Bye Bye Baby

I would like to dedicate this post to my wonderful friend and colleague Fiona MacMillan who has selfishly decided to leave us in pursuit of a 'career'. Seriously though, I've worked side-by-side with Fiona for over 4 years now. She's encouraged me every step of the way she helped me through the bad times and been part of the good times. In the words of the Golden Girls

she's a friend and a confident

Fi I wish you all the success in the world and I'm sure you'll be very happy, without you, I may not.

Brolly Good Show!!

Gay readers you'll be relieved to see a far more fitting read in this post - I mean football, honestly.

Yes, yes, I know two days ago I wrote about how much umbrellas disgust me. However last night I was lucky enough to witness one brolly I would enjoy, in the amazing West End show Mary Poppins.

Both my friend and I were speechless at the end of the first half trying to describe how much we had enjoyed it. All I can say is it had everything you could possibly want from a musical, oh my god "practically perfect in every single way".

The set was just amazing and I was so impressed with how the actors faultlessly performed so many songs and routines relentlessly in a very demanding show. Many disciplines seemed to be given a nod including tap and ballet.

The most impressive moment though had to be when they 'flew' Mary Poppins from the stage, through the proscenium arch and up into the rafters of the theatre. I thought it was amazing, the kids must have loved it.

Having had a little look at the management behind the show I can't say I was surprised to see Matthew Bournes name in there. I guess that may be where the ballet influence came from (I saw his Nutcracker at Sadlers Wells a few years ago).

Maybe I was slightly 'sweetened' by the free tickets for this show, but what Mary Poppins did was remind me of why I used to enjoy musicals so much. Aren't they so bloody clever.

Up The Arse'

Yes I know it normally means something completely different to gay men, but last night I went up to the new Emirates Stadium to watch Arsenal play Porto (which they won). I have to say it's a bloody impressive stadium.

We had great seats, 9 rows back behind the goal. We saw Thiery Henrys first goal right before our very eyes, va va voom. Also Van Persies corners, thought he was a strong player, but I shall not try and analyse the match. It really isn't my thing as any of my friends will testify!

I did find myself slightly distracted during the second half watching Freddie Ljungberg warming up for substitution. Still that was only a 10 minute distraction. I see why they call it the beautiful game.

Brolly Bad Show

I hate those dicks that swan round the streets of London with fucking golfing umbrellas. Only the slighest hint of rain and wooooop, they're up. Yet they hold them so low you have to duck out the way to avoid having an eye removed.

I'm sure if they could carry a marquee round on a stick they would (note to self: check those big stick things in the middle of marquees are not for that purpose). While i'm on the topic of umbrellas, why do people keep their brollies open when it's not even raining. I hate you people, you make my happy days sad. Yes to misquote the Carpenters, Rainy Days & Mondays always make me glad.

Cock Tales

This was the final figure from the cocktail party that my friends and I enjoyed on Saturday night. You'll note a generously added 91 pence contribution made by the bar. Actually, to be fair, the bar was great and the cocktails were phenomenally good.

The absolute highlights had to be the Espresso Martini and The Essex Girl (I never thought I'd enjoy downing one of them). Also notable contenders were High Heels and The Champagne Bath which was beautifully presented with Rose Petals.

Of course most of the entertainment came from the waiters, they would give Manuelle a run for his money. The highlight was when the Eastern European guy said to my friend:

after 2 hours of drinking cocktails, you want to suck some cock
huh?

I don't know the rest of the story as he disappeared after that. So when the tab ran dry we all piled into a people carrier and head back to ours for yet more beer and singing. Writing this conclusion I realise it's one that's all to familiar to one of my nights out, however it was a lot of fun and you can't really complain about free cocktails!

I'm going to give the bar a little plug http://www.meetbar.co.uk/ . Okay, time.

If You Go Down...

...to the Woods today. You'll be sure of a big surprise. I had no idea this song was about cruising, but just listen to the lyrics. Filth. My childhood shattered. Again.

I mean just to give you an extract from the chorus in case you are not familiar:

Picnic time for teddy bears, The little teddy bears are having a lovely time today. Watch them, catch them unawares, And see them picnic on their holiday. See them gaily dance about. They love to play and shout. And never have any cares.

I mean catch them unawares. It is utter dirt. No wonder our kids are growing up corrupt. Well not mine obviously, the only kids I intend having are put down.

Out of the Closet

I just locked Jon in the cupboard at work. It's padded and sound proof. It's about time he learnt a lesson in coming out, except that I don't think he could with the chair being wedged up against the door.

Boredom...

I am very sad and lonely, mostly because my playmate isn't... well... playing frankly. Is it wrong of me to want to go to the dirty Wetherspoons 'Curry-oke' night? A thrilling combination of bad singing and awfully bad curry... and yet strangely alluring?

I might go extinct waiting for somebody to drink with me. My god if no one rescues me, well I'll have to go to the gym, for a swim. I'm not even sure they allow monkeys in my gym. I DON'T CARE IF IT'S A PICTURE OF A FUCKING CHIMPANZEE.

Somebody. Please come for a drink with me, i'll buy the banana milkshakes.

Get Over It...

So you didn't get an invite to the cocktail party. Get over it. I have.

Burning Ring of Fire

I was fortunate enough to be invited to a really enjoyable wedding in Cornwall last weekend. It just seemed to have everything right, a beautiful church, a witty vicar, blushing bride and nervous groom... yes all you'd expect.

This was followed by the customary reception and photo's on the lawn. I thought the speeches were well pitched and well timed, one speech after each course - although the 15 course Chinese Banquet was probably an oversight (last fact - not fact).

Finally we get to the evenings entertainment, the obligatory family DJ and kids on the dancefloor etc! And fairplay to the couple for choosing Morcheeba as their first song - good choice.

So the end of the night presses on, the DJ announces the last dance, it's an upbeat number and all the remaining revellers form a circle around the dancefloor each taking a turn to run in the middle and do a little solo dance and return. It's all quite amusing, until guest and respected local primary school head-teacher and father of two, who has been allowed of the leash for the night takes his turn in the middle and promptly rips of all his clothes a la Full Monty stylee and makes his exit.

Wedding ring anyone?

Oh What A Night...

Well it's been bit of a non-stop weekend for me. Drinking, drinking and well to be frank drinking. Still if it hadn't been for the booze I'd never have met Juan.

The journey home on the night bus is normally a challenge at the most sober of times, trying to keep myself from passing out and missing my stop by three days. However Friday night there was good reason to stay awake, notably in the form of some Mediterranean piece of filth, who I was later to discover was called Juan.

Now I was obviously traveling at the quietest time in the evening for the night bus. With very few passengers on board I was surprised when this Latino lovely came and sat at the back of the bus next to myself. Readers can I just take an aside here - thank you - does anyone else get that thing on the bus when the vibration of the bus causes you to get an, er, well, an embarrassing case of hormonal overload?

Anyway back to the story, people London, they're not usually particularly chatty? Not Juan though, he introduces himself and starts chatting to me. I naturally feel the need to engage. Clerkenwell, Shoreditch, Bethnal Green all slip by un-noticed. "I get off here" says Juan "How about you?". I don't know if it's the sudden braking of the bus or an emotional instinct, I lurch forward and exit the bus. I don't need to explain the rest of the sordid details, how he smelt (well like discarded fast-food wrappers if you must know) his home (smelt bad too - like off Cillit Bang)...

The next sound I remember hearing is the shower running, I wander in, I open the door, and there stark, bollock, naked is Bobby Ewing. I'm sorry. Come again? (he wishes) I look down and discover I am Pam Ewing, what is going on?

"Last Stop Leystonstone, this bus terminates here, all change please", damn it, why do I always fall asleep on the night bus?

*This story may not be true at all.