise for all of us to start preparing for this event right about now, really.

Of course the most important role in any wedding is that of the best man (give or take a bride, groom, couple’s parents, bridesmaids, etc), so on Tuesday, Mean and I have a conversation trying to assess who would be best suited for that position. The contestants are the rest of the Lads of course, plus a dark horse of a candidate, this guy called Campo who’s a friend of Matty’s from University (i.e. he pre-dates all of us).

Incidentally, Matty has not been involved in this conversation at all, hasn’t had any input, hasn’t come up with the list of potential best men, and isn’t even aware that he’s getting married as far as I know.

In any case, here’s the assessment of each candidate (alphabetically of course).


Brief overview: Currently living with Matty and Kate. Inflated sense of self-worth. Plays middle class, socially confident role well. Desired self image of expert opera / French literature knowledge very dubious amongst his friends, but can pull wool over eyes of non-perceptive wedding guests.

Pros: Middle England. Public speaking a gift. Looks ridiculous in real life but OK in white tie.
Cons: Pompous demeanour may just be crossing the line even for such an event.

Odds: 100/1


Brief overview: The nickname says it all. Former prep school, one of the boys, went to Uni with Matty so has advantage of tales full of hockey japes and student craziness. Bound to have silly braying accent. We’re scared of this guy because we don’t know much about him.

Pros: A Matty clone. Good stories definitely. Likely to be drunk 10 minutes in (that’s a good thing)
Cons: Stag night bound to be lame

Odds: 5/2 (favourite)

London Preppy

Brief overview: Too alternative. Foreign, gay, just plain wrong. Only previous interaction with Matty’s parents was when they visited the house we used to share. Blood starts running from my nose while I’m talking to his Mum (following excessive night). Dad picks up dog for photo opportunity and drops it on its head while I’m taking the picture.

Pros: Bride and groom like me. Able to write a good speech
Cons: Unable to deliver speech in comprehensible accent to 55-year-old Conservative voters (the wedding’s largest group). Too short – will look like the couple’s little cousin. Brings male date.

Odds: 33/1


Brief overview: Former public school, but not through money or status, through scholarship / actual merit (i.e. doesn’t count). Can only maintain civil public persona for a limited period of time. Will start sulking / falling out with people shortly after.

Pros: Can match the couple on height. Used to presenting to large crowds.
Cons: Too angry. A time bomb waiting to go off. Can’t fake it in social occasions. Bound to fall out with Matty’s Mum the night before. Mixed race (will not go down well with conservative crowds).

Odds: 50/1

I have1 song by Dopplereffekt and I've played it 4 times
I have 1 song by the Doves and I've played it 8 times
I have 2 songs by Dragonette and I've played them 6 times

Tuesday, 30 October 2007

Tuesday 30/10/07

So on Tuesday it’s my two-year anniversary with Scott, even though there’s actually been some dispute over that, because Scott insists that we shouldn’t count the first 3 months when we were having a threesome relationship with some other guy also and I insist that we should, because no matter how you take it I’ve been going out with Scott for two years and it doesn’t really matter how many other people were in the relationship in the beginning.

Anyway, to celebrate this momentous event, today I was going to post the original email/”chapter” that I had sent to my friends back then, describing in full detail the weekend that I met him (them), where, when, why and how.

(Incidentally, for those of you who don’t know, “chapters” are the 50 weekly emails I sent out to my close friends when I first came out and my life was a lot more eventful / destroyed than it is now).

Sadly, even though I thought I had saved all the chapters, I went back to check and realized that I have permanently deleted Chapter 32 – the week that I met those guys – possibly because I didn’t want them to read what I had said about them once we started going out.

So the next best thing that I can do to celebrate “London Preppy And Scott: An 2-Year Affair To Remember” is to share some pictures, documenting this ridiculous / lovely relationship.

November 2005. Beyond @ Coliseum

A classy picture taken inside a toilet cubicle at Beyond.

Still early days, when the relationship included 3 people, one of which is taking the picture, one is examining the floor and one is having a well-deserved rest against the toilet door – it’s been a long night you know (please note time: 0508am).

I don’t remember who passed out later that morning, but chances are all three.

March 2006. London Preppy’s bedroom, SW1

Taken soon after 3 became 2 / I came out of hospital. If I hadn’t blocked my eyes, you would be able to see the overwhelming sadness that overruns my whole life. I don’t know why, of course I can’t remember what was going through my mind at that particular moment, but no other picture has captured this better. Also, no other picture has captured better the straightness of my nose, a personal achievement I’m very proud of and you would be too if you were Greek (it’s a bit like being born a blonde African American).

May 2006. Photoshoot with Gaz

Tanned, buffed, scarily-white-toothed, Abercrombie-clad, this is the epitome of the ridiculous shallow gay in the beginning of the 21st century. Looking at this picture I’m tempted to go on a rant about the people in it being dumb, having a combined IQ of 85, presenting an unrealistic body image and being fake, even though one of them is me. I’m also tempted to put a sticker on it screaming “You are normal. THIS IS NOT”, like that activist lesbian recently did to posters around London.

I actually had this picture printed on a huge canvas in a moment of madness and I don’t know what to do with it anymore. I might try to sell it on here soon.

June 2006. DTPM @ Fabric

Another picture taken inside club toilets (a natural habitat for us, evidently).

The pose says: we pretend to be in love and will rub it in your face / we are a ridiculous mid-thirties straight couple comprising a balding accountant with hairy shoulders and an overweight Heat reader who just bought their first flat in West Ealing / we are penguins.

The outfits say: I can’t go on a quiet night out without wanting to attract all available attention to myself.

The abdominal muscles say: Yes, we ate popcorn earlier this evening, but made a quick trip to the toilet clutching a toothbrush shortly after (fact).

July 2007. Brighton Pride, Brighton

In the battle of who can wear the stupidest sunglasses, it’s a tie. The ice-cream van as a main feature in the background ruins the “I wanna be adored” / untouchable look we are working so hard to portray. But then again, this picture sums up the relationship more than any other. The sublime and the ridiculous co-existing hand in hand in beautiful harmony.

I have 1 song by Don McLean and I've played it 20 times
I have 1 song by Donna Lewis and I've played it 57 times
I have 9 songs by Donna Summer and I've played them 68 times

Monday, 29 October 2007

Monday 29/10/07


So over the weekend I only leave home for a maximum of 3 hours (the other 45 spent in front of the TV or lying in bed) and the 3 hours outside the house occur on Sunday afternoon when I go to the gym and then meet Anthony for coffee.

The gym: Scott and I decide to try this branch of our gym where we haven’t been before and it’s the only one that has a swimming pool in central London, but I never go there because it’s out of my way. And I don’t intend to work out, I just want to have a quick swim (no more than 6 lengths so that I don’t start losing weight) and then hang out in the Jacuzzi / steam room / sauna. Scott intends to work out and go on the sunbed.

And we go there and find out that the Jacuzzi / steam room / sauna are all out of order so I just do my 6 lengths, Scott goes on the sunbed, we shower, steal two gym towels and some guy’s underwear that we find in the changing rooms and leave.

The coffee: As you well know Anthony is back in the UK for a short holiday so Scott and I meet him at Apostrophe for a chat and some hot chocolate. And during the chat we talk about my new TV and agree that having a big TV is nice but it’s also very working class and people who have huge TVs like mine usually live in council estates and are on benefits and have saved for years to get one, and they need it so they can stick it in the living room and all 10 of their children can watch at the same time.

Still, this conversation fails to make me fall out of love with my TV and if this makes me proletarian, so be it.

After that I have to ask Anthony some questions of course, to assess whether he can be an ideal next boyfriend when I’m available again. And my main concern naturally is whether he loves me because of the way I look, or because of who I am (or he thinks I am anyway). OK, fair enough, he doesn’t actually love me yet, but I need to evaluate his motives and his potential. So I ask him: “Will you still love me if I lose all my muscles and definition?”

This is actually a very valid question and something that worries me a lot. I’m not saying that Scott only cares for my muscles of course and has stayed with me for 2 years just for that, but the things he only very compliments me about are: my boobs, my knob, my arms, my bum, my abs (in that order).

I don’t even want compliments on other intangible talents that I have to be honest (he can’t appreciate my writing because he’s dyslexic and doesn’t read much and he doesn’t care that I know all the lyrics word by word to The Smiths’ back catalogue or that I can recite the positions where all the Menswear singles charted between 1994 and 1997, because he doesn’t care much about music), but even on a superficial level, I feel a lot more comfortable when somebody tells me that I have nice eyes or a well-constructed face or the right shape ears or something, than anything related to what I have achieved by going to the gym.

And this is because I genuinely don’t consider my abs or my biceps or my pecs as part of me really and permanently, but more as something that is very temporary, a result of constant effort and restraint and nothing to base a real attraction to me on.

Also all these muscles will disappear when I get the next bout of Guillain Barre Syndrome (if I do) and I feel very insecure when people like me because of them. In other words my face will still be there if I don’t go to the gym for 2 months, but my six-pack won’t.

Anyway, if anyone is still with me, we’re at the point where I ask Anthony if he’ll still love me without the gym body and he gives a positive but non-committal answer (at least that’s how I interpret it), which makes me think that maybe if I plan to stop going to the gym or be sick again, I should also lower my standards in terms of boyfriends.

I have 9 songs by Dolly Parton and I've played them 86 times
I have 1 song by Dolores O'Riordan and I've played it 16 times
I have 1 song by Don Henley and I've played it 132 times

Sunday, 28 October 2007

Sunday 28/10/07


So on Saturday I wake up and as I’m waiting for my new TV to be delivered, something else arrives in the post before that, and that something is a picture from the Citizenship Ceremony I had a couple of weeks ago. And here is the picture showing me giving my oath, some bored civil servant with white hair and a painting of the Queen who sadly couldn’t be with us that day.

Then my TV arrives and it’s as big as anyone could have hoped, so I get rid of the old one, plug this one in (I manage to do this all by myself) and sit down for 11 hours of pure happiness. And here’s a picture of me having a chat with my new best friend, the only person I really need in my life.

In this picture you can also see my feet which I think is the first time in this blog, and a definite bonus for anyone who’s into that sort of thing.

Then at 1700 Enid arrives to have dinner and watch some more TV with me and the dinner consists of tuna steaks with mushrooms and green beans and broccoli followed by raspberry panacotta from M&S and the TV consists of The X Factor. The X Factor is a talent show like American Idol I guess, and I’m personally rooting for a contestant called Andy who can’t sing and doesn’t have any moves, but this is what he looks like with his shirt off, and this is enough really. Please try to ignore the face. Well in the first picture where you can see it anyway. In the second one we were spared.

Enid doesn’t get it all, and I suppose that she just doesn’t think like a gay man (i.e. if somebody has abs he’s Godlike instantly) and this theory is confirmed when Donnell arrives later (he’s a gay and likes Andy) and also Nicole (she’s a woman and doesn’t like Andy). Still, I think that Enid’s comment that Andy looks like a used up tea bag is a bit harsh, even though I see where she’s coming from.

On Sunday morning I wake up form a dream that I was having sex with 50 Cent, which is odd because a) 50 Cent isn’t exactly the blonde muscled clean-cut type that I usually like and b) he doesn’t look like somebody who would have an interest in getting fucked by me anyway. Then I go and download all of the singles 50 Cent has released so far and I think the last time I wanted to listen to somebody’s music just because I wanted to fuck them must have been when I played What’s Left Of Me by Nick Lachey 29 times in a row. Which also must explain Jessica Simpson’s 26 plays in my iPod.

Finally, I’ve had quite a response to Anthony’s picture that I posted yesterday – here it is again:

People have said that he’s really fit and I should consider going out with him when I’m single again, but I’m way ahead of you people, it’s all sorted. I’ve spoken about this before and here’s what I posted in August earlier this year:

“Anyway, Anthony is English but he’s working abroad 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 this is the deal and this is how we sealed it. Mind you judging from Anthony’s body language in this picture while I’m giving him the grip, it might not be looking so promising after all.

Finally, if there are any readers from Germany or France, can you please email me ( or leave a comment; I want to ask something. Thanks (EDIT: Thanks guys, got my answers now)

I have 3 songs by the DJ Tomekk and I've played them 13 times
I have 1 song by DMX Krew and I've played it 114 times
I have 8 songs by Dody and I've played them 31 times

Friday, 26 October 2007

Friday 26/10/07


On Tuesday lunchtime I’m walking around and as I’m determined to get myself an inappropriately large TV, I go down Tottenham Court Road, which as you know of course is the street with all the electronics shops. So I look at a couple of places and realize that the smallest TV I can realistically get is 46 inches, because anything smaller than that is just tiny and definitely not fuck-off enough. And I definitely want fuck-off.

Then I spot the one that I want, my TV, the TV that will play a thousand episodes of Sabrina the Teenage Witch and Frasier, the televisual equivalent of Josh Lewsey. And that TV is a Sony KDL46S2530 with an LCD screen coming in at 46 inches.

So I take a picture of that TV and later in the day I go online and research prices and it seems that the shop I saw it in has the lowest one. Saying lowest of course is relative, because it’s still the single most expensive thing I will have bought, edging ahead of my watch which had held the record previously.

And on Wednesday lunchtime I go and buy the TV. I’m making this sound effortless and easy, but of course it isn’t – I’m very good at buying clothes etc, but I’m crap at buying anything electronic. Every time I’ve bought a computer in the past I’ve asked somebody else to do it for me (Andrews, Mean). I mean, I really don’t know what I’m supposed to say to the salesperson: am I supposed to ask about specifications and technical features? Whatever their response is it will go straight over my head.

My particular concerns for the TV are: a) can I connect my Greek satellite dish to it, b) will porn look life-size on it, c) where can I hide it when my Dad next comes to visit. As I don’t think the little guy in the shop can assist with any of those, I walk in and my opening line involves something about the Sony TV in the window and when they can have it delivered to my place.

This seems to work and a short 25 minutes later (the guy is a real idiot honestly) I walk out, the proud owner of a big new toy, which will be at my flat on Saturday some time between 1100 and 1400.

On Friday I go to work wearing my England rugby top and I have big, effortless hair and the beginning of a good tan (courtesy of a sunbed session on Monday plus careful application of tinted moisturizer every day since) and I don’t just think it – I AM Toby Flood.

We've seen the England top before but here it goes again - front and back.

Of course because I’m wearing an obscene rugby top everyone in the office has a comment to make, but I’ve heard it all before and I’m prepared. Sample conversations:

Guy at the office 1: Did you have this top before last week or did you buy it then?

Me: I’ve had this 4 years actually. I bought it at the last world cup in 2003, so yes I did jump on the bandwagon, but at least I jumped on the bandwagon 4 years ago.

Guy in the office 2: Who’s your favourite England rugby player then? (I suppose he is trying to catch me out because I’m foreign and gay and therefore don’t deserve to know any players)

Me: Josh Lewsey (Little does he know that because I’m gay I know all the rugby players – but for the wrong reasons)

Finally, with regard to the BLR 2007 competition, we’ve been having some problems with the rule that says you can’t enter if I know you in real life.

Both Mean and Ace have tried to enter and I’ve refused them both, something which has turned them both bitter. This email conversation occurs between the Lads (Matty, Mean, Ace and me) on Friday afternoon:

Mean: “He's being quite insistent on this 'people I know' rule. I sent him a picture of my hairy boobs yesterday WHICH HE REFUSES TO ACCEPT as an entry”.

Me: “If I were accepting entries from people I know, you would have no chance of winning anyway, because my friend Anthony has also offered to enter, and he’s the muscliest, cutest little blonde bunny with perfect white skin since Josh Lewsey*”.

(*this is true, see picture below)

Matty: “You say that as if Josh has died”.

Me: “If Josh had died, I would be in the crematorium right now molesting the body”.

Matty: *head sinks into hands*

And as promised here is Anthony, and right below me, copying his pose so we can make comparisons. See? Flawless white little muscle bunny (aka Josh Lewsey lookalike), versus London Preppy (aka Toby Flood wannabe); I know which one I prefer.

I have 1 song by DJ Sasha and I've played it 6 times
I have 3 songs by DJ Shadow and I've played them 28 times
I have 1 song by DJ Tiesto and I've played it 1 time

Thursday, 25 October 2007

Thursday 25/10/07

So this is what we’re going to do. We’re going to have a competition for the Best Looking Reader (BLR) of the London Preppy blog. (This competition will be referred to as BLR 2007 from now on). This is obviously a very prestigious award, up there with the Nobel Prize for Peace, the Smash Hits Readers Poll Most Fanciable Male and the Grammy for Best Country Performance By A Duo Or Group With Vocals.

How this is going to work is that you’ll send in some pictures of yourself, the small panel of judges - comprising me, Pam (aka Fuzzy Logic) and American Girl - will come up with a shortlist, and finally we’re going to have a public vote to decide a final winner.

Here is some information on the Rules, some Disclaimers and of course the Prizes:


- All blog readers are eligible to enter this competition

- All blog readers that I DON’T KNOW IN REAL LIFE that is. This means that we are looking for new talent and not the usual idiots that I see every day, like Scott, Donnell, Mean etc. According to the recent poll, I only know 6% people who read this blog anyway, so we’re not eliminating too many contestants

- The competition is open to both male and female readers, but if you actually are a female reader I wouldn’t bother. Nah, only joking, it’s all about equal opportunities at BLR 2007

- You must send at least a couple of pictures if yourself (I guess as proof that it’s really you), not just a fake picture of a random guy you found on Sean Cody and wish you looked like. This isn’t myspace

- Ideally we would have a picture of your face and one body shot. Please lose the shirt

- To enter, please send your pictures to I said, OK?


1) I understand that I don’t show my face on here, so I think it’s only fair that I don’t expect you to either. You can either send your pictures with an already placed red block across your eyes (London Preppy™) or alternatively, don’t worry, I will do the red square myself if I choose to publish your pictures. Please note: only use a red square, we will not accept blurs, yellow dots, black circles or anything else.

Please only cover your eyes with the red block, we need to see some of your face. Don’t try to cover your potato nose if you have one, I’ll be able to tell. Now if you think your strength are your eyes and you’re not doing yourself justice by covering those, I don’t know, cover your ears and show your eyes, cover your forehead and show your teeth, you’ll figure something out, you’re not dumb. According to the poll so far half the people reading this have a PhD (ahem!)

Of course if you have no problem with showing your face, please point it out and I won't cover your natural beauty with stupid red blocks, it's up to you.

2) Yes I know this is very stupid and shallow, but it’s also fun so take it elsewhere Einstein


a) The winner gets to sleep with me.

As I realize that this is not something the average person would really go for, you can turn that down if you win, it’s up to you. We also have:

b) A personal tribute to you written by me.

This will take the form of the usual write up I do (for example the post with the England rugby players and the Princes drinking, every Josh Lewsey reference I’ve ever made, the post with the things on my desk), i.e. it will be affectionate and funny. Also, the tribute will be posted on a Monday when I get the most people visiting (about 1,300 at the moment = instant fame). If this is still not enough, we also have:

c) £10 is hard cold cash, sent to you via paypal

So there you have it, 3 amazing prizes you can’t say no to. You can have all 3 or choose the ones you want. Now, send your pictures to Closing date for entries is Saturday 10th November 2359 UK time.

PS. You shouldn’t hesitate to send your pictures for fear that I might take the piss, of course I won’t. I may be hollow but I’m nice. And making fun is not the point of this of course, if I wanted to do that I’d open the London Lite and respond to some of the readers’ letters.

PPS. Muscly, red-haired/ginger contestants with flawless white skin are particularly encouraged.

Wednesday, 24 October 2007

Wednesday 24/10/07

On Tuesday I meet Scott and we go to the gym and do shoulders and abs, and the Eastern European guy is also there and Scott points him out to me as “the new guy who’s sexy” even though we’ve seen him about 10 times now, but Scott has a problem remembering anything and I often have to re-introduce myself to him if we haven’t seen each other for a couple of days.

Then I go home and I try to find some old pictures with stupid hair to post on here as promised, so I go through an old cupboard box that I keep on top of the kitchen cupboards and instantly this is not a good idea because I get depressed. I find pictures from Athens when I was growing up and I also find pictures from the 6 years that I lived up North before moving to London.

Pictures from Andrews’ birthday night out during out second year at Uni, pictures of the beer can wall we built in our house in Sheffield, holiday pictures from summers spent on Greek islands, pictures of my last night out in Manchester before I moved to London which I spent in a horrible / fantastic club listening to Livin’ On A Prayer by Bon Jovi, drinking and crying. I think that’s still back when I had feelings.

And I get depressed because – I’m not sure but – I think I was kinda happier back then. Maybe that’s not necessarily true but I definitely want my innocence again, and I don’t think it’s coming back any time soon.

And the other thing I’m sure of is that if I could go back, I would do everything differently.
In any case, here’s a picture of me when I was 21 and I had the worse haircut this side of 1972. The quality is really bad because I had to take a picture of the actual photo (I have no scanner), but you can easily identify:

- The ghostly white skin
- Arms equal size to my wrists
- The delusion that I should be the fifth member of the Stone Roses

So how a person can turn from thinking that’s an ideal body image / look / life philosophy to this (see below, taken this Wednesday 24/10/07 at 1933) I don’t quite know but it seems to have happened. I've sold out, etc, etc.

Incidentally, I found lots of pictures from the past with various ridiculous haircuts like that, so if you wanna see any more, let me know and I'll see what I can do.

After all this I decide to watch some Greek TV, put the porn channel on, watch a girl with no less than 3 piercings where there should be none, contemplate what would drive somebody to choose a career of having sex for money and being filmed for it, lose faith in people even further, apply bronzing, aloe vera-scented moisturizer, go to bed and start reading a Greek newspaper I bought on Sunday, realize that I’m actually having difficultly following the flow because it’s in Greek, feel ashamed, remember I last received education in Greek when I was 17, justify my handicap to myself, turn off the light.

Then Scott decides to turn up around midnight and stay over, I lie in bed for a bit pushing him away, take a sleeping pill, wait another half hour, go in the kitchen, boil some water, fill my hot water bottle up, go in the living room, pull the sofa bed out, finally fall asleep. The last time I look at the clock it’s 0235

PS. I just opened my post and I found out that somebody ( of you) has sent me an item from my Amazon wishlist - the Reader's Guide to American Psycho. Thanks very much (whoever sent it didn't let me know), this is really sweet. Also at the moment I've finally got round to reading the David Sedaris book I received a few weeks ago, so thanks again for that. This has cheered me up a lot tonight.

I have 1 song by the Divynils s and I've played it 14 times
I have 1 song by DJ Jose and I've played it 2 times
I have 3 songs by DJ Quicksilver and I've played them 10 times

Tuesday, 23 October 2007

Tuesday 23/10/07

So on Monday and Tuesday – and trying to live up to the new look I described yesterday – I do the following things:

a) Go in Boots and buy a shampoo called Sheer Blonde by John Frieda, which (the bottle tells me): purifies blonde strands to bring out glistening highlights. The fact that I haven’t had any blonde strands for at least 21 years doesn’t matter and I’m still holding out for those glistening highlights (Monday lunchtime)

b) Go on a sunbed for 10 minutes (listening to I Will Always Love You followed by The Greatest Love Of All both by Whitney Houston followed by The Ace Of Spades by Motorhead) (Monday evening)

c) Try out new big hair (i.e. the posh, unkempt bouffant) which actually comes naturally and I don’t know why I have been fighting it all this time (Tuesday morning)

Now then, as the Rugby World Cup has come to an end, let’s say our final goodbye by examining a few last pictures that have emerged from Paris / the Final weekend. This is how the England team decided to drown their sorrows after a disappointing Saturday night.

Picture 1: Prince William, Jonny Wilkinson

Teetotal Jonny comes down from his room to get a club sandwich and a can of Dr Pepper from the bar. Unfortunately he walks into Prince William and feels that he has to stay and chat for a bit. He wouldn’t mind that knighthood next year after all. Prince William offers him a drink but they are both too sober to make conversation so William starts playing with his phone and Jonny stares at his shoes for a bit.

Picture 2: Prince William, Jonny Wilkinson, “Fans”

William pours some more, Jonny spots the vultures eyeing him up from the left and decides to down his drink. Please note the pure, shameless lust and desperation in their eyes (not too dissimilar to what my face will look like when I cross paths with Josh Lewsey). This look is enough to turn even the strongest amongst us (Jonny) to alcoholism.

Picture 3: Prince William and Jonny Wilkinson sans Vultures

The ladies have been removed by the armed policemen, William and Jonny have completely run out of conversation, Jonny decides to say goodbye and return to his room to cut his toe nails and watch the X Factor re-run on ITV.

Picture 4: Enter Prince Harry

Party Prince Harry rolls in already sloshed. The chance of anyone going to bed without decorating the inside of the sink in their room first goes out the window.

Picture 5: Prince Harry, Toby Flood, Several Bottles of Booze

Toby Flood bypasses Royal Protocol and pours champagne straight into the Prince’s (3rd in line to the throne) mouth. Please note a) Toby Flood’s fabulous spray tan, b) Harry’s glorious unkempt bouffant, c) another vulture that has clawed her way back in past the bodyguards, using her French-manicured hands (behind Toby).

Picture 6: Prince Harry, Jonny Wilkinson, Toby Flood, Matthew Tait

Jonny is so tanked he doesn’t mind the stalker clutching his neck, Toby gets another round in, somebody has emptied 2 shandies on Matthew’s shirt and Prince Harry is still standing strong, proving who the next King of England really should be.

Picture 7: Prince William, Toby Flood, Prince Harry, Fat Bodyguard, Matthew Tate, Peroxide Broads

500 Miles by The Proclaimers comes on, Prince William and the Bodyguard are finally glad they recognsie a song and start shouting “na na na na, na na na na”, etc. Everyone else turns their back and pretends they came separately.

Picture 8: Prince Harry, Toby Flood, Matthew Tait (sans shirt)

Matthew’s had enough of his sticky, booze-soaked shirt, Toby helps him take it off and carries it for him like a good friend would, I take notes about Matthew’s flawless white skin oh my God Matthew’s flawless white skin and Toby’s golden tan – both equally good aspirational looks that make me grateful I have a smooth upper body like the England rugby boys.

Picture 9: Prince Harry, Toby Flood, Jonny Wilkinson, Matthew Tait

It’s the end of the night, everyone is blitzed and has lost all inhibitions, but the camp, bespectacled queen behind Toby plays it cool and pretends not to notice that he’s 6 inches away from the future King of England, his brother, the most talented sportsman of his generation and some other half-naked rugby studs. Hard-on just outside shot.

I have 1 song by Dirty Vegas and I've played it 5 times
I have 4 songs by Disco Boys and I've played them 67 times
I have 7 songs by the Divine Comedy and I've played them 62 times

Monday, 22 October 2007

Monday 22/10/07

On Sunday after the Tate Modern I go to Sainsburys with Matty and Nicole and I want to get a cherry pie, but I can’t find any cherry pies so I buy a substantial vanilla flavoured cheesecake instead, which smells and hopefully tastes like drinking a whole carton of double cream. My plan for this cheesecake involves having it in quarters over the next 4 days, so I go home and sit down with my first quarter.

After I finish my first quarter I move on to the second quarter and by the time I’ve finished that one too, I am feeling very dirty so I throw the rest of the cheesecake away and give up on my original plan.

Another plan I make this weekend concerns changing myself to look more like the England rugby team. And I don’t mean the old fat players, I mean the young hot ones that are the poster boys for the sport. Having carefully considered this, the look comprises the following elements:

1) Big, carefree, public-school-boy, posh hair. Examples of this unkept, sporty bouffant can be seen on Toby Flood, Jonny Wilkinson, Prince Harry (not technically part of the team). This is a hairdo that goes great with polo shirts (with the collar up), jumpers worn over shirts (with the collar up) and rugby jerseys (with the collar up)

2) Moderate but noticeable all-year tan. Examples of this golden glow can be seen on Jonny Wilkinson, Toby Flood. This is a skin tone that says I am naturally very pale and blue eyed and Northern European, but I’m so outdoorsy that I maintain this healthy glow all year long. This tan is usually achieved whilst sailing in Wales on a sunny – but chilly – November morning, skiing in Northern Italy between Boxing Day and New Year’s Day, on a rugby field during a warm April Saturday morning

3) Fair, Northern European hair with natural highlights. This is a popular look sported by both teams in the World Cup final actually. Prime specimens of this trend are Lewis Moody, Jonny Wilkinson, Matthew Tait. Sadly my hair turned dark when I was 6 after a few years of golden glory, and it’s really gay to have dyed/highlighted hair (not to mention blatantly obvious and it never works), so I won’t be indulging in this. Maybe I’ll be a chamomile shampoo or something and kid myself that this will give me lighter midtones in the sun

So yeah, at least I can do numbers 1 and 2.

Anyway, on Monday at work something happens and I realize I have a new need, which I was completely unaware of before.

American Girl is telling me about the weekend and mentions having watched the rugby at a friend’s house on Saturday on his 51-inch flat screen TV. 51 inches. 51. Then she tells me that her friend is actually moving to Australia and he is trying to sell the TV to her for £750, but she doesn’t want such a “monstrosity” in her living room.

Well of course she’s only a girl and she appreciates potpourri and baby deer and pink ribbons more than extravagant high-tech toys, so she can be excused. I, on the other hand must have that TV, so I immediately ask her to tell her friend that she’s found a buyer. At that point I zone one and start thinking of all the great things I can watch in almost real life size (Sabrina the Teenage Witch, porn, Greek sitcoms, Euro 2008) and start emailing some friends to make them jealous.

A few minutes later, the heartbreaking news arrives that the TV has already been sold – I’m a bit too late. In any case, I have now realized that there is a gap in my life that only a giant 51-inch TV will fill and I will not rest until I get one, so this evening I go online and research a) how much a brand new 51-inch TV actually costs and b) if there are any other well-to-do, young bachelor Australian types in London who are moving back home and want to get rid of their high-tech toys before they go.

I have 3 songs by Dionne Warwick and I've played them 34 times
I have 1 song by Dirty Old Ann and I've played it 7 times
I have 1 songs by Dirty Pretty Things and I've played it 4 times

Sunday, 21 October 2007

Sunday 21/10/07

On Saturday I wake up and Scott is also here and we undertake the following activities:

- We go online and apply for Scott to get two new middle names (like I did recently) and I would very much like to tell you what these are, but sadly I can’t. In any case changing your name seems to be catching on, which is actually a good thing because if you’re stuck with a name you’re not sure about, why not change it? Also people buy new clothes all the time or change their hair, and I don’t see why we can’t do that same with our name. Does anyone really want to go through life, for 75 years or whatever with the same name? I would say you’ve got to change it every few years at least, otherwise you’ll get bored.

Another idea is to get people new names for their birthday or for Christmas as a surprise. Like: Happy Birthday Matty and here’s the official documentation of your new name

- We go to the Post Office to pick up a parcel on Scott’s motorbike and on the way there we see a guy who’s wearing a pink polo shirt with a green jumper over it, so as we drive past him we turn around and follow him for a bit to find out more about him. A few minutes later Scott comes to the conclusion that he’s posh and a snob, which I suppose makes sense

- We go to the gym where we do chest and abs and also see a group of annoying, fat straight guys who think they’re muscly (they’re not – they’re fat) and they’re lifting heavy weights and making loud grunting noises and as I observe them I want them to know that I’m critical of them and I ask Scott what I can do to make sure my derogatory feelings are coming across and Scott tells me that I don’t need to do anything extra because I’ve got such a stuck up attitude / face / look that even people that actually I like get the feeling that I look down on them. And I can’t pretend this doesn’t make me happy

Then in the evening of course it’s time to watch the rugby. I’m going to Matty’s house to watch this, and I deliberately avoid wearing my England rugby top, because drunken fans are bound to talk to me on the tube on the way there and back if I do, and I really can’t fake sports talk / enthusiasm

At Matty’s house there’s me, Matty, Matty’s girlfriend Nicole, Nad (a guy I used to live with in Pimlico two years ago), M&M (M is an Aussie guy I used to work with and M is his fiancĂ©e) and a Marks & Spencer’s roast chicken I’ve brought for my dinner.

Then of course England loses, but we have a great time nonetheless, as exhibited in this picture that Matty takes of me, in full-on England supporter gear: a) Comedy hat, b) Rugby ball on one hand, c) Pint of lager on the other.

I returned the pint of lager to M as soon as this picture was taken.

Around 2330 I make my way home, but there are tube problems and after 25 minutes of waiting for a train on the platform I decide to come out of the tube station and walk home. Nobody else has the same idea though, and as a few hundred people are still waiting on the platform, the rest of the station is empty, and as I’m heading out I take this picture at the escalators, which depresses me a bit because I’ve never seen Oxford Circus tube station so empty:

Walking home after midnight along Hyde Park for some reason I get sad (because I’m lonely? because I’m listening to I’m on Fire by Bruce Springsteen?) so I put my iPod on Shuffle and then this song called Eight Letters by Ives Holmes comes on, and it reminds me of the times when I used to go clubbing in 2004 (anyone who lives in London and went to Beyond back then will know what I’m talking about), and this depresses me even more but I listen to the whole thing and then play it again twice, because being upset is a state of mind I enjoy.

On Sunday Scott and I meet Matty and Nicole and we go to the Tate Modern (that’s a very famous art gallery by the river Thames), where they currently have an exhibition which consists of a massive crack on the floor. Well this is my interpretation of it. A crack on the floor.
The brochure tells us that the artist “has created this subterranean chasm that stretches the length of the Turbine Hall, in order to expose a fracture in modernity itself. This installation encourages us to confront uncomfortable truths about our history and about ourselves with absolute candidness, and without self-deception”.

It also provides a great opportunity for Matty to stick his foot in this “subterranean chasm” whilst Nicole and Scott stand either side of him (picture 1 below) or for me to stick my head in it, trying to look for this “uncomfortable truth about my history and about myself” (picture 2 below).

Then in the evening I go home and take this following picture of my chest, which leaves me to wonder: a) have I really confronted this truth with absolute candidness and without self-deception and b) is my chest getting too big and I am turning into a woman?

I have 1 song by Dima Bilan and I've played it 9 times
I have 3 songs by Dimitri From Paris and I've played them 21 times
I have 1 songs by Dinosaur Jr and I've played it 9 times

Friday, 19 October 2007

Friday 19/10/07

On Thursday I finish work and then I meet Scott and we go to the gym together, and I fear that he may get in the way of me trying to flirt in a restrained manner with the Eastern European guy, but the Eastern European guy isn’t there, so everyone’s happy.

Later at home I check Google Analytics because I have nothing better to do, and looking through the google searches that have directed people to my blog, I find out the following. Amongst hundreds of phrases that people have typed in, we have:

Josh Lewsey gay: 10 people
Josh Lewsey girlfriend: 4 people
Josh Lewsey sexuality: 2 people
“Josh Lewsey” is he gay: 1 person
Is Josh Lewsey gay: 1 person
Josh Lewsey and girlfriend: 1 person


Josh Lewsey gossip: 1 person
Josh Lewsey loves: 1 person
Josh Lewsey shirtless: 1 person
Josh Lewsey underwear: 1 person

I find this quite curious actually, because there seems to be a high level of interest in Josh and his sexuality, which I haven’t personally felt the need to question. Of course I understand that people who use google to find half naked pictures of him, but why do they also feel the need to ask the gay question? I saw several other searches that concerned “Jonny Wilkinson shirtless” or “Christian Bale naked” and all the other guys I have posted pictures of, but for none of them do people ask whether they’re gay. Is there a rumour about Josh that I’m unaware of? Does he have a girlfriend or wife or what?

Not that it’s any good to me anyway if Josh is gay of course, he’s not gonna sleep with me is he? It’s as desperate as straight boys fantasizing about Jessica Alba or Charleze Theron or America Ferrera or Scarlet Johannson or Faye Dunaway or whoever those guys fantasize about these days; it ain’t gonna happen, is it?

Oh yeah and so that we don't forget, here are some more pictures of Josh:

Josh sporting his preppy look trying to sell us something

Josh after he washed his little hair looking like a scared little animal

A big mean guy trying to stop Josh from going places

Finally in the alternative rugby news for today, on the way to work I’m reading the Metro and I see a picture of this guy called Mark Cueto who’s apparently the replacement for Josh in the Saturday game, and I have to say that he looks promising even though he’s not blonde and a sweet little bunny like Josh, but maybe he’s a good enough replacement – I need to find some shirtless pictures first to confirm this though.

On Friday for work I’m wearing Ralph Lauren chinos and a green Ralph Lauren polo shirt (tucked in) and a brown leather belt from the Gap and brown Timberland boating shoes and a Louis Vuitton squash bag. It’s quite cold so I’m also wearing a red scarf from Diesel around my neck (which I take off in the office of course), even though I haven’t taken a jacket with me because I couldn’t find one that goes.

And because I’m wearing a green shirt (see Fuzzy Logic’s blog for picture here) people in the office joke that I must be supporting South Africa in the final tomorrow and I actually wish I could have worn my England rugby top this Friday, but that England rugby top is too tight and too obscene for this office and I’ve given them enough to talk about already.

But then I mention this to Andrews and Andrews says “since when have you gone for the non-obscene option”, so I decide the maybe I should wear the England top next Friday whatever the outcome of the game is tomorrow: to show my pride if England win and my continued support if they lose (because they’re still cute little bunnies).

EDIT: Oh my God. I just googled the phrase Josh Lewsey naked, as I do every night at 1936, and in google images, there is a picture of MY chest on the first page of results. This chest picture here on the right. This is an indication that a) I write about Josh too much and b) I am getting closer to him. Closer and closer.

I have 1 song by Diana King and I've played it 10 times
I have 4 songs by Diana Ross and I've played them 79 time
I have 1 song by Dido and I've played it 1 time

Wednesday, 17 October 2007

Wednesday 17/10/07

As we continue with the Rugby World Cup Final Week obsession, here’s a story that comes from Mean and Mean insists that it’s true, but at the end of the day we’ll believe what we like.

So on Wednesday last week Mean is in Paris for some work thing (who knows and who cares about specifics to be honest) and staying in a hotel in Neuilly called Courtyard by Marriott “where the England Rugby team are also staying” (ahem). Mean tells us that at some point he’s in the lift and the following things happen:

- A guy walks in and says hi in a “I’m being polite so leave me alone” way

- The guy is blonde and wearing a t-shirt that says Rugby on it (like the one Jonny Wilkinson is wearing in the post here), tracksuit bottoms and Crocs (blue)

- Mean thinks that this guy has the best body he’s ever seen, because he has really big shoulders and a small waist (a perfect V shape) and he can tell that even though he’s wearing all these clothes as we said

- When they get out of the lift the guy walks up to the reception and starts complaining about his room being too close to the lift and the lift is too loud and doesn’t let him sleep and is generally being a bit arsey

- Mean doesn’t hear the rest because he walks away. He also omits to take any pictures

So this is what happens in Paris on that Wednesday morning and then Mean comes back to London.

On Thursday we’re emailing each other casually and then he decides to tell me the story, suddenly “realizing that the guy in the lift was Josh Lewsey”. And he didn’t recognize him immediately because “he’s shorter than he thought”, but now he’s convinced that it was him. I don’t know. Do we believe him or not?

I mean fair enough, Josh is 5’10”, so probably shorter than you imagine (especially when you’ve seen the 8ft poster I’ve got of him in my living room), but come on, you’re staying in a hotel with the England rugby team, you share a lift with a blonde muscular guy wearing a Rugby top and it only occurs to you 24 hours later that it was that sweet little bunny, Josh? I don’t know.

I suspect that I have actually come closer to meeting Josh than Mean has, and I have photographic evidence:

Finally, I discovered this advert recently (it may have been played 3 years ago for all I know but I just saw it) which features Josh and some footballers and a dog.

The concept is very simple but effective and it basically revolves around Josh and his dog trying to convince us that Rugby is so much better than Football. I would be more easily convinced if Josh weren’t wearing a top, but the dramatization used here instead to achieve this involves:

- A group of unfit Sunday-league type straight blokes are kicking a football around

- One of them is annoying everyone else with his lack of skill / unjustified showmanship / whiny, common, shouty London accent

- Josh walks in the shot from a distance, wearing a long dark coat, dark shirt, jeans and holding a Staffordshire bull terrier (I am making this up, I have no idea what breed that dog is). From the outfit and the direction of this clip (several frames looking up at Josh trying to make him look tall) I deduce that we are supposed to be intimidated by him. He represents Rugby and Rugby is not a game for boys, it’s a game for men (or something). Instead he comes across a bit like a gay version of The Matrix in that stupid coat

- The ball gets kicked near Josh, Josh’s dog proceeds to piss on it, the piss ends up on the annoying guy’s face, everyone learns their lesson

And there you have it. I’m very proud of myself that I still like Josh after watching this and I can only take it as further proof that I love him enough to forgive him anything (including the Crocs), especially as at some point in the advert, he’s referred to as “the big fella, the big ol’ fella over here”.

I have 1 song by Des’ree and I've played it 7 times
I have 1 song by Desireless and I've played it 28 time
I have 6 songs by Destiny’s Child and I've played them 41 times

Tuesday, 16 October 2007

Tuesday 16/10/07

So on the way to work on Tuesday morning I pick up the Metro and there’s a picture of Josh Lewsey on the back page and he tells us how being left out of the final on Saturday because of his pulled hamstring feels like “a dagger in the heart”, and he’s “devastated” and it’s “a bitter pill to swallow” and that “the pain in the hamstring is bad but not as bad as the heartache of missing out”, but it’s OK Josh, you’ve been in a World Cup final before and won it, so don’t be such a drama queen.

Plus I’m sure he’s still gonna get paid the same as before the injury and we know that everyone loves a sickie, so just chill out. Anyway, despite all this self pity we still love him, especially now that he has this stupid little beard going, which is not quite a beard, it’s more a collection of pathetic, whispy little hairs, and you’ve got to love a 30-year-old who’s a cute little bunny and can’t grow a proper beard.

Anyway then I go in the office but it’s a short day because I leave around 1300 to go to my British Citizenship ceremony. For this event I’m wearing a black Prada suit, black leather Hugo Boss shoes, white shirt from the Gap, a brown silk tie with pale blue stitching from Gant, white baggy straight boy underwear from Marks & Spencer, a Gucci watch and Hugo Boss black leather belt. I forget to take a picture of the whole outfit but here’s a picture of the tie, which I really, really like - but of course you can't see the colour and texture here clearly and this doesn't do it justice.

So Scott comes and picks me up and gives me a lift to Kensington Town Hall and at Kensington Town Hall the following things happen:

- There is a very wide selection of “new citizens” there, varying from the desperate runaways from global war-zones (I peek “Kosovo, Former Federal Republic of Yugoslavia” under place of birth on a guy’s certificate next it me) to enthusiastic Australian queens who want to extend their stay in London / party days in Vauxhall clubs

- I manage to bring the wrong ID documents they require to sign us in, but I blag my way through. The women gives me a look that says, “I’ll let you in this time, but...” I’m happy with that, because there doesn’t need to be a next time

- The ceremony involves us repeating an Oath of allegiance to the Queen, shaking hands with some guy who used to be the Mayor of Chelsea apparently but is now half dead, having our picture taken numerous times during all this and trying to stay awake for the 1.5 hours it takes

- When we have to do the Oath, it’s very bloody simple to be honest. We are given a card with the words on it, then have to take turns standing on a stage with some woman and repeat the Oath after her (3-4 words at a time, seriously). Still, this proves quite difficult for some of the “new citizens”, whose grasp of English doesn’t stretch to repeating “I will be faithful” 1 second after they’ve heard it. On two particular occasions, I am seriously tempted to use my newly found patriotism and report those imposters to the former Mayor of Chelsea / Ken Livingston / Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth the Second, her Heirs and Successors / somebody who cares anyway

- Different people have different approaches to the ceremony: one woman is so tearful she can’t finish the Oath with breaking down (I can only assume she’s another war escapee) / the Australian queens camp it up and wave their certificates in the air

- Then they play the national anthem and I for a few seconds I’m under the impression they’ve put the wrong record on and everyone will realize the mistake and start laughing soon, but that’s mainly because I was expecting to hear the Star-Spangled Banner rather than God Save the Queen, because that’s what they always play in films

- Then it’s all over, we get given a framed certificate and a goodie bag that includes a passport application (this processes seems so industrialized it’s quite tragic), pick up a couple of biscuits on the way out and that’s the end of that

Following this momentous event and to celebrate, I go to Selfridges where I buy two 800ml glass bottles of Voss mineral water for £5.90, because I keep a water bottle on my desk at work which I refill during the day and it’s permanently there now so it’s a LOOK not just a DRINK, and my current tacky plastic Evian bottle just won’t do anymore.

I have 1 song by Delerium and I've played it 16 times
I have 1 song by Denise Williams and I've played it 5 times
I have 18 songs by Depeche Mode and I've played them 259 times

Monday, 15 October 2007

Monday 15/10/07

On Friday night it’s the perfect Friday night because I: come home after the gym, go and do my weekly food shopping, come home and watch Greek sitcoms followed by Friday Night with Jonathan Ross followed by the first 20 minutes of Married to the Mob with Michelle Pfeiffer and some guy whose name I don’t know but he looks like the quintessential 1980s movie star / heartthrob and he has sort of light brown (or is it dark blonde?) long-ish floppy hair and was also in another movie playing a boxer I think that had Crazy For You by Madonna on the soundtrack.

I would google him and find who he is, but unfortunately I can’t go online right now. Anyway he seems like a nice guy and if I had to choose a film star to be friends with, it would definitely be him. I wonder what’s happened to him – I haven’t seen him anywhere in the last 18 years. Then I get too tired and I would love to have stayed up some and watched Married to the Mob some more, but I actually decide to go to bed.

On Saturday I meet Scott and Mean and Nicole and we go to Apostrophe where we all have the hot chocolate and I have a beef salad on top of that and my beef salad also has beetroot in it, so I have to be very careful eating it, because I can’t let the beetroot touch my teeth. Then Scott goes home and Nicole goes to buy girly things (skirts? strawberries? tampons?) and Mean and I go shopping for manly, rugby stuff.

More specifically, I want this t-shirt that I saw Jonny Wilkinson wearing last week, because I think it will make me look just like him and here is a picture of Jonny and his t-shirt.

Sadly neither Niketown nor Rugby Scene on Carnaby Street have the t-shirt and quite frankly I’ve run out of options of where I can find a rugby Nike t-shirt in this bloody town so I give up.

Then on Saturday evening it all kicks off, because it’s a sports night (Greece is playing football with some Eastern European country that’s completely off my radar and I wouldn’t even know how to spell for the Euro 2008 qualifiers and England is of course in the Rugby World Cup semi-final against France), so Mean comes round to my place to watch all this, and during the evening all this happens:

- When Mean arrives I’m in the shower so he goes on my computer and I’m logged on as London Preppy and he decides to put a post up and the post reads: “Blah blah blah muscles blah blah blah Josh Lewsey blah blah blah Zone 1 Blah Blah Blah Did abs at the gym Blah Blah Blah” and then he even posts a comment that says “Best post ever” and then I come out of the shower and see this and delete it even though it’s mildly amusing and quite accurate

- Mean tries to find something to eat in my fridge but when he opens it he just says “where are your carbs” and I’m like “are you new or something” and then we sit and watch the games and Mean is drinking a bottle of Diet Coke that he brought with him and I’m eating two Icelandic cod fillets with some spinach that I just grilled

- Before the England game starts they show a video with the players saying their name and how old they are and when Josh Lewsey comes on he says his name and how old he is and then he raises his eyebrows and chuckles a bit and if I ever doubted that I’m in love with him, it’s all clear now

- Then the games start and we watch the rugby mainly and switch over to the football occasionally to check the score and I make some fucking amazing insightful comments on the rugby, like which player has the stupidest hair and therefore shouldn’t be playing (Toby Flood) and how lucky Josh’s girlfriend must be (extremely) and which player might have had it at some point but is losing it now and is going bald (Michalak). But to be honest I’m also genuinely into the game because I may have initially been interested in rugby 10 years ago because it’s so fucking sexy but I’ve spent enough time watching both Union and League games in freezing fields around the country that I’ve developed an actual liking for the game

- Then both Greece and England win and it’s a great day for somebody who was born Greek but is becoming British officially on Tuesday this week (i.e. me) but a crappy day for somebody who was born in that God forsaken Eastern European country that I can’t remember the name of and moved to Nice when he was 18

And that’s all that happens on Saturday night.

On Sunday I meet Scott and we go for me to have some passport pictures taken because I’m getting my British passport this week and after I have my first picture taken Scott says why do you have your mouth open and I say that I was trying to look sexy and then we decide that this didn’t work so I have to spend another £4 and the second look I go for is “mean” and that works great, so this is how I’m going to look in my British passport – aggro – and I wish I could post the picture on here for you too see, but the meanness is all in the eyes and I would have to cover those.

I have 1 song by Def Leppard and I've played it 5 times
I have 1 song by Del Amitri and I've played it 2 times
I have 1 song by the Delays and I've played it 5 times

Friday, 12 October 2007

Friday 12/10/07

So on Thursday after work and the gym I’m supposed to go to a bar and meet some old friends I used to work with and this is the group of friends where I also met the Lads (Matty, Mean, Ace, Nats) but of course not everyone in the wider group was worthy of a long-term friendship. Not because they were bad people, but because you get on with some better than others and you can’t be best friends with everyone. I will refer to this group as The Grads from now on, because when we all started working in the same company (where we met) we had just finished University and were all Graduate Trainees.

Our activities as Graduate Trainees involved pretending to do work in a big office with hundreds of people, having lunch together every day around a huge table in the company restaurant, gossiping and spreading stories, emailing each other all day, going out, getting pissed and pulling each other.

Anyway, that is what was happening in 2004 and this is what is happening this Thursday evening in 2007.

Before I go in the bar I need to eat something, so at 1915 I find myself sitting under the Eros statue at Piccadilly Circus eating a tuna salad I just bought from Tesco, surrounded by hundreds of tourists taking pictures of each other in inappropriately warm clothes for the weather just because I can’t think of anywhere else I can sit and eat around there. Then Matty turns up and we go in.

And at the bar I know quite a few people but mainly talk to Matty, Ace and Nats (who’s going away for 2 years to work in Taiwan). But this is not the best part of the evening; the best part of the evening involves two girls who are there and used to be in The Grads, and this is what we need to know about these two girls.

Girl A (let’s call her Fanny). There are two key stories that you need to know about Fanny:

a) Fanny was born and grew up on a small island between the UK and France called Jersey. I won’t bore you with history and politics, but Jersey is part of the UK in some respect (they have the same language, accept same currency etc) but is also independent. Anyway, who cares – what you need to know is that Jersey is 118 square kilometers in size (i.e. marginally bigger than my kitchen) and has a population is 88,000 (i.e. I’ve been in toilet cubicles with more people).

I don’t know exactly what the situation is with electricity is in Jersey, but for the moment I’m assuming there is none.

Naturally, growing up in a place like that gives you a very open mind and a wildly cosmopolitan and modern perspective on all aspects of life. No wait, it just makes you a narrow-minded, backward country bumpkin who spent his/her youth throwing stones at silver birds (aka airplanes) on their flight path to France.

b) Fanny is not only blessed with privileged upbringing in a desirable corner of the earth, but also a charming, tell-it-like-it-is manner that has everyone in fits. I.e. she’s a rude, crass Jersey cow. My favourite moment of interaction with her was some time in 2004 when I went to her house party and she introduced me to all her guests as Gay London Preppy because I was wearing a pink t-shirt. I must point out that this was BEFORE I had come out or had admitted to myself even that I was gay. Fanny had her suspicions however, and she thought: why not advertise it to everyone around me

Obviously when you’re going through such an internal battle about your sexuality / acting upon it / being in denial / coming out and all of these issues, it really really helps when some idiot makes fun of you publicly. Fanny has been a favourite of mine since

Girl B (let’s call her Marietta). There is one key story that you need to know about Marietta:

a) Back in 2004 when we all used to have lunch together, I used to just eat high protein / low carb food as you would expect. This is always a topic of discussion when I first meet a new group of people because they are understandably curious / fascinated. I do expect a degree of piss-take and I don’t mind, because I can give it back to and it’s what friends do.

I do like this whole straight boy dynamic where friendships revolve around making fun of each other, teasing, and all that. I’m used to it.

For some reason though Marietta was extremely interested in my eating habits and had a real obsession with taking the piss. She would always make some smug comment about what I ate, imply that I’m odd, suggest that my lack of success with women was because I was too obsessed with myself and looking good etc (remember, I wasn’t out yet back then).

This is all fine apart from Marietta had an obvious eating disorder and had the same lunch every day: one Ryvita cracker and a few grapes. Sadly, because she was a girl (and quite pretty too) nobody ever dared comment on what she ate or joke about her habits. Her eating disorder was the elephant in the room.

Not to mention that I found out later (from a housemate of hers) that she very often would also go and make herself sick after meals in the evening. So anorexic AND bulimic, which is something I would normally consider very cool (I love a troubled girl as much as I love a troubled boy), but come on! If you’ve got all these skeletons in your closet, don’t take the piss out of me on a daily basis for eating a chicken breast and staying clear of rice.

I’m not saying all girls are prissy like her, but Marietta was the type of girl that nobody was allowed to joke with, because she’s used to all the boys being extra nice to her because they want to shag her. I’m sorry but that’s what it boils down to. And some pretty girls like Marietta use their good looks as an excuse to do what they like.

So on Thursday this week Fanny and Marietta and Ace and I are chatting and the following exchange occurs:

Fanny: I see you still wear tight shirts
Me: Yes, ha ha that’s not gonna change soon (or something like that – playing along at that point)
Fanny: Is this a girl’s shirt?
Me: Very funny, no it’s not (still don’t mind)
Marietta: I think I’ve got the same shirt actually, is it from Zara? Do you shop at Zara womenswear?
Me: Well sometimes I do, but this isn’t a woman’s shirt. How many women do you know with my shoulders? (still funny at this point).

Then another friend from the Grads comes near us and Marietta says: “Look London Preppy is wearing a woman’s shirt. I’ve got the same one”

Well now being gay and having no need to indulge her anymore I think well maybe I should be funny back and tell her that no it can’t be the same shirt, and even if it is, hers must be a much bigger size, because she’s looking a bit fat these days and maybe she should lose some weight.

Incidentally, Marietta has always been and still is very, VERY thin and in no way can she have imagined I'm being serious about this.

Either way, I must say this does not go down well AT ALL and she looks at me like I’ve just made a fat joke to a bulimic girl. Oh wait…

Anyway, I don’t care and I’m quite pleased with myself and then I think I’m done there so I make the decision to go home on that Thursday evening at 2100.

Tomorrow I promise to be nicer and more positive on the blog and I will even post a new shirtless picture of Josh Lewsey that I found in a rugby magazine today.

I have 9 songs by the Dears and I've played them 37 times
I have 2 songs by Death Cab For Cutie and I've played them 16 times
I have 2 songs by Death In Vegas and I've played it 7 times

Thursday, 11 October 2007

Thursday 11/10/07

On Tuesday night Scott is staying over and as we go to bed I’m going through my new routine which started a few weeks ago and I like very much now and if I don’t do it I won’t sleep well, and it involves the following sequence of events: I put my left earplug in – I start yawning – As I yawn I put my right earplug in.

However, Scott starts talking to me halfway through and I have to reply (or ignore him) so he ruins my sequence and then I have to do it all over again. I don’t mind doing it all over again of course, apart from Scott asks what I’m doing and I have to explain and then he starts shouting at me that I’m crazy, so I leave the room to do my earplug thing and then come back.

Also he doesn’t let me punch my pillows a few times before I lie down (as I’m used to doing) because he thinks this is another habit that I need to cut off and this pisses me off, because he really doesn’t understand how my brain operates and that I can’t help it.

On Wednesday morning I’m sitting on the couch having my cereal and I’m watching this morning chat show on Greek TV and the topics they discuss are: who will represent Greece in the Eurovision Song Contest next year, the possible name of the unborn child of some pregnant Greek TV presenter, the male celebrities with the best abdominal muscles in Greece. Then they show a video of the male celebrities with the best abdominal muscles in Greece and I want to pretend that it doesn’t affect me, but it does, it stresses me quite a lot. I do not exactly panic about this but I throw the rest of my cereal away and decide to never have them again. I also need to get a spray tan.

Later in the day I’m thinking about how I started writing this blog. I’m not sure I’ve mentioned this before on here, but initially about 2.5 years ago (right after I came out) I started writing a weekly email with everything I had got up to and sending it to a few close friends.

As I said I was new to the gay scene / world then, and everything I ever did was go out clubbing, meet people and sleep with them and generally have any fun I could get my hands on. I think I was trying to cram in everything that I hadn’t done in the previous 25 years. I called these emails Chapter 1, Chapter 2, etc and gave them descriptive titles inspired by Friends, such as “Chapter 15: The One With The Park Fun”, “Chapter 24: The One With A New Low”, etc.

There are 50 of those emails and I’ve saved all of them, thinking that I might be interested to read them some time.

Well on Wednesday, the time comes and I decide to go back and have a look at some of them. The writing style is not too dissimilar to this blog, albeit a lot rougher and more immature (it’s possible). What really strikes me though is that I’m ashamed of the person that I was then and if I met somebody like that now I would probably not want to hang out with them.

It’s a description of a pointless existence trying to find God knows what and caring about nothing. I still care about nothing, but my nihilism is informed and my relative amorality has an underlying conscience which was then lacking. I guess the main reasons why this change has happened are: a) everyone behaves like that when they first come out but then they tire of it (?) and b) my sickness last year forced some sense into me.

In any case, I’m really not trying to take the high ground here or pass criticism on anyone who prefers that lifestyle. But I think that at the moment I’m much happier having a more pedestrian life and I am very far away of the mindframe that possesses you to set your alarm for 0430 on a Sunday morning to go clubbing, or try to arrange 3 dates within the same evening or choose relationships on who has the highest income.

I’m just going to include an extract from those emails for you to see what I’m talking about, and even though I’m not really proud about sharing these I might possibly post more in the future if I feel like it.

“Friday 2030: I have arranged to meet American guy called xxx. XXX turns up, I instantly think no. Anyway, we go for drinks and chat - XXX is quite interesting, he works in XXX, so he has a few stories to tell.

Soon, he invites me back home. I tell him that he's a nice guy, but I’m not feeling a sexual connection there, so no thanks.

XXX freaks out a bit: "this has never happened to me before, what's wrong with me, etc". I tell him it's not you, it's me and suggest we go for another drink to calm him down. We go to a bar, and then Aussie XXX turns up who has plans to go to Fiction.

Meanwhile, American XXX gets a bit freaky and starts offering me money to sleep with him. I think he must be joking but he's actually being serious. I tell him £500 if he wants. XXX makes an offer of £300. I say no. I promise this conversation is serious (he's not joking) and it goes on for quite a while!

XXX goes home (with his cash), I go to Fiction with Aussie XXX.

Fiction sucks big time. It's the usual crowd of girls/girly boys/no muscly people. Despite ___ that I ___ on the way there, it's still no fun and I go home at 0200.

Saturday 1300: I meet XXX for lunch – old XXX from Chapter 15, not XXX from last week who we don't like anymore. Old XXX is an ___, which didn't go anywhere but he's still a nice guy to have as a friend.

Saturday pm: I go home, have a rest, go to bed at 2230.

Sunday 0500: I get up, have arranged to meet XXX outside Beyond. In Beyond the following things happen:

- Everyone is there, it's fun. I hang out mostly with XXX and XXX. Unfortunately XXX ___ ___ ___ and passes out, which puts a downer on the night for a while. He's taken to a private room and sleeps it off

- I ___

- Some guy comes up to me and gives me a necklace “from the jewellery he designs himself”. I lose this item somewhere in the club later

Sunday 1100: Beyond closes and most people move on to club called Later (1100 to 1700). In Later, the following things happen:

- I go there with XXX and XXX's friend XXX, who's 38 or something and a huge, muscle steroid freak but really nice

- I finish ___

- At one point, I share ___ with a guy called XXX in the toilets and we ___ mainly because ___

- I decide to leave the club around 1530

Sunday 1600: I go home after chilling with XXX and XXX for a bit. There, I organise for a guy who lives in XXX to comes around to my place and ___. I also ask him to bring round some headache pills, because I’ve run out. The guy turns up but he's not like his pictures at all. At least he's got the pills. I don't like him, so I tell him I'm really tired and pretend to fall asleep, so the guy leaves. I'm not sure what his name is”

And after reading all this I am quite positive that I would much rather spend all the weekends until Christmas sitting at home, watching TV alone.

I have 1 song by Dead Or Alive and I've played it 13 times
I have 1 song by Dead Prez and I've played it 1 time
I have 1 song by Dean Martin and I've played it 11 times

Wednesday, 10 October 2007

Wednesday 10/10/07

So anyway, on Tuesday there’s a nurse in the office to give anyone who wants it the flu jab. I’ve never had the flu jab before and it had never crossed my mind, but I am certainly not going to miss an opportunity for a couple of minutes away from my desk and a small break during the day, even if that involves getting an injection.

Mind you, this is all it actually takes – just two minutes – and I’m not sure it’s a good trade off: two minutes break now, which mean that I can’t call in sick for the next 9 months, because I’ve had the flu jab and I’m immune. Anyway, I never claimed to be one to consider the long term carefully.

So I go to the meeting room where there nurse has set camp and she decides that I need to take my shirt off to have an injection in my arm for reasons that I don’t understand and then she gives me the injection and as I’m leaving the room a queue has formed outside and I haven’t tucked in my shirt yet and still doing my top button up and people are amused by that.

And in that queue there is a new girl who has started in the office this week and I don’t know her yet, and later in the afternoon her boss is giving her the tour introducing her to everyone, and when they come to my desk her boss says, do you know London Preppy and she says yes, he was naked earlier on. And even though she is joking this seriously not what we want everyone to hear in the office – I’m still trying to live down the AXM covers thing and trying to maintain a professional profile where no one suspects I ever take my clothes off, even to take a shower.

And this is all the excitement we get at work on that Tuesday afternoon.

Later in the gym, where I do chest and abs (which incidentally are the only body parts anyone who reads this blog seems to care about according to the poll on the right), I notice a new gym guy that started training last week, so let’s talk about him.

This new gym guy is quite hot. Not “I’m gonna dump my boyfriend” hot or even “I’m going to jeopardize my relationship by having an illicit affair with him” hot, but possibly “I would definitely have a fumble if I were single, and I wouldn’t even need to be that high” hot.

More particularly he is quite muscular – not in a huge, but in a slim, toned way – and his biggest strength are his shoulders. In fact he has that slightly hunchbacked / muscular shoulders look, which I find very appealing. Who needs a straight back and good posture when you can have big shoulders and a tiny waist?

Other things that we know about the new guy are:

- He is foreign. Most likely Eastern European. Evidence of that is the fact that he tucks his vest into his tracksuit bottoms and he’s wearing two earrings

- His English is very, very bad. Almost non-existent

- He hangs out with a group of quite destroyed working class fat guys, who look like they came to the UK on a boat in the middle of the night (and had to swim the last few miles to the coast)

- I particularly like the fact that he’s foreign, working class and clueless, possibly because I have an inferiority complex which makes me attracted to people I can look down on

So anyway, this guy came to my gym for the first time last week. I suspect that he’s gay (because he keeps looking and apart from that generally you can tell, can’t you), but obviously he’s a bit scared and not out / doing anything about it. His Eastern European friends would definitely not approve and at the end of the day how is he going to bring anyone back to his place if he shares a small room with 4 others in East Acton?

This guy is becoming my new gym obsession and I will be keeping you up to date on our interaction whenever I see him. So on Tuesday the following things happen:

- I am sitting at the pec deck facing his direction (even though he’s quite far). He turns around and looks at me. I decide to hold his stare in an attempt to determine whether he’s gay once and for all. He does not look away for about 5 seconds. He’s gay and I have a semi

- I’m at the cable cross-over and he walks over to me. I am wearing my iPod so he mouths “have you finished with it”. I nod yes and walk away. He does one set and leaves

- In the changing room later, when I come out of the shower he’s at the bench where my stuff is getting changed. His motley crew of Eastern European friends is also there. I catch his eye about 2-3 times as I’m getting dressed, but I try not to make it too obvious because I don’t want them to realize. I leave and that’s all for now

I have 18 songs by David Guetta and I've played them 245 times
I have 1 song by David Morales and I've played it 6 times
I have 1 song by De'lacy and I've played it 19 times

Tuesday, 9 October 2007

Tuesday 09/10/07

As you know I sent an article to the London Paper on Saturday for them to publish in their reader/columnist feature. Because I can’t be bothered waiting for the London Paper to a) pull their finger out and b) realise my writing genius I am posting the article on here today.

It’s still a bit early and they might use it in the end (a friend whose article got in told me that they contacted him a week after he sent it), but I don’t care – I’m sure nobody from the London Paper reads my blog and even if they do and they see the article here and decide not to publish it for this reason I really am not bothered. You don’t get any money or prizes for it and as we all know I’m all about the money. And the prizes, if they’re nice.

My article is on Zone 1 in London vs. The Rest of the World (well, outer London anyway). It’s meant to be funny so please don’t start leaving comments knocking Zone 1 and defending life in Southfields or something – I am not serious in what I’ve written.

No actually I take that back – I’m dead serious and I’d rather lose 2 inches in height (and that’s some serious fucking commitment on my part) than move outside Zone 1*.

*Please note that I reserve the right to change my mind completely when I’m no longer able to afford this extortionate rent and move to Brent Cross.

“I would very much like those people who live outside Zone 1 to leave those of us who do, alone. It's very simple really – everyone always complains about London being very crowded and busy and hectic. Well how about everyone who lives outside Zone 1 just stays there? Permanently.

Most people blame the tourists for making it unbearable to get around central London in the daytime during any given week, but that is not really the problem. The worst overcrowding I see is on the way to work in the morning and I really don't think a few thousand German tourists wake up at 0730 on a daily basis, have their breakfast and then catch the tube to Liverpool Street en masse. No, this is caused by people travelling from Finchley, Leyton, Tooting or wherever it is they live outside the Circle Line "border" to go to work. I don't know if these places are real by the way, I'm just copying from a tube map; I haven't been there.

Even worse, some people come into Zone 1 to work when they don't live within a London postcode at all! I do not intend to ever visit Farnborough, St Albans or Maidstone, and I would be really grateful ifpeople living there wouldn't come into my vicinity either. Try getting a job there.

Apart from commuters we also have to suffer those who come to central London for a night out. But if you're renting a flat in Clapham and like this suburban, unruffled lifestyle so much, please stay there in the evening too.

We pay two or three times your rent to live in a decent central area with easy and quick access to work, entertainment and culture and would appreciate if you didn't overcrowd our territory.

In the last few years I have lived in XXX and XXX and worked in XXX and XXX. I have an ongoing competition with a friend who lives in Farringdon and works near Victoria, on who can stay within Zone 1 the longest (only trips to Heathrow Airport are allowed with the intention of traveling abroad of course). It might be nice if peripheral people would try something similar in staying out of central London. Because it's ours.

Alternatively we could just build a wall around Zone 1 – from Notting Hill to Aldgate and King's Cross to Waterloo – and leave the masses out; it's up to you."

They also ask to send a face picture with the article in case they publish it and this is the one I’ve sent.

So, combination of a) completely irrational aggressive rant attacking 97% of their audience and b) stuck up, arty, black & white, “In love with myself” headshot – I really don’t know how they can refuse it.

I have 1 song by Darren Hayes and I've played it 2 times
I have 3 songs by David Bowie and I've played them 23 times
I have 16 song by David Gray and I've played them 93 times

Monday, 8 October 2007

Monday 08/10/07

On Sunday night I go to bed around 2355 and as always I must turn my light off before midnight because otherwise I will get really unsettled, and because of that I don’t really have time for my bedtime reading (another activity that MUST happen), so I decide to just read the short review extracts on the back cover of American Psycho. You know, those bits that praise the book lifted from newspapers and magazines that you didn’t know existed like the New Statesman and the Scotsman? I’m thinking this should only take a couple of minutes.

So I read those, and one of them (Maria Lexton from Time Out) says:

”…American Psycho examines the mindless preoccupations of the nineties preppy generation…”

Well let’s not concern ourselves with the fact that this is partly wrong because the book was written and is set in the 80s, but focusing on this part: “…preppy…” makes me think. I had never considered Bret Easton Ellis’ writing as preppy-related. In fact I started reading and liking his books long before I had an idea of what preppy even was.

And reading this pisses me off a bit, because I’m thinking, am I really that predictable and do all my interests have to be linked to each other as part of the same general theme? So in order to prove how unpredictable and impulsive I can be, I decide to break my pattern and the best thing I can come up with on Sunday night at 2358 is that I should sleep without socks (t-shirt still tucked in underpants though – I’m not gonna go completely off the rails).

And sadly this doesn’t seem to work for me and I spend the following two hours unable to sleep, thinking how much I need to be wearing socks right now and with my mood varying from slight annoyance to worrying hallucinations that I’ve found myself naked in a wet, cold cave somewhere and the only thing that can save me is the pair of socks I’ve placed on the floor next to me bed, in case of an emergency like this. So around 0200 I put on my socks and go to sleep.

On Monday I spend quite some time thinking about something a friend of mine recently did, and this something is a mixed threesome. Of course I can’t say who the friend was, but I can say that the experience involved two guys and a girl, and allegedly plenty of fun. This is something that has intrigued me for quite some time now, so once again I will have to ask your contribution. I think I would like to try that. Is there anyone who would like to put an offer on the table? As always I have some specifications, which are:

- I’m afraid you’ll both have to be very fit. This is very important – I don’t want to average straight couple of beer-drinking / pub-frequenting / crap-chest-haired guy with thin arms and whatever the female equivalent is (I don’t have much experience in that gender)

- You know those couples where the guy goes to the gym a lot and likes clothes and takes care of himself and all his mates take the piss and call him a ponce and the girl has straightened blonde hair and a fake tan and is marginally anorexic (or bulimic – I don’t mind) and talk about handbags with her girlfriends? This is who I want

- Ideally you’ll already be a couple, not two random people that came together for this threesome, because I think that’s sexier

- We can discuss the rules of how this will work at a later stage, I do have some specific ideas but I’m also open to suggestions

Finally, I understand that this blog might not have huge readership amongst straight couples (let alone straight couples of my specifications), so please, if you’re a gay and reading this and thinking – oh that sounds like something my friends Matthew and Kate might be interested in (random names used), do let them know.

I guess the initial stage will be to email me and send pictures (body shots will do to start with), so get to it.

I actually expect zero response to this, but it will be nice to be proven wrong.

I have 2 songs by Daniel Powter and I've played them 11 times
I have 8 songs by Dannii Minogue and I've played them 192 times
I have 1 songs by The Darkness and I've played it 2 times