Behind the Tummycurtin

The EYES can see

2008-09-06T02:54:00.002+01:00

My small panda like cat often says to me,

"Daddy, am I pretty?"

Well, hun, I paid a small fortune to bring you from Australia to the England. I wouldn't have bothered if you looked anything like one of those plus twelves in the latest Kate Moss Collection.

But back to me. I can see.

And I can see you.

Lasic surgery is not for the faint hearted. For starters, it costs alot. And when you get it done, it smells.

Then when the anaesthetic wears off it hurts.

But after the small discomfort, its the best thing you would ever do.

I can see ....

And I can see you. And EVERYTHING inbetween.

Election time

2008-09-06T02:15:00.002+01:00

The race for the US presidential office is really a no brainer, it would seem.

I mean, who's going to vote for Moose and Squirrel?

Tighten the belts

2008-08-23T07:58:00.002+01:00

The paper says we're officially in a recession now. Well, I can say then that I'm glad I just sold my house for a tidy profit.

And I guess this is the wrong time to have a barnie with the boss, hey.

So I think I might start investigating different ways to tighten the belt, in a new special edition recession blog. I mean I am half Scot after all, and us kilt wearing folk DO know how to squeeze that last drop out of the Coolabah 2L Moselle flask.

The Miracle of Science

2008-08-22T22:24:00.002+01:00

So I passed by this place in Goodge street the other day, ok a bit out of my usual London journey. And there were all these chinese athletes milling around.

I am a bit of an Olympics lover, so my interest was piqued, to say the least.

Aren't youse meant to be training for the greater glory of the empire?

Well, they were getting their eyes done at the lasic surgery. Just to be at our best, one of them told me.

OOOh, me too?

So I got my eyes done.

MY GOD it hurt. but i can see now, and im sure im going to win a gold medal somewhere...

Berlin

2008-03-28T00:42:00.002Z

Welcome Home James

2008-03-28T00:20:00.002Z

Been out to dinner this evening in with James and The BF for a lovely dinner. Having an interesting recap of the weekend's festivities in Berlin. WOW what a place, and wow what an amazing club, snax.

oooh we were the only ones behaving, because, we have class.

Its Official

2008-03-15T09:55:00.002Z

1. Londoners are the rudest people on the planet
2. Jane Turner IS the funniest person alive (like DUH..)
3. Mrs Pussy tummycurtins is the cutest cat in the world
4. Lost is the best show in tv right now
5. I am totally crap at this blog and no one really should read it. I mean, how much facebooking can anyone possibly do? I might be going for the record.

i@ll keep them short and regular from now on.

Happy new year BLOGGERZ!!!

2008-01-08T06:16:00.000Z

Wow!

I've been so preoccupied with Facebook that my relationship with this lovely pussy page has soooo been neglected.

Well, one of my many new year's resolutions (of which there are many, all about me) is to ensure that I blog more often. Because, it's probably the most selfless thing in my life that I do.

HA!

So getting in last night from a FOUL 30 plus hour long haul flight from Melbourne, Aust-twaiw-ia, I find myself awake at 3.00am pondering life's little mysteries, like, how those little plastic collar stiffeners ALWAYS manage to clog up the lint filter in the washer, facebooking like crazy and downloading my favourite episodes of Jamie Summers on utorrent.

Waiting for the offie downstairs to open so i can get some bread for some toast. Either that or its leftover biriani.

Mrs Pussy has had her own adventure whilst we've been gone, but I will let her tell you all about it herself. Needless to say, she looks red carpet, Oscar gown ready!

GO MRS PTC!

ciao for now.

Alison Arngrim

2007-09-29T12:42:00.001+01:00

OMG how much did you just LOVE Nelly Oleson!

Free Schapelle

2007-09-14T07:46:00.000+01:00

Guilty or innocent,
http://www.schapellecorbytours.com/

this has got to be in breach of some kind of convention.

really appalling here.

SpiderPig FULL version! (from simpsons movie)

2007-09-10T22:44:00.001+01:00

best.

Blogger Buzz

2007-09-10T21:38:00.000+01:00

" a top up?"

" oh go on"

After a couple of beers with my favourite work collegue, Celia, I'm sitting in my living room on a Monday night being accused by my flatmate Fiona as being a Scrabulous jinx.

Celia and I have been chatting about being god parents and the new wage structure of the tube drivers. Can you belive that they earn £37 K plus 10 weeks holiday?

What am I doing with my life?

AH Fiona has gotten onto Scrabulous and beaten me to death with "PONG".

My previous word was "RAVE".

We're a classy lot.

Duran Duran - Careless Memories

2007-09-09T13:54:00.001+01:00

Who's the hot model in this clip? anyone know?

Strike, you're out

2007-09-07T07:21:00.000+01:00

Perhaps yesterday was an omen. 'Don't go on the tube' it warned 'your life will be irreversibly ruined'... I'm sure I checked my horoscope on facebook this week and there was no mention of the tube strike, nor did it sage on the mega pain in the arse everyone who commutes in London will no doubt be enduring right now.

I wonder whether its worth actually going back over the last few days of horoscopes and seeing if at any time. any of these soothsayers soothed how fucked off we're all likely to be by the end of this week.

I read somewhere this afternoon that we could be looking at this lasting a couple of weeks. And what's friggen Ken doing about it? hmmm? The mayors office is strangely quiet for a change.

Seriously though, I would sack the lot of them, these tfl bunch. There are enough willing workers in London and the Brits sadly are a lazy mob. In fact I wouldn't mind paying the ninety pounds my monthly ticket cost me if I knew that the person who was driving me at a million miles an hour through to bowels of this great city actually enjoyed his job as much as I loved mine.

So now we're all catching the bus home. All together, all at the same time.

Really, there is only one decent method of travel in London, and it's called the Black cab.

The shitty week begins...

2007-09-07T07:19:00.000+01:00

The shitty week begins.

So life goes on huh? I guess it does. Not content with having to work on Sunday, today I seem to be unnaturally anxious about my job, my life, my relationship, and increasingly, my sanity.

After a lovely afternoon where we had a couple of drinks at the absolut ice bar (yes, complete with thermal ponchos, mittens and glasses made of frozen water in which a caccophony of crisp cocktails spat and sizzled) and a brief dance along the masala mile that had transformed Regents street, we found ourselves yet again languishing beer in hand outside the sticky windows of Rupert Street in Soho.

My natural instinct in these situations is to be completely obsessed by the passing trade, after drinking a skinful, talking and gesticulating wildly to anyone and everyone who will listen, about a myriad of topics that generally revolve around me. I think this instinct comes from years of drunken laneway recovery parties in Sydney, with the divine Miss H by my side, conducting vox pops and stealing peoples party whistles and glow sticks, covertly disposing of them in the name of all things good and decent. There should be a safety warning in all bars and clubs around the world regarding serving me beer.

So back to yesterday, and on this particularly heady afternoon full of beer, yumcha and vodka, I launched myself upon the unsuspecting crowd of like minded Sunday revellers hovering expectantly like hungry bees around the open doors of the soho honeypots.

What I didn't expect was to run into a lovely couple whom we had befriended over a year ago in Montreal whilst attending the cities gay pride parade. We had spent many fun hours with these lovely boys in various bars around Montreal during our two week holiday there, and seeing them on the street in London was such a treat, even though it felt like no time had passed at all.

'Right' says me 'I think it was my shout' ....

I so wish this morning was as delightful.

Awakened to the tickles and purrs of the little Mrs Pussy Tummycurtins, After the busiest sleep imaginable, my lateness in getting out the door was soon after rewarded by a hideously crowded tube where in a last ditch attempt to jump between carriages to get a seat, I found myself quite embarrassingly tripping over the threshold onto the platforms as the doors slammed shut and the train breezed off without me on it. I swear someone laughed and waved to me too. Bitch.

Attack of the Krispy Kremes

2007-08-24T21:14:00.000+01:00

As I hurtle underground to get back to my fabulous new Sony Vaio and the treasure trove of delights within facebook, I am sharply reminded by the strain against my belt by my fabulously rotund Porte cochere that it has been another day away from the gym.

In synch with the horror of my rapidly evolving apron, I am starting to feel like I'm letting team gay down by getting a little portly. i guess if the weather had been better I might not feel so much like I was still in hibernation. all excuses I know.

What I cant abide though are people who have birthdays and feel the need to bring to work not one but two! BOXES of Krispy Kremes for afternoon tea.

So on top of last nights bangers and mash I now have 2 fat filled donuts to work off. Thanks a lot Mr Krispy you big nasty fatty Krispy thing you.

Pee Wee Herman - Tequila

2007-08-24T21:02:00.001+01:00

This brings back so many memories.
I strangely relate to Pee wee Herman. We have similar police mug shots too.

The Pointer Sisters - Automatic

2007-08-24T14:13:00.001+01:00

This one is dedicated to Ryan who I just know will be SO jealous to see that he wasn't the first person to do high kicks at the disco.

This is just SO camp. One of my favourite songs ever, and a regular on my ipod playlist. Just check out the audience moves.

Technology 101

2007-08-20T23:04:00.000+01:00

So perhaps my shift out of blog space has been caused by an overwhelming need to pay much needed attention to my life, rather than being plugged into the USB of the fella's laptop.

It was revealed to me that I was spending too much time on his laptop and so I was promptly told to 'go and get your own bloody laptop, wouldja.'

Well, fair enough, it was about time.

In order to procure this splendid piece of new technology, I enlisted the assistance of my uber geek friend Scott (with the lot). We spent a good couple of days scanning the best deals online and came up with a plan.

I was meant to go pounding the pavement looking for bargains along TCR ( for those not London savvy, that's Tottenham Court Road ). Then we could compare prices online and would have had the chance to have seen, fondled, admired and potentially broken a machine in preparation for receiving my own via delivery some time in the future.

The worst thing about this is that I'm a terrible impulse shopper and need instant gratification. Walking? Window shopping? waiting? that's a big www.no if you ask me chaps.

Along with my fabulous new sony vaio I also went and got myself a new windows phone. it's really a little mobile computer with a qwerty keyboard and all. the worst thing about it is typing with the interpreting text on. it makes for funny reading.

So now, my dear blogging community, i find myself writing my blog entries whilst on the tube which, apparently, is the best thing to do. I promise to be fresh and regular from now on, and thanks to a heightened sense of annoyance, I'm sure I'll be lots more evil.

H.R. Pufnstuf Intro

2007-08-18T11:26:00.001+01:00

I think my favourite show ever. I recall about 10 years ago leading a singalong at the Beresford hotel after a particularly drunken mardi gras. Couldn't believe I knew all the words, and so did half the bar!

duran duran my own way

2007-08-06T21:59:00.001+01:00

For some reason Duran Duran are quite ashamed of this. I don't know why. I think its utterly BRILL. Who hasn't seen my rendition of this with my karaoke violin?

This song brought me into adolescence.

Brighton Pride

2007-08-05T13:44:00.000+01:00

Look at us, SO proud.

5 things that annoy me about the tube today

2007-08-04T08:32:00.000+01:00

1. people who 'plop' down on the seat next to you with their full weight sending you flying huckleberry hound style out of your chair.
2. placing your waterbottle/used paper/chocolate bar wrapper/kfc bag behind me on the window cill is not only litter, it's intrusive and rude. trash is what trash is, and you should know.
3. permed hair.
4. luggage during peak hour. mm i believe that i have touched on this before. the annoyance of tourists in peak hour is bad enough when they crowd the doors with thier cases or packs, but when the train pulls onto the platform and the doors open, this is not the cue to step off the carriage and stop, look around for the exit/partner right behind you/waterbottle/piece of your common sense you dropped on the floor etc. look around you, idiot, there are 10 thousand people trying to get on and off this train. just MOVE IT!
5. people who step on my shoes while I'm sitting. um, my feet are taking up this piece of floor right now. I KNOW the carriage is full, but i have to put my feet somewhere too, and although i can get them behind my ears, now isn't really the right time, and besides, you're wearing the wrong cologne.

NHS souffle

2007-08-02T06:51:00.000+01:00

You will need:
1 really really genuine complaint
Tables, chairs and a big carton of toys.
25 to 30 fairly unwell and irritated people
Endless patience
An LCD notice board.
A hot suny day
3 hours to waste
A small waiting room
42 small children
small plastic projectiles ie blocks.
an Ipod with loud speakers.
A computer, perhaps 2 or more just in case.

to make:

1. prepare your workspace by arranging chairs and toys in random criss cross pattern around room.
2. scatter people and children randomly around room. take care to arrange older and younger children around the toy carton for maximum conflict opportunity.
3. Add a big computer failure without back up (see, that second one would have come in handy). Simmer patience.
4. look for parents of children in play area. if none around because as you suspect they have left them here for the day, then turn ipod up and breathe deeply.
5. check ailment and see if it's really at all that bad. If swallowing feels like eating barbed wire, then keep in room until called on LCD screen.
6. check patience against. If thin then adjust ipod
7. close all windows and doors to room and arm children with projectiles. cook on hot summer day until called or demented, which ever comes quickest.

Theological Think Tank no. 1

2007-08-01T22:47:00.000+01:00

For some unknown reasons, the gods above have decided to punish me. Is it not enough that they have infected the good earth with Lindsay Lohan, Jana Pitman and the Hewitt-Cartwrights, that they have now gone and taken away my only morning joy (other than that other morning joy I receive daily courtesy of my new delivery of educational material from California).

The bastards have gone and removed the AMT coffee cart from Victoria station.

Apart from the fact that the coffee is the most decent cup available within a 10 mile radius, (in this big international city, who would think?) the coffee is made with ethical beans, meaning that communities haven't suffered because of the despicable plot by starbucks to take over the world with jugs of tepid lattes. (Barry Humphries refers to it not as coffee, but as 'brown drink').

So based on this argument, I propose that the gods really don't give a toss about us, if, in fact they exist at all.

Amen

5 wonderful things

2007-07-30T21:10:00.000+01:00

I have been a little more than preoccupied lately.

It's been a difficult time. Work has been mental, my happy home life has been anything but, and I have been neglecting my health and fitness. Needless to say i have put on MORE weight, which doesn't actually make living life in the gay lane any easier.

The last 2 weeks have been particularly heinous. I got dragged in front of the GLA (Greater Londo Authority) becasue a schme i worked on failed planning because if insufficient play proviion. I was shattered that i had obviously fucked up so bad. Until i realised that it was because the guidance had changed in the time we had lodged the planning submission and the LM was just being "diligent" in regards to his brand new policy...

Then I had to go to Cyprus to present a masterplan scheme which I really needed to have dome a bit more work on, so i got a bit kaned.

The sense of working 70-80 hour weeks and still being behind the 8 ball really sux. Its obvious that there is a little too much on my plate right now.

In any case, today i had a good day. So in celebration I bought a bottle of champers, and would like to share with you the 5 good things that happened to me today.

1. I woke up without a hangover feeling refreshed and like I had had a good sleep. It's really something rare nowadays. Mum, it's not really - this is just poetic licence...

2. I found 3 new friends on facebook from Australia - I might just admit that I'm a little obsessed. Tell me, who isn't?

3. I actually had time today to finally lodge my expenses. I might actually be able to pay my credit card ths month.

4. I got a lovely card and photo of Jane and Adilsen from their wedding recently - if you recall, my dad had to give their speech - Im sad I missed the wedding, but so glad that I have at least 1 picture of SOMEONE from my family now.

5. I swam 70 laps at the Queen mother pool. This is only 1.75km, but considering I havn't swum ANY laps in over 8 months, I'm pretty happy about that.

So now im having a glass of champers and salad for dinner. Maybe this will be my staple diet for the next few months. Maybe i'll just do the champers.

Philippino prisoners doing Thriller

2007-07-29T14:12:00.001+01:00

I dont know what is funnier here. The receeding hairline of the guy playing the female character, or the fact that this is by far more entertaining than the original.
you decide.

My Simpsons avatar

2007-07-29T10:02:00.000+01:00

To celebrate the new Simpson's movie, I have decided to follow the trend and get myself a character. Its not easy to get a good likeness, as my friend David pointed out, and he is right. They dont have the ability to have designer man scaped stubble, nor is there the option for tattoos or body piercings.

2007-07-28T11:19:00.000+01:00

Nothing in my way

2007-07-28T10:46:00.001+01:00

A turning tide
lovers at a great divide
Why do you love
when I know that you hurt inside?

And why do you say
Its just another day
nothing in my way
i dont want to go
i dont want to stay
so there's nothing left to say

and why do you lie?
when you want to die
when you hurt inside
dont know what you lie for anyway

A TELL TALE SIGN
you dont know where to draw the line

And why do you say
Its just another day
nothing in my way
i dont want to go
i dont want to stay
so there's nothing left to say

and why do you lie?
when you want to die
when you hurt inside
dont know what you lie for anyway
now there's nothing left to say.

music and lyrics - Keane.

ooooohhh

2007-07-28T02:57:00.000+01:00

sad

2007-07-28T02:31:00.000+01:00

As it is.

A Bad Dream Video - Keane

2007-07-28T02:15:00.001+01:00

This is just eveything i want to say right now.

HOOTERS!

2007-07-27T12:57:00.000+01:00

2007-07-15T23:17:00.000+01:00

2007-07-15T23:15:00.000+01:00

2007-07-15T23:00:00.000+01:00

2007-07-15T22:59:00.000+01:00

2007-07-15T22:58:00.000+01:00

Pictures of Birrarung Marr

2007-07-15T22:57:00.000+01:00

Margaret Cho - Gwen

2007-06-24T19:17:00.001+01:00

Thanks to Bretty for introducing us to Ms Cho. Really funny stuff here. be warned, it's a bit dirty, but hilarious.
x

All a twitter

2007-06-14T07:01:00.000+01:00

It's early morning in old London town and I seem to be awake.

It's not because of the heavy meal I ate last night in celebration of the fella and I passing over into our 9th year together, nor is it about the bottle of Piper that we drank.

NO its because it's now summer, and with the lovely summer weather that comes along in London, comes along a rather annoying community of twittering birds that live outside our window.

I don't mind wildlife, no, I have been to many discos and felt like I was exploring the inner reaches of the Amazon basin, or even the outer rim of the rift valley, most likely the outer planets from Revenge of the Sith. But really, the thing is, in summer time here, it gets light now at about 3.30am. And there is only one place I like exploring at that hour.

So the birds tend to get up at about 3.00am and start hollering around the back garden like a bunch of chavs on holiday. I can just imagine their conversations now: (in bird)

"Oi Sharon, get us another beer would ja?"

"Get your own beer you lazy bastard. OI DARREN! GETCHA HEAD OUT OF THAT BIN."

Think of us, sleep deprived as we muddle through a summer of no air con and no cool drinks and 100 million tourists with those pesky bags on wheels.

Boot camp!

2007-06-12T20:29:00.000+01:00

I'm not really sure if it's the barrel gut I seem to perpetually be struggling with, or the fact that I'm just bored with life right now, but I have thrown all caution to the wind, completely ignored both my knee injury and lower back pain and signed on to boot camp.

It started last week and funnily enough I felt quite OK afterwards. The next day I felt fantastic. Day 2 and I was a blithering mess with little to no feeling in my quads.

Why does it take that long for this sort of thing to kick in? I mean, usually after a big night at the disco, I'm feeling satisfactorily shattered the very next day. And lets not even talk about what happens to my body after a weekend craft-a thon. Sometimes it takes weeks for my nimble little fingers to regain feeling through those hearty calluses.

So tonight, I have just returned from my second session. I did think that the little twinge in my groin would disappear to nothing after a few sweaty lunges and a couple of star jumps around the park. But after 3 laps of serious lunging the pain became so intense that I was rolling around in the grass like Jude Law in a mob of nannies with severe groin strain.

Now I can't feel my nuts.

Ice pack, doctor Pete. I need healing....

Prison Break

2007-06-10T01:10:00.000+01:00

Shush.

OK so I went to America recently yay.

I did not meet Paris pre prison. sorry, But I did spend a load of time mooching around Santa monica and Ioved it there. It reminded me of Sydney, which, is unfortunately, my home town. The bars and restaurants there are really lovely.

I havn't been postng much here lately because I have been living. Living the life in London that I have wanted to come here to live. I won't pretend to say that it has been easy. Quite the contrary. It has been the most difficult period of my life ever. But you know, you can wallow in the shit you dont like, or you can say, "I rock"

Time for me to reclaim the latter.

Finally I have found my place here.

Peter, I love you. I always will.

Coming out insurance

2007-05-30T08:16:00.001+01:00

hahahahahahhahahahahah

AAAAANNNND it's back to me..

2007-05-29T20:13:00.000+01:00

So I have been off to the USA for a week. Did you miss me? I Just got back yesterday and I seem to have a rather full notebook of "observations".

Funnily enough, most revolve around food.

But none that I put on about 5 pounds.

But I did have a good time. I got to the Grand Canyon, a party at the Bellagio in Vegas, and best of all, 6 flags amusement park in LA where Marie, my oldest and dearest friend in the world ever and I rode around on the roller coasters for a day. Because the park was pretty empty, we got to sit at the front most of the time. It was awesome. A particularly funny evening entailed going to a club full of Filippinos and afterwards walking along Hollywood boulevard, a little drunk on saturday night, asking people on the street if they knew who the names on the stars were. Well, I thought it funny. No one else really got the joke.

ho hum...

Monday monday

2007-05-14T08:42:00.000+01:00

na naaa
na na naaa naaaaaa

Im feeling better today, even though it is a monday, I have a SPLITTING headache and have taken the day of work to go to the doctor for some referrals.

My sweetheart friend from well, baby time, Jane, who in family terms is like a sister, got married yesterday in Sydney, and I missed it. Sent a message, a gift etc. but I wasn't there. I feel sad about that.

Also my Uncle Derek died last week which is devastating to the family and I'm really feeling for Auntie Sheila right now. He was such a lovely man, fit, healthy and strong. SO unfair.

Being so far away, I now really feel what its like and is going to be like missing important family milestones. I can only now really appreciate how hard it must have been for my mum and dad moving to Australia 40 years ago.

I feel for my Dad right now, who through being such a totally awesome man, seems to always have the honour of being the toastmaster, MC, speechmaker. He is the man you want to stand up at your wedding to say the most amazing things. Lucky Jane to have him there to bring everyone together. Sadly his gig rolls on tomorrow to bury his friend.

I love you and miss you Dad.
x

What are friends for?

2007-05-11T18:45:00.000+01:00

I don't think anyone has been as shocked as me at the difficulty I seem to be having here in London in making new friends.

Far from this being a total 'termsofendearment' style misery fest, no, I think its important for me to express my frustration at the few things that have made me the pshychotic mess that I seem to have become. And because all you loving caring friends that I do have in Cyber Space care so much about me, well, you're going to have to endure a little bit of cyber therapy.

So here goes.

1. I work too hard, and I'm totally terrified that they're going to soon discover that I havn't got a clue what I'm doing.

This occupies way too much of my energy, which, when I do get the chance to socialise, I find myself not particularly engaged in anything or anyone.

2. I miss my friends in Australia too much - they're a hard act to follow, and at my age, I figure, what's the use anyway?

3. I have tried to make friends on Gaydar, much to the fella's amusement and ridicule, and although I have made inroads into some lovely peoples lives, these relationships are still very infant, and I'm acutely aware that we met, well, on gaydar.

4. The fella is having a great time and making new friends, socialising having quiet dinners with new friends without me etc...and there's nothing worse than being miserable for a reason that the nearest person to you doesn't really understand.

5. I drink too much, which, on top of all this shit doesn't make anything any better.

All I know, Is I'm pretty miserable right now, which i dont think even my trip to the USA next week will fix.

SO I'm thinking of taking myself off to the shrink for some lessons in social behaviour 101. Who knows, perhaps I might come away with some pretty pink pills.

A load of old rubbish

2007-05-03T07:04:00.000+01:00

It seems that our enlightened government here in great Britain want to do away with the weekly rubbish collection and collect fornightly instead. Their argument; to force people to recycle more.

What better way to divert ones attention from war in Iraq, the headscarf debarcle in schools, the Burqha, soaring gang violence in inner London and the impending resignation of the Prime Minister than to plunge us all head first into our own filth.

But to Tony's credit, he is defending the weekly collection as an important cultural institution that should be preserved.

Well, Tony, thats right. But don't, please think that it's the pathos of culturul whimsy that keeps us neat and sanitory. Lest we forget the plague, the filth of Georgean England before the mighty sewer, and those years under Thatcher. No ideed, Tony, most of the civilized, and even uncivilized earth places the sanitation of it's cities pretty high up on the list of critical services. Even the Faveals of Rio de Janeiro have sanitation.

What irks me the most about this debate is the fact that we're being forced to recycle more. I'm all for recycling, hell, I would recycle everything and just about everyone around me given half the chance. But really, when the council only collects newspaper and glass bottles, what options are there? In OZ, you can recucle just about everything, and the big mighty truck comes around once a week and even sorts it for you. And this is just a standard council service. Can you imagine what they would charge here for that?

The recycling truck comes around once a fortnight here in Brent Council. we have one small plastic bucket that services the recycling needs of 6 people in our 2 apartments.

You do the math.

Mum, if I die of Botulism or tetanus or dyptheria or dengue fever, because our overpaid and underworked whining council idiots stop collecting our potato peelings and used tea bags, you have my permission to write a VERY STERN LETTER.

X

Life is full of crazy coincidences.

2007-04-29T14:24:00.000+01:00

Whilst shopping along New Bond Street yesterday, fondling cashmere in Fenwicks, checking out the hysteria of A&F in Saville Row and snacking on Godiva chocolates, I received one of the most hilarious messages on my voice mail I think I have ever had.

The caller was a very good friend in Melbourne who was currently at a friends place in Elwood, Melbourne, attending a party.

"Ed, It's Jase, I'm just over at Alyssa's place and her flatmate, Tiffany, has just showed me this picture hanging on her wall.." the message begins.

Well, seeing as Jase and I havn't called each other by our first names in about 8 years, preferring to slag Kim, Kimmy, Kimmoi, or generally anything Kimmish at each other, I was a little intrigued as to why he was being so formal, especially on a saturday night, when the champers was no doubt flowing freely, and the level of madness and hysteria wherever Lyssie makes an appearance would make a surprise number by Kylie and Madonna together at GAY nightclub seem like a memorial service on Christmas day.

So back to the message. It seems the said picture hanging on Tiffanys wall is a 500mm x 300mm wooden frame, with a whitewashed board, and upon this whitewashed face, are hand drawn, stick figures of a group of people, childishly drawn, titled "the Kimmies".

Tiffany to Jase: "Jase, I found this in a rubbish tip a couple of years ago, and I liked it for the frame, but when i looked closely at it, it was just so funny, all these people, its like, someone's life story and all their friends and family are drawn on here. Because it said Kimmies, I thought somehow you might know something about it..."

Backtrack now, dear reader, 8 years ago, Fanula and I living in Wimmera place, st Kilda. One day Fanula comes home with all these framed pictures, and proceeds to whitewashe them all, with the expectation she would paint new pictures over them. As one was hanging on a wall in our living room one day we decided to draw on it, images of ourselves, and our life story grew.

So here. about 6 years later, Jase is looking at this freaky drawing penned by me Fanula and various others on some strange wall in a house in Elwood. More strange is the fact that Tiffany has this crudely drawn picture of all these people she doesn't even know, hanging on her bedroom wall. Funnier still is the fact that the three central figures are me, Peter and Fanula.

Jase closing his mouth and picking self up of floor: "And that's me there with the Edward Beale hair, and there's Debra, lying down saying 'oooh Kim' "

I don't actually remember throwing it away, but we must have done when we moved from Vale street to Melby avenue. It's nice to know that someone has kept a little momento of our history together. I think just about everyone we knew at the time was on there, friends were invited to draw themselves on it when they came over for dinner or drinks. It hung with pride on a wall in our hallway, until we had some pictures framed of matadors slaughtering bulls in Arles, and it obviously went to the tip to begin a new life in another family.

Aww Kimmy, what a crazy coincidence, hey.

A drink or two

2007-04-27T01:08:00.000+01:00

I'm Sitting at the dining room table with Nick, and we're discussing downloading.

He doesnt believie how easy this is.

here is a picture of venice at night.

Never smile at a crocodile

2007-04-26T22:18:00.000+01:00

I just read the most disturbing story in the Times.

It involved a nine year old boy who broke into a crocodile enclosure in a Chinese zoo, and tormented the animals by bashing them with sticks.

Quite surprisingly, the crocodiles dragged the boy into the water where he was eaten by the hungry and very agitated pack.

Like, in the iPod MTV redbulldrink.com era we live in, does anyone teach common sense to children anymore?

But don't think that I'm sympathising for the child at all. I'm upset that the actions of this imbecile has now cost the lives of these animals, who were then killed, to serve the autopsy. It would be awful enough to have to live in a chinese zoo. Probably a blessing for the poor creatures anyway.

Man this world is a bizarre place sometimes.

300

2007-04-26T07:12:00.000+01:00

Last night The fella and I went off to the cinema house to see Spiderman 3.

Now, being the media whore star fuckers we are, we had hoped that this spidie adventure around, we would once again happen to be in New York City to attend the premier, as we did for Spidie 1 and 2. Imagine our disappointment when not only did we not even KNOW that a third spidie adventure was on the way, but that we would have to watch it at the Trocadero in Leicester Square.

So fronting up there last night, hot on the heels of the Tobey and Kirsten show the night before (OK, who needs New York, let the stars come to us) we find that it doesn't even start until May 4. So totally unfair. It's been way too long between superhero lycra; we don't ever talk about Brandon Rouths performance in Superman returns, especially when Parker is in the room.

So to make the evening at least marginally enjoyable, we decided to see the gore and ab fest that is 300.

Despite the 3 highly irritating Japanese seat kicking freaks behind us who talked all the way through (you night want to see this at home in subtitles so you can understand it you nightmares) and the unimaginable amount of gore, blood, severed heads and limbs, the film is the most stupifying mind boggling visual feast of the male form ever conceived. The gym fees alone for all the actors on this movie must have been in the millions.

Though, good friends, are 300 good looking totally cut rippling ab chunky hot guys all getting their gear off and running around getting sweaty and blooded really an excuse for bad plot, bad script and even worse acting? It was a little hard to watch a Scot play a Greek, an Australian play his general with one eye (David Wenham should be hung drawn and quartered for his appalling performance) and some Russian play Xerxes king of the Persians.

Bad Bad Bad.

The cinema was full of we gentleman who enjoy the gym too much and probably not just for the workout. Hardly surprising.

Funny how gay men are so discerning when it comes to what wine to accompany a filet mignon, yet suddenly have no taste when it comes to cinema if you just add a bit of flesh.

Shame, England. Shame.

How much do I love it?

2007-04-23T19:36:00.000+01:00

And for my next junket...

I cannot believe my luck. An invitation came in to my boss last week from the designers of the water feature of the Bellagio Hotel in Las Vegas to attend their annual party.

Unfortunately he is unable to attend due to a conflict in his programme.

So they're sending me.

All the way to Las Vegas, to attend a party. At the Bellagio.

Right now, I cannot describe how much I love my job.

Human Gristle. Barcelona part 2

2007-04-14T13:20:00.000+01:00

What could be more soul wrenching and pitiful than my substandard Emirates business class lounge in Manila?

Well, many things, I'm very certain, but on this dreary rainy Barcelona day, dear reader, I found myself in a 100+ queue at the Barcelona Sants railway station attempting to purchase a long distance ticket to travel on a day other than this day, to get me to Nimes, France, and then ultimately onwards to Arles for the easter break.

I recall many years ago, as teenagers, we watched a rather kicky little film, full of charming post war themes suitable for children and the mentally ill. This movie, titled Christiane F, is a delightful little tale about a 16 year old German girl who is lured into a life of herion and prostitution through the despiration of acknowledging her bleak, opportunity deficient future.

Apart from being harrowingly confronting and graphic, even then, the film was actually brilliant, from memory, even if it was completely unpalatable. It was an interesting look at post war Germany and her people.

The reason I'm delving into this mucky swamp, is that this gristly operetta was set what is arguably one of the in bleakest backdrops of modern life, that of the European train station. I think, other than Greyhound bus stations in the USA, you may never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. (10 points if you can pick the movie that delivers that line....) ...

So I'm ticket 493 in the line. Around me waiting to be called to the window are American teenage girls on their Eurail summer break (possibly waiting for the last bus somewhere), a midget woman with a burkha and an obviously long travelled African family, who's legitimate method of communication is to hock spit at each other. nice.

Window is calling ticket 445....

When I picked up the queue number almost an hour ago, I recognised that half a day of my holiday would be spent in some parallel universe where Christiane F would circle around me waiting to eat me whole. So I decided to have a beer; so what that its only 10.30am.

So now it's 3 beers later, and i'm till sitting here, writing in my hello kitty notepad, chair dancing to the Freemasons (still) about to dive into HELLO magazine where Jordon tells Kerry that they can be friends again, even though Kerry still hates her husband.

Calling ticket 457.

Shit, I'm way too old for this, Next time I'm going to pay the £400 and fly.

I'm BACK from BEARcelona.

2007-04-12T20:30:00.000+01:00

OK, so I had quite a good time away, many funny anecdotes to tell.

Firstly, I had 4 days in Barcelona, where, I was dimayed, and slightly titlated to discover, like a naughty child who had just learned that sticking chewing gum on the sofa would, like, TOTALLY enrage mother, that the annual BEARcelona festival was on.

Well, I'm just SO glad I had spent every morning for the past month jogging at 6.00am to get rid of my goose fat laden Christmas dinner that was hanging around my middle like Lindsay Lohan at the back door of the late bar...

Anyway, in summary, it rained solid for 3 days and I was pretty miserable. One of the more perky days involved a little "race around the world" type task where I did have to wait an exhausting amount of time hanging around the railway station, waiting to buy a ticket to France, like some American teenage Eurail cheerleader in the 80's. *shudder* God I hate mass transit.

The episode that amused me the most in this saga was appraching the SNCF (or spanish equivalent) desk, prior to joining the queue, just to ask if this was, in fact, the correct queue to join to purchase a rail ticket to France.

Me: "Ola, Habla inglese por favor?"

Woman at desk: Stunned silence (as if I had just asked "hfasdfhn akjdhfalk hfkhuuhhjh muuuunie muuuuu"

Me: "sorry, do you speak english please?"

Woman at desk: "Oh no, not here. you'll have to join that queue and they'll speak english there."

I then, nearly wetting myself with laughter and slightly hysterical, damp and hungry, proceeded to take a ticket for the queue (100 places long) then make my way to the bar, and get drunk.

And it was only 10.30am. Luckily for me, I wrote a lovely tale of my observations, which I will follow in the next post for your reading pleasure (or pain, if you're on my side).

Manana.
x

Barcelona bound

2007-04-01T13:32:00.000+01:00

I know I have been a little light on with the blogging of late, but its because I'm absolutely knackered, and now I'm taking a much earned little easter holiday.

I am just about to head off to Barcelona for a week of Kultcha. I will see you all when I return.
Happy easter everyone.

Remember, Jesus died for YOUR sins.

Mrs Pussy.

Outsplash Melbourne Team Performance

2007-03-31T01:18:00.001+01:00

If you never believed that we won the gold medal performance for the outsplash in Montreal, this has just surfaced, anon.
Im dame Ednaa on the platform, and maybe you might recognise the voice at the beginning....

Pretty flowers everywhere.

2007-03-23T21:18:00.000Z

I have noticed recently, whilst bustling myself about in my busy daily jobs, like, clipping my toenails, dusting my bedside lamp, fluffing the feathers on my fairy wings, polishing my wand....pause....that the usually quite mild and predictable London weather has taken a particularly queer turn.

I use the term QUEER in it's literal sense also, dear reader. I am in no way suggesting that the clouds have turned pink and it has started raining glitter and hello kitty stickers.

No really, today I was COLD. For really the first time since I have been here have I felt either completely under dressed (not a huge surprise if it's that one) or that the weather has dirty danced it's way back to December.

But it's the daffodils I feel sorry for. They have been lulled into a false sense of security and now have fully blossomed everywhere. And this week it snowed twice. I mean WHAT?

The tulips have a better idea. They have been hiding. Where I come from, the tulips always come up first. Here, they are smart, the little fuckers. No tulips anywhere in the parks, though I can't say that I have been out tulip spotting lately. I just know that I havn't seen any yet, so there.

I'm a sucker for flowers. I really like them. They're my princess accoutrements. In my job, I like to plant pretty flowers everywhere, because I'm a princess at heart and I wish for the world to be full of princess love.

Now I just sound like an idiot.

Recently I saw Bambi for the first time. I know, tragic that I never saw it. I really loved the little skunk, Flower. My new friend Robin, who works at Disney, calls me Flower and I just love it. It's nice that at least SOMEONE thinks of me as a skunk.

The best thing ever put on Youtube

2007-03-19T20:55:00.001Z

Now, I have put this on my blog, thanks to Ryan, it's just TOO fucking funny not to share.
Thanks Ryan.
xxx

Oompa Loompa Song's

2007-03-18T09:46:00.001Z

Because its March, i am declaring it Oompa Loompa month.

Check out the white whirling Oompa Loompas at the end.

Beer and chocolates.

2007-03-16T23:34:00.001Z

It's Friday night.

I am supposed to be packing my bag for a dirrrrty weekend jaunt on the Eurostar to Brussels tomorrow.

Instead, we learn that the service has been cancelled. Something about a fire on the track somewhere.

When will this town stop being someting out of the Bourne identity.

At least we had some beers and chocolates to compensate, and we get to sleep in tomorrow.

It's my birthday, I am 100!

2007-03-15T07:13:00.000Z

today i am 100 posts old.

so to mark this occasion, here is a picture of super squirrel.

enjoy!

A bad dream

2007-03-14T21:03:00.000Z

I wake up, it's a bad dream...

I have started exercising again in EARNEST.

It's MAINLY because I couldn't get the top button done on my Armani jeans.

OH, and because I'm going to Sitges in 2 weeks...

Fickle?

MOI?

But seriously, I am running 6 km every morning at the moment (3 times around Queen's park) and it's great. I have lost heaps.

Yesterday, I had the old iPod switched on my favourites, and on came Keane's "A bad dream", their latest single.

Whilst I laughed with irony about how I had just woken up from a dream where my parents and I lived in the house with the family from Malcolm in the Middle, I was moved by the lyrics of this song.

I often feel that I am more emotional when I have just woken up, on airoplanes, after a big dinner in a posh restaurant..and this was proven to myself as I found myself sobbing UNCONTROLLABLY, running along (it was really more a stagger) as I listened to the message of this song.

Imagine being a soldier in this stupid war. How would you feel if you didn't agree with it either?

We saw Keane in concert at Wembley Arena last week and they were amazing. These are the Lyrics...

A bad dream:

Why do I have to fly
Over every town, up and down the line.

I'll die in the clouds above
and you that I defend, I do not love.

I wake up
It's a bad dream
no one on my side
I was fighting
But I just feel too tired to be fighting
Guess Im not the fighting kind

Where will I meet my fate?
Baby I'm a man I was born to hate
And when will I meet my end?
In a better time you could be my friend

I wake up
It's a bad dream
no one on my side
I was fighting
But I just feel too tired to be fighting
Guess I'm not the fighting kind
Wouldn't mind it,
if you were by my side
but you're long gone,
yes you're long gone now.

Where do we go?
I dont even know.
My strange old face
And i'm thinking about those days
And i'm thinking about those days

Where did Parker Posey go?

2007-03-13T08:05:00.000Z

She seems to have disappeared from my side bar.

OK, who took her?

Janet vs Carmel

2007-03-12T20:53:00.000Z

I have been pulled up by my blogging buddy Bretty on a technicality regarding Lynn Postlethwaite. Rather than have to explain, I am going to recite the transcript of the conversation of the cheese sandwich sketch. It originated in the D-Generation series 2 on the ABC c. 1984/5.

This, i might add, comes verbatum, and completely from my memory.

Lynn (Magda Szubanski) chatting to Carmel (Jane Turner) over the kitchen table over a lot of dried up cups of coffee and an old cream slice or two. Both smoking and picking their teeth.

Lynn: "Tired, tired tired tired"

Carmel: "Oh what is it THIS toime Lynn?"

Lynn: "I told about the other day.."

Carmel: "Yes, you did"

Lynn: "I'm sitting at the end of an exHAUSTING day, talking to Janet about my veins.."

Carmel: "mmm?"

Lynn: "and who should call from upstairs, but his ROYAL highness, king ROLY the first."

Carmel: "mmm."

Lynn: "and you know what he was after this toime Carmel?"

Carmel: "A cheese sandwich?"

Lynn: "A CHEESE SANDWICH. Carmel, is it worth my while telling you this, or are you going to be constantly interrupting me?"

Carmel: "Well Lynn, you have told me this before."

Lynn: "Anyway, he wanted a CHEESE SANDWICH right there and then. So I said, Love, you KNOW we have Jan and Fred Nettlebeck over on Tuesday, and you KNOW they're big cheese eaters."

Carmel: "mmm yes they are"

Lynn: "and you would THINK that would stop my husband? OHHH no. He wanted a CHEESE SANDWICH. SO I said, YES, Roly, I WILL make you a CHEESE SANDWICH, and I WILL lug it up three flights of stairs to watch you SIT there and PICK at it.. "

(big suck on the cig)

"But PLOISE pet, I said, LOVE, I said PET I said LOVE I Said PET I aid LOVE. I am NOT at your beck and call, to be making you CHEESE SANDWICHES, every time you decide to LOLL around in bed with terminal CANCER.

TRY and think of someone OTHER than yourself for once."

(big suck on the cig)

And do you know what he did then Carmel?"

Carmel: "And what's that Lynn?"

Lynn: "He grunted. He grunted, turned his face to the wall and DIED right there and then." (big suck on the cig)

Carmel: "Ohhh, its tragic really.."

Lynn: "mm, It's the Nettlebecks I feel sorry for. No CHEESE left."

FIN.

There may be a few words wrong here and there, but I have been reciting that sketch for the last 20 years. Ask anyone from my school, I have more than one alibi on this one.

Next week, The Lipstick sketch, where Mrs Irene Maverick from Gladstone in Queensland presents her VERY interesting collection of LIPSTICKS.

BYE!

Mince Pies

2007-03-08T22:06:00.000Z

One of my favourite comedy sketches ever involved Magda Szubanski dressed as a big nasty bogan wench called Lynn Postlethwaite, sucking on a fag like it was her last, describing the mundane rubbish of her life.

"I am abssolutely runn of my feet, answering phones from ten till two, two days a week. I simply DO NOT HAVE THE TOOOIIME"

So tonight, Like Lynne, I'm sitting at the end of an exHAUSTING day, chatting to JANET about my veins..."

Like Lynne, I seem to be grabbing anything available to stuff down my gizzard and nibble on like some wag on pot, too frightened to be seen eating, too hungry to care.

SO in the fridge I seem to have found some mince pies. Thankfully I have beeen running and gymming this week so I seem to have eaten two.

Oh dear. There are two more to go......

When is a blog, not a blog?

2007-03-08T21:49:00.000Z

When I'm just too damned knackered to have anything to say.

I'm sorry, I have been working terribly long days of late, and my ouput has been squirrelled into landscaping.

I mean christ, even the Beatles released an album last year!

Although, it is spring, and right now, there is a lot of Landscaping to do....

Every breath you take

2007-03-03T06:31:00.000Z

Oh my god.

I have few regrets about being too old or young to understand certain trends/cultural events that passed by me like the titanic in the night...

like

Elizabethan drama.
The Bay City Rollers
Transformers
My little Pony (though I have learned what all THAT fuss was about).

I would like to go on record to say that one thing that I regret about my age the MOST, is never, i mean NERVER EVER having the opportunity of seeing the POLICE in concert.

I absolutly love this group. There is so much naughtiness in every Sting lyric that he never really captured in his solo career 'free free, set them free.." (insert spazzo face here)...

My gorgeous and beautiful sister who is considerably older than I (sorry sis) was undoubtably resposible for my music choices early in life. Disco? uh huh. I remember singing along as a 3 year old to the Bothers Johnston from a vinyl on her record player in her bedroom. But mostly, I recall that she went to see the last ever conert of the Police at Narara, some dreadfully manky indie concert held in some paddock in NSW in the 80's.

So you can imagine my absolute delight that the Police have reformed for a concert tour. And they sound just as good. Who cares if Andy Summers is 64.

GOD I love it that I live in London. No chance they'd be coming to Melbourne then hey?

Sorry.

Don't bespeak to me.

2007-03-02T07:36:00.000Z

MRS PUSSY'S WORD OF THE MONTH: BESPOKE

So WHAT is going on with the word BESPOKE?

The fella and I have a new little gag that we share. And, surprise surprise, we have become a little obsessed by it. Those who know and love us will know this is quite common in our house. Once we get onto something that amuses us, it may take many a year before we are able to put it down.

Case studies:

1. I'm still reeling from Pete's unusually late discovery and subsequent hysteria over the concept of the 'Jap's eye'
2. There is endless amount of spew in Fanula's purse
3. and then there's Kimmy. That gag has been going for nearly 10 years. Look at that. Ploise.

Since arriving on these fair shores the fella and I have noticed that the word is more popular than the Youtube video of Britney going ape with that umbrella on KFed's car. We have gone from being slightly amused to just plain flummoxed (oh yes, indeed) about the apllication of this little adjective to the most mundane and UNbespoke artifacts society has to offer.

And since I'm on a roll now, since arriving here, we have been generally satisfied with our grasp of the language (it is English after all). In fact, we feel positively superior in our commnd of vocabulary, and our elocution is excellent, even with our colonial upbringings. In fact, the number of people in the UK (especially in some boroughs of London and nearly everywhere up north) who really have a shocking use of language or an accent that is so damned lazy they might as well be speaking gobbledygook, is staggering. Case study readers, get your pencil out; Vicky Pollard.

So what is with this stupid little annoying word?

In any one day, I think i hear it used in conversation, or read it in print about 10 times. It is commonly used here to describe EVERYTHING. From the boardroom, to the bedroom, to the factory, to Lady Penelope Cossington Smythe's rose arbour. Londoner's just love this word and it is just EVERYWHERE.

Wikipedia has this to say

"Bespoke is a usually British English term for tailored clothing made at a customer's behest, and exactly to the customer's specification. Bespoke clothing is created without use of a pre-existing pattern, differentiating it from made to measure, which alters a standard-sized pattern to fit the customer."

The term begun in Saville Row, where the finest garments are tailored.

I have a bespoke penis. My hair today was bespoke, and I polished my shoes with a bespoke rag. We even have a bespoke deodorant. I mean, what is bespoke about a roll on? Do you get a special bespoke musky aroma that attracts other bespoke people and keeps bespoke sweat from forming no matter your bespoke workout? More like a special tailor made bespoke yellow stain in the pits of your nice new white shirt, that's what.

LOOK! A bespoke dog. No shit, google it, and on page 6 of your image search, this adorable poochie poo will pop up.

I think Londoner's like the use of it so much because it makes whatever they're consuming seem that much more important and special. Kind of car crash cache. Like getting relationship advice from Katie Holmes.

Maybe...

FREEMASONS SHAKEDOWN

2007-02-28T18:46:00.000Z

THE MUST HAVE OF THE YEAR.

GO AND BUY IT NOW.

Adventures in British Food Chapter 3. Cows lay eggs

2007-02-28T18:19:00.000Z

We all know that Britian's cows are unfortunate. And I'm not talking about fat slags Sandra and Tracey as they struggle with holding their cone of hot chips while copping it in the alleyway behind the pub.

No, I'm talking about the real cows of this small island nation, that regularly get criticised for their poor quality beef, or for the fact that they're crawling with disease and pestilence, or because occasionally they go totally mad.

Now it seems, they have started to lay eggs.

Today's Metro newspaper claims that

"thousands of British children think cows lay eggs. And a similar number believe that bacon comes from sheep.."

and

"1 in 12 did not know beef burgers came from cows"

and

"1 in 10 were clueless about where cheese came from".

Christ, how dumb ARE these people?

On assignment - The Philippines 1.

2007-02-16T18:00:00.000Z

Location: Manila: Philippines

I'm going to regale you all with tales of my recent visit to Manila in the Philippines, and in true George Lucas epic style, I'm going to start at the end then work backwards, just to confuse the merry fuck out of you all.

So I’m sitting in the Emirates Business class lounge at Manila international airport – or the (insert first name of dead/deposed/deported) Aquino international airport, and let me tell you, I’ve been in coach terminal coffee shops in Midwestern USA that are better than this. There is this air of bewildered disbelief hanging in the air as middle aged business men loiter longingly around the grubby food buffet looking for something that might even remotely resemble a cocktail. (Penance perhaps, for their obvious sexcapades over the last week..)

It’s a sorry sight. In design terms, I seem to recall a Keith Lord buffet and hutch set my parents foolishly bought in the early 80’s that stylishly (and I use that term liberally) was quite Midwestern USA darkwood faux classic tack, but nonetheless, more spacious and capable of satisfying many more guests come festive season.

So at the beginning of the evening my initial response was to get absolutely blind drunk before I get onto the airoplane, by drinking the rest of the bottle of gin lurking very frightened like at the back of the shelf behind the cheap vodka. In fact, it reminds me of a student bar. Noice.

I think it was a good idea to get here early. Looking around me, there doesn’t seem to be many seats, and only a few break out spaces. And I dont think the kinds of people who fly Emirates business class are about to climb into each others personal space and start to workshop a panto. No, I just don’t. In fact. As more people arrive, I can see the drinks are flowing very freely. Quick, I’ve finished my G & T, be back in a moment.

Ok, back from the bar and onto drink no 2. I’m a little worried that I might be making an arse of myself. Wait, hang on a moment. Making an arse of myself has never bothered me before and it’s not like I’m in Kensington Palace or nuffin.

I do happen to have my ipod on extra loud on the ‘disco’ setting and no doubt disturbing the peace with the sounds of the Freemasons, who have, in anticipation of their up and coming Sydney Mardi Gras debut, released a CRACKING CD, which is rotating around my Ipod faster than Kerry Katona’s head spinning around after a vigorous talcum powdering of the dance floor at 4.00am. Not only is my music blasting out for all to hear, but I appear to be dancing along. Heaven knows, by drink no 12, I’ll probably do a whole floor show. Now, where are those feathers.

So, my collegues have just arrived, and onto drink no, 3. I have just declared to them that I am attempting to drink the bar dry. They seem impressed.

OOOHHH Bud and Chuck have arrived in their Khaki sweats and seem to be making a line for the bar. I love the new way to describe grunge, Lacoste calls their new drab range of dirty looking tripe the ECO TEES. Whatever. Just look like you should be flying business class, Chuck, if you want to hang out in here with me and my Mandarina Duck. Best top up….

Ok, so look, because I have now taken off my Ipod I’m listening to the warbling sounds of the muzak. Last track was the Hammond organs rendition of Take That’s back for good. Now it’s Toni Braxton’s ‘Unbreak my heart’. One of my collegues, a rather senior gentleman, has been talking to me and distracting my train of thought, and that’s probably why this is so rambling. I might have done a bad thing. To shut him up a let it slip that I was gay, and I think he’s now very confused and looking a touch uncomfortable. I can see him thinking about our candle-lit dinner last night, and now here’s coming around to realise that there was a reason why I didn’t go to the girly bars the other night… wait for it… waaaaiiit, here it comes, ah yes, there’s the look.

Boarding in half an hour. OK, that’ll do for now.

Sorry Madam, I will be right there.

2007-02-10T09:22:00.000Z

I am lying in bed this morning nusrsing a bit of a hangover. Not the type that says quick, decapatate me and bury my head in a large pile of epsom salts, douse with evian, and reattach when lighty fizzed. Its more the Vicky Pollard type of "OOOH my god I can't be LIEVE you just did thaaaat.

You see, last night we went out for dinner with my delightful cousins Jo and Lou to celebrate Jo's birthday. We went to a restaurant in Marble Arch, and I'm not ashamed to tell you its name - Rhodes at W1.

It's quite a nice restaurant/bar, in the foyer of a very posh west end hotel. So in this kind of establishment, one would expect pretty damned good service.

Well, this is a transcript of a converstation between my cousin Jo and the waitress:

Jo: Can you please top up my wine? Or perhaps leave the bottle on the table.

Waitress: I will bring it to you.

time passes, no wine, entrees are brought to the table.

Jo: can you please top up my wine? I have already asked once.

Waitress: I have many tables to look after

Jo: I dont care about the other tables

Waitress: Well I do, thats my job, its very busy...

WRONG. BZZZ. You lose.

As Louise said, you should just smile and apologise and then go and spit in the food.

So after some WORDS to the manager, the service was excellent, as we had the manager topping up our wine almost to excess, so that's how we got a bit drunk.

Anyway, I hope the silly betch got the heave ho for that.

We're not in Melbourne anymore toto....

prrrr

2007-02-09T07:23:00.000Z

prrrr prrrr prrrrr prrrrr
prrrr

A Million Dollar home in the sun

2007-02-07T21:15:00.000Z

Recently I watched a funny little show on Lifestyle TV where some overtanned crumpet with a little bit of real estate nouse took cashed up Chavs over to some unsuspecting Mediterranean island and bought them an overpriced piece of crap real estate.

Normally, this is the sort of TV I squeal with delight to when it comes on, almost as much as Doctor Quinn, Medicine Woman. However, considering my line of work, this show actually means something to me, and frankly, I have never looked good in a frilly bonnet and jodhpurs.

I thought it particularly frightening that on this show, there wasn't a single panarama of the village or town that was about to be infected with a new level of two star residents. It was as if even the production house or the TV channel was embarrassed by the reality show's underwhelming 'stars'. And what an overwhelming quantity of these underwhelming people abound in the UK and especially on reality TV here. So you've got to feel sorry for the local residents in these sleepy towns when plane loads of fish and chippies descend every summer for sun, cocktails and the delusion that they're Posh and Becks in their tropical versions of Beckingham Palace.

Upon my return from Cyprus yesterday I came to this sad realisation, which hit me with a thump to the back of the head, harder than the 5 ouzo and cokes I'd had on Sunday night. When asked by my collegues how the trip was, I have had to really think about whether I enjoyed it or not, and the truth is, I didn't really enjoy this place. Not because of the local people, or the local culture, which I'm sure are all wonderful, but because of what it has become.

I really feel for the peoples of these sunny sleepy seaside towns, that yearly become overwhelmed with with the legions of such underwhelming British people. They come to their shores and park themselves in the most disgustingly designed, poorly constructed villas, screaming obscentities and drinking beer from 8.00am daily.

Then in the cooler months, the scores of filthy cheap tourist trattorias that line the main streets struggle to make a few dollars in the off season ghost town market.

Though I'm sure the merchants all love the respite and the quiet that the cooler months bring.

When I asked my client, who is attempting to build a five star resort facility here, about the most difficult thing about building in this climate, his response is that it is just so sad to see his town becoming so ugly with the mass construction of poor quality villa developments. In turn, the expectation of the quality of everything suffers. It must be really awful to see your heritage sink under a pile of crisp wrappers and tanning lotion bottles.

Oh well, once fuel prices start to skyrocket, we wont be able to fly anywhere anymore, so I guess the prognosis might just be looking up!

Need a fresh look?

2007-01-30T18:40:00.000Z

A few months ago I went on some demented rant about how much money I was spending on clothes. Not that I'm regretting spending the equivalent of a small fortune of some former eastern republic on Spanish designed pret a porter, not for one minute.

It's just that, I kind of forgot to get myself a nice new coat. And now that it's getting chillier than Jade Goody's BB exit, or Danielle Lloyd's telephone for that matter, I'm left in a kind of strange position where I am desperately looking around for a particular item of clothing, and I can't, for the life of me, find it.

You would think, wouldn't you, in the city that so spectacularly celebrates the coming of the frost, that there would be an abundance of well priced, qualiity merchandise designed to keep snowflakes off the Armani, whilst decreeing to the world that the wearer has almost enough style to teach those Wags a little thing or two.

But no, I just cant find what i'm looking for.

I have tried Selfridges, every big chain including Zara, even spent a good couple of hours in every boutique in the Marais in Gay old Paris on the weekend. Even they don't make coats any more apparently.

So last night I buried my hatchet of hatred against Harvey Nichols and everything Knightsbridge and took a stroll through the overpriced, over cologned and uber rude collonnades of the most overrated shopping strip on the planet.

OK, so I just don't like Havey Nicks, the ceilings are too low. And the fact that every pooflette you'd find at GAY on a thursday night works there and thinks that their shit dont stink because they work there, just makes me see red and pink spots.

And then they didn't even have any coats either. So they suck double.

Then I went into Zara, which, as far as Zara stores go, is a pretty good one. The whole first and second floors are the womens lable, and HARK! racks racks and racks and racks of funky winter coats.

Up on the third floor however, the marvellous groovy wintercoat song went a little off key. One floor of men's label, sharing half the space with the Zara CASA and not a SINGLE coat anywhere. I actually walked around the floor 3 times, just in case my contact lenses weren't working for some reason leaving me with a white out where that fawn coloured wool coat was meant to hang, but I just kept bumping into the glass display and knocking wicker candle holders onto the floor (bad idea anyways..)

Strike two.

So then there was Harrod's. (Dramatic Pause) I HATE HARROD'S even MORE than I hate HN's. It's always CHOCKER BLOCK packed full of ageing women with hundreds of bags wandering aimlessly through halls that have absolultely NO logic as to what they're selling in them, thereby confusing the old ducks even more.

It's like Mr Al Fayid has just organised the whole store alphabetically, or around the shrine to Diana or something. I dont know. Who can explain how you can go from the Lanvin counter to the Lamb butcher in six steps? And there's this incipid stench of women's perfulme that permeates into everything. I smelled of it for hours afterwards, even after I had showered in Domestos. Seriously.. I woke up this morning, and when i went for my morning toilette, it smelled like Chanel no 5.

Anyhow, once I found menswear after having walked all over the ground, first and second floors, I actually DID find the coat that i wanted.

It was £800.

FUCK.

Lost

2007-01-26T21:53:00.000Z

Ok, so why, after all these years of MISPLACING things, have I suddenly lost my umbrella?

Lets backtrack a few months, to the Keslakia family's trip to Paris for the weekend. A Paris, j'ai achete une paraplui de Tintin. I bought a tintin brolly in other words. It was the most sensational blue and grey brolly with little silhouettes (such a french word hey) of the boy and haddock in their various scenes in their stories where they were without paraplui.

So on the first occasion in London when I took the lovely thing out for a spin, I left it on a tube. All I can say to this is MERDE.

Why is it that we lose the things we love the most? loved ones, boyfriends, our figure, sanity, my limited edition Britney souvenir beer coaster...

I never lose my wallet. Thanks god. Or my Keys. Thank CHRIST. I do often lose my sense of reason at 4.00am after my 9th bottle of chablis. BUT NEVER MY UMBRELLA GOD DAMMNED IT!

Recently, i went to a scanky sports shop on TCR to purchase a water bottle for the gym. It was only £3 so i thought, well why not have 2. Within about 3 weeks I had lost them both!

So as a test. I am embarking on the most inane test of self control, designed to send me around the bend, no doubt, but to see if i can actually hold onto something, misplaced or no, for a period of time.

This is my manky water bottle test. I am going to see how long I can hold onto this water bottle - it will go with me everywhere, kind of like a tamagotchi, but without any of the stupid bleeping and death that will ensue if i stamp on it repeatedly. So watch this space. I will be keeping a virtual diary of my water bottle's progress. And like a tamagotchi, he shall have a name. For I shall call him Eugene.

And you thought this was going to be a blog about Matthew Fox, didn't you!?

A winter wonderland

2007-01-24T21:50:00.000Z

This morning the man and I awoke with some excitement to discover that it had snowed during the night. HOW EXCITING!

Everywhere was covered in a wonderful blanket of white. It really made you realise how wondeful London is. And with all the muck thats being going on with Jade Goody, I just think it was the cleansing distraction we all needed.

Even the little sqirrels in the park were frisky and happy for a little romp in the fluffy white stuff.

Made me feel like a little child again.

Outside the bedroom window

Snug as a bug in the Prue Acton Bicentennial wool fair scarf.

Hit the road, Jack

2007-01-23T19:56:00.000Z

I'm a busy bastard. Just three weeks into the new year, and I don't know what to do with myself...da nah na na naaaahhhh

I just dont know what to DOOO with myseeelfff da na na na naaaahhhh!!!!

Just reeling from the revelation that I'm going to be sent off to Singapore for a design workshop on Feb 10th for this wonderful project that I'm working on. So I'm also tieing into this trek around to the other side of the planet, a site visit to Manila, in the Philippines to inspect groundworks on a project I'm doing there, and to buy some trees. God I love my job.

THEN I have also decided that on this mega trip to the far east, that I might as well go back via Dubai and Bahrain and check out a project I'm working on THERE. All up, I'll be away for a week and a half, and will probably have crammed in about a month's worth of work.

Then today, I found out that next week I have to go to Cyprus as WELL! MAN. And I'm off to Paris this weekend.

So who's feeling sorry for me?

A treat

2007-01-20T19:29:00.000Z

Just before christmas, we got online after a few woines, and oredered some Liam Show merchandise. Nothing too OTT, but a nice tshirt each, and a smart pair of undies to add to the collection.
So imagine to my disappointment that the little package from LA hadn't arrived by the time santa had shoved his fat arse back up the chimblie. Nor had it arrived by my birthday some 5 days after.

Nor by new years

Nor a week later.

Nor a week later.

Recently, I have been wondering what Her Majesty the Queen thinks about the phrase "royal mail" with her crown on it. This week I received a note from HM's postal service that my parcel had arrived and was awaiting collection from the post office. A lovely chirpy little card declairing that I had to pay ANOTHER £10.61p for customs clearance charge, which contained a £1.00 postal handling fee, and a mere week to heinie my heinie up to the mail centre. OH KAY you bastards. So we all know the postal service sucks, but I just couldn't believe that I had to collect the item myself, and still pay the exhorbitant fee. What bastards.

The stress of all this complaining is giving me wrinkles.

My favourite new saying

2007-01-15T22:33:00.000Z

That something is "pants"

ie

shite.

i espcially love saying when something is especially crap, it's a "bag of pants"

hahah

I just bought

2007-01-14T10:39:00.000Z

the biggest ball of wool on the earth right now.

Its bigger than my head.

George Eads L'oreal Commercial

2007-01-13T18:35:00.001Z

love it!

Royal ambitions

2007-01-12T20:50:00.000Z

Royalty.

Recently my husband and I went to the picture palace to see a delightful little fillum starring our dame Helen.

Title. The Queen.

Now you all know that I am a fierce royalist. If you dont like it, or disagree, then I'm sorry, i can't help your affliction. But since I have behaved as if I was born into the house of Windsor since I was about the age of 6 years, I'm afraid that anything with even the slightest sniff of royalty will pique my interest.

However, just recently, we are most dismayed at the rediculous amount of papparazzi attention that Miss Kate Middleton seems to be getting. Sure, It's likely she will be the next Queen of England... (GASP! oh my god - just lets take a minute, clutch our royal bosom, and think about that... and she still drives herself around..) but will they just leave her alone please? Aren't they happy with the blood of Princess Diana on their hands? They are utter mongrel scum. All of them.

I take my hat off to the newspapers here in London who are making a stand against the papparazi and not purchasing their images of poor Kate with a 3000mm telescope lense pointed 2mm from her face as she goes out for her cunningham muffin on her birthday.

So Rupert. Why cant you have a little class and a little taste? huh?

I must say though, she is Impeccably styled, and a most beautiful creature. Sure, the future His and Her Majesty might not be the most colourful and multi layered disco track in the collection, but who cares. Look at Stephanie.

On this basis, I would like to now publish my list of my favourite Royals, here and now, and maybe one or two from the past.

Eddie the Queen of Keslakia's pick of the world's Royals

1. Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II, Queen of Great Britain and the Commonwealth. Head of the Church of England.
2. Princess Mary of Denmark
3. Princess Margaret (d)
4. Prince Harry
5. Prince Albert ehhheh (d)
6. Diana, Princess of Wales (d)
7. Queen Beatrix of the Netherlands
8. Kate Middleton
9, Camilla
10 Blanch D'Alpugel

no, but really....

"Yeah, but it's a great pool but..."

2007-01-06T07:54:00.000Z

I think one of the best things about making a long list of new years resolutions, is that they can be broken. Well, OK so I have crumbled already. On the way home from the pub last night I had a piece of chicken. I couldn't help it.

I didn't smoke however, which I claiming as a small victory.

You see, I am absolutely resolute that this year, I will be healthier, shed some weight, and look after my back. Smoking really isn't in this happy little house on the prairie scenario.

So I'm also swimming again too, which is great. I'm really enjoying it again, and I may even compete again this year. Ooh Ryan has alerted me to a meet in Vienna in February, which could be fun, but I'm not sure I'll be ready by then.

However, going to the Queen Mother pool this week, I was quite shocked to discover at the counter that the price had risen to £4.55 for a casual swim. For those of you in Australia, that translates to over $10 to swim in an indoor 25m pool. I mean, WHAT?

When I shreaked "WHAT?" at being asked to hand over this small fortune, this voice from behind the other end of the counter said in a thick Aus accent "yeah, but its a great pool but.."

Honey, first, I didn't ask you. Second, you and I BOTH know it ain't a great pool, but, so FUCK OFF.

Someone at work this week was grizzling that England isn't good at any sport.

Hm. I wonder why.

I resolve, therefore I am.

2007-01-04T18:11:00.000Z

A few years ago, when I was young and pretty, and co-habiting with some disastrous hygeine phobic monster from the pits of hell, I vowed that I would never grow old and cynical, like the tired old drag monsters that lurk in dark corners in tired old gay haunts, nor would I ever become disenchanted with the idea of falling in love. And that I would wash regularly and always have clean bits.

Every now and then, I fall pray to these wild illusions that I am going to do this or that, make my life better or worse, sometimes with success (moved to London, didn't I?) and sometimes with failure (still smoking after 30..). So I have never really been one to worry about new year's resolutions. Usually I am so slaughtered by the festivities of Christmas, my birthday and new year's in the one week, not to mention the build up of one million christmas parties through december, that I just vow to stop doing everything, and dive into a tank of evian and hope the minerals will look after me.

But this year, since I did sweet f all over the period, and I'm feeling all sanctimonious and full of rightiousness, I'm going to admit to having thought about it, and hence, dear reader, I am about to regale you with my list of things I am vowing to commit to attempting to try and do.

It goes a little sumptin'like this:

1. Quit smoking for good.
2. Drink more water
3. Eat my food more slowly, thereby not scoffing so much in
4. Get more sleep
5. Be more fabulous (that's a hard one)
6. Do one thing for me every day ie: see something I havn't seen before; make a plan to go somewhere I havn't been before: go somewhere I havn't been before
7. Eat 5 serves of fruit and vegetables a day
8. Swim at least twice a week
9. Quit the chicken cottage
10. Save more money and stop spending money on stupid crap (except pencils)

I could have tried and been rediculous, and resolved to, say, wear more tuille and chenille, join an eighties pop band appreciation(fan) club, or vowed to get myself into a 12 step programme, but thats just stupid. I already do all those things.

If this isn't a model for everyone to follow then quite frankly, I don't know what is.

Happy New Year!

2007-01-01T00:13:00.000Z

And now it's new year!

So I'm sitting at home with the fella and we've watched the fireworks on TV, and now we're off to bed.

Aren't we just the most.

Happy new year!

BTW I would MUCH prefer to be under the disco ball somewhere. But we have no friends.

And Natalie Imbruglia is on the Secret Policeman's Ball at the RAH.

So it's new years eve.

2006-12-31T20:17:00.000Z

So it's new years eve. Wow, another whole year has passed for me, and since it's also my birthday, I can really say that, mmm yes, another year has gone by.

It's been a busy one. I have moved accross the world, visited Canada, Ireland, Denmark, France twice, Iceland... Got a new fabulous job in London, had the biggest assembly of my closest friends ever (sadly to say goodbye), competed in swimming at the Outgames in Montreal and most impressively for me, survived my first Christmas and new years in the winter.

Well, almost.

Today, just to cap off our lovely week of doing f all around London, we decided to skip off to the Glorious London Portrait Gallery at the rear of the National Gallery for some culture. The wife had seen an advert for an exhibition of the Pet Shop Boys, and we wanted to make sure we saw it before it finished in March.

Ok, so, if you've been nodding thinking, "ooh, yes, I'd like to see that", well, let me spare you the tube fare. Go to your CD drawer, and open up your PSB "Discography" CD (yes, OK, I know you've all got a copy), and look at the inner sleeve. There you will find a better exhibition than the half dozen manky pictures hangin' in the cellar next to the shop in the basement of the gallery.

Pissed off mach 1.

After this occupied a whole 7.5 minutes of the afternoon, and I had already put on my best scarf, best brown boots and new Paul Smith pants to head into the west end, we decided to stroll down the Mall, just to have a nice London walk. This was lovely, we sauntered along the Princess Diana commemorative walk through St James park and laughed like lovers at the squirrels, the geese, the ducks, and the skyrats. We decided that the rain didn't really matter, darn it! lets be devvilish, and get a hot chocolate from the little kiosk adjacent to Buckingham Palace.

What could be more disappointing than a tepid watery hot "chocolate" in a plastic cup on a cold day? HMPH. I don't know, but it doesn't put one in a very nice frame of mind. In fact, when one of the other customers who were milling around sipping their cappucino THREW their swizzle stick ONTO THE GROUND about 2 feet away from the bin, I'm sorry, but I actually felt compelled to sacrifice my drink to decorate his balding head.

I work in an industry who's purpose is to create and manage the land - landscapes, urban spaces, gardens, streets, boulevards, palaces, stately homes, waterways and forests. So when someone blatantly litters in front of me like that (Which, I might add, is a chargable offence in Australia) I do like to say something.

"Excuse me, you dropped your coffee stirrer" as I walked away. As I watched, he was looking for what I was referring to, as if he'd misunderstood, and was looking for the gold Rolex I had spotted on the grass, and really wasn't interested in.
Go back to your own country, and litter up your own national monuments.

Pissed off mach 2.

Arriving back to Queen's park, it was raining, so we took shelter in the station before making a dash for it. We were in the company of another shall we say, largish family, whos 17 children were running around like midges over a dead fish head in a steamy summer rock pool, all eating manderines. One of these alien spawn had decided that the ground was where the peels would look their best, even though the colour scheme of the station clearly said "Lost on a mountain" and not "Carmen Miranda's fruity funbag jamboree".

SO there these peels lay scattered before me, and as my blood pressure started to rise, the child's mother appears before me, and she then begins to chastise the child for the action. I thought, mmm, this is good. She is pointing out that there is a rubbish bin, only 2 metres away, and that its not very nice to litter like that, because it might be someones bed. Caring lady.

To which the child answers back "But everyone else does it..."

Ok, so in my mind, I see my mother's back hand coming at me, with a shriek of "Pick it up or ELSE.."

What I hear from this...woman... is *grunt* "ok"...

I had to contain my fury as we ran out of the station. I would have said something, but I just had this image of Barbarella
being chomped to death by rabid metal toothed dollies as these foul dirty children circled around me.

Sigh

Pissed off mach 3.

Now I'm sitting here, blogging at 9.00pm on new years eve, because we have nothing to do, and we're comtemplating heading to Soho, but we kind of can't be naffed, because I would probably get into a fight anyway. I guess the herbal tea and vegetables diet has begun a few hours early.

Now where are my last ever 3 cigarettes and that bottle of smirnoff?

The name game

2006-12-31T09:33:00.000Z

My very dear friend Nat and I have often marvelled at the array of wierd, wonderful and outright dangerously stupid names people are often called, or call their children. A name is the most personal and identifying thing we have, and how names are used and what we do with them is the backdrop to today's witty little musing.

Nat(loi) and I started laughing about silly names at a party once; it was oh, perhaps just a little snicker at what the people who cant afford Gucci are usually named, names like Kimmy (look at moi) Sharon, Chantel'le. Most of them are attached to AFL footballers girlfriends/wives/moles (in the UK we call them WAG's).

We then started musing on the different names around the world that are peculiar, and sometimes culturally unique, but still sounded funny, like Shaune'sha, Ishnabevellene and Brandy Terrelene. Whenever we came accross a new funny name, a text or an email would quickly ensure and fits of laughter would follow.

And then the little game took a life of its own and we had populated the whole world with cheap, fake Burberry wearing ASBO's. Particularly funny and captivating, is the concept that it is acceptable to name your child after a country, city or state. I mean, we all suffer Paris, and I guess we're all used to that* but really, when did India become a name for a child huh? And whats with Dakota? (For years our favourite has been Brianna Dakota). And then there's Ireland Baldwin. please

What I want to know is if anyone knows anyone called Rhode Island, Burkina Faso, or maybe even St Kitts and Nevis...that would be a mouthful for mum calling them inside for the evening.

MUM: " St Kitts and Nevis, come on St Kitts and Nevis, Dr Quin medicine woman is on..."

Happy new year Sharelle.
xx

* Actually, Paris was a warrier from the Iliad, Homer's 3000 year old epic on the fall of Troy

And you thought YOU were wierd.

2006-12-29T17:06:00.000Z

Anyone who knows me, would know that I am haberdashery crazy. In fact, for the past 10 years or so, I have always had at least one, and more often than not, half a dozen knitting projects on the go simultaneously. And they say multi tasking is for the sheilas.

I think it has something to do with my hippy Steiner education; I knew how to needlepoint Elizabethan period costumes before I could read for heavens sake. So now, I always get an intense feeling of calm when fondling the chosen woven.

Before I left Melbourne, one of the gay papers did a full page spread on my little infatuation; I was one in a series of features on freakish fag fetishes, or overtly obscure obsessions. If I recall correctly, the articles were titled "check out these guys! and you thought YOU were wierd...." Needless to say, because it was a national paper, I was recognised from pillar to post, I even had a 'lady who shaves' chat me up in a bar in Sydney, desperate to wear my knitted cuddly crown. BTW if you ever visit my house, then you are allowed to wear it. It's nice.

Apart from the collection of cuddly royal regalia that I posess, thanks to a wonderful book of patterns found by my friend Miss Lady Bunny McKoy on EBAY, I also for some reason, decided to knit a whole pantheon of sweaters for my iPod. I think I have about 60 of them. Why? I really cant say. Other than that my iPod deserves fashion, just a much as the next guy.

I also seem to have about 20 crocheted and knitted scarves from pink, to orange, green, black, blue, yellow and back to pink. In these chilly London winter days, I am very very happy that I have them, indeed.

But today I crossed a new line in the sand, or should I say, slipped one passed one over and knitted back into the last 2 stitches. Being that it is my birthday, and being that I needed alittle cheering up from my horrendous hangover (thanks James, Paul and Pete), I took myself off again to the haberdashery section of Liberty where I purchased for the princely sum of £65, a victorian needlepoint cushion for me to make. Its alovely design, and it'll keep me busy for ages and ages, and I'm very excited to get it started.

So you thought YOU were wierd. Can wait to tell Siobhan. We're going to go to the haberdashery mega world soon. Then I'll never leave home again.

Tell me, is it just WAY TOO GAY for me to start needlepoint?

And can anyone tell me why Blogger wont let me post pictures anymore? Blogger has become SHIT since it went all BETA then made us all change back. I have spent too much neeedlepoint time frigging around with it. FIX IT BLOGGER!

Grandma Masely's Cooter Paste

2006-12-27T12:35:00.001Z

Here comes another one of Liam's excellent little sketches. He just cracks me up. And, yes, I do know what a Cooter is. If you don't, check it out on Wikipedia ( I know, it's pretty gross..)

Trashy Telly

2006-12-26T17:17:00.000Z

I think the best thing about being at home with absolutely f all to do, is being able to avail ones self to the wonderful array of rubbish television at ones disposal. Recently the wife took out a membership at one of those mail order video stores, the ones that, unlike the local DVD warehouse, don't need to ask you for 37 forms of ID and will let you join without needing proof that you have lived in the UK for over 56 years and that you earn over £700,000 a year (with all your bank account details provided, please). It's a fairly nifty little service if I dont say. I wonder if they could deliver me Jake Gyllenhaal all naked and wrapped up in a red bow? It is my birthday on Saturday, after all.

Well anyway, being a member of this royal mail funclub beats having to interact with the 2 dour faced Eastern European teenage girls at the local videorama. I mean, when they were handing out manners, I swear these two were way too cool to stand in line. That's my PC description of the situation. I could be inappropriate but I don't need you know how hideous I can really be. In fact the two of them are mangy old mules, even as teenagers.

So, the other day, a package comes from our lovely, handy little mail order shop, and imagine to our utter delight and surprise that within the sleeve, lurked one of the new millenniums most ingenious, well crafted cinematic masterpieces. A veritable tour de force of film noir.

I am referring, of course to the one and only Bennifer juggernaut, that was Gigli.

Now, what's on the telly? Oh look, a "Carry on" marathon followed by 2 days of "On the busses" Can't wait.

Text Message Breakup

2006-12-24T14:23:00.001Z

Here's the new one from my favourite Kelly, aka Liam Sullivan. If you loved "Shoes" as much as we did, then you'll enjoy how demented this one is. Check out the pictures on the walls at the dinner table.....
Bless.

Merry Christmas

2006-12-23T19:58:00.000Z

So the most exciting thing about Christmas this year, dear readers, is that I have finally succumbed to the lure of the Australian shop in Covent Garden, and thankfully, the santa stocking will be filled with this.

A dickensonian christmas

2006-12-23T09:43:00.000Z

HO HO HO

Speaking of which, did anyone see the Janice Dickinson Modelling agency Christmas special "Christmas with the Dickinsons"?

My god, the woman is a pirhana. But I just abolutely LOVE her. She has no limits. And she has no facial expression either. Observe mock look of surprise on her face in this image. She hasn't produced a facial wrinkle since 1984.

SCARY!

But really, today is christmas shopping day. Pete and I are heading into town to get each other's pressies. Then we'll wrap them up, and put them on the mantle. No tree this year, I'm protesting the rape and destruction of the forests for ornamentation of a semi religious holiday based on a myth that I dont know I believe in anyway. So there.

So what. I just like the excuse to buy myself presents and wrap them up and feign surprise when I open them.

And thats REAL surprise, Janice.

Bar humbug

2006-12-21T21:11:00.000Z

So this morning, as I'm coughing my guts out once more thanks to this stupid cold, and too many jingle cigs, my back decides to take a new turn, this time totally to the west. I mean, what's going on? Really. It's been about 5 episodes in the space of so many months, I'm going spare. I'm now seriously considering getting a walking stick.

So I'm blundering through my 3 1/2 hour meeting this morning, blundering through my afternoon, high on Nurofen plus and just a little giddy from the deep heat packs all over my back. It's a pleasant experience, almost like being slow roasted with dry ice. And the sad thing is, I don't evoke any sympathy from anyone anymore because it's happened so often. Like the little boy who cried kimmy.

I had another meeting this afternoon, actually, a teleconfrence with some lovely ladies in Hollywood (negotiating my 7 figure pay packet for my latest movie deal) and thankfully the meeting was in Notting hill so I was able to basically walk home. Which is great. But I really needed to go into town because

1. I needed to go Christmas Shopping
2. I was meeting Peter Paul and Scotty for mulled wine at Covent Garden.....

But instead, I am now resting my back, sitting at home waiting for Peter to get home, blogging and chatting to guys on Gaydar ( I only have a profile because the guy on the entry page is just totally hot) and what do i hear from downstairs but friggin CAROLLERS.

Like, a choir.

All of a sudden it felt like christmas and more overwhelming than the fact that i havn't even bought one present yet, was the fact that I felt like I was in Home Alone 4 and some middle aged MacCauley Culkin was going to ring the bell.

And then the bell rang.

I ran and hid in the toilet.

Spunk Alert - Joe Flanigan

2006-12-20T07:37:00.000Z

I was always a fan of Stargate SG1. Now there's Stargate Atlantis, there's a whole new megaplex of spunks available in this genre.

God bless. Yummy Joe Flanagan. Just enough butch without bein a he-man. a very sexy combination.

The work Christmas party 2

2006-12-19T07:23:00.000Z

After a week of holding my head in embarrassment about what I did and didn't remember doing, I found out this:

a) I was POLE dancing at Freedom Club in Soho until 4.00am
b) There were at least 3 others from my office who were there too, and were possibly drunker than i was.... possibly..
c) My shirt was nearly off, well, completely open
d) one of my female collegues sucked my nipple ring.
e) I had to be led out of the club because i couldn't find the door

If that isn't inappropriate behaviour, then I'm happy for someone to give me some pointers on how to make the situation worse for next year.

What then happened is even more tragic.

I spent the next 2 hours walking from Soho to Oxford street then down to Maarble arch looking for the 52 night bus. Which might have been an acceptable proposition, had the 52 not been the route from Victoria to Willesden Green, not coming within a breath of where I was (I was actually looking for the 6, but counting at 5.00am has never been my forte).

So then I walked back to SOHO (totally the opposite direction of home) where I then got into a black cab.

Such a loser.

I have now stopped drinking for ever.

A few of my favourite things....

2006-12-15T20:34:00.000Z

Whenever I'm feeling a little self indulgent, or, shall I say, depressed (thats gayspeak) I often like to go back to the music that has inspired my life.

You see music is an incredibly stimulating and evocative media, and through it, I am often able to recall memories from my past, incedences of binge drinking, episodes of former lives....its as powerful as sight or even smell (smell does it for me no end....)

So when I'm sitting alone on a friday night looking at all the christmas cards that I havn't received, I naturally pop the old i'book onto shuffle. I have around 3000 plus songs, and as the shuffle rotation has come around, I think I can safely say that a song by Electronic makes me feel 22 again, a song by Propaganda makes me 15 again and a song by ABBA ... well..

So Im Sitting here, and going through my mail, and there's a fabulous parcel from Dane, with a Montreal CD of pics and videos from Montreal and a lovely Christmas card for me and Peter and Mrs Pussy Tummycurtins. As I'm looking at it, what comes on the Itunes, but Kylie's "love at first sight" which was

FACT
1. part of the Glamourheads GOLD medal winning OUSPLASH performance at the Montreal OUTgames
2. My all time favourite Kyile song.

Its a nice relief from the Hell that I have just gone through sauntering along the west end shopping hell on a friday night before christmas; alone, with no frineds, mulling over the fact that I'm going to be spending Christmas alone in London (where everything I've seen for the last month has been decorated with tinsel).

That's right, Pete and I are spending XMAS alone. No friends. No Dono's after party (god Im thinking of flying back just for that) and no Boxing day with Fiona and Dan in the Kitchen. I think thats going to be the hardest.

In my whole life i have never met anyone like Fiona, Mrs W. Carnie Supreme. God how I miss her every day, someone who I know loves me as much as i love them back, with no limits.

My song for you Fanula: I give you my whole 3000 songs. because I know you know them all.

SIGH

xx