Alright darlin'?

I've picked up some habits from my eight or nine months as a bar wench. The most pervasive is the tendancy, Ab-Fab style, to call everyone 'darling' or 'babes'. You get to see so many regular faces at the pub, and they're all called Mark or Rob or David or Richard, that eventually the alcohol-sodden grey matter gives up the ghost and everyone's name gets lumped into a cerebral superstructure for generic endearments. The sweetiebellum.

Unfortunately though, in gay men, the sweetiebellum is non-gender specific. Men and women are treated as one, irregardless of gender preference or how likely they are to punch you.

Luckily my mechanic didn't notice when I accidentally called him darlin' the other month, although actually I'm kind of annoyed he didn't.

Amazed that I've been at the pub so long - nearly a year - and funny how things have come full circle to where I am at the moment. Back then I had to go into this coping mode that meant I had little time for the niceties of blogging my daily movements. I'd just lost my job (like now), I was having money problems (like now), and had to supplement my non-existant income from job hunting with bar work (like now).

This time however, there's a much more positive spin on things - I'm getting on top of the grander scheme of financial worries, and coping by myself. Well, actually not entirely by myself, as the wonderfully handy M has been helping out in the flat. Last weekend - *gasp* - he grouted for me, and this weekend he sorted out the lightswitch in my bathroom and cleaned my kitchen. What a sweetie.

Darling.

posted at 5:25 PM •

Watching megastar blogger and Guardian columnist (jealous, me?) Salam Pax on Newsnight. Phwoar, he's a bit of a babe really innee?

But then, I knew I had a thing for Iraqis.

posted at 11:16 PM •

I'm in a picture mood. Well, what else am I supposed to do sat around at home all day?

posted at 6:54 PM •

The shifting sands of my mental landscape formed new hills and dunes for me to climb this weekend. I'll do a proper post on it, maybe, later. New things have emerged about 'him', and the breakup makes a lot more sense now.

In the meantime though, I've got a mountain of work, a cv and portfolio that I've still not done, and a burgeoning ebay business to run.

So unless I can hire a ghost-writer, you'll just have to wait.

posted at 11:12 AM •

Well, I really didn't think my teaser was that hard - nor did I think it would be that consequential to you folks. The answer, which one or two of you almost got close to, is to do with my family - and one little member of my family to be exact.

Little Ella, my niece, had finally had her name registered, and it's:



It all makes sense now - nowhere near as complex as you all had decided (my mind doesn't work that laterally), but that's the story.

posted at 9:49 PM •

I'm seeing a lot of this at the moment:



Maybe I should get out there and do something with it?

posted at 11:54 AM •

posted at 8:21 AM •

More Chuck...



For those of you that don't know, he's the author of Fight Club. This, my latest obsession, stems from the fact that he was featured in The Guardian magazine on Saturday, celebrating the fact they were previewing 'The Most Gruesome Short Story Ever Published', Guts.

I'm sure the Islingtonarati had plenty to chat about over their red wine and feta cheese last weekend after reading it. Do enjoy - I know I fucking did, reading it on the tube from tcr to bank - out loud to two of the barmen from the King's Arms. The gay bloke (I just knew, OK?) sitting next to me could hardly contain himself.

Gives me an idea - guerilla readings on the tube.

posted at 5:32 PM •

Demographically speaking, gay men are virtually indistinguishable from teenage girls. Maybe there is some weird neurological disorder whereby people that work in marketing can no longer actually see the person, just the lifestyle.

"Bob, this is Gloria."

"Hello, white middle-aged woman who buys her groceries from Asda."

Obviously in such a world, said impaired marketeer would see gay men and teenage girls as a pulsating mass of man-lust, alcopops, boy-bands and embarrasing sex-toys purchased with your best friend, laughed about and then used every night, tweaking nipples and moaning "Give It To Me Brad".

Try as hard as I might (and actually I don't try very hard), you could swap me with a 17 year old girl from Harrogate called Stacey and very few of my friends would notice the difference.

Maybe there's a TV series in there actually?

I digress - my teenage-girl interchangeability became frighteningly apparent last night as I was going through my finances with my guardian witch...

"£40 a month on text messsages?" she asked, somewhat amazed.

I looked down, sheepishly. I just can't help myself - I'm such a teenage girl when it comes to my mobile phone - oh, except I don't have a swishy ring-tone...oo, except look, the lastest track by Britney - gotta have it.

Anyway, I embrace my inner Stacey. So, while I'm being shamelessly unapologetic about it - *sigh* - Chuck Palahuniuk, isn't he just dreamy?

posted at 11:13 AM •

Still in a fucking bad mood.

I was told to work from home yesterday after my altercation with the South African. Winsome director lady didn't want any more fighting, and she knows something has been brewing on my part for a few weeks. The South African speaks to me like I'm a subordinate, in the case of Thursday he was accusing me of doing no work for two days. Bear in mind folks that I've just been made redundnant - do you think I was up for a ticking off?

The atmosphere at work still continues to baffle me - the South African in particular acts as though the directors have just told him he's been awarded a round the world cruise for a few months, and not to worry. Thinking about it, he's been there for some time, so they'll have to pay him off. On top of that, he's like 27 and married or something, so no doubt wifey will support them.

I've been getting more and more stressed, and the directors just say "but we're all in the same boat Steve". Well actually, no you fucking fuckers, we're not all in the same boat - I'm in the fucking boat that's being cast off to sea with no redundancy payment, no fucking parents to bail me out, no fucking partner to support me, and fuck-off financial difficulties, so no, we're not in the same fucking boat.

Fucking grown-ups with parents - they really haven't got a clue. "Oh, la-di-dah, look at me and how blumming grown-up I am, standing on my own two feet and all that" - and then the first sign of trouble, it's running back to Ma and Pa and live off the trust fund for a while.

Cunts, the lot of you.

PS Ranting at the weekend is fun - no-one visits much, so I can be as rabid as I like. Hooray.

posted at 12:27 PM •

Anybody who reads my ace life regularly may consider me to be a little self-obsessed. I've been a little concerned about it myself lately too - but I've just had so much to deal with going on, and this is a bit of space for me to get my thoughts organised slightly. As one reader once commented, it's like a form of prayer.

I don't often comment on current affairs, but I've just been reading two stories on bbc news, which in my slightly fraught emotional state have deeply moved me.

The bombings in Madrid are of course horrific, as are all acts of terror. But the response of the Spanish people is truly heroic. Rather than saddle up and aim blindly at any target, this bastion of Old Europe has sat down and responded with peace. This response makes me fucking proud to call myself a European, and makes me question 'our' government's standpoint on 'terror'.

Meanwhile, over in the "New World", this story tells of a woman charged with the murder of her baby who died two days after she refused a cesarian and gave birth to it naturally. This truly shows the state of america's heartland: a cruel, uncivilised nation, twisted by dogma and politics.

posted at 12:48 AM •

Fuck fuck fucky fuckity fuck. Seriously lost my temper here at work today. The obnoxious South African started to have a dig at me in his usual manner of shoot first, ask questions later, or not at all. I tried to defend what I'd been doing, but it wasn't what he wanted to see, so he just continued being hostile.

So I lost it and called him an arrogant prick.

My temper never used to be like this. My dad had a terrible temper, and growing up in the shadow of the valley of his death I made an effort to not be like him. It worked, on the whole, but there are still a few things which push my buttons, and uncompromising arrogant tossers are one of them.

I feel like punching something.

posted at 2:33 PM •

The weekend starts here - um, except it only just feels like it finished. M came over on Friday evening - the fourth time we'd spent time together. This was going to be the first time we'd spent a few days together, and we had a few plans.

On Saturday we went over to Camden Lock and spent time wandering around the tofu burger joints and crazy asian women screaming at us to buy their chinese food. We had a great afternoon chuckling at the ghosts of punks past and post-apocalyptic cybergoth fetish fashions.

I had to work at the pub in the evening, and met up with M afterwards at a friend's house-party in North Greenwich. I already knew half of the people at the party from my days at the Vauxhall Tavern and with a helping hand from our favourite horse-tranquiliser, two years of partying were compacted into one night.

Saturday blended into Sunday and a return to the Royal Vauxhall Tavern for the first time in months. Finding out we had loads of friends in common was really strange, after five years of living with a man who barely left the house. A little bit of the 'new relationship' excitement was traded for a growing sense of comfort with M, feeling more and more at ease with him.

posted at 12:13 PM •

I'm coming out.

It's a funny old tiny little gay world you know. I've long known that given the percentage of gay people in the population, the chances of one gay person knowing another within the same scene is far greater than within the general populace. Take into consideration specific sub-divisions, interests and fetishes within the same scene, and the circles get even smaller.

When I first came out I didn't imagine half of how small the gay world was - but the first inklings came with the arrival of my first boyfriend, Tim. I'd been out only a few months when I met Tim - he had been out for years and was "a professional gay man". He had a gay job, mostly gay friends, and hung out in gay spaces. He was fairly ordinary but serious - a sweet guy, but not at all the sort of bloke I'd go for these days.

Tim was originally from the Orkneys, which gave him a very soft, almost generic gaelic accent, and a very passionate desire to define himself as an out, proud, gay man.

Tim of course had had boyfriends before me, the most notable being one of his first, the composer Sir Peter Maxwell Davies, who is now The Master of the Queen's Music.

These days, I've got loads of connections, and the circle keeps getting smaller.

Hmm - now take M for example...

posted at 5:28 PM •

I'm coming out.

It's over ten years since I came out as a gay man. Coming out is a defining part of the gay experience, and it's something which is done by most people in stages. Usually you come out to yourself first. For me this was a focussed period of self-examination and meditation on the self. I struggled with my sexuality internally before I acted on it, though this was made much easier by the fact that I grew up on the Isle of Man, a place where gay people aren't exactly visible, and so there are few role models to compare yourself to.

I figured my sexuality out by the time I left the island at the age of 20, and on arriving in my new independant life at college in Middlesbrough, I tentatively poked my head out of the closet. Almost as soon as I'd settled into my new shared student digs, I contacted a local gay helpline. I remember being overwhelmed with emotion as a comforting voice answered the phone and I said the words I'd been rehearsing for almost four years. "I'm gay".

Everyone's experience of coming out is different. For me it was a relief and the opening of my eyes to something I could finally identify with after years of feeling an outsider. For others, like 'him', it's an act of defiance, of passive resistance and aggression. That was one area where we differed, and it's even been suggested to me that 'he' isn't gay at all. Certainly it would answer a few niggling questions about the way he acts.

These days, I hate coming out. It's an act I associate with nervous young men or moustached forty-somethings with a wife and kids and a suitcase full of leather gear and SM porn hidden in the garage under the pile of dust-sheets and tins of Ronseal quick-drying varnish.

These days I put on my deepest baritone, look manly and then mention my motorbike and boyfriend in the same breath. It seems to work. The assertion is, I'm a bloke, I'm a poof, I'm comfortable with it, and if it's an issue for you then you'd better damn well get over it quickly because I'm not standing around here where you wait for an apology or an explanation.

As a transsexual friend of mine put it - This is the 21st century you know, we've got running water, electricity and queers, so get used to it.

posted at 11:13 AM •

posted at 2:12 PM •

Jim Hacker: "Don't tell me about the press. I know exactly who reads the papers: The Daily Mirror is read by people who think they run the country, The Guardian is read by people who think they ought to run the country, The Times is read by people who actually do run the country, The Daily Mail is read by the wives of the people who run the country, The Financial Times is read by people who own the country, The Morning Star is read by people who think the country ought to be run by another country, and the Daily Telegraph is read by people who think it is."

Sir Humphrey: "Prime Minister, what about the people who read the Sun?"

Bernard Woolley: "Sun readers don't care who runs the country, as long as she's got big tits."


     - Yes Minister

posted at 12:58 PM •

Don't you love me when I'm in these up and down moodswings? Back pain is getting a lot better, and I'm able to look on the bright side.

Had a great idea for a themed party. Disney Cannibal. Eating sushi while watching Finding Nemo, venison and rabbit pie while watching Bambi, and takeaway chinese while watching The Aristocats.

posted at 5:02 PM •

It's not me talking, it's my lower back. I'm living on Nurofen (and a rather tasty Tesco Finest Paella last night) - as I pretty much have been since last October. Actually, I'd just managed to kick my addiction when the redundancy and infection hit, and what with one thing and another, my back is always the first thing to go (along with my bowels - I'm farting like a motherfucker).

The unrelenting pain is just bringing me down, and I hit bottom this morning. I woke up, necked two Nurofen liquid capsules and waited a bit for them to kick in, all the time wondering why I was getting myself into work.

Once in work, the anxiety hit, and I couldn't focus on what I was doing. I even went as far as taking all of my personal stuff out of my top drawer and making a little pile, ready to pack. I stopped myself walking out and went and spoke to one of the bosses.

Things have calmed themselves down now in my head, and I'm able to see the wood for the trees. I'm going to take tomorrow off and just chill myself the fuck out, and plan how I'm getting through this next bit.

posted at 2:55 PM •

It's all starting to sink in.

Hunched over my laptop all day has resulted in my lower back pain just getting worse - of course the people I work for won't be buying me a desktop machine, which would sort out my posture.

Bollocks are still throbbing, and the right testicle feels tight and tender. I suppose I should stop having my pre-bedtime wank. I'm sure you'll all tell me I should.

In the last two weeks, somehow, everything has just crumbled. The lodger has moved out, leaving me three hundred quid a month short. The flat is falling apart - I desperately need a new cooker and washing machine, but there's no way I can afford one, and I doubt I'll get a lodger with things as they are. In any case, I've been so ill I've not been able to get ads on flatshare boards, and showing people round the flat is unthinkable.

But at least things were slowly starting to come together. I've managed to get the arrears recapitalised, and I need to get moving on the remortgage, but now - now I just cannot be fucking bastarding shitting bothered.

I am sick to fucking death of all this struggle.

posted at 8:44 PM •

Was planning a post about fetishes following last night's Body Shocks on Channel4 about the German guy who "Ate his lover", but I'm feeling rough and stressed. Lower back pain is driving me crazy, and I'm getting insanely paranoid about the atmosphere in the office - no-one seems to be showing the slightest alarm that we've all been made redundant.

Maybe i dreamed it all - that would explain why I've had no sympathy comments from any of you lot (except for my one reader, Blue Witch). Although I'm managing not to get depressed about it, the events of the last two weeks may well be the final straw - I'm being loaded with work, and feel like I'm not going to have five minutes to try to find another job.

Well, at least I won't have to work with this obnoxious South African anymore.

posted at 2:56 PM •

You know how people from different regions and cultures often smell different? For instance, we associate people from Central Asia with a "curry" smell (coriander and other spices).

Apparently to people of other cultures, westerners smell of milk.

Brought to you by the department of random information.

posted at 12:06 PM •