Saturday, 30 August 2008

Saturday 30/08/08

On Thursday at work, I spot a new flag on top of the British Museum, a flag that I can’t quite make out what it is, so I go online, find contact details and send the following email to three British Museum departments (General Information, Marketing, The British Museum Shop):


I was wondering whether you could help me with something.  I suppose there are only two things that you need to know about me: a) I work near the British Museum and b) I am a Flag Enthusiast (FE). 

Every day I come in my office, expecting the usual pain and sorrow, watching my life run through my fingers like sand, sand that no lovers will ever step on during a romantic stroll. 

However, recently I’ve had a tiny glimmer of hope that’s been helping me get through.  That little white flag you’ve raised. 

My question is – I can’t quite make it out from where I am.  What is this flag please?  And how long are you planning to keep it up? 

I look forward to your response. 

Best wishes, 

Fake Name”

After my work is done, I go to the gym where I do chest and abs wearing a grey Nike t-shirt, white rugby shorts from Canterbury, white lycra shorts from Nike underneath, one navy blue/light blue stripy sock, one navy blue/white stripy shop and white Adidas running trainers with the whole ensemble looking only 72% ridiculous.  

Then I shower and get changed, thinking that I haven’t seen the sleazy guy with the faux-friendly attitude and wandering hands that I wrote about last week, since…well, since I wrote about him.  And on this Thursday evening, I choose to not take this as a coincidence. 

After the gym I meet up with Scott – we’re having dinner at the restaurant in Soho Hotel with Brendan, Donnell and his boyfriend at 2030 – but it’s still only 1955 so Scott and I go to Starbucks nearby and sit there without ordering anything.  I show Scott the latest issue of Boyz that I picked up on the way, which has a picture of me from Matinee, and point out that – in yet another in the series of punches in the face that I’ve received over the last 28 years – my picture has been altered to make me look more tan. 

I recall the conversation with the photographer on Sunday night who pointed out to me that he’s likely to do that, but I wasn’t strong enough, I didn’t have the conviction to ask him not to.  This is the picture, nonetheless, with not quite the whiter shade of pale that my skin has now reverted to. 

Oh and here’s a comment via email from Nathan, after he saw my picture in Boyz, for extra corroboration:

“I actually thought when I saw the photo that you looked a lot paler in person (translucent even… akin to that weird glow that gin and tonic gets under a black light)”

Thank you, Nathan.

Then it’s 2020 so we walk over to the Soho Hotel and find out that we’re the first of the party to arrive, then we sit in some hotel lounge for a bit and take pictures of each other, then I tell Scott that I’d really like to start hanging out with people who are not late for their dinner reservations, then it’s 2045 and Donnell and his boyfriend arrive, then we sit at the table and Brendan rocks up at 2055. 

I only have a smoked salmon and thyme omelette because I only want to spend a maximum of £10 with a view to my impending unemployment, we all play the parts of people who are having dinner together and talking, Brendan asks me if I’m looking forward to my move to Sydney, I tell him I’m looking forward to coming back to London actually and getting the whole thing done and over with. 

Then it’s suddenly 2220 and I need to get back home right about now, so that I have a chance to sit on the couch in front of the TV and freak out a bit about the following the day at work.  If I don’t get home at least an hour before bedtime (usually midnight), I don’t have enough time to get the fretting out of the way, so it keeps me up. 

This Friday night I get home at 2245, fret, manage to still be awake at 0050, take some Nytol, manage to still be awake at 0200, take a Valium, drift off.


Anonymous said...

Were you by the Italian Gardens at Kensington Gardens today?

chipandpin said...

LP - you may wish to rethink your plan to move to Australia if you are planning on getting any action after reading this:

Apparently they are suffering a "man drought". I know the feeling.

Gav Dublin said...

Hey LP,

So, totally unrelated to this particular post of yours I want to ask you something about an unrelated blog which, if you read this to the end, is kind of related after all.

So, Alex, of "the great cock hunt" fame, blogged for a couple of years, had a great and loyal readership (you can see where this is going, right) and, eventually, after LOTS of gay angst and postings, actually had a book published, like, properly published. Not to denigrate your production you understand. In any event, now the B****X practically does not blog anymore to the great chagrin of his loyal readership.

The question is, in the event of similar, undoubted, future deals for our Prep,

Et tu brutae?

Maluminas said...

That guy with you in the picture is freaking hot. Burned actually. A nice shade of "Melanoma Brown". I prefer my men to be halfway between "Melanoma Brown" and "Morgue White". Both extremes end up on a refrigerated stainless steel drawer, so the middle is the farthest. Logical.

Phoenix said...

I do the whole fret thing too, it takes me ages to settle into "go to bed" mode, so somehow I have learnt to live on 6 hours sleep a night.

Do you think you'll get a response from the museum? I haven't been in there for ages, although I love walking around Bloomsbury area.

george said...

the orange thing next to you make you look really good in the picture. so natural and

dickophile said...

I cant believe the photographer did that to you. You're almost unrecognizeable. In fact I kind of find you repulsive in this photo. So you can imagine how I feel about the poor barbecued fellow standing next to you.

London Preppy said...

anon: No. Where you?

chip: Ah well, that's why I'm going. I've been recruited to boost the male population

gav: A book deal is an unattainable fantasy currently, so my answer to this is: I will blog indefinitely

maluminas: I suppose there is a middle ground, but quite frankly - who wants that, innit

phoenix: I did get s response. They just said that it was a London 2012 flag and was only up during the Olympics

george: Now, now, he's actually Hispanic I think so of course he has a different skin tone

dick: I should have asked me not to, shouldn't I

Anonymous said...

There was a pale skinned, dark haired guy wearing a Ralph Lauren polo shirt and tiny white shorts, huge shades and an oversized bag that bore an uncanny resemblance who I passed as I was exiting the park.

Trans Fat said...

"I tell him I’m looking forward to coming back to London actually and get the whole thing done and over with."

Another thing you can check off the things-I-should-do list?

I have many "things" and many "list"....most are absolutely ridiculous, but ja got to do em. Otherwise, there is too much regret.

And while there’s nothing wrong with regret, ja just want to at least make an attempt to minimize future regrets every now and then….

The operative word, of course, being “attempt”.

London Preppy said...

anon: Ah, sorry, I guess some other west London queen

trans: Yes, I suppose part of doing stuff instead of not doing stuff and then regretting it

anonymouse said...

Pale boys are sexy !

The glow of a gin and tonic under black light is the quinine in the tonic fluorescing. Only genuine quinine does this so it's a sign of a quality tonic.

Please resist the temptation to write a book, there are too many of the bloody things out there already.

timbo said...

"Every day I come in my office, expecting the usual pain and sorrow, watching my life run through my fingers like sand, sand that no lovers will ever step on during a romantic stroll."

That's just fucking brilliant, isn't it?

Nathan said...

I'm happy in the knowledge that the Box serves quality tonic.

My comment to you originally said 'the wierd glow that gin at tonic gets [at the Box]'...

MrM said...

Actually, what seems most dashing about this picture, is that despite your general, overwhelming, all-encompassing pale-itude, your teeth still seem whiter than you body.
Only when that changes (hopefully in the sense that your skin will grow even more milky, rather than your teeth turning a nice cocoa hue of brown) will the goal be reached, I assume.
The bar is high, but we have known you to go on bigger dares. You did have orange hair, did you not?

shawn said...

"shawn: I will post them" Please LP, don't make promises you don't wish to keep. I find that the most unbecoming character trait a person could show and I love this blog so.