Saturday, December 22, 2001

So, last post for a while methinks. Because in just 48 hours' time (not that I'm counting or anything), Rick, Jonathan, Phil, Nigel, Greg and myself will be landing in the sunny isle of Gran Canaria, for what promises to be The Most Enjoyable Christmas...Ever!

Personally, I'm overjoyed at the prospect of some sunshine, not to mention escaping the normal dreary 'festivities' at home. Much as I love my family, it has to be said, Christmas is generally so incredibly, teeth-grindingly, catatonically dull that I lose consciousness somewhere after the Queen's speech and have to be revived by medical experts bearing vodka on Boxing Day. Hell, they don't even have arguments over the dinner table like normal people. Nothing to raise the interest needle off the zero.

And after this many years, I can predict so exactly at what time each and every event will occur, what they'll watch on TV, and who will buy what for who, that there's really no need to go through it all again - you might just as well put on a video of the year before and save all the trouble.

I'm being uncharitable I'm sure - still, this year I am more than happy that Christmas Day will be spent supping champagne on the beach, with good friends, great weather, and (hopefully) not a brussels sprout in sight. Hurrah!

Back New Year's Eve by which time I'll be having major Kelvin-withdrawal-symptoms, not to mention an RVT craving - but hopefully January 1st will sort out both of those...

Meantime have damn good ones whatever you've got the joy of doing this week - may it be short, painless, and involve a large quantity of alcohol.

Merry Christmas!

Friday, December 21, 2001

'I always have such great hair when it's midnight and no one else is around to witness it. But oh, there's always a crowd and a run-in with someone from high school when I'm sporting a shaggy Prison Mom hairdo. Jesus hell.'

Making me laugh this morning, as ever: sunday hero.

Undoubtedly this morning's favourite search request:
homosexual polo neck

Is there any other kind?

Why, why, why does it ever seem like a good idea to have a McDonald's breakfast?

'Er, yes, I'd like a Sausage and Egg McMuffin Meal please. And if the egg could possibly be completely tasteless and the texture of plastic, that would be great. Oh, and if you could also sap all trace of flavour out of the sausage and make sure the orange juice is inexplicably bitter, with a mysterious white film on top. Oh, you have already? Lovely.'

I haven't regretted a decision so quickly since that awful incident with the traffic cone and the vaseline...

Wednesday, December 19, 2001

Meanwhile, last night's journey home consisted of Judith and myself unashamedly bitching through the latest Hello! magazine - not least their 'most attractive man' vote. See the entirely implausible results here. Jim Corr? Simon Le Bon? Er, hello?

A beauty contest of an entirely different kind meanwhile, over at [via cub4blog] - which is much along the lines of Am I Hot Or Not? but, well, I guess you could call it a 'members-only' site (not to be looked at at work or if you're under 18, kids!)...

No, I haven't. And no, I'm not going to.

Okay, not drunk today. Slightly hungover, yes. Extremely cold, yes. Infinitely thankful that in a few days' time I will be somewhere hot and sunny, yes, yes, yes!

Been a fun few days though. It was Kelvin's work's Christmas party on Friday night, a black tie event to which I found myself unexpectedly invited at about 4pm, and which turned out to be a lot of fun. Fascinating to see his colleagues' reactions on being introduced as his partner. I have the honour of being the first they've met, and it's certainly the first time I've played corporate wife for the evening - a role which I believe normally involves wearing something revealing and smiling-sweetly-whilst-batting-eyelids at hubby, chairman and anyone else he needs to impress. Fortunately none of that was required - the hardest part was just trying not to let the sight of Kelvin in a tuxedo lead me into entirely inappropriate behaviour...

Saturday, a great night at Hope (if not exactly the busiest ever), and yet another marvellous RVT night on Sunday (two of whose thoroughly lovely staff have resolved my New Year's Eve problems - thanks guys!)

As for yesterday, a long and thoroughly drunken lunch led to a very lazy afternoon, and on to a gathering at Nik's house, in honour of our temporarily-departing boss who's off to Sydney. The wine flowed more than freely, much hilarity ensued, and being Christmas, there had to be games. Including the inescapable 'I Have Never...' game, whereby each person states a thing they 'have never' done (usually something suitably sordid and/or depraved) and anyone who has done said thing is obliged to stand up, drink, and confess all. I think we can all guess exactly how much time I got to spend sitting down...

Tuesday, December 18, 2001

I am here. I'm just drunk. Should you be wondering.

Typing difficult. Full update tomorrow. Probably.

Monday, December 17, 2001

When dodgy search requests and spelling mistakes collide...

...or was someone really looking for

I've already told you, she's busy.

Friday, December 14, 2001

So what are you doing for New Year?

Yep, it's nearing that time again - New Year's Eve, the dreaded evening whereby everyone and their dog knows it's over-rated, over-priced, stressful and generally an anti-climax, yet still, every year, we feel this compulsion that You Must Have A Good Time Or Everyone Will Think There's Something Wrong With You.

I've kinda mastered it in recent years by simply picking a club, generally The Fridge, buying a ticket early, and then staying there till dawn to avoid problems getting home. Which pretty much guarantees a good night out, even if not particularly different from any other Saturday in the year.

It wasn't always thus. One of the worst I can recall is being aged about thirteen and my parents having a party in the house. Since my mother taught music part-time at our school they were friendly with many of my teachers, and thus at the turn of the year, whilst I was in bed, ensconced in the midnight edition of EastEnders (my sole source of entertainment for the evening) I was interrupted by my drunken headmaster bursting into my room with a glass of champagne to wish me a happy New Year. Not that awful you might think, but when one is thirteen, one really does not wish to socialise with one's headmaster, much less in one's own bedroom, whilst one is in bed. A horrifying experience which left me mentally scarred for years.

Probably worse still though was the final year at university in Stirling, Scotland. A big group of us had returned early after Christmas in order to go to the huge Hogmanay celebrations in Edinburgh, about an hour away. For various reasons I couldn't get the afternoon train with everyone else but had to drive there later on - however a combination of my car breaking down, and complete lack of public transport after 5pm (Scotland takes New Year very, very, seriously) meant that I ended up stranded in Stirling, completely unable to join the others. Hence the evening was spent entirely on my own (sob!), the sole person on campus, with just the TV and a bottle of whisky for company. Happy fucking new year, I thought, and went to bed about half-past-ten.

As for this year - well, a tricky one on the grounds that we'll be flying back from Gran Canaria on the evening itself, landing at Gatwick at 9.30pm. I'd love to make it to the Vauxhall Tavern (where else?), not least to see Kelvin as he won't be with us on holiday, it having been booked well before we were so much as a flirtatious glance in each other's direction. But if the flight's delayed, if the trains are late, if there are tube problems - well, let's just say I'm not holding out too much hope. And the suitcases will never fit in the RVT cloakroom - not with the amount I take on holiday anyway...

Agh. New Year stress. Getting to me already. Somebody pass the mulled wine...

Thursday, December 13, 2001

It's Ananova, but not quite as we know it. I rather like 'Avon Ana'.

Grrr. Comments facility knackered already. Sorry.

I guess after 'Mamma Mia' it was only a matter of time...

So is the world ready for the first Kylie musical? 'I Should Be So Lucky' opens in Melbourne in January...

Just don't say I didn't warn you.

It's all gone very Dynasty in our office over the last few weeks.

A few weeks ago, the Group MD mysteriously left/resigned/was fired and hasn't been seen since. Rumours abounded of a bust-up with the Chairman, and an attempted management take-over, but nothing was ever confirmed. Then last week, the Acting MD announced he and the (now returning) Group MD were in fact buying out the Chairman and taking over the company. And now, not four days later, in one dramatic swoop, the Chairman's re-taken control, the MD's resigned, and the whole management team who were going to buy him out have collapsed in on themselves.

I can just hear the boardroom conversations now:
"I made this company what it is today, dammit Alexis!! You'll never take it away from me..."
"You might have won this round, Blake. But I'll make sure you regret this. Just watch me..."
"Not while I have breath in my body, you won't..."
"I'll destroy you, Blake Carrington, if it's the last thing I do!!!"

I would like to think that were also cat-fights involving hurling sequins at one another and falling-into-swimming-pools, but I suspect the truth is probably rather more mundane...

Tuesday, December 11, 2001

Dear Agony Aunt,

My flatmate and my boyfriend are going out tonight to the movies without me.

I would go, but I lack the patience to sit through films unless they are either something I really want to see, or star Dean Cain and/or Vin Diesel. As far as I'm aware, the Harry Potter film, although no doubt very entertaining, falls into neither of these categories, so I can't really be bothered.

Should I be concerned?

thanking you in advance of your help,
Dave x

Random terrifying thought for the day. Somewhere, even as we speak, Dido is probably in a studio, working on another album, ready to whine her way through another set of tedious, self-indulgent meandering dirges that will infest our airwaves until we all run screaming for the hills. Again.

Egad. Four days hath passed and nary a post to be seen. Verily, I am slack indeed.

Still, a thoroughly marvellous four days it has been, spent for the most part eating, drinking, more drinking, further drinking, dancing, cavorting, colluding and canoodling - all the things that make life worth living. And now, back to work, the thing that comprehensively saps all will to live. Hey-ho.

Friday night saw a damn fine party at John's place in Richmond, whereupon a good half of the RVT crowd seemed to have descended on his living room in order to get through as much alcohol as possible in a short space of time (we are well practiced in this). Very nice to get to know many of those folks we say hello to every single week but have never actually had, like, a proper conversation with - or at least, not without relying on shouting and hand gestures over one of Andy's thunderous tunes. Sherie-from-the-BBC informed me I have a perfect voice for radio. I think she meant 'face' but was just being polite. I didn't like to mention that the deep huskiness I have acquired over the last few days is actually down to a rather nasty cough...

Saturday. Fridge. Fabulous. As ever. And in sensible clothing!

Sunday, and being the third consecutive night out with the same crowd somehow made the RVT seem more like a big family than ever. And hence a fantastic night. so much so that we cancelled all plans to carry on clubbing afterwards, on the grounds that the night simply couldn't get any better. There was a brief re-appearance of Phil's tying-up antics, however luckily I had long since escaped before the security staff came over to ask Phil and Dave to desist with their 'inappropriate behaviour'. Inappropriate behaviour? In the Vauxhall Tavern? Who would have thought it?

I also rather enjoyed possibly the most back-handed compliment I think I've ever received.

Random bloke(indicating Kelvin): 'Phwooar! Is that your boyfriend?'
Me: 'Yeah, he is'
Random bloke: 'He's gorgeous!'
Me: 'Yeah, I know..'
Random bloke: 'Well, y'know, don't put yourself down, you must be alright for him to have looked at you in the first place...'

Yeah, thanks mate, I think!

Friday, December 07, 2001

Ok, so it goes against all my principles, it's a Bin Laden joke email, but this one is actually quite funny:

To: Cavemates
From: Osama Bin Laden - your Leader
Subject: The Cave

Hi chaps.

We've all been putting in long hours and we've really come together as a
group and I love that. Big thanks to Omar for putting up the poster that
says "There is no I in team" as well as the one that says "Hang In There,
Baby." That cat is hilarious. However, while we are fighting a jihad, we
can't forget to take care of the cave. And frankly ... I have a few concerns.

First of all, while it's good to be concerned about cruise missiles, we
should be even more concerned about the scorpions in our cave. Hey, you
don't want to be stung and neither do I so we need to sweep the cave
daily. I've posted a sign-up sheet near the main cave opening.

Second, it's not often I make a video address but when I do, I'm trying to
scare the most powerful country on earth, okay? That means that while
we're taping, please do not ride your mini silver scooters in the background.
Just while we're taping. Thanks.

Third point, and this is a touchy one. As you know, by edict, we're not
supposed to shave our beards. But I need everyone to just think hygiene,
especially after mealtime. We're all in this together.

Fourth: food. I bought a box of Cheez-Its recently, clearly wrote "Osama"
on the front, and put it on the top shelf. Today, my Cheez-Its were gone.
Consideration. That's all I'm saying.

Finally, we've heard that there may be American soldiers in disguise
trying to infiltrate our ranks. I want to set up patrols to look for them.
First patrol will be Omar, Muhammed, Abdul, Akbar and Jonathan.

Love your work,


Thursday, December 06, 2001

Ooh lookee, a comments facility! Marvellous. The bit about strangling isn't mine though, I hasten to add. You'll see what I mean.

Of course if I actually had any work to do, I wouldn't be sitting here writing this navel-gazing nonsense. Yesterday spent mostly decorating office christmas tree. Logic suggests cannot do this every day until Christmas.

Anyone need anything doing? Anyone?

Wake me up when it's Friday night...

Secrets and lies...

I really like Cory's post from Monday - especially the bit on self-censorship of his writing:

'For me to write what I hope is a good blog I can't think about if I will offend, or come off as stupid, or if I seem like this or that. If I did, I'd be paralyzed and would censor myself to such an extent that it wouldn't be worth blogging at all. It wouldn't be a good document of my life, and it certainly wouldn't be worth you coming here and reading it for entertainment.'

Too true. And I think I've maybe fallen into that trap myself a little lately. So, time to fill in some gaps I think.

And it helps answer the question I've been pondering this week: namely, whether to reveal this web address to the numerous friends who've asked about this journal I've inadvertently admitted to having.

I've decided the answer to that one's 'no'. A lot of the reason I wanted to write this whole thing at all was to have somewhere that was a real, accurate, and honest account of my life. Not just the side that friends know. Not just the side that family knows. Not just the side that people at work know. But the whole thing. The real thing. And if I'm having to take into account the reactions of any of the above groups to anything I'm writing, then doesn't it immediately become just one of those sides?

Of course, one or two may stumble across it anyway, and it's not as if every reader's a complete stranger - but, by and large, I think it's going to be a whole lot better, and a whole lot easier, not to share it with those closest to me.

One very important person to me stumbled across it though, before I even knew about it. Which, initially, wasn't good. There were things I didn't want him to know about, and more importantly there were things it hurt him to read. Not surprisingly, it led to some pretty difficult conversations, and some searching questions (it's also why the archives from July to October disappeared, should anyone be wondering!)

It's testament to what a fucking great guy he is though, that that wasn't the end of the story. And ultimately now, in a way, I'm glad that it happened. Because now he knows he's going out with a real, flawed, human being, and not some textbook ideal of a boyfriend. And, incidentally, so am I. Which is a much easier bargain to maintain on both sides.

It might also explain why, over the last few weeks, well, let's just the say the difficulties I was having adapting from three years as a completely free agent to not being, seem to have pretty much abated. It's not just that I'm not writing about my misdemeanours anymore - it's actually that they're not happening. Not just through some newfound self-control, but because I haven't wanted them to.

This, I think, is what they term a turn-up.

It's started already. My first Christmas party of the year last night, this one being an advertising industry thing, held at Turnmills. Which was kinda weird - the venue is normally home to clubs, not least the (in)famous Saturday night/Sunday morning festival of fucked-up-ness that is Trade.

I'm not a big Trade fan, the music's a bit toohard for this pop kid's ears, and I've never found it half as friendly and atmospheric as its many devotees claim - yet still, every now and then, at the end of a club elsewhere on a Saturday night, someone will go: 'Let's all go to Trade!', and lo, we end up there, hopelessly confused by the numerous staircases and corridors that never go quite where you were expecting them to, and eventually washed up on Farringdon station at some hideous hour of Sunday morning.

So, extremely strange to be in Turnmills last night, like, sober! And conscious! With like, a shirt on and everything. Very weird. Hey, at least I know where the stairs go now.

Wednesday, December 05, 2001

Okay, so just about three years behind the rest of the planet, I finally get to checking my search requests for this site.

So, my apologies to those looking for:
simply sweet and gorgeous london girls
naked black gay men galore
and even the
NCP Car Park Clapham
(I'm not sure who will have been the more disappointed).

And I'm not sure quite who arrived here via dave is a gay bastard but hey, thanks. Still, guess I've admitted to both those attributes in the past...

Meanwhile, a certain bloggin' girl from Atlanta might be interested to know there's a demand for nude pics of hermione. Could be the career move you've been looking for...

Tuesday, December 04, 2001

Things we loved about this weekend:

* Friday night at Kelvin's (I'm saying no more on this one...)

* A surprisingly painless trip to IKEA, resulting in much-improved bedroom

* Going to Heaven on Saturday night, to give Nathan a good send-off for his impending world travels. Haven't been for ages, crowd much younger and twinkier than I recall (or maybe I just got old suddenly...), but great fun, good music, if a little low on the volume side (perhaps I have been deafened by too many Sundays at the RVT)

* Sunday at the RVT, from which we dragged ourselves away about 9pm to go to...

* ...a rather fabulous party at Soho House, hosted by the unfeasibly lovely Stevie P (who is shortly off to visit Dave - spooky blogging coincidence alert!), going by the name of the 'Snow Ball'. Ah, that'll explain all the white powdery stuff everywhere...

* Going from there to DTPM, for five hours or so which I'm sure were fantastic, although in fairness the memory of this section of the evening is more than slightly vague...

* The ensuing chill-out party at Stevie P's, from which we finally dragged ourselves out into the Islington sunlight sometime around midday yesterday, in serious need of some sleep...

Things we didn't love about this weekend:

* My car being broken into in Highgate. Although it would have been amusing to see the thieving b**tard's face on realising that, despite ransacking the entire car, it contains nothing of any value whatsoever, unless you happen to be collecting old chocolate wrappers for some Blue Peter-style charity appeal. Even the stereo is older than God.

* Having my wallet pickpocketed in the five seconds it took me to walk between a cash machine and a taxi on The Strand, on Saturday night. Thieving b**tard no. 2.

On balance though, a damn fine weekend. More later probably - just as soon as this bright screen and Monday morning's party stop having serious arguments with each other...