I'm not up to anything, I'm completely inactive, every piece of information I receive seems pointless and completely indifferent to me, I am wondering whether the rest of the people comprehend he ridiculousness that surrounds them, I am convinced there are important things in this life, but I can't think what they are right now.
On Thursday I'm on my way to work and I’m walking down some steps on the underground reading page 244 of The Secret History and listening to Connection by Elastica (key lyric: “who wants a life, anyway?”) when I’m stopped by the feeling of soft flesh against my knuckles…
…I look up and see this woman, in her 40s (I can’t remember much else, it all happens so quickly) giving me a very dirty look, I dare call it a snarl, and tut-tutting so loudly that I actually hear it above all the guitars that are playing in my ears. I know it’s only 9% my fault because I’m walking down the correct side and not expecting anyone to be walking into me, I point to the other side of the barrier where people going her direction are supposed to be walking, I shout OTHER SIDE at her, I walk off admiring…
…how much of a single-minded vindictive witch on a war path this person is, to continue walking towards me until she gets my knuckle in her eye just because she thinks I have to a) stop reading while I’m walking and b) get out of her way. I wish I were such a warrior.
I go to work, manage to get out of there at 1750 alive – well, as alive as I’m ever likely to be, really – and head to the gym.
In the gym I do arms, abs, announce to Superman that I’m going to Sydney, realise that the gym has suddenly turned very gay, try to remember a time when it wasn’t so gay and you could work out with fewer sideways glances (except for the ones that were directed from me to the straight personal trainers and Superman), try to figure out where it all went wrong, decide that going wrong is the natural course of all things that concern me, resign to the fact, have a shower.
On Thursday evening I go to bed at midnight, battle with an overactive mind for three hours, wake up at 0530 and think some more until 0710, pass out only to get woken up by my alarm at 0820.
And what else is happening is:
a) Scott told me that two people have mentioned to him in the last week that a picture of mine is on the cover of a regional gay magazine. Neither of these people could provide any more information. Helpful as this is, can anyone else help? If I’m on the cover of a magazine, I’d like to know, you know? Let’s not aim to high here, I’m guessing it’s something like the Reading version of QX or something. Any information?
b) On a slightly more important, less small-town-gay-rag note, I have been invited to talk about London Preppy in a gay literary night. This is Polari, which as its myspace page tells us, is a “Gay literary salon night, hosted by author/journalist Paul Burston at Trash Palace, 11 Wardour Street, W1 every second Wednesday of the month”.
I’ve been asked to talk in December, at which time I will be in Sydney, but don’t worry, Mean has stepped in instead and he will do a reading of London Preppy blog excerpts for me. And if this whole thing sounds like I’ve just made it up, well I haven’t, it’s a true story, so you should go.
Details here (http://www.myspace.com/polarigaysalon) and the blurb for the December event is:
WEDNESDAY DECEMBER 10 - POLARI BLOGGER NIGHT WITH CLAYTON LITTLEWOOD, DAVID BENSON AND LONDON PREPPY
Clayton Littlewood's blog on Myspace has been turned into a book called 'Dirty White Boy'. He'll be performing excerpts with actor David Benson. Plus there'll be a guest appearance by the infamous gay blogger known only as 'London Preppy'.
Pretty cool, huh?
c) Finally, is anyone going to Brighton? Sounds like perfect non-tanning weather with lots of cloud, the occasional rainfall but still quite warm. We like that.