Can I have a housemate in Sydney now please?
Ideally I would like somebody English, straight and uptight, because this is the demographic I get on best with.
I want them to be English so that they also have that fish-out-of-water feeling and they seem lost and don’t know where anything is and we can spend nights in together watching BBC repeats on iPlayer feeling nostalgic about the motherland, well, their motherland and my adopted country that I desperately cling on to.
I want them to be straight so that we become friends and they can gently take the piss / mock me for my sexual preferences, not in an aggressive way of course, but in an endearing “ah, London Preppy is a gay” way, which is a dynamic I’m used to and actually enjoy, as pioneered by Mean, Matty, et al. Also if they’re straight they can have a girlfriend and we can have a threesome, so that I check out what that’s like.
I want them to be uptight, because so am I and I don’t want to live with a party animal or somebody who is “chilled out”, “laid back” or “relaxed”. I.e. I don’t want to be the only one lining up the remote controls on the coffee table.
If you know anyone with those specifications moving to Sydney at the same time, please let me know. At this point, I’m happy with two out of three criteria.
Anyway, then it’s Sunday night and Scott is over at mine and a new episode of Poirot is on, so I make him watch it, but then Scott falls asleep near the end, at the climax, when Poirot is doing his little speech and tells us who the killer was.
And that’s when I wake Scott up and ask who on earth falls asleep at the end of the episode, when the emotions are high and the action is gripping and we get the answers to all the questions that were formed over the last two hours. And Scott replies that most people who watch this programme probably fall asleep by the end of it, because they’re all quite old and prone to nap.
Which leads us to the following questions:
a) Does anyone watch Poirot?
And if yes:
b) How old are you?
Finally, on Monday after work I go to the gym where I do legs and abs, chat to Superman, and see a poster on the wall advertising a gym social event for next month. This social event is held in one of the aerobics rooms in the gym, includes drinks, chat and a disco and – are you ready? I know I’m not – a charity auction where you can bid for members of the staff and have them…
…as your Slave for a Day. Yes, the poster actually says Slave for a Day. Slave. For. A. Day. Pale Personal Trainer. Slave. Pale. Day. A. Trainer. Personal. Slave. Slave. Day. Pale. Trainer.
And finally some loose ends:
a) Take part in the Aussielicious competition here if you want
b) This is a new blog that I discovered (through Matt at DBF) and I like. It’s called Small Step on the Other Sidec) Einai kanenas Ellinas pou to diavazei afto kai menei Ellada kai tha paei sti Madonna to Savvato? Eimai apla periergos. Tha eimai ki ego ekei