The Journal of Mr Ripley

Somewhere in the World

2012-01-11T17:27:00.015+11:00

I thought it might be prudent to do a brief blog about my recent UK trip. I kept a personal journal as I travelled (as I usually do) and my Facebook chums were kept up to date with my various shenanigans thanks to my new "smart-phone"; (I must say, they are handy little buggers, even if it cost me a fortune on 'pay-as-you-go'.) but I thought it would be apt to give a brief rundown of my adventures on this ol' blog of mine too. I shall keep it as brief as possible.

Firstly, the flight over wasn't too bad as I managed to sleep through most of it – thank you Diazepam!
I arrived at Heathrow and caught a taxi to the hotel. Being the naïve chap I am, I wasn’t aware how far the airport was from the city, so the £70+ went from my budget immediately. However, it was reasonably worth it. The cabbie was brilliant. London cab drivers are so much better than any I have experienced anywhere else because they know everything and he gave me lots of advice about where to go and what to do etc.
Whilst in London, I bought a posh umbrella from James and Sons and went to visit Kirsty MacColl's memorial bench...

...saw two plays (‘Death and the Maiden’ & ‘The Ladykillers’), caught up with a number of old friends, broke my glasses and spent a few hours lost on the underground.
Note to all. Don’t go to Vision Express; go to Specsavers. At the former, they think 10-15 working days is "express". Specsavers fixed my specs in an hour.

I was staying at the Churchill Hyatt and, to be frank, I do not really understand what ‘5 star’ means any more. No pool, self-service at breakfast and any other services were extra charges. So technically, I am simply paying a vast amount for a double bed and a bath. Bit rude. Still, I won the travel vouchers, so it’s not a major issue.
And it was a nice hotel...

And I do love a deep bubble bath!

I also went and did the Doctor Who Experience which was a bit of fun. My two favourite things about the exhibition were; seeing the RTD-era TARDIS interior and, when I got to the eighties’ TARDIS interior, one young girl said to her friend; "This is better than the current one!" - She was absolutely right, of course.

Friends I met in London: Peter, Jae, Matt, Nicole, Iain and John.

***

Next stop, Bournemouth.
I used to live in Bournemouth and had not visited for about ten years, so it was imperative that I caught up with some other old friends including my old employers who now have a brand new café and it’s fantastic.
If you're ever in the vicinity, go to Flirt!

I stayed in a charming little guesthouse ("Bamboo") near my old lodgings and had a lovely time playing with the squirrels in the park.

Friends I met in Bournemouth: Kathy, Rob, Peter, Mark, Nasreen, Rhys (and Joanne!)

***

Then to Bristol!
I stayed at Jamie & Kevin’s abode for two nights and it was very relaxing. They are very accommodating fellows and they have been great friends to me for many years. Bless ‘em. We just had a relaxing time pottering about, playing games and catching up.
Whilst drinking mulled wine whilst out shopping, I took a sneaky photo of a hottie. Gosh, I'm bad!

***

Onwards to Cardiff. This was to be my "quiet time" as I didn’t have anyone to catch up with there, however, I was streaming with cold, so that dampened my spirits somewhat. I stayed at Jolyon’s Hotel in Cardiff Bay (right by Roald Dahl Plass)

...and I enjoyed wandering about despite the snot. The hotel was lovely and one of the main members of staff was called Steve and he was brilliant and rather attractive.

***

Next to Bridgend where I caught up with my dear friend Rhian and I got to meet her fiancé Blake, who got my seal of approval (I am sure he’ll be pleased to know that!)
I would have liked to have spent more time with Rhian, but my schedule was tight.
Rhian and I always have such a laugh together.

***

Swansea next! Well, to be rather imprecise, a small town just outside, but the name escapes me and even if I know, I’d probably spell it wrong. Here I spent the night with more old friends; Greg, Delyth and their lovely daughter Ifanna.
Greg and I go back a few years and I have a soft spot for him. He’s such a decent and gentle soul. He also has a lovely family. Bless ‘em!

I took this photo of Ifanna for two reasons.
1) she looked so cute
2) she reminded me of Don't Look Now

***

Then, on the 23rd, I had to get back to Derbyshire. Thankfully, my mate John (whom I met up with in London) is a good mate to know for many reasons, but his ability to sort out cheap tickets through his job is an absolute blessing. He told me where I could get all the best deals. (Thanks again, John – you legend!)
The trip from Swansea to Matlock was a very long one, but the time passed relatively quickly. It was just odd that there was no dining car or trolley on the long journey, so I was starving when I got home to Mum and Mac’s place. Luckily, she made me a mug of tea, a bacon sandwich and had some mince pies ready. Bliss.

The next few days were dedicated to family. Whilst in Derbyshire, I did not get around to seeing as many people as I had originally intended. Mainly because I was still streaming with cold, but also, I just wanted to spend time with my family. Seriously, if anyone gives me a hard time about that, I might get a little bit grumpy with them.

I had to see my dear friend Alison as she is one of the best people in the universe. I spent time with Dad and Mandy and I also got to see Auntie Sarah and Uncle Ian. Uncle Bill and Auntie Sue also visited on Boxing day and Granny also spent time with us for a while until it was time for me to head south again.

The highlight was Christmas day though. It was just me, my brother Matt, Mum and Mac. The first time just the four of us had spent Christmas together alone. It was like old times. Lovely food, great gifts, a superb atmosphere and jolly times.

Before the end of the year, I did manage to squeeze in a visit to my mate Dean’s place. He’s another old college friend who always goes out of his way for me and he has a heart of gold (despite his acerbic exterior! Don’t deny it, Dean!)

New Year’s Eve was a silly affair with a load of Mum’s friends and I eating, drinking and playing daft games.
However, once again, I have decided to give up alcohol. I lasted 29 months last time – let’s see how I manage this time.

***

So, after my happy time at home, it was time to head south. I went to Brighton and stayed at MyHotel in Jubilee Street. I stayed there last time and really enjoyed it, so was happy to go again.

I caught up with my lovely and talented friend Marc the first night and the following day, I saw my lovely and talented friend Emily.
By this point, I was becoming quite melancholic as I didn’t want to return to Australia.

My final day, I headed back to London. I had most of the day to kill until my late flight out, so I left my bags at Victoria station and went for a wonder. I went to Soho square (as I had done on my first day in London) to sit on Kirsty MacColl’s memorial bench...

...looking less happy than before... I had a quiet lunch at one of those Gourmet Burger Kitchen places and then, joy of joys, I found a cinema showing an exclusive preview of The Artist, which I had been longing to see. I adored it! As soon as it was over, I rushed to HMV to buy the soundtrack (which I am listening to as I type this!)
MY kind of film…

Speaking of entertainment; TV highlights over Christmas included new AbFab (better than I’d expected, to be frank), Downton Abbey hitting every emotional note pitch-perfectly and Darcey Bussell Dances Hollywood - a superb documentary in which she retrained her body to tap dance instead of ballet. She did numbers from old Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire movies – gold!
For me, Doctor Who just continues to decline in the writing. This Christmas special was anything but special. I thought it was dire. If you’re going to hire Bill Bailey, bloody well use him. *sigh*

Anyway… back to the plot.
I headed to Heathrow on the train and waited as there were some delays.
As I was walking through that elevated corridor (I’m sure it has a name, but I never know what it’s called!) towards the plane, I was so tempted to turn around and head straight back up North. I thought; ”Would it matter if I didn’t go back to work?”, “I could pay off my debts from England, right?” and stuff like that.
The one thought that got me on that damned plane was my beautiful cat, Fizzgig.
I cannot deny it. I know where my heart belongs.
Bring on that windfall…

On a lighter note:

Each time I go back to Blighty, I notice some changes or oddities. This time I noticed three major things;
1) The TV is getting worse and worse. Well, to be fair, there’s just more of it. But how many shopping channels to the plebs need? Still, when there was quality programming on, it was certainly better than Aussie TV (sorry Australian friends, but it’s the truth and cannot be denied!)
2) Hats with ears. Everywhere you go. There are hats with friggin’ ears! Who wants to look like an animal in the winter months? I wanted to buy a nice warm hat for the winter, but I don’t want animal ears on my head! What a retarded fashion.
3) An abundance of German markets. In just about every major town or city I went to, there were these strips of wooden sheds in rows selling crafty/Christmassy/German things. I have to admit, I did like ‘em!

One other thing. What is it with taps these days? Why can’t they be clearly labelled ‘hot’ and ‘cold’? Modern chrome taps either have nothing on them or, at best, a teensy-weensy red or blue dot. Now, my eyesight is bad at the best of times, but when I’m in the shower, I AM NOT WEARING MY GLASSES, so I have to lean in close and squint. The same goes for the writing on the shampoo and conditioner bottles in hotel bathrooms. Too small for my crappy eyes.

***

So, that was my holiday.
Jet lag is being a pain in the arse so my body clock is all over the shop. The weirdest thing is waking up and not knowing which country I am in or whether I have to catch a train or plane or not. Confusing…

I didn’t keep it very brief after all, did I?

Some more photos:

I really like my mum's kitchen.

...and she always has a lovely tree at Christmas!

Aww! Bless!

Stop and Think It Over

2012-01-01T00:52:00.003+11:00

Another year draws to a close and thus, I begin my routine of reflecting upon the past year. This is becoming rather traditional. I find it hard to believe it has been twelve months since I last did this as the year has simply flown by. However, the time is upon us and it is right for me to stop and think it over.

At the beginning of the year, I had managed to get through 24 months without a drop of alcohol. This sobriety continued for another five months until one night, whilst out with my friend Chris, prior to seeing Scream 4, we were in an Indian restaurant and I just had the desire to return to that delicious land of wine. It was the supposed night of "The Rapture 2011" (Take one) so I thought why the hell not.
Since then, I have once again realised exactly 'why the hell not'. I am less carfeul with my tongue when tipsy. The occasional witty barb can often be mistaken for genuine aggression despite the fact that I have a heart of gold (well, gold-plated, at least). A misplaced tone can be devastating.

Although I have spent the last few months still partaking in the odd bottle of vino, I am seriously considering giving up on it again, purely for the sake of my friendships. We shall see...
(This may be hindered by the fact I have a wine-tour planned later in January!)

***

Also this past year, I have had two holidays! Yes! Two! The first was when I saved up to attend my Mother's 60th birthday and I spent a fantastic time seeing friends and family around Britain. The second was due to a wonderful little windfall after I won the esteemed title of 'Penguin Sales Representative of the Year' - a prize, I might add, I never even dreamed I would win - and not only did I receive a delightful book-themed trophy, I also won $5,000 travel vouchers.
I 'ummed' and 'ahhed' for about a month trying to determine a destination for my holiday (I was able to get the time off due to my long-service leave). I debated returning to San Franciscio and staying in a much better hotel so I could enjoy my time better than I did back in 2008. I thought about New York City because; a) everyone tells me I should go and b) I could have used a few Kirsty MacColl song titles for my blog ('Fairytale of New York', 'Walking Down Madison', 'Manhattan Moon'...)
The latter reason was a ridiculous one and the first was... well, daft too. Everyone says one should go to New York, but frankly, I hate big cities and crowds and it simply didn't appeal.

In the end, I decided to be happy. I hadn't had a Christmas with my family since 2005, so I booked a flight to the UK and spent the remaining cash staying at the Churchill Hyatt in London for four nights (what "five star" means nowadays is beyond me, but less said of that the better).

This past month, I have been seeing friends around the country again, but I had to spend more time with my family and I had a grand time, despite having a stinking cold for the majority of the time. There are some people I have been unable to see this time around, but it has been due to unavoidable circumstances. I hope no one takes offence.

***

Now here comes the even more boring bit... my viewing pleasures this past year.

The first half of the year saw me finishing my Hitchcock project (as chronicled in my other blog) and I thoroughly enjoyed my chronological jaunt through his work. I had to choose a favourite at the end and I plumped for The Birds.

When I was in the UK in February, I picked up the Ronnie Barker boxset and so spent many hours enjoying the comedy genius at work. Although Porridge is very good, I am still a bigger fan of Open All Hours.
The BBC also finished releasing every episode of The Two Ronnies so I am delighted to have completed the set.

I rewatched all of Absolutely Fabulous for the umpteenth time. Sure, in later series it didn't quite capture the magic of the first few, but it still raises a number of smiles (series 4 is the lowpoint apart from Small Opening) and I was very happy to see that the return this Christmas was genuinely entertaining with some superb gags.

Another thing I tend to do is wait for friends to recommend TV shows and then I watch them all on DVD. This year, I watched all of Six Feet Under and Babylon Five.
The former was not the most "enjoyable" piece of drama as it was quite often very depressing, but it was marvellously constructed. I can't say I loved the final epiosde as so many others do, but I think it's because I didn't have a five year journey with the cast, merely a couple of months.
Babylon 5 is a different beast all together. Friends have pestered me for years to watch it, but I am a die-hard Star Trek fan and I had previously felt that B5 was a pale imitation (I had tried to watch the first season twice before, unsuccessfully!)
This year, I ploughed through and I am please to say that it was not what I epxected. Seasons 2-4 are actually very entertaining; it's just a shame they are bookended by much weaker seasons. Alas.

A guilty pleasure this year was picking up the boxset of all 12 seasons of Murder, She Wrote. I am utterly unashamed of this. I love the show and no one will stop me from saying so. You currently cannot get a boxset of the entire un in the U.S. or the U.K. but Australia has one in the shape of a typewriter! Genius!

To sum up the other nerdy stuff;
Torchwood: Miracle Day was good, but not great (but I still loved it!)
The Sarah Jane Adventures series five mainatined the high of series four but was devastatingly cut short due to the untimely passing of Elisabeth Sladen. I actually blubbed during the final moments of the last episode.
Doctor Who entertained millions, has been rating very highly and some say it has been the best season yet. I thought it was dribble-piss. The Christmas special was anything but 'special'. However, the series has been around since 1963 and has its highs and lows, most of which have polarised viewers. One day, it will climb back into my heart, but at the moment, I am horrendously depressed by it all.

***

In other events of the year, I got a housemate, spent many lovely days with my close friends, enjoyed Misfits, Downton Abbey, True Blood, The Walking Dead, American Horror Story, Desperate Housewives (YES, still!) and a variety of other entertaining programmes.

I tried my hand at dating again without much luck - as I have probably mentioned before, i suffer from D.B.S. The David Beckham Syndrome. I look OK, but then I open my mouth.

I tried in vain to lose more weight. I simply cannot stay below 78kg. I got to 76 for one weekend, but I was unable to maintain it. I love pizza too much.

At this point, I am struggling to remember much else, but it is mid-afternoon here in the U.K. and I haven't had lunch yet! I have probably forgotten something really important... Oh well, that is what the 'edit' button is for.

EDIT: 16/01/2012 - Ah yes! And The New Avengers! I knew there was something else!

***

Next year I must make some changes. I want to get a new job - an entirely new career to be frank. I have been in publishing for over a decade now but I want to get out and try something new. I also want to really enjoy reading again and not feel like I am doing it for work.

I am not that bothered about being eternally un-datable as I like my own company and enjoy single life. However, sometimes I do have a pang for someone to love me; but don't we all?

My New Year's resolutions are bascically to start a new life/job and be more careful with what I say and do.

Happy New Year to you all. Let's hope 2012 brings good for us all.

My State of Mind

2011-12-10T08:12:00.003+11:00

I have a few things to cover in this post, but I shall make it brief as possible as I have plans today which include; lying on my bed, drinking tea, eating chocolate and watching Murder, She Wrote.

Yesterday was day 100 of my 100-day challenge. If you recall, my plan was to become thin and gorgeous by the tie I flew out to the UK (that's today - day 101!) and my goal was to be below 75kg.

Well, what a fucked up mess. I absolutely and utterly failed. For a brief weekend way back, I got to 76kg, but since then I have been 78kg all the way. Walking 20 kilometres on occasional days, drinking diet shakes and weight-watcher meals... none of these things seem to work. Sure, I've had my lapses into pizza and alcohol, that cannot be denied.
The truth of the matter is; I realised that I could either be thin, tired and miserable or an average weight with yummy goodness in my tum. It also seemed so folly to attempt before Christmas as I just know I am going to be eating copious amounts whilst in the good old British Isles. Bring on the Black Pudding!!

So, yes, I'm an abject failure. Maybe I'll try again upon my return to Australian shores in January.

***

In other news, I have been going through something peculiar. It is true that I have suffered from depression to varying degrees over the years, but the past few months, I have been experiencing a sort of off-shoot variety. It's hard to explain. I will get a tightness in my chest, dizzy spells and be overwhelmed by emotion over the simplest of things. I have often found myself sulking in my bedroom like a 14 year old.
Work has been getting me down recently. I have become weary of the same old chores, the future of my role and the extra-curricular jobs that are thrust upon me. I am also sickened to the stomach over moving to an open-plan building next year. (Whose fucking idea was 'open plan'? Seriously, it's a crock of shit. I blame the world of H.R. - The Devil makes work for idle hands... so he created H.R.
I won't go into the specifics of my job right here but let's just say that I will be annoying to others and my job will be hindered by others distracting me. So, who wins? No one. (Gosh, I could go on, but I will rant and rant and rant.)

So, with all this added "stress" (I say "stress" like that for heaven knows there are phenomenally higher degrees of stress going on in other people's lives, but all problems are relative, right?!) I had to see the doctor (not my favourite hottie Asian doctor nor the stunning lithe Aeryan-esque god (he's left the practice! *sulk*), but the regular, run-of-the-mill yet pleasant doctor) and he has put me on Diazepam.
Some people have said; "Noo! That's terrible! Don't do it!". Others have said; "Ooh, it makes you lose weight!" - so I am swayed by the latter.

So, I should be in a rather excitable mood today seeing as I am flying out to the U.K. this evening, but I am strangely not.
I am subdued and, dare I say it, a little depressed. I will miss my baby girl (Fizzgig) but she is in safe hands.
Let's think about the positives, shall we?

1. It's nearly Christmas and I won't shy away from saying it; Christmas is damn more festive in the Northern Hemisphere.
2. I will be seeing a number of old friends, both Aussie and British.
3. I will be staying in a number of delightful hotels (and I do love staying in hotels).
4. I will spend Christmas with my family for the first time in six years.
5. I get to see my brother's face when he sees what I have bought him for Christmas.
6. I will spend some time in Cardiff - the city that has joined York and Edinburgh in my top UK cities poll.
7. There will be proper bacon butties for sale.
8. I can spend time with Alison, one of the best people in the universe.
9. I can buy the Christmas issue of the Radio Times. (Only UK people will get the wonderment of such an occasion.
10. I WON'T BE AT WORK!

***

Next year, I must absolutely, definitely make some changes in my life. I need a new job. I want to be out of publishing (oh, to read for pleasure one more time without the obligation of work!) and I need to find out what it is I should be doing for my my true vocation?

I don't want to be a salesman - I don't want to work in hospitality - I don't want to work for any business which wallows in corporate bullshit and H.R. policies - I don't want to be surrounded with highly ambitious people who only think about top dollar.

I want a nice job. One with calm people. One with few colleagues, little stress and lots of kittens.

As Shirley Maclaine once sang; "There's gotta be something better than this!"

***

(so much for making this a brief post)

Today, I will make a Christmas cake for my house-mate as a thank you for having him look after Fizzgig whilst I am away and then I will spend the afternoon relaxing prior to catching my taxi. I packed last night, so I am all ready.

But picture me now as I dash out of the house as the taxi beeps from outside, channelling Edina Monsoon:

"TICKETS, MONEY, PASSPORT!"

Happy When You're High

2011-11-07T17:17:00.003+11:00

On Friday evening, I was enjoying a leisurely ride home on the train whilst reading the eighth book in the Tales of the City series by Armistead Maupin. As it was a pleasant, sunny day and there was the notion of a weekend beginning, the atmosphere on the train was generally peaceful and relaxed… until South Yarra station.

Two lads in their early twenties stumbled through the doors in their singlets and shorts. One was holding the door open while he finished off his cigarette and the other staggered heavily toward my seat. They were both boisterous but unthreatening and obviously high on something more than tartrazine.

As the train left the station, one of them made a call to a housemate or lover;

"Hi, we're on our way, but we're getting off at Balaclava to get a fix, then we’ll head home…"

Great, I thought, my stop and they're doing a 'deal'. Lovely stuff.

They then headed further down the carriage for no discernable reason – maybe they'd spotted a leprechaun riding a unicorn side-saddle or something.

Then I spotted one of the lads' phones! He'd left it on his seat (this'll happen when you're off your face, kids!)

My first reaction was 'I ought to chase after them and give it back'.

My second reaction was 'Or maybe I should not and let them stress about it. Maybe they need it to aid their drug deal! Maybe Mr Thug, "Balaclava drug lord", will be angry with them for not having a phone (don’t know why) and he’ll punish them by pouring concrete into their underpants or something.'

However, I jumped off the train at Balaclava and raced up to the delirious fools and handed them the phone.

"Dude! Thanks! Woah!" etc.

I didn’t stick around for any superfluous gratitude as they both smelt a bit.

Ah, my good deed done for the day… I think.

The thing is, they seemed genuinely decent, happy blokes. And kudos to them! I know I sound very upper-middle-class when I berate the drug-induced and I expect it's partly due to my lack of experience in such matters; but there is this part of me which is inherently snobbish about it all. Utterly appalling, I know, but that's me for you. I won't ever try to hide the facts of my nature. La de da.

***

In other news, I am now onto Day 68 of my 100-day Challenge and it's gone right out the friggin' window.

Do I really believe being skinnier will make me happier? FOOD makes me happy! I love a bit of cake now and again. I love a bacon sandwich. I love sausages. I love toast and marmalade.
However, when I was 76kg (for a whole 2 days) I felt elated and rather giddy (maybe I was delirious from hunger!)

DAMN IT ALL.

*sigh*

***

Also, it has been ten days since Eric moved in and it's going OK. It is hard for me to get into the 'house-mate' mode after being a loner for eight years, but I think I'm getting there. I do tend to retreat to my room to watch DVDs... but that's nothing I didn't do before.
What I am worried about is Eric discovering that I am much, much duller than he might have reckoned before.

***

And finally, it is a mere FIVE WEEKS until I fly off to the UK for another delightful holiday. I cannot wait (but I'll have to, obviously.)

Who's Been Sleeping?

2011-10-29T12:00:00.003+11:00

It's day 59 of my 100 Day Challenge and I think it is safe to say that I will not reach my target weight of 75kg by the time December approaches.

I have had the last week off work due to an awfully large workload of recent times and I needed some "R&R". So, this has meant a lot of lazing around and cake-eating. My body seems to stick around the 78kg mark at this leisurely time. Maybe I can shed another 3kg over the next months. Who can say?

Anyway, in other news... Who's been sleeping at Ben's apartment?

After eight years of living alone, I now have a house-mate! It is quite surreal as I am very fond of my privacy and solitude but I have often felt the need for someone to share things with. I have lived with other people before - some times were good, some times were bad. Finding a drawing depicting my image on fire can be considered one of the less good times. *shudder*

It has all happened rather quickly. two weeks ago, I would not have envisioned this happening.
Circumstances have lead my friend Eric to look for alternative lodgings and I had a spare room. I also need someone to look after Fizzgig for me whilst I am on holiday, so it seemed like serendipity playing a hand. It will also be extremely handy having someone to split the bills with.

I don't think I could just live with anyone (nor do I believe that just anyone could live with me - I am fairly neurotic - but you knew that already!) but Eric and I have known each other for five years and we get along well. We are also both fond of seclusion, so neither of us will mind if we need to 'retreat' to our rooms.
Oh, and Eric is also the photographer who did my photo-shoot (see below!)

Yesterday was Eric's moving in day. I was impressed to see he had hired hot removal men. Whenever I have moved it's always been some rather friendly and decent chap but in an older age-bracket with a gut that could double as a bouncy castle. If I ever move house again, I must get the number of these guys.

Last night, I cooked a made-up pasta meal with lemon, butter, salmon, pine nuts, capers and broccoli and we watched The Dark Crystal on blu-ray upon his magnificent television (another good reason to share a house!)

Fizzgig is taking her time to adjust to the new intruder, but I am sure she will settle down soon, bless her.

I am not sure how long we will be living together... he might kill me in a week!

Love Child

2011-10-14T18:21:00.004+11:00

Day 44 of my 100 Day Challenge

Well, sure, my weight has been fluctuating recently, but I am soaring back down towards my goal again this week. Last week, I did plenty of exercise and my eight increased. This week, I did hardly any and it plummeted. A lesson to be learned?

I have had less cake this week though, so that might have something to do with it.

All week, I have been having the symptoms of something resembling the 'flu-like virus (oh, those people who whinge on, saying "I've got the 'flu!" when really, they just have a nasty virus, not actual influenza! Christ! Get a grip, people!) and it has not yet blown up into anything really decent - just the odd ache, the occasional sniffle and the good old fashioned tired headache. Still, I soldier on, like a martyr.

What did the English use as a condiment when eating their barbecued St Joan?

Martyr Sauce!

(I just made that up - terrible, isn't it!?)
EDIT: (SATURDAY) I just realised this is even less funny if you're American and pronounce tomato a completely different way.

Anyway, where was I?

Oh yes...

I walked home from work today, seeing as it was a glorious day, and on the way home, I passed a rather attractive man (blonde, sexy nose, great legs) watching the kids play cricket in the park. I didn't chat him up because he was either a) one of their dads or b) a paedophile.
Both answers mean a 'no-go' area for me, thank you very much.

Also, I'm too chicken-shit to chat up a complete stranger.

(Do people still use 'chat up' as a phrase, or am I becoming ancient?)

Also this week, I read Alan Partridge's autobiography; I, Partridge: We Need To Talk About Alan and genuinely laughed out loud all the way through, pausing occasionally to catch my breath or have a wee.
I also received the audio book (read by Alan, of course) in the mail and have enjoyed his dulcet tones emphasising the words with great aplomb.

Pure genius.
Although, sometimes I worry I am too similar to Alan - Maybe I'm his love child!

In other news, after a frantic few weeks/months at work doing rather a lot of extra-curricular activities, I have decided to tale a week off work as of 22nd October.
Sure, I am taking a big holiday at Christmas, but I am desperately in need of some "R&R". I had the annual leave available and it's a five-week month, so it's all plausible. Hoorah.

OK, my dinner is nearly ready, so I ought to dash off.

Have a superb weekend, everyone!

I'd Be Happy

2011-10-07T18:17:00.004+11:00

I am really looking forward to my Christmas holiday!

I haven't had a Northern hemisphere Christmas since 2005 and to be frank, it just isn't the same having it in Australia (sorry Aussie chums, but it's true!)
I am looking forward to the cold weather and the silly hats adorning the meandering public as they do that whole 'good will to all men' malarkey.

(It is funny how we are brought up to only be nice to each other for one month a year. As soon as January comes 'round, it's all "Bugger the rest of you, I'm going to be an inconsiderate bumhead!")

My schedule is already filling up but I am going to make sure I have some time simply at home with family doing very little indeed.
Initially, my travels will take me to London where I will be staying at the Hyatt for four days. Then, I travel to Bournemouth for a couple of nights and I will be staying in a cheerful little guest house. I am really looking forward to seeing some old friends from my Bournemouth period, including my ex-employers.
Then, it's off to Bristol for a couple of nights with some dear old friends, Jamie & Kevin - like Wallace & Gromit, only less prone to melting.

After that, I head to my own personal mecca - Cardiff! Ah, land of Torchwood and Doctor Who.
I will be staying in Cardiff bay at a delightful boutique hotel where I can eagerly watch out for weevils from my window. Then I'd be happy!
Whilst in Wales, I will also catch up with the multi-talented Rhian and (hopefully) Greg and Delyth.

Then, it's back home for Chrimble-time. Mum, if you're reading this, please make hundreds of mince pies and a heap of brandy butter, otherwise, I'm not coming. *wink*

Whilst in the Derbyshire region, I will also catch up with family and some old chums - Miranda... James... you are priority as I haven't seen either of you since I was going through puberty (ish).
I also hope to meet up with an on-line friend with whom I have a ridiculous amount in common. We shall see if our schedules can tally.

Then, after all that, I will try and head down to Brighton and catch up with the stupendously talented souls, Emily and Marc, both of whom I began friendships during that previously mentioned Bournemouth period. Bless 'em.
Marc is king of vaudeville (or some such label) and Emily is a better musician than anyone currently in the top 40. Hyperbole? Nah. Truth. Ben says.

Then, it's back to Heathrow for a flight back to Australia.

If I create a 'To Do' list for this forthcoming trip, it may include:

1. Shag Will Young
2. Twat Steven Moffat 'round the head
3. Pick up a handsome Welsh boyfriend (Mark Evans would do... thanks - http://www.markevansonline.co.uk/ )
4. Get a job at the BBC (bad time to decide this, methinks) and take over as showrunner of Doctor Who or just become the 12th Doctor.
5. Eat mince pies

Great list so far. Then I'd be happy... again.

In other news...

I am now into day 37 of my 100-day challenge. Infuriatingly, I am exactly the same weight as I was when I started five weeks ago - 79kg! I did drop to 76kg mid-way, but for some reason, despite the Biggest Loser shakes and the exercise, I am still wavering about the old 79!
I got into my walking regime again, you see, so I think I am building muscle again. Damn it.
I MUST BE "DAVID TENNANT" THIN BY CHRISTMAS!
Then I'd be happy... once more!

PS. Obviously there are other friends I will be catching up with during my UK trip, but I can't give you all a billing at this time... Calm down and have a biscuit!

Anyway... back to Mark Evans...

..I'd be happy.

It's Not Enough

2011-10-03T18:55:00.002+11:00

I have been a fan of Doctor Who since I was four years old. My first season of viewing was Tom Baker’s penultimate year. I was always more terrified of Tom than any of his adversaries, so I was relieved when he regenerated into the far more aesthetically pleasing and less wee-inducing Peter Davison. Admittedly, my love of the show waned in later years as I began to play out more and found the Sixth and Seventh Doctors less appealing.

That said; I am fully cognizant of the fact that TV shows have their ups and downs.

When the new series began in 2005, my inner-child was sparked into life and I adored the adventures of the Ninth and Tenth Doctors and their entertaining companions. The zenith was the partnering of Tennant and Tate in ‘series 4’ (or season 30) and I couldn’t have been happier with the result.

When the news broke that Russell T Davies was stepping down from the role of Executive Producer and head writer, I was saddened but reassured that Steven Moffat would be the perfect successor as his Curriculum Vitae is an impressive list of classic TV. I would never have thought it would be the start of a new lull in the series history.

Before I go on, I must say this is purely a personal opinion. The show has a vast number of ardent followers and that’s great to see, but for me… things are not as good any more.

Firstly, it needs to be said that I like Matt Smith. I think he is a good choice. Not a great choice, but a good one all the same. I often find his Doctor to be a little too mad echoing the latter Tom Baker years when it seemed to be more about buffoonery than decent storytelling. I shall not lay any blame at Smith’s door though.

I shan’t beat around the bush. I hate Amy Pond. I find her character to be obnoxious. All this sassy pouting and frowning drives me mad.

Rory is much more watchable but they do seem intent on killing him off repeatedly and resurrecting him. This continuous disregard for the character merely makes us complacent about the drama as we know there is little real danger for the characters. The once wonderful “Everybody Lives” motto from ‘The Empty Child’ has now become a mockery of itself.

The biggest problem for me in the latest incarnation of the programme is the incoherent storytelling with complex non-linear arcs with little internal logic. The occasional episode playing with time is bound to be entertaining, but this new run seems to do it all the time. What ever happened to the Doctor not crossing his own time line and the consequences? The much lauded episode ‘Day of the Moon’ made less sense than David Lynch’s Eraserhead, but somehow, it keeps getting the big thumbs up from fans. Are they watching properly or merely staring at their TVs uttering “ooh, pretty” every now and again.

Steven Moffat is great with concepts but I think he needs to find a decent script editor to pick up the nonsensical strands.

Series 5 was purposefully designed to make the Doctor into a ‘fairytale’! Why? Who can say? I could not have felt more distant from the plots with this desperate attempt to take him away from the real world which Russell had worked at so hard in creating.

I had hoped series 6 would be an improvement but I have been shocked at how frustrating it has been. The opening two-parter was bonkers in its complete lack of logic. Episode three was dull and lacked originality and episode four was something akin to fan-fiction of the lowest form (and yet, the majority of fans seem to think it’s the greatest episode of anything, ever.)

It’s sad when something you love so much becomes almost unwatchable.

Episodes five and six were heading in a better direction, and when I say ‘better’, I actually mean ‘classic’. Although not perfect, it offered us a reasonably strong storyline with moral implications – something which the classic series did well on a number of occasions. There was a ‘cliff-hanger’ moment at the end and despite being surprising, I still found myself not caring much. The same for episode seven, frankly. It was all a bit mad and extreme but with little reasoning behind it. Twenty minutes of gathering characters from space and time, I was urging the story to just get on with it and then when the battles were happening, I couldn’t bring myself to really give a sh*t. The final ‘reveal’ was intriguing but not that shocking and I am unsure why it is supposed to be (in Steven Moffat’s words) “Game-changing”.

The second-half of the season was not exactly thrilling and just continued the trend of ‘fairytale’ and lazy plotting.

The highlight for me was ‘The God Complex’ in which we had a genuine threat and actual deaths (shock, horror!) and it was nice to see that love didn’t conquer all and it was faith which actually caused the downfall of the ill-fated characters. That was smart and brave. Thank you Toby Whithouse for that.

All too often, we’ve been seeing love conquering all.

In ‘Closing Time’ a father’s love for his son was key to the storyline – or was that ‘Night Terrors’… or ‘The Curse of the Black Spot’… or ‘The Almost People’?

In ‘The Girl Who Waited’ we were subjected to a separate fantasy realm within our universe which caused havoc for our heroes – or was that ‘Night Terrors’… or ‘The God Complex’… or ‘The Wedding of River Song’.

Surely I cannot be the only one to see the repetitive nature of the stories within the sixth series?

I also worry that the once wonderfully enigmatic and curious entity that was River Song has become something of a loose-cannon who cannot be trusted and f*cks everything up… because she’s a woman. Seriously? Is this sort of misogynistic crap still warranted in the 21st century? I cannot fault Alex Kingston’s performance as she is radiant and commands the screen, but the writing of her character is sloppy.

The timeline is also a bit of a mess. Even with some close analysis, it’s a frustrating mix of coincidences, lies and convenient omissions to suit the showrunner when he can’t be bothered figuring it out himself.

As I said before, this is just a personal opinion on the show and there are hordes of fans out there that have loved the show and profess it loudly. There’s nothing wrong with that. I just cannot share their opinion.

The sooner we get a new showrunner, the better. I loved Russell T Davies’ work on the show, but I cannot deny that it was probably time for him to go (having witnessed ‘The End of Time’…) – so it’s time for new blood. Can I do it, please? I’d bring back logic, decent companions and try to give strength to individual stories rather than focus on arcing plots. It's not enough to say 'fill in the blanks yourselves', Steven!
I don't like being spoon-fed either, but I need to know the writers have a little decency and respect for their audience.

I must also add that this opinion is not mine alone. I find it interesting that a large number of my friends both in the UK and Australia are feeling the same way. So, it’s not just me then…

All I Say, All I Do

2011-09-30T17:23:00.003+10:00

Babs: Coffee, or are you still on your diet?
Berta: Oh, diet be blowed! ha ha.

Day 30 of my 100-day countdown!

Golly gosh and goodness gracious etc... it is bloomin' hard to maintain a diet regime - especially when one has a busy social life and a penchant for baking delicious treats!

As I type this, I am munching on a chocolate cake, which means the keyboard is getting a tad sticky too.

Dieting is hard and the scales this week have been all over the shop! Last weekend, I was so thrilled to be weighing in at a mere 76kg, but during the week I have dickered back and forth between that and 79kg!

Dolly: (on scales) I was panicking then - it was just hovering over the seven - but luckily I paid a visit and it dickered back down to the six.

How does one manage to put on three kilos in such a short space of time?
Yeah, yeah, so I made this cake, but there's still more than half of it left, so let's not place the blame there.

Although my alcohol intake has been minimal, there have been one or two lapses when dining with friends* - I have tried to curb my alcoholic antics thanks to a rather embarrassing moment two weeks ago when I was admonished for a flippant remark during a rather giddy late-night soiree.

Note to self: This is why I gave up alcohol for twenty-nine months recently... my brain and mouth are like distant cousins when lubricated with a bevy of wines and spirits. All I say and all I do are two completely different things sometimes.

Being the person I am, I have been beating myself up (mentally, that is; physically would be very odd indeed) over this mistake ever since - but this is nothing new. I still wear the burden of every moment in my past where I have hurt someone through caustic wit or an ill-advised barb.
As somebody pointed out to me earlier this year, it is likely that in the majority of these events, I am the only person who probably remembers anyway!

Anyway... I digress into the troubles of my own psyche again. Sorry. Back to the main theme:

I have had pizza twice this week, so that can't be good. One was at the end of my three-day weekend and I needed to treat myself. The second was on Wednesday night when I was returning from visiting a friend in hospital. I was feeling a bit flat (for obvious reasons) and it was pissing it down with rain, so I needed comfort food.

This could be one of the causes.

Ah, who can say? Maybe it's the lack of exercise or the combination of it all... suffice to say, I have to be more astringent with what I eat and how frequently.

BUT SOME FOOD TASTES SOOOO GOOD!
I must stop having delicious desserts. sigh

Woman: Could we get by please; we're not having a sweet.

Enid: Very wise, with those hips.

*Thank you Brett & Eric for each of these occasions - superb food, delicious wine, witty banter and perfect company!

Don't Give Up On A Good Thing

2011-09-16T17:21:00.003+10:00

Day 16 into my 100 Day Challenge. I am still wavering around the 78kg mark, which isn't bad.
I am still doing the bran flakes/O.J. breakfast and the health-bar for snack followed by a diet shake for lunch and something normal in the evening - only now I have progressed onto weight-watchers meals for dinner. Only because they were on special and I have to admit, they are quite nice.

Today was the first day that I actually felt good about my body. I was in the bathroom, weighing myself naked before I got in the shower (I have to wear my spectacles as I can't read the dial without them!) and I was pleased at the 78kg response.
I 'checked myself out' in the mirror and I noticed that there does seem to be some visible difference in my body shape already - and that's just through losing a couple of kilos. I have also noticed it in my face too, which I am pleased about.

Anyone who knows me will be aware that I have hated my body for an awfully long time, so it was nice to see for once that I was 'reasonable'.

This bonnie beginning to my day helped put a spring in my step as I headed to work and I was also jollied along listening to a Rick Guard album on my iPod.
I was listening to his first album Hands of a Giant which is such a wonderfully eclectic mix of styles guaranteed to lift anyone's spirits. His second album, Anyone But Me is even better... (one of my favourite albums!) Check 'em out if you haven't already.

Anyway, I digress (and made a cup of tea in the process!)

Work has been MENTAL these past couple of weeks what with the extra-curricular activities, covering for colleagues and generally being roped into various meetings and answering calls to some furiously frustrating people with no manners or understanding of politeness. I have been getting to work at 7:00 and working through 'til 16:30, often through lunch, and heading to bed at 19:30/20:00 each evening as I have been so exhausted.

Somebody suggested that I should ask for 'days in lieu' by way of compensation for all the extra work. I quite like that idea, but I envision being laughed out of the building.

As I write this, I am cognizant of the rather dull topics I have perused this fine day. For this I apologise. I do intend to write a post about some terrible dates I have had over the years, as I think that may provide some entertainment (I hope).

Week's entertainment round-up:

I have finally got around to watching The New Avengers.
Having been a fan of The Avengers since I was about 7 or 8, I find it puzzling that I never tried the later series starring Joanna Lumley. Somewhere in my mind, I had the notion that it wasn't any good. However, I have been proved wrong! It's gloriously entertaining.
Patrick Macnee as John Steed - the coolest man in fiction, bar none.
Joanna Lumley as Purdey - sexy, stylish and kick-ass.
Gareth "rhymes with" Hunt - er... oh well. two out of three isn't bad.

I have also recently been persuaded to endure the first season of Babylon 5 on the promise that it gets better in later seasons. I have tried three times in my life to get through that first season (and, being one of those people who has to watch every episode, it's a hard task) and I finally got through it all. Yeah, yeah, sometimes I got up and sorted through some laundry when something boring was happening - whatever!
However, I am now into season 2 and so far, it has been vastly more entertaining. So, I trust my friends are correct.

I am still very disappointed with Doctor Who this year. Fans online seem to be creaming themselves over it. Who am I to debate what people like? Each to their own. I just find it all rather convoluted, filled with plot holes and - dare I say it? - I despise Amy Pond. Yes, I said 'despise'. Alas.
Torchwood season four was flawed, but it still thrilled me a hundred times more than the latest 'Who'.

Speaking of Torchwood, I am one of those obsessive fans who have to read all the books, listen to the audio plays etc. I am currently reading Long Time Dead and enjoying it immensely.

Music; I have been listening to Will Young's new album, Echoes and, although it still has 'echoes' of the maudlin tone of his previous album, Let It Go, it still has a sense of hope to it which lifts it up a little higher. The dancier nature of the album makes me wonder if he's been listening to some Róisín Murphy.
Great stuff, Will.

***

In other news:

"Gordon Ramsay's dwarf porn double Percy Foster dies in badger den" has to be the funniest headline of the week. I know, it is sad someone has died... so shoot me for sniggering.

Something Every Day

2011-09-09T17:10:00.003+10:00

Wowzers! It's merely day nine into my 100-day challenge and already I have lost 2 kilos.
Well, I gained 1 and lost 2, if you want to be pedantic. But I have still lost 2 kilograms in five days - maybe it's the diet shakes for lunch, or maybe it is the stress of doing eighty billion things at work plus the adrenalin. Who can say?

If I can keep this up, I'll be lighter than a tumble-dryer's fluff collection by Christmas. I hope there won't be too many strong winds at Christmas (other than those produced by sprout-eaters across the nation - of which I'll be one - I love those Brussels!)

Yes, work has been manic. I'm covering for a colleague who is away and also doing a whole heap of extra-curricular stuff on top of all that plus going to no end of meetings that go on for hours and achieve (from what I can tell) very little.
I've been so busy, I've barely had time to make a quick brew!

Oh, who am I kidding? There is always time for a quick brew.

The problem is, all this work has made me completely knackered. I get home of an evening, eat an early dinner and I'm in bed by 7:30/8:00. I will read for about ten minutes and then promptly fall asleep and dream about pregnant friends and creepy churches. (Was that a sacrificial altar I saw there? Oo-er!)

On an entirely different subject, I'd like to propose a new way to interview applicants for the workplace. How much bullshit can we cope with in the corporate world? Why do all interviews follow the same appalling formula for which any fool can effectively 'cut and paste' answers from any book on the market?

"Give us an example of how you have dealt with a difficult colleague." Blah-fucking-blah.

OK... Here are the questions I'd like to ask.

1. When you use a communal toilet, do you like to leave it in the state you found it in?

2a. At home, do you leave your dirty mugs and plates in the kitchen sink to become dry and crusty before washing them up?

2b. Do you think somebody else is going to do it for you?

3. Do you know the difference between recyclable stuff and actual waste?

4. Do you respect other people's personal space?

5. Do you care how you smell?

6. Just how inconsiderate are you?

7. Are you subhuman scum?

etc.

etc.

Now, if I heard the answers I wanted to hear to those questions, I would know whom to employ.
Oh. And if they're hot, they'd get bonus points. (Mwah-ha-ha)

It staggers me that there are people in my building at work who get paid way more than I do and yet they are still unable to get their rubbish into the bin or even clean up their dirty coffee cups.
Something every day gets on my tits and I try not to slap people. I've been amazingly restrained so far.

Dirty...

Filthy...

*shudder*

OK, fascist Nazi Ben has stepped down from his soapbox and tucked away his sniper rifle. Nice Ben is back...

Aren't kittens adorable!?!

Bless.

Better Make It Better

2011-09-03T08:22:00.002+10:00

This is Day Three of my 100 Day Challenge and, by my reckoning, I'm failing miserably.

Day One was OK.
I weighed myself (79kg).
I had Bran Flakes and a glass of Orange Juice for breakfast.
A healthy snack bar mid-morning.
A 'Biggest Loser' shake and an apple for lunch.
My home-made lamb chilli for dinner followed by a low-fat yoghurt and another apple.

All in all, a reasonable day's munching.

Day Two was less good.
I weighted myself (79kg).
I had four slices of toast with marmalade and a mug of tea for breakfast
A healthy snack bar mid-morning.
Then I had chicken vindaloo with garlic naan (with extra garlic) for lunch.
Two glasses of white wine after work.
More wine plus another Indian meal for dinner. (Michelle Bridges would beat me to a pulp!)

Hmmm.

Not really the best way to start a regime. Still, the two curries helped shed a load in the little boys' room, so that's a bonus.

I am seeing friends again this evening, so I doubt that will be a 'light 'n' easy' dining experience, but I will enjoy myself anyway.

Has anyone got the number of a good lipsuctionist? (Is that a word?)

"I will be skinny by Christmas, I will be skinny by Christmas!"

Jeepers, I sound like a deluded turkey with high hopes of the New Year...

When Morning Comes*

2011-08-31T17:18:00.002+10:00

Tomorrow (September 1st) is the beginning of my countdown to my next UK trip. That is one hundred days (not including the actual day of flight) to get into shape. When I say “in shape”, I have no intention of looking like Joe Manganiello for I could never achieve such perfection; I simply want to be fit, healthy and preferably weigh something less than 75kg.

I currently waver between 78 and 80 kg, depending on whether or not I’ve just had a big poo, but I am so keen to lose around 5 kilos. My dream would to be ‘David Tennant thin’ but I simply do not have that frame, sadly. I think I have child-bearing hips.

I plan to take note of everything I consume and imbibe each day and attempt to get back into my walking regime. I am not sure whether it is worth sharing with the World Wide Web my every chew and swallow (oo-er!) but I will ask for a virtual hand-holding along the way. I imagine there will be days when I will crack and I will be forced to down a bottle of cabernet sauvignon or demolish a lemon meringue pie… no doubt pizza will also creep in every now and again. (Hmmm, pepperoni…)

I will weight myself frequently and record the days and distances of the note-worthy ventures into the realms of reasonable exercise. It would also be interesting to see when I can get back into those jeans I bought about eight months ago. I was skinny enough to get into something appropriate for Generation Y back then, but it didn’t last long. The problem is that clothes made for the youth of today are not designed to accommodate buttocks or genitalia for some reason. Maybe it’s because the idiotic tossers wear everything too bloody low. (Don’t get me started!)

Some people may ask why I am doing this. People say; “You don’t need to lose weight!” to which I reply; “You haven’t seen me naked!”

It’s about how I feel. I lack so much confidence and when I am unhappy in my build, it just exacerbates my low-self image.

Recently, I attempted to join the dating game once more. I met with a few guys on a handful of occasions. Most of them seemed like very decent and likable guys, but I have so many personal issues that I cannot bring myself to inflict this bag of insecurities upon anyone until I am able to feel stronger in my own skin.

Despite a couple of semi-interested parties, I still felt a sort of rejection – even if it was enforced by my own negativity. With each encounter, I would end up alone at the end of the day and feel more distant from the world of relationships. It feels like I am a tree being felled – with each thwack of the axe, I become weaker and weaker, and I need to stop the damaging blows before I fall and make a minor impact into the surrounding eco-system.

I have removed my profile from the dating site and shall not return until I can hold my head up high and be proud of what I have got to offer.

So… in order to combat my insane self-induced depression brought on by my personally assumed inadequacies, I want to get fitter. I want to be lean. I want to be tolerable in my own vision as I stand naked in front of a full-length mirror.

Wish me luck!

* I am broadening my horizons as far as blog-entry titles go. I am venturing into other favourite bands and singers. This title is a song by Swing Out Sister. Look forward to some Beverley Craven, Will Young and maybe some Bucks Fizz!

Coming soon to a blog near you...

2011-08-06T10:05:00.003+10:00

It's been a long time since I posted on this blog. I have been preoccupied with my other blog recently.
However, I shall return shortly.
I will have to give up on the Kirsty MacColl related titles as it became too difficult, but there is no reason I cannot use other songs/lyricists.

One thing that I want to focus on in the coming months is an attempt to lose weight (again). I want to be 75kg by Christmas. Do you think I can do it? I'm around 80kg currently. I will need some support, I think.

Crikey!

Soho Square

2011-03-01T08:37:00.007+11:00

Each time I visit the UK, I like to visit Soho Square in London.
It's a place I like to sit and watch the world go by or sometimes use it as a convenient rendezvous for friends.

When Kirsty MacColl was killed in December 2000, I was devastated.
Given that Kirsty wrote a song for her beautiful album Titanic Days, a memorial bench was fitted in Soho Square and this is the reason I make the same pilgrimage each time I am in London.

This time around, I simply sat and watched people as they hurried to work, carrying their coffees and breakfasts or casually meandering. Of course, I had to listen to the right music on my iPod...

As I hadn't planned to meet anyone there this time, I had to ask a (cute) passer-by to take my picture.

Kirsty MacColl was an incredibly talented woman and I think it is sad she was taken from us at such a young age (41) but I am pleased her memory lives on in her music and her fans.

A New England

2011-02-23T08:53:00.003+11:00

My holiday in the UK is coming to an end and, to be frank, I am not exactly loving the idea of heading back to work (funny, that!) I will like being home in my apartment and I can't wait to see my baby Fizzgig. It'll be grand catching up with my Australian friends too, I have missed them. But my time in the UK has been grand. the best holiday I have had in a bloody long time.

I hae tried my best to see as many people as I possibly could, but sadly, there were some I simply could not get to given my hectic schedule. I cannot help feeling guilty, even though it is impossible to manage it all in such a relatively short space of time. For those whom I have missed, I offer a sincere apology and I hope you can forgive me.

England has changed a lot in the last five years though. It seems as though just about everyone has a laptop, an iPhone and SatNav in their car (or whatever these new-fangled gadgets are). I thought tehre was supposed to be a recession... or is it all on credit??

Everywhere is much smaller than it used to be. Not just my old primary school but also the cities. Derby is a TINY place compared to how I remember it and, frankly, London is not as big as people make out. I think people are just too lazy to walk. By the time everyone has faffed about with the Oyster card payments, traversed the underground walkways to the tube and waited for the trains, one could quite easily have walked to their destination! (I hear Nicole scoffing at me now! Mwah-ha-ha. Don't worry, I am just playing Devil's Advocate)

Also, Chavs seemt o be taking over the country. I watched The Jeremy Kyle Show for the first (and I hope 'last') time and I was appalled at the utter scum who seem to be allowed to breed in this beautiful group of islands. (Yes, it's my inner-snob leaping out from under my sweater - beware!) But seriously, tattooing a skull over your face? How incredibly insane. Ah well...
I don't mind watching Chavs in Misfits, but can we keep these dipshit mongrels to the world of fiction?
*shudder*

So, Britain is looking slightly different, but some things never change.
The countryside is beautiful, my friends are amazing and Bruce Forsythe is still on the telly.

This holiday, I have felt so welcomed and loved by my friends and family. I have felt more confident than ever before. Also, when walking through Derby today, I also felt slightly attractive; but then, even John Merrick would feel a sense of pride and elation walking through Derby, so I shouldn't let my ego become too massaged.

Patrick

2011-01-25T17:51:00.005+11:00

As I have mentioned a number of times, this blog uses Kirsty MacColl song titles for each entry. As I plough through her backlist, it becomes harder and harder to match a song to a post.

So, this entry is dedicated to men called Patrick. Sadly, I can only ever recall knowing two Patricks personally in my life. I cannot really justify dedicating it to the second incarnation of Doctor Who.

The first 'Patrick' of my life was one I wish I could erase from my memory...

My friend Suzy had a cute boyfriend called Matt (I think that was his name, but it was years ago and considering his looks were the best part about him, I can be forgiven for forgetting his name, right?) and, like a lot of young, naive heterosexual males, he was under the misapprehension that two gay men would be perfect for each other because they had one thing in common... being gay. Ah *shakes head wearily* - no.

So, Matt decided to set me up on a blind date. Matt, Suzy and I went to a pub in Chesterfield to meet this supposedly "hot date" and I was terribly nervous. I had only recently acknowledged my sexuality to others at this point and wasn't perfectly happy with my situation, but I went along for the ride all the same.
We ordered some drinks - a bit of dutch courage for myself - and we waited.
A few minutes later, in walked Patrick.

Oh.

Now, before I go on, let me explain. I am not one to judge people by their appearances. Personality counts a great deal... but seriously??

In walked Patrick. Tall (tick), blonde (tick), smiley (tick)...
Eighty billion pounds overweight and wearing a bright orange velour tracksuit?? (CROSS, CROSS, CROSS, ERASE, SCRIBBLE OUT!!!)

FUCK! Or rather, No thank you, I've got a headache!! The term 'bloated citrus fruit' springs to mind (Thank you Saffy!)

I didn't know what to do! I am sure he must have had a beautiful personality and a great sense of humour, so I decided to put my prejudices aside - however, he was one of those - oh, you know the ones... everything is "gay, gay, gay!" Waving hands, laughing at every innuendo, including the ones he was making up for himself.
I was at a loss. So, instead of continuing the conversation, I swigged a couple of large glasses of Jack Daniels and headed to the dance floor alone where I danced like a lunatic and lost all the buttons of my shirt in a mad extravagant dance.

Oddly enough, he never got in touch.

Cripes. remind me never to go on a blind date ever again.

The second Patrick in my life was a devilishly handsome delivery guy who dropped off stock at the bookstore I worked at eleven years ago. He was married, but was the sort of straight guy who likes to flirt outrageously with we of the other persuasion. God, I loved him, even if he was a prick-tease.

So, that's my post about 'Patrick'. Maybe one day I will meet another.

At some point in the future, I am going to have to visit New York to use up some 'Big Apple'-themed songs of Kirsty's and heaven knows how I am going to get I'm Going Out With an Eighty Year Old Millionaire into this blog.
Call me Anna-Nicole Smith??

Busy Life*

2011-01-23T08:04:00.004+11:00

So, in a few days I will be flying to the UK for a long-overdue holiday. The last time I was in the UK was over the Christmas holidays in 2005. I wonder how much has changed? Only time will tell.
I have a ridiculously manic schedule (as always) with my various trips and encounters figured out on an excel spreadsheet. I think I'm going to spend most of my time on trains! Ah well, I don't mind travelling to the many corners of the British Isles if it means I get to see some wonderful friends.
It is a great shame that there are many people I won't get time to see during my trip. I wish I had more time to play with, but it simply isn't plausible.
Obviously, I will be blogging about it all at some point. It may be while I am there, but it might also wait until I get back. Who can say at this point?

Anyway, with this forthcoming trip in mind, my life here in Australia has been terribly busy. I am usually a rather reclusive chap during the week but because I have been catching up with lots of friends here 'before I head off' (as one says) I have had to open up my social diary and permit myself some midweek rendezvous (that's the first time I have ever thought of that word as a plural and I had to check to see if it was the same spelling both singular and plural - it is! You learn something new every day. Not interesting, just new.)
I also have been trying to get a lot of housework done because a friend of mine is house-sitting and looking after Fizzgig while I am away and I hope to leave the apartment in a decent state so he isn't repulsed by lurking dust-bunnies.

Not only has my social (and cleaning) life been jam-packed, but my work has been incredibly busy too. I have had to cram in an insane amount of work into the weeks before and after my trip to make sure I get everything done. With all the added stress, one wonders why one holidays at all!
On a rather less jovial note, our manager has sadly been taken ill and will not be at work for some time meaning that while I am away, the work load will be exacerbated for my colleague Nola - I worry that she might implode. So if anyone is reading this and they know Nola, please be kind to her while I am gone!

Well, given that I am so busy, I don't really have time to blither on in this blog (my Hitchcock blog took up precious time yesterday too, darn it!) and I'll get back to cleaning. Currently I am sat in an old pair of orange boxer briefs so I think a shower and a change into something more appropriate for guests (for more arrive today for pre-holiday meetings) - I don't want them to vomit at the sight of me in my undies.

*Today's Kirsty MacColl themed blog title comes from the opening credits to The Adventures of Mole, part of a 'Wind in the Willows' cartoon series starring Richard Briers, Peter Davison, Hugh Laurie, Imelda Staunton and others. The song was written by Neil Innes and performed by the wonderful Kirsty!

Just One of Those Things

2010-12-31T07:53:00.011+11:00

2010.
What? Gone already? Cripes.

The year was notable for me as I was able to complete a number of collections. I shall warn you now (with the ever ready 'nerd-alert') that this may get a bit geeky. I know it's a bit pathetic, but it's just one of those things about me that makes me 'me'. Obsessive Compulsive perhaps?

#1. My Agatha Christie collection.

Publishers can be pure evil sometimes. They release a whole range of titles in matching jackets and then, without warning, they change the jackets but NOT the ISBNs. This makes it extremely difficult for the customer to order the missing titles. For a few years, I was missing a couple of titles from the Agatha Christie collection and I refuse to start again on the new-look jackets, having spent the best part of a decade collecting these beauties. For the past two years, I was searching for ONE final title - Endless Night - I even had friends across the globe looking for it on their travels. I was beginning to believe it had never been published in this format as an evil ploy invented by Harper Collins to make sure no one could ever have a complete set. However, thanks to eBay, I finally got my missing piece to the mystery and I almost shed a tear of joy.

#2. My Alfred Hitchcock collection.

This is another collection that has taken me over a decade to complete, mainly because some of the more obscure titles from his oeuvre were simply taking a while to come out on DVD. Admittedly, my copies of Elstree Calling and Waltzes in Vienna are not of the highest quality, but I don't care - I am just proud to own them. This allowed me to work on my Hitchcock blog - http://greathitchcockproject.blogspot.com/ - which involves watching all of his films in chronological order and blithering on about the experience. It's not exactly Julie & Julia but it keeps me off the streets knifing Asian grannies.

#3. My Swing Out Sister collection.

I have been a fan of Swing Out Sister since their "Breakout" debut and even though they've not been at the forefront of the music scene, they have been successful for over twenty years albeit mainly in Japan. Their albums are frequently hard to find, especially here in Australia, so I have had to rely on specialist shops and the good old internet to find the albums missing from my collection. A few months ago, I found the one album I needed - Filth & Dreams - on Amazon "through one of these sellers" and I was so happy. It was released in 1999 and I have been searching for it ever since. It's a superb album too.
By the way, there are a great number of 'best of', 'Remix' and 'live' CDs, but that's going too far. I am content with the main studio albums.

#4. My Star Trek collection.

Woah, I really am a complete nerd/geek/saddo. Yes, I now own every DVD of official Star Trek - even the rather less-good animated series (thanks Joel!)
I had avoided watching Star Trek: Enterprise for many years, thanks to that f***ing awful theme music (Yes, it really is that bad) but when I bought the entire series with some vouchers I got for my birthday, I had a huge amount of fun watching all four seasons - season three is particularly awesome!

#5. My Robert Rankin collection.

When I was 18, I was living in Bedford and having an awful time. I was screwed up and I hated pretty much everything. However, I picked up Armageddon: The Musical in a book shop and I was hooked. For a long time, I was collecting the paperback editions of Robert Rankin's titles, but over time I began finding hardback editions in second-hand shops. I now have every available hardback edition of his books (as far as I know - no one seems to have information about the first four books of the "Brentford Trilogy"(sic) ever being available in hardback. If this is not the case, I may not have finished this collection yet).

#6. My Roger Corman/Edgar Allan Poe collection.

In my youth, I loved watching 'seasons' of films on BBC2 and Channel 4. It may have been Hitchcock, Astaire & Rogers or Marilyn Monroe... but one which I particularly adored (and seemed to be aired rather frequently) was the season of Roger Corman films based on Edgar Allan Poe stories. There were only seven, but each one is a Gothic delight. Oddly, it took me ages to get a hold of my favourite one - The Premature Burial - as it was only ever available as part of a 'double bill' pack, and that is no good to someone like me who likes to alphabetise.

#7. My Avengers collection

It has taken years for The Avengers to be released properly on PAL system DVD - far too bloody long. However, here they are in all their glory. It's one of the finest TV shows ever produced and, heavens to Betsy, aren't those boxes splendid in their design.
Interestingly, I haven't had to pay for ANY of them. They were all bought with Amazon vouchers or as gifts! (Thank you Rohan, Vanessa, Louise, Adam, Family etc...)

So, that is my year of 'completion'.

***

In other news, let's take a look at the highs and lows of 2010 as far as I am concerned...

I watched a frightening amount of TV on DVD - but I am unashamed about that. I don't have much of a life, but I enjoy the simple pleasures.

I watched:

All three seasons of Veronica Mars (which was much better than I had expected.)

All four seasons of Star Trek: Enterprise as mentioned above.

All six/nearly seven seasons of Medium which I had previously avoided because I didn't like Patricia Arquette's fringe. However, I got past that and realised how much fun the show was.

All nine seasons of Roseanne. God, that show was genuinely funny and good (well, most of it).

All six seasons of The Avengers (well, five and the remaining two and one third episodes of season one!)

Both seasons of the 21st Century version of Terry Nation's Survivors - they really should make more. Oh, and Phillip Rhys is beautiful.

Three and a half seasons of Sliders. Oh dear. I remember this being good. The first season was fun, the second reasonably OK, the third was 'iffy' and season four was absolute trash. I just struggle to sit through an episode.

Oh, and I think I watched all five seasons of Quantum Leap this year too, but I might be getting my timing all wrong as it was early in the year or late last year.

Doctor Who was disappointing this year. Still good TV, but I cannot deny it, I miss Russell T Davies' touch. Steven Moffat seemed to be so much better when he wasn't trying to change ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING! Oh, and I have no qualms about saying it, Amy Pond needs a damn hard slap. I'll slap the Moff while I'm at it. RTD spent five years making us believe this world of science fiction was in our world and made a real family drama out of the show (brilliantly) but Moffat has made it feel like a mere bedtime story set in a different land so I have felt very departed from the show and characters. That said, Matt Smith is a very good Doctor - it just would have been nicer to have Mr Tennant stick around for another year or two to smooth the transition between executive producers.

Series four of The Sarah Jane Adventures was the best yet. Very strong stories and the characters have grown terrifically - considering this is a children's show, it's damn fine entertainment. RTD's episodes were fantastic.

Misfits proved itself to be one of the finest things on television whereas The Inbetweeners went rapidly downhill in its third series resorting too frequently on bodily fluid gags and cruelty to animals. The squirrel scene was the moment I lost the faith.

In non-TV related items, I celebrated my 35th birthday with a Murder Party which went down very well indeed; I won two awards for 'rep of the Year' in two different states; I lost a heap of weight; I went on a TV show; I wallowed in depression (again); and spent many hours playing in 'Monstro City' thanks to the MoshiMonsters website.

As the year draws to a close, I have little wisdom to give. I have come to consider that I am not living my life, merely waiting and I ought to do something about that.

I have also learned that it is becoming extraordinarily difficult to use Kirsty MacColl song titles for these posts... so I may have to start mixing it up and using Swing Out Sister song titles or those of from Beverley Craven's songbook.

The One and Only*

2010-12-03T17:22:00.005+11:00

I have never been showered with awards. I once won two tickets to see the pantomime version of Aladdin at our local village hall after winning a painting competition at primary school; I won the coveted badge of honour for 'Most Outstanding Personality' at college; but I have never been the sort of fellow whose mantelpiece is adorned with trophies.
Athletics was never my forte. I was rather good at hurdles but my aversion to all types of competitive sport hindered my chances of standing atop any form of pyramid. I once arrived back first after a cross-country run, but to be fair, there were only three of us running and the other two competitors buggered off to the pub midway.
Oddly, despite coming from an incredibly talented family - all of whom can sing, paint, play instruments, draw, act etc - I did not receive these genes, instead ending up with all the neuroses, dodgy eyesight and eczema instead.
So, this past month, I was deeply honoured and somewhat surprised to receive TWO rather special accolades.

Firstly, I won Victorian Sales Representative of the Year, as voted by the booksellers around the state. A week later, I was bestowed with New South Wales Telesales Rep of the Year. (To those not in the know, I work as a sales rep for a publishing company. I am a "Telesales Rep" which means I do the same job as a "Road Rep" only over the phone and with a lot of faith in imagination. I have accounts in most of Australia's states.)
Having worked in the sales department for ten years, I was deeply touched by the nomination, let alone the eventual win.

Initially, after that first win, I was a little flummoxed to say the least - perhaps considering that it was a miscount so I took the award humbly (albeit spoofing Sally Field in the process) and ironically.
However, the following week, with win #2, I conceded and began to accept the praise.

The prize I got for the Victorian Award was a bottle of very expensive champagne. Sadly, I gave up drinking two years ago - but I let my friends indulge themselves with that.
The New South Wales Award consisted of two bottles of wine (once again, '"shame about the sobriety") and an engraved champagne glass. The latter arrived by mail, but die to an unfortunate mix up, they sent me somebody else's so I had to post it back again.

Last week, when I thought the excitement had died down, I was present at a Quarterly Briefing at which the entire office was in attendance. Our CEO made me take a bow as everyone applauded. I was so flustered, I bowed like someone who has just done a landing from a trapeze or a six-year-old at his first nativity - arms flung out backwards, fingers splayed. I must have looked a right wally!

Today, at our monthly sales meeting, the Sales Director and the Trade Sales Manager joined our team to present me with another token of appreciation - a couple of beautiful tumblers and some exquisite dark chocolates.
Once again, I was all nerves and fretful verbal inadequacies. I am just not used to compliments or praise!

But I was touched. Deeply honoured yet aghast.

This all comes at a rather awkward time for me - so soon after my post about my depression - but things like this do help one get some perspective during those darker moments. That persistent black dog that hounds me tries to make me believe I am a fraud and that I don't deserve the honours; this in itself can be difficult to quell. But with this continued recognition from my peers and clients, I can smack that bitch in the face with assurance and legitimate pride.

* Please forgive the title of this post - yes, it's rather egotistical, but give me this one as it is unlikely to happen again...

Please Help Me, I'm Falling

2010-11-09T16:33:00.002+11:00

This post has been inspired by a friend of mine who suggested that I blog about my experience with depression. Hopefully it will be a cathartic process for me.
I have written about that devilish morbid cloud once before (see ‘Shutting the Doors’), but that was more about how I deal with those darker days. This post is more about the symptoms which can often disguise themselves in cunning and ways. I do not intend for this to be a self-pitying blog, nor do I request sympathy. This is about expressing the signs of that haunting black dog with the small hope that somebody else may benefit from it… or at least have a jolly good laugh.

(You will note that I apply a touch of levity to my words as I am adamant to not depress others – an act of kindness or textbook psychosis?)

Symptom #1
Apathy can be rather contradictory. One moment, I am finding every single human gesture or activity utterly futile and deplorable, making me want to free myself from any connection with the human race; the next, the worry it causes can be quite a burden and I feel the tension burning across my shoulders as though I am bearing the weight of a yolk. Can you picture me as a dairy maid? Do I suit plaits?

Symptom #2
Paranoia! At least I think people say I’m paranoid behind my back (ho, ho). I have always been told to not worry about what others think of me, but that would seem to go against my very nature. Sometimes, I am driven by the very fear of what people may be thinking or assuming about me. I was once rather carefree and flamboyant, but over time I began to repress my natural urges as I realised how others may find them annoying. I spent most of my youth being told to ‘calm down’… either that or ‘cheer up’. I was an adolescent of extremes.
The majority of people feel the need to be liked and admired. I have always desired to be the entertainer. I wanted to be the one who made people laugh, to whom people would gather to hear stories or be the one whose talents could be applauded. Sadly, I feel that I have missed out on a number of ‘talent’ genes and ended up with a bag of neuroses and flaws.
And that leads into symptom number three; lack of self-worth…

Symptom #3
I often feel that I am unskilled, untalented and generally useless. The phrase ‘chocolate fireguard’ comes to mind, but at least that has the advantage of being delicious.
Not only do I feel unqualified to be of worth to anyone, I also lack an appreciation for my own looks and demeanour. Recently somebody pointed out that, as opposed to the ‘Law of Attraction’, I applied the ‘Law of Repulsion’ to myself. I simply do not exude any pheromones or any sexual confidence.
I look in the mirror and I grimace at what I see. (I suppose the fact I am grimacing is not going to help matters.)
Those who swagger with attitude and confidence both annoy me and leave me in awe.
How do they achieve that level of confidence? Does it come naturally? Did they perhaps buy it from an Innovations catalogue alongside a Scare-Cat for their lawn and a pair of lavender in-soles?
I know that one doesn’t need to be externally beautiful to be attractive and loved by others, but somehow I manage to remain deeply ‘unsexy’. (Why hasn’t Microsoft word queried that spelling? Is it actually a word? Seems so…)
I often recall a line written by Victoria Wood and apply it to myself; “…has all the sexual allure of kapok.”
These worrying doubts I have about myself have snowballed over time and now I cannot bear the thought of inflicting myself upon another poor soul, so my barriers rush up like hyper-alert border-security guards and keep me from finding a meaningful relationship. I find myself convinced that it would be a crime against humanity to make anyone suffer the insanity of Ben.

***

The worst aspect of my depression is the way I can often push people away and force myself to become reclusive and lonely. Unfortunately, this only exacerbates all three symptoms mentioned above. One cannot expect to receive help from those who have been shut out. There will come a time when good friends tire of trying; they may attempt to call through the letterbox for a while but eventually they’ll bugger off and go for a pint down the local and will leave me to my own devices.

This is where I need to go back to my predetermined ploys to shoehorn my way out of the mire (mixed metaphors were on special at the market this week) and try to alleviate my anxieties. No doubt the issues will remain there, bubbling away like a ratatouille in a slow-cooker, but as long as I can keep attempting rational thought and examining the stew, I shan’t let it bubble over and leave burnt bits of veg on the stove.

Oh, and the title of this post... Yeah, it does sound like a cry for help, doesn’t it? It was the closest Kirsty MacColl song to the sensitive issue, so I thought it would do.

In a bizarre segue; I shall leave you with another Victoria Wood moment:

Gail: Why are they called ‘Alps’, Carl?
Carl: Well, people go skiing on them ‘n’ fall off, don’t they? And they go “‘elp! ‘elp” but it sounds like “alp” because they all have earmuffs on.

For more information, please take a look at the following websites.

www.beyondblue.org.au/

www.blackdoginstitute.org.au/

Libertango

2010-10-27T19:57:00.001+11:00

Having attended a school where music tastes were mocked first, sexuality second, I have always been a little curbed when discussing my music tastes. Even to this day I have issues buying CDs over the counter for fear of laughter or pitying glances. Thank heavens for the internet.

My music collection during my tender years was a bit of an embarrassment. My vinyls consisted of hand-me-downs and discs bought from car-boot sales. They included Max Bygraves, The Jets, a Playaway album and Rupert and the Firebird.
I spent a lot of the eighties listening to Michael Jackson, Diana Ross and Five Star and, embarrassingly, I even recall defending my choices by saying the old adage “Blacks have great rhythm!” (Yes, I know, I know… but I was young, naïve and eager to evade derision.) I was also a big fan of Swing Out Sister, but more of them later.
In the nineties I was obsessed with Beverley Craven, The Commitments and The Kinks but it was of course Kirsty MacColl who took the highest pedestal.
Due to peer pressure, I did try and get into the groove of the cooler side of music. Attending every performance of my brother’s band and listening to the Wayne’s World album didn’t really cut it, frankly. I guess my Betty Boo CDs exposed my cheesy side a little too glaringly.
I did have my darker days as I had a tumultuous time dealing with the whole gay thing. I would lie on the bedroom floor in the dark listening to Jerry Goldsmith’s score to Damien: Omen II hoping the world would leave me alone or at least give me a billion pounds so I could buy that elusive Gothic mansion I had my eyes on. When I rose from those bleak moods, I would stick on some Del Shannon and sing-a-long to Runaway.

In an effort to shed the burden of guilty pleasures, I thought I’d write about the music that brought me to the present day. I can’t detail every single artist or band who brought me enjoyment, but here are a few highlights…

Madonna
I am a ‘90s Madonna’ fan. I wasn’t swayed by her in the 1980s (although I thought Material Girl and Express Yourself were cheeky and fun) but by the nineties, I was becoming in sync with her metamorphosis. I was a late developer, sexually (come to think of it, I’m still developing, bloody retarded hormones!) and when I was desperately seeking (!) some confirmation that I could be who I needed to be, Madonna was going through her Erotica/Bedtime Stories phase and I almost took Human Nature as my anthem - “I’m not you bitch, don’t hang your shit on me.”
That era was bookended with two of my favourite albums - I’m Breathless and Ray of Light. The former was my proper introduction to old Madge through a corridor lined with 1940s wallpaper and jazzy swing beats. The latter was her most accomplished album to date and her voice was at its peak thanks to the training she undertook whilst working on Evita.
I felt it was a shame that the 21st century brought an endless stream of dance-themed albums with little deviation. Reinvention was her hallmark for the first two decades of her career. She needs to take some of her own advice, methinks.
In one moment of bravery, I did dress up as Madonna for Comic Relief and performed Hanky Panky and Vogue for a refectory full of college students. It would have helped had I known all the words.

Swing Out Sister
From the moment I heard Breakout I was in love with Corinne Drewery. Maybe if I’d seen the video and witnessed her love of jangly bangles, I may have been less thrilled. Corinne reminded me of my step-mother Eileen, mainly because they had similar haircuts, and it was Eileen’s copy of the debut album It’s Better to Travel that I practically commandeered for my own aural pleasure. I simply adored Twilight World and still do.
Many people think that was the last of Swing Out Sister until they remember that they did a cover version of La La Means I Love You which was featured on the soundtrack to Four Weddings and a Funeral. Thankfully, for fans like me, their success continued in Japan of all places and they are still doing their thing and producing music which is unique and brilliant to this day. I recently completed my collection of Swing Out Sister albums having found the brilliant Filth and Dreams on line. This is their notoriously difficult to find sixth album from 1999 which was only released in Japan. There have been three more since and I am hoping that there will be a tenth next year. Thirty years in the business and still entertaining me greatly. For anyone interested in seeking out their loungey, jazzy style, I’d recommend Beautiful Mess, The Living Return and Filth and Dreams (if you can find it!)

Beverley Craven
As with Swing Out Sister, I knew I was going to love Beverley from the moment I heard her debut single. She was on Top of the Pops performing her superb Promise Me and I felt something inside click and I was an instant fan.
During a hiatus to raise a family and battle cancer, her songs never left the playlists of my mind. When she returned to music a couple of years ago, it was as though she’d never left and her fourth album Close to Home was like an intimate concert especially for her devoted fans.
During my last couple of years at school, Beverley was riding the heights of popularity and had some massive sell-out concerts. I was desperate to attend one, but could simply not afford to go. However, there was a special promotion where one could obtain free tickets as part of a run of charity concerts (Sadly, I forget the charity now).
I wanted to go so badly and I was determined to do so. There was one problem. The tokens one had to collect were only available from the inside of Tampax packets, printed on the leaflet within the box.
So, using the charm I was born with, I persuaded a number of girl friends to part with their tokens (I even bought some myself!)
One of my friends, feeling slightly embarrassed about the whole thing, gave me the tokens but had discreetly cut off the illustrations showing how to insert the product into the body.
The end result was positive and I eventually made it to Sheffield. The tickets were for two seats and I had to take someone who could drive – so I took my brother who was also a fan…
…we were the only blokes there.
The hippodrome was crawling with Tampon-wielding usherettes, handing out free samples and chocolates for those in need. I was keen to get a goody bag and persuaded one attendant to keep one aside, despite my penis, as I was such a fan – only because I knew there was a cassette sampler of one of Beverley’s songs inside.
I still have that tape along with some very find memories.

Harry Connick Jr.
Oh, Harry.
Harry, Harry, Harry.
Why won’t you dump Jill Goodacre and come and marry me?
Whether he is covering a smooth classic or belting out one of his own numbers, he exudes the sexy confidence of a truly talented musician. I love the old Big Band/Swing thing and Harry is an expert at caressing our emotions with his dulcet tones. I’d take Harry over Michael Buble any day for the same reason that I’d take Tony Bennett over Frank Sinatra. Michael and Frank are a little too perfect and clinical in their style – bloody amazing, obviously – but Harry and Tony have that extra dollop of heart as far as I’m concerned. There’s a little extra dose of magic there.
I still have not managed to see Harry perform live but hopefully one day in the future... Our eyes will meet between stage and stalls and he will suddenly be overcome with sexual abandon and - *slaps self* Ahem… anyway, where was I?

Bebel Gilberto
Bebel is a late addition to my music library – well, I say “late” but I was amongst the first to discover her – you know, prior to every single café in Christendom using Tanto Tempo as mood music.
It was the year 2000 and I was on that heinous example of globalisation gone awry, Borders, browsing as one does – looking for items and then searching for them cheaper elsewhere. Overhead, I could hear these beautiful melodies embracing my ears and I went to the information counter and for once and once only, I received some actual information (At Borders! I know! Incredible!) The very nice woman informed me it was this little known Brazilian artist, Bebel Gilberto and I was smitten. I actually gave the hungry beast (the shop, not the nice lady) my money and take home the CD and it became a frequent sound at the shop where I worked for a few months.
A few years later, Bebel visited Melbourne on tour and I got to see her live. It was a beautiful experience and I had shivers down my spine and even welled-up with tears at one point. Bebel is one of the most sensual performers around – the opposite to the forced eroticism of Madonna – it was all natural and sensual. Pure bliss.

Betty Boo
Don’t mock me. I love her! Sure she dropped her microphone whilst miming. If it had happened these days, no one would care. She was sprightly, entertaining, funny and way ahead of her time.
Have you heard Grrr! It’s Betty Boo? It’s an awesome summer album and was even cited by Old Madge herself as being “Criminally underrated”. Damn straight.

Kirsty MacColl
There is nothing I can say here about Kirsty that I haven’t written many times before. So I shall be brief in my overt enthusiasm for this wonderful and much-missed performer.
1) If it wasn’t for French and Saunders, I’d not be so aware of her work.
2) She ‘helped’ me during my lowest ebb with her touching music.
3) Tropical Brainstorm is my favourite album ever, bar none.
4) When she died, I broke a little bit inside and still feel that fracture daily.
5) I am grateful beyond words that I got to see her perform live.

I understand she isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but for me, there has never been anyone as clever, witty and original as the late Kirsty MacColl.

So, I could go on (and on) and talk about the influence of Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, Lena Horne, The Kinks, The Pasadena Roof Orchestra, Irving Berlin, Cole Porter, various musical soundtracks (“Aren’t all musicals gay?” asks Roy in The IT Crowd) and a whole bunch of odds and ends including that CD of Del Shannon’s hits and a variety of Marilyn Monroe compilations, but I shan’t and won’t.

Music is a deeply personal thing and, as with comedy, it’s a matter of taste. I try not to judge others as I know I have no right to do so.
So, next time you’re in the local CD store and you’re feeling a tad embarrassed about buying the Spice Girls greatest hits, take a deep breath and purchase with confidence – I know when I did, I actually received some kudos from the girl at the checkout.

Well, she was nine.

One final note: The worst album ever to be created is one I bought as a booby-prize for a party – it was called Pan Pipes play Celine Dion or some such rubbish. Absolutely dire. Unfathomably awful. Yet… hilarious.

He's On The Beach

2010-10-24T10:51:00.002+11:00

I have just returned home after a beautiful two-hour walk. Spring seems to have finally arrived in Melbourne and there were lots of people up and about making the most of the splendid sunshine and cool breeze.

As I walked along the beach by the lapping shore, breathing in the aromatic salty smells one can only find in such locations, I was astonished by the remnants of shells and the notion of all the amazing life this planet creates. It all seems so minor and insignificant to our daily lives but it's also so much bigger than us and often far more impressive.

Then I stumble across litter. Shards of debris left by some ignorant twat who cares so little for the natural beauty of our world. Oh, it makes my heart ache. :(
I frown, curse under my breath and walk on daydreaming about a time when I might be able to find a quiet little corner of the earth away from the crowds and live a peaceful life. *sigh*
Let me not digress... back to the more pleasant thoughts:

Initially, the beach is reasonably quiet. Then the joggers and the dog-walkers come along. It seems these early-risers are far more polite and will return the gesture of 'good morning' despite not knowing who I am.

I see families out with their children and the excited glee of their young faces as they hurtle towards the waves. I reminisce about my childhood when a trip to the beach was a rare treat. Even if it was a cold Northern Hemisphere winter, there was still this well of thrilling energy within one's stomach as one approached the open beach. Armed with a yellow bucket shaped as an upside-down castle with a stubby spade to match, I'd run from the car along the concrete path to over the brow of a dune... sometimes my stomach would lurch slightly with disappointment when seeing hordes of people when my imagination had pictured an cast empty play area all for me, but I would soon get over it and spend hours on end making castles, swimming and digging pits.

The simple pleasures, eh?

I may endeavour to get out walking more often this coming summer.

Dear John

2010-10-22T17:33:00.000+11:00

On Monday, I received my DVD boxset of the classic 1980’s BBC sitcom, Dear John. I have fond memories of watching the show with my brother all those years ago (I was only 11 – bless!)
Each night this week, I watched one disc from the box. Monday night was series 1, episodes 1-4; Tuesday night was the last three of that debut season. Wednesday night was the first half of series two and Thursday was the remainder plus the Christmas special which turned out to be the finale. I was always under the impression that this was due to the unfortunate death of the lead actor, Ralph Bates, but he didn’t actually pass away until four years later so I don’t know why I had that notion in my head.

The basic premise sounds depressing, but stick with me…
John is divorced by his wife when she leaves him for his best mate, Mike. John moves into a small rented room and having been shunned by his cliquey friends (all of whom prefer ‘couples’ when socialising) decides to join a club for the divorced and separated. The people he meets are quite an eclectic bunch with whom he only has the one thing in common – being alone.

The series was remade in America a year or so later as Dear John USA (God! The geniuses who came up with that title…) and that ran for four seasons. Suffice to say, I never went out of my way to watch that. Maybe it was good, who knows? Not I.

Although I hadn’t seen it for well over 20 years (at least) I was surprised to find so many comedic lines flooding back to me. I was amazed to find myself quoting them as they were spoken. The party held by Mrs Boyd-Peters has one of the all-time classic moments of the series, but I simply cannot tell you about it here as it needs to be enjoyed when viewed properly. Still, I chimed in with the humdinger of a quote when the time came.

Ralph Bates played John Lacey to perfection. He was beautifully bewildered, depressed and essentially flawed but still rather lovable at the same time.
Belinda Lang’s Kate was sassy and acerbic – one can see why she ended up getting the lead in 2.4 Children.
Peter Denyer’s Ralph is very much a caricature but once again, he was played with heart and the episode with the death of his friend Terry is splendid.
Rachel Bell is one of those actresses that I get excited about when I see her name in a cast list. I think she is mesmeric to watch – an under-rated comedienne who can play the snobbish social climber as well as Penelope Keith any day. As Louise, the woman who runs the 1-2-1 social club, she is the epitome of the Eighties’ middle-class yuppie wannabe and her overt interest in people’s sex lives is genuinely entertaining.
All of these elements could have made for an adequate and enjoyable situation comedy, but there was one more ingredient which strengthened the mix and that was Kirk St Moritz, played by Peter Blake.
He was the arrogant, cocky, vain, Lothario who could have been the love child of John Travolta and The Fonz. Once again, this character could have been all clichés and a one-joke wonder, but John Sullivan’s writing and Peter Blake’s performance gave Kirk a much deeper history. This layering of character resulted in a beautiful moment in the finale which should have any viewer grinning like a lunatic.

Although there were a variety of other characters throughout the run, there was one other performance I really want to mention – that is Irene Prador as Mrs Lemenski, John’s Polish neighbour. For two series, she was the one to criticise John and his crazy way of talking to himself. She would often call him a ‘Looney Man’ or some such insulting term. However, her role in the Christmas finale is as beautiful and touching as anything one could ever hope for in a festive episode and I genuinely shed a tear as I relived those scenes again.

Goodness, it is hard writing about the show when I don’t want to give anything away to those who have yet to discover it on DVD.

In fairness, it wasn’t ever going to be the greatest situation comedy of all-time and there were some moments which missed the mark. Even after the praise I have heaped upon it in this post, I cannot deny that the first half of series two is its lowest point (but it does improve by the end!)

If you have never seen it, give it a go. The series is available on DVD in the UK from Acorn Media and, yes, it may seem a little dated, but it is sure as hell funnier than some of the tripe that gets churned out these days.

Thanks to a happy coincidence, Kirsty MacColl also wrote a number called ‘Dear John’, so I didn’t need to find some tenuous link for the title of this post in my ongoing task of naming all posts after one her songs. Huzzah.

Keep Your Hands Off My Baby

2010-10-02T16:17:00.009+10:00

*As told by 'Ben the Baker'*

One comes to learn that when it is leading up to Christmas, it is best to buy enough ingredients for TWO Christmas Cakes. This is because one will be far too tempted to not eat the first cake when one sees the finished product emerge from the oven. So, the images that follow detail attempt #2 for 2010.

Please note Ben's festive apron.

So, first one prepares the fruit and makes sure it is soaked well in brandy. There is also a number of spices mixed in too, including cinnamon and nutmeg - of course!

Then one makes the cakey part of the mix... Butter, Sugar, Eggs and Flour.

Then one mixes the two tasty mixtures together in an enormous bowl.

The majority of it is scooped into the prepared lined baking tin. The little bit left over is allowed to be licked off the enormous bowl and spoon until one is close to vomiting.

Then it is backed at 150C/300F/Gas Mark 2 for around three hours and when it is retrieved from the oven, not only will the kitchen smell fabulous, one also has a lovely cake too. It needs to stay in the tin for a bit to cool.

Over the coming months, one pours various spirits over the cake to allow it to absorb the alcohol. A good fruitcake matures with age like a good wine.

(I know what some of you may be thinking, but being 'sober' does not mean I can't have alcohol within food. That's my rule!)

If anyone thinks they are going to get a sneak preview, they can think again. That initial cake has already been demolished by oneself. So HANDS OFF until Christmas!

The Hardest Word

2010-09-14T11:49:00.007+10:00

So, as it turned out, I did pass the audition for the SBS game show Letters and Numbers and today was the day of the filming.

Yesterday, I finally had proof of two things when I awoke with a stinking cold;
1) God exists
2) He has a nasty sense of humour.

I spent the majority of the day polishing my nose a bright Rudolph hue with a large quantity of tissues - even Aloe Vera soaked snotrags can become abrasive over time - and I dosed myself up with a variety of medications including Sudafed, Lemsip and pizza.

This morning, I was slightly stressed. I sense a waft of muffled laughter at the word 'slightly' and those who chortle are well within their rights to do so.
So, after a night of mucus and bogeys, I awoke to a head which felt as though it was plunged in a barrel of custard. I could barely hear not speak. However, I was determined to be on the show.

You see, one cannot win.
If I had decided not to go on account of the cold, I would have been called pathetic, like all men who 'suffer' when sick.
Going to the filming whilst sick, some may deride me as playing the martyr.
I could not win either way. So, I plumped for the latter because I just knew I wanted to do it. After watching Countdown in the UK since it's birth, I could not miss out on this opportunity. Phlegm be damned!

In the documents of instruction, it advised against wearing any black or stripy shirts. Well, that ruled out most of my wardrobe. I had to forage amongst a pile of charity-bound clothes in the spare room to find something adequate. We, as contestants, were also advised to bring six changes of clothes in case we have to film plenty of episodes during the day. I, being the pessimist (and realist) that I am, only took four.

I ironed and then proceeded to dress in readiness to leave. I thought I ought to sign the appropriate papers before heading out, only to grab the leakiest pen in the house and proceeded to get it all over my hands. I cursed like a wounded sailor with gout and desperately tried to wash it off my hands with mere minutes to spare before my train.
Eventually, I was out of the house and on the train - then it occurred to me I may not have switched the iron off. ARGH!

At the studios, I chatted to the other contestants who were equally as nervous and I was delighted to discover that I was lucky enough to be the first episode's challenging contestant.
I met my opponent (Oliver - hmmm, cute!) and we had a bit of a rehearsal, went into make-up, got my microphone weaved through my garments and set about recording my episode.
I should also add that there is nothing like filming for a TV show to loosen the most severe constipation. What relief!

I can't go into detail about how the game went - I'd probably be sued, like anyone cares! - but it was rather fun. I was terribly nervous; my hands were sweating and I was shaking a bit. Unfortunately, I did not do as well as I would have liked, but at least I got the conundrum in the final round - GO ME!
Some of the word games were just embarrassing and I only got low scoring words - As for the numbers... well, see for yourself when it airs.

I did have the option of staying all day for free lunch and watching the rest of the filming, but I felt so full of cold (my usual tones are not as blissful as normal, so when/if you see the episode, I may sound a bit odd) that I opted to return home and snuggle up on the couch and do some well-earned recuperation.

All I regret is not getting Oliver's number. He was definitely my type.

Oh, and I hadn't left the iron on - hence my ability to post this blog in the comfort of my own non-flambéd home.

Children of the Revolution

2010-08-29T14:19:00.002+10:00

On Thursday evening, I had an audition for the SBS TV game show Letters and Numbers. This game show is based on an original French game show but is commonly known to people in Great Britain as Countdown (I guess the Australian network decided to go with the original French name because there had already been an iconic music show named 'Countdown' for many years and did not want to confuse the average Joe!)

Countdown was the first programme to air on Channel Four when it began in November, 1982 and has become a long-standing favourite of the British public. For those not in the know, it has a simple premise:
Contestants have to pick nine letters, choosing vowels and consonants, and then have 30 seconds to come up with the longest word possible. It's like Scrabble or Boggle for a TV audience. There is also a game involving numbers in which the contestants have six random numbers and have to reach a specific target using only addition, subtraction, multiplication and division. The end of the game, there is a nine-letter 'conundrum' and the fastest person to get it, gets a bonus ten points.

For those who consider themselves above such trivialities, it all seems a bit twee. But for those like myself, who like nothing more than playing word games and solving puzzles, it's a fine source of entertainment.

The audition was fun. I was in a room with a bunch of other nerds and most of them reasonably well dressed, but I assume it's because they had just come from their jobs. As soon as they opened their mouths, the nerd-alert alarm went off. Imagine 'Comic-book Guy' from The Simpsons with an Australian accent.

However, before I go on, may I state categorically that I live freely in this realm of nerd-dom, as any of my friends will be able to attest. I just think I have a little more nouse when it comes to social behaviour than some of the less hygienic members of this put-open inner-society (or do I?)

It was a lovely group of people and the common interest for something a little bit anally retentive was certainly a social solvent of sorts. I always know when I am in the right sort of circles, because they tend to get my humour. It is true to say that the majority of people at my office often look at me blankly when I come out with one of my bizarre witticisms, but I am not exactly high-brow.

I shan't go into great detail, but after my rather poor attempt at the practice quiz, it is sufficient to say I won't get asked onto the show as a contestant.
Maybe I spoiled my chances when, upon referring to my answers on the questionnaire, the following exchange took place...

Interviewer: "Ah, so you want to be a doctor..?"

Ben: (pointing to the exact words on the sheet) "No, The Doctor... from Doctor Who!"

*ahem* That probably didn't go down too well.

On Friday night, my friends had bought me a ticket to see Joss Whedon at the Melbourne Writers' Festival. He was giving a talk at the town hall. I attended with Louise, Adam and Michelle and a horde of nerds, geeks and losers. Whoops, sorry, I didn't mean that last one.

Whilst in the hall and waiting for everybody to take their seats, I did stand up and have a glance around to see if I could find a "Normal" amongst the mass of Hobbits, but I had no luck. It was the largest collection of Minotaur customers in one room ever. ('Minotaur' = pop culture specialists. Think 'Forbidden Planet' if you're in the UK.)

There were some people wearing black, others wearing... black. But some were more inventive and they wore something they made themselves after they accidentally fatally-injured Tim Burton's wardrobe in an X-wing fighter crash.
Thankfully, there weren't too many smelly people there, apart from one man who smelt of used cat litter. Yes, he was sat right in front of me.

Gawd, I love a nerd. I love the way they feel it necessary to dye their hair purple just to prove that they are non-conformists. They even have conventions of purple-haired, black-wearing non-conformists and sit about laughing at the irony.

Some of the crowd went a little bit spastic as the lights dimmed. Initially, I thought they were simply afraid of the dark, but it turns out they were just moistening their knickers in anticipation of their god-like hero entering their midst.

Joss came onto the stage and the crowd went wild. He was interviewed by a suck-up whose neck needed massaging after craning up to the pedestal she put him on throughout the talk (yeah, he's a fantastic bloke, but come on...) and the two people signing away for the deaf members of the audience did a superb job, although it did make me think of the episode 'Hush' from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I was waiting to see what action they did for 'slayer' (see episode for gag).
Isn't it great that they get people to sign at these things. With both of them there flapping away to convey the rapid speech of our entertainers, they also doubled up as handy air-conditioners.

The talk only went for an hour as we had to vacate the hall so the cleaners could mop up the sweat before the following morning.
Still, we all had a great time. It was fascinating to hear Joss talk about his work and his career - it was less exciting to hear the banal questions some audience members asked, apart form the woman who implied Joss was mentally ill. Bless her. I am sure that is not what she meant to say. Though she may be right. He does keep employing Eliza Dushku, after all!

So, nerds. I have to love 'em, for I am one. I love that need to be different, that need to be involved in the things I adore, the need to be special, the need to be absorbed and the need to be needy.

Is this generation of nerds the product of those crazy drugged up Baby-boomers who swanned through the sixties and seventies on drugs and high ideals of peace to all mankind and then fell into the materialistic Eighties with apathy on their minds? These revolutionaries who eventually grew up and produced a whole bunch of kids who yearned to be something different? Are we the children of that revolution?
Or am I just trying desperately to justify my use of the Kirsty MacColl song title in the name of this post? I am such a nerd!

Judge for yourselves.
And while you're at it, go dye your hair purple... it'd be soooo coooool!

Titanic Days

2010-08-21T07:20:00.009+10:00

On Thursday evening, I went to the Melbourne Museum with my dear friend Michelle to see the Titanic Exhibition.

I can't deny that part of the reason for attending was so I could use this specific Kirsty MacColl song title for the blog entry.

I met Michelle outside the museum and as we had about ninety minutes to kill prior to our allotted time entry, we went and had a bite to eat at Mrs. Parma's where I had a lovely chicken parmigiana with salsa and jalapenos.

It was quite a filling meal, but at least we were able to walk it off for the rest of the evening. We headed back to the museum...

When you arrive at the exhibition, you get handed a boarding pass with details of a real-life passenger who sailed on the Titanic.

As you can see, I was Mr. David John Barton from Cambridge. I was supposed to have taken another ship, but due to a failed medical exam, I had to wait and catch this ill-fated vessel.
Michelle was Mrs Ida Straus - a rather important character on the boat as she was First Class and one of the 'featured' wealthy passengers in the exhibition. I was, as in life, rather unimportant and insignificant! Still, I made up a story that she and I were having an illicit affair spanning the generations and the classes. I was 22, she was 60-something. Forget Leo & Kate, this was far more raunchy.
Speaking of that atrocious movie, there was not one reference to it. I was so pleased. I had promised Michelle that if I heard the wailing banshee that is Celine Dion at any point in the day, I would scream and possible start punching random people, but thankfully there was no such reaction due to the wonderful absence of such atrocities.

During the tour, you also have the opportunity to have your picture taken to purchase at the end.

Don't we look splendid?

At the end of the tour (prior to the little shop - oh how we love a little shop) there is a wall of names listing those who survived and those who died.
I, apparently, died. But I believe I saved myself with my secret jet-pack.
Michelle died. She stayed behind to be alongside her husband - mad woman! (Not very romantic, am I?)

Queen of the High Teas

2010-07-18T15:59:00.009+10:00

Today, my lovely friend Michelle drove me to Sassafras so we could have lunch at Miss Marple's Tea Rooms.
For anyone who doesn't know Michelle, she is the epitome of all things classy - she's like a Disney Princess in many ways - but not at all like Princess Clara from Drawn Together.

We have a lot of things in common, but one of our strongest bonds has to be our love of a decent cuppa.

As Miss Marple's Tea Rooms is always phenomenally busy, we had to leave our reservations and return an hour later. We whiled away our time by visiting the lovely shops in the surrounding area.

Firstly, we entered another favourite place of ours, 'Tea Leaves' - a shop dedicated to tea of all varieties and the vessels which pure and serve them.

Then we tottered a little further along the road to a beautiful gourmet food shop entitled 'Cream' which is run by Leenah and Mark.
Mark is the king of the upsell and his enthusiasm is rather contagious, especially when he has found a kindred spirit when it comes to marmalade (yes, that's me)
Just look at the range of goodies on offer... drool!

I ended up taking away some Australian Harvest's Spicy Garlic Mustard, Cunliffe Waters' Hand Cut Cumquat Marmalade and some incredible lemon curd made by a woman named Leanne whose personal industry is simply making "Unforgettable Curds".

This is Mark, performing his superb salesman techniques on another customer.

After popping into a number of gorgeous antique stores and the occasional wacky-fruitcake stores (crystals, unicorns, baby sacrificial alters etc.) we returned to Miss Marple's.

We had a brief wait by the bookcases until a table came free. Here is Michelle almost fainting with anticipation...

Every year, they do a 'Christmas in July' theme and they decorate the place and carols play. As you can see, the place is packed.

One of the waitresses took our picture, much to the chagrin of the other staff who were busy trying to squeeze in and out of the tables - but we didn't care!

We had a massive pot of tea between us, some chips and garlic bread for starters, I had the vegetable pastie and Michelle had the Chicken cottage pie thing for mains and then it was time for dessert.
Michelle had the scones with jam and cream, but I opted for an old favourite of mine. Christmas pudding and custard!

We were rather stuffed afterward, but we managed to stagger back to the car and get home in one piece.

Michelle is a wonderful friend and she certainly knows how to do things in style.

Can't Stop Killing You

2010-07-17T07:59:00.005+10:00

When I was young, the first novels I read that weren't written for children were those written by Agatha Christie. I have a vivid memory of reading Sleeping Murder, The ABC Murders, A Murder is Announced and Curtain amongst others.
It was the eighties and I was very fond of Joan Hickson's portrayal of Miss Marple on TV (which I still believe to be the best, bar none) and I was also an unashamed fan of Murder She Wrote.
Clue was aired on BBC2 for the first time ever and I watched it with my brother - we almost died laughing at the singing telegram. I have since watched it well-over a hundred times. Sad, but true.
Then, as the 1990s approached, David Suchet became the perfect Poirot and my friend William and I were, at that time, rather keen on making our own films and after three gloriously barking epic chronicling the adventures of Rupe and Ollie, we made the murder mystery classic The Butler Didn't Do It! - one can see the influence of films such as Clue and Murder By Death.

So, as you can see, there was a theme running through my life at that time. Now, although dates in my personal history tend to be a little hazy, I am reasonably sure that it was in 1989/1990, for my birthday, I had my very first Murder Party!

It was held at a house in Matlock Bath which belonged to the family of my friend Tamsin. I don't remember the entire plot, but I know that in attendance that night were a bunch of excitable young teens (Hannah, Emma, Tamsin, Gemma, Aaron, William and myself - there may have been others) all with silly names and mad motives. I played Dr. R.E. Meur (see what I did there?) and, no, I wasn't the murderer - that turned out to be Hannah.
(Gemma, Aaron, William, Hannah in this pic)

I had even made a life-size dummy to play the corpse.

From then on, I began hosting a number of Murder Parties, sometimes renting out large places like Lea Green so we had lots of rooms to run amok in.

Some parties were much bigger than others, with up to 40 people attending - and each needing a character to portray.
I'd orchestrate the evening and enter into a kind of 'zone' - I'd be so focused on making sure everyone was enjoying themselves, staying true to character, understanding the plot; that I would actually forget to enjoy myself. By the end of the evening, I would be a wreck - totally drained emotionally and physically.

The whole thing became rather stressful even prior to the night because one had to deal with personal politics. Due to the nature of the parties, it was necessary to have limited numbers invited and that meant not inviting some people. There were, on occasions, times when I had to be strict. If I knew a girl who was great at dramatic improvising, I would tell her she wasn't allowed to bring her meat-head boyfriend simply because he wouldn't get into it and ruin it all.

Anyway, I could reminisce and make vague attempts at conscience-clearing regarding 'who got invited and who didn't' until my body became as tense as rigor mortis, but I shan't do that to myself. Not now anyway.

The point is, these Murder Parties were my hobby. Instead of collecting stamps or playing football or molesting badgers, I planned the murders of fictional characters.

Word did get around about these soirees and I was approached on the street by a complete stranger who introduced herself as being a part of a certain church group and she said they wanted to 'help' me and 'save' me. She said "you're on a dangerous and slippery slope". I was bewildered. So I pushed her under a bus...

The point of this post is, tonight I have another Murder Party. It's the first one I have written and attended in ten years. I did write one for some friends overseas, but a giant planet stood between me and the guests.

Today, I am more stressed about it than ever before. Mainly because I am doing this with a whole different type of people. Kids in their teens are fairly easy to please and there were low expectations. However, when we mature and become 'adult', we become more wary and we expect so much more. I want tonight's events to go smoothly, but I want everyone to enjoy it and not feel the same pressure that I am feeling.

Imagine you had to perform a sexual act in front of all of your friends.
Not only will they all see you naked, but they'll be judging you on your style and form.
That's what I feel like today! That is insane, I know. My friends are kind, lovely decent people, but there's that barmy Id Vs Ego thing playing out in my head.

OK, I ought to stop worrying about it now - I was up late last night, unable to sleep due to the madness running through my head.

Let's see how tonight goes and if I am still in one piece tomorrow, I may fill you in on the details.
Wish me luck.

Ride

2010-07-09T11:12:00.003+10:00

As you will be thoroughly aware by now, I am not exactly successful as an adventurer in the land of love. Some people brave the wild waters of romance and machete their way through the jungles of sexual shenanigans, whereas I tend to dip my toe in the sea and declare it too cold or stay on the edge of the dark forests for fear of being bitten by killer ants.

Before I continue, I should state that one of my top ten films of all-time is Alfred Hitchcock’s Strangers on a Train and I have always had this strange inclination that, one day, I too would cross paths with someone whom I may enjoy a special relationship with – I don’t mean to ‘swap murders’ with. That would be crazy and illegal.
This bit of information is not merely a random comment…

This Friday morning, I was taking the train into work. I change trains at Richmond station and as I was waiting for the second leg of my journey, I spied a rather attractive fellow on platform nine. Our eyes kept catching like sticky burrs on a woollen pullover and when the train pulled up to the station, we sat relatively close to each other with only an aisle between us.
During the first five minutes of the journey, there were a couple of awkward glances between the two of us, both, I assumed, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. The train was a limited express so we bypassed most stations. When we stopped at Glenferrie to release the hordes of students, we did not set off again. The train remained stuck at the station for a further 25 minutes. What a day to have left my book at home!
Apparently, there was something amiss with the doors. I imagine they were loose and the train driver was worried we might all throw ourselves from the moving vehicle in fits of despair on this cool Friday morning. Better to be safe than sued for negligence.

After a period, the driver told us to abort our journey and wait for another train. This triggered the tall handsome devil sitting across from me to smile in my direction and raise his eyebrows in a pantomime show of acquiescence. I gave some sort of imitation to show my camaraderie and, as we stepped off the train onto the platform, I asked him if he was going to be late for work. This begun a conversation in which I discovered; his name was Hugo, where he worked and lived, and that he was Dutch (I asked if he was Canadian! I should be better at picking accents although he did confuse me by have a maple leaf emblem on his sleeve! Tricky…)

The next train eventually arrived and we both took the ride to Camberwell where he had to change for his connection. In a bold and daring move, I reached into my wallet and handed him my own personal card detailing my email address and mobile number.
Then I went off on my merry way with a spring in my step and my cheeks flushed with excitement.

Now for the reality check:

1. The Dutch people I have known before have always been friendly, polite and congenial, so he may just be his usual amicable self and not, as I presume, ‘interested’.
2. One chat does not constitute a friendship.
3. He may never attempt to get in touch, despite the contact details supplied.

But in the land of my fantastical imagination;

1. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
2. Titter.
3. Hmmmmmmmm.

Don't Come the Cowboy With Me, Sonny Jim!

2010-06-13T12:56:00.002+10:00

Like the Ouroboros, I find myself repeating certain ventures in my life. Some may describe me as a glutton for punishment, others may simply call me a fool.
Once more, I have delved into the sinful world of internet dating. Actually, I should not be so pessimistic; I know a number of happy couples who have met online and have marvellous, long-standing relationships.

I have paraded my profile on an internet dating site. The first site I joined was a huge disappointment to me. I should not have paid before browsing. I was gutted to discover that 96% of profile pictures on the website were of genitalia. I soon learned that the website seemed to be dedicated only in the pursuit of meaningless sexual gratification. I don't want to come across as a prude as I am well aware that for a lot of people, this is needed and adored. For me, however, I would like something a little more cerebral and durable.
I braced myself and deleted my account just moments later - forfeiting the dollars I had paid to join.

The second site was a little better - only 45% posted pictures of their exposed members - and although there was some evidence of testosterone-driven urges needing to be fulfilled, there was also a satisfying collection of people who seemed keen to find their perfect mate. So, another hunk of cash deposited for this slightly more redeeming site and I began selling myself to the most attentive bidder.

I waited.

And waited.

For crying out loud, I am a sales-person by trade! Am I not able to make my own personal form alluring to the masses? I have used the top-quality photographs taken recently by my good friend, Eric and I have been eloquent in my wording when trying to describe who I am and what I desire in a partner. So surely there is someone out there who appreciates my efforts.
Admittedly, it is early days, so I shan't chastise myself too greatly.

This is not, as I implied earlier, my first attempt at internet dating.
The last couple of times led me to the brink of depression as I was continually abused and rejected by cold-hearted monsters with one thing on their minds.
However, with this in mind, I am going in armed with hind-sight and more confidence than I have had for many years. I shall not shirk my inherent chivalrous and diplomatic nature by cloaking myself in a guise of carefree arrogance; I intend to remain my good-natured self. That said, I will attempt to raise my guard and fend off any offensive shuns with a nonchalant brush-off and continue on my eager jaunt.

I am not online to find a quick shag and another notch to my belt. My heart is tender and open, waiting for someone kind, considerate and warm.
So, to all those cowboys out there wanting their quick fix, keen to get their rocks off, you'll just have to go knocking else where.

Soldier on, Bennyboy!

Shutting the Doors

2010-06-07T17:55:00.003+10:00

Depression. The word itself evokes a dark veil of misery. There are, of course, a number of politically correct terms and a few euphemisms to infer the same meaning. The most common is the rather incongruous ‘black dog’. Surely to be followed by a soppy puppy would be a thing of joy? Admittedly, if you had allergies, that could be a problem.

I have suffered from depression for the majority of my adult life. I did not always know the reasons behind my erratic mood swings, but over time, it became apparent and eventually, it was diagnosed.

Before your eyes drift away to the ‘bookmark’ menu in search of something more cheerful to read or view, I must say that I am not going to go into detail about how and why, for that is my business, not yours. Heaven knows, I don’t want to inflict that upon you.

However, I would like to briefly touch upon the signs that I see when I begin to descend into the wallowing moods.

There are signs with my diet. It could go either way. I will either start binging on naughty foods like pizza or marmalade sandwiches, or I lose my appetite all together.

*I begin pushing people away. Not too far, just far enough so they are slightly out of reach. I will avoid contact and, if that isn’t possible, I will avoid discussions that are too close to comfort – hence my often inconsequential ramblings. (This is often proven by my belief that a witty one-liner is a perfect foil to fend off the most earnest of interrogators.)

*I begin shutting the doors, walling myself up in the comfort of my own abode and I’ll even unplug the telephone. Shut away from the havoc and inconsistencies of the world outside, I feel trapped, yet safe, like a survivor in a nuclear bunker, post-war.

*I begin thinking about minimising the clutter of my life. I imagine selling my possessions of simply giving them away in an altruistic act.

*I go to bed. I climb into the womb of slumber and retreat into a world of fantasy within my dreams. These night retreats begin earlier and earlier and last longer and longer.

These warning signs do not always arrive en masse and they don’t always appear in any particular order, but occasionally, one or two will creep up behind me and I shan’t notice until it’s too late.

When my conscience has done its duty and made good use of the Crow’s Nest, I can see the storm approaching. Often, there is sufficient time to steer the ship away, but other times, it’s a case of batten down the hatches and ride it out. (I shan’t stretch the maritime analogy further, I promise.)

I have a number of methods to combat the persistent Labrador (See? It sounds far too cute to be bad!)

1) I get out of the house. Yes, sometimes this means shopping. A jolly good purchase can definitely be the right medicine. Money can’t buy you complete happiness, but if it can raise a smile, who is to knock it?

2) I make calls to friends. Speaking to them over the phone or in person is a wonderful medication. It may feel daunting prior to the moment, but it can be a huge release once that initial roadblock has been hurdled.

3) I try to stop beating myself up and give my self some positive feedback. I am my own worst critic and I frequently flagellate my ego with torrents of mental abuse highlighting my own flaws and inadequacies. This is, obviously, bordering on the mental. So, in retaliation I force myself to praise those things which I perceive to be the better parts of my soul and being.

4) I watch something I love. It may be Victoria Wood As Seen on TV, a Fred and Ginger film from the ‘30s or Clue: The Movie. A bit of comedy or a ‘feel-good’ movie can do wonders – if you’re comfy with a big mug of tea and a packet of yummy biscuits, by your side, then all the better!

5) I read one of my 'comfort' reads - an Agatha Christie or a Dick Francis. Sometimes something familiar and easy to read can whisk you away to a better place - albeit full of murders and crippled horses.

6) I count my blessings. Those who are insensitive to depression may callously think we who suffer should just ‘get over it’. If only it were that simple. However, placing yourself in context with the rest of the world can bring a little light to your doldrums.

These steps I take are not almighty cures, they are merely safety buffers.

The BBC just aired an episode of Doctor Who, penned by Richard Curtis, which touched upon the subject of depression. Given its family tea-time slot, it wasn’t particularly in depth or heavy-handed about it. However, it did highlight the effect depression can have on people and purposefully showed that there are no easy answers.

For more information, please take a look at the following websites.

www.beyondblue.org.au/

www.blackdoginstitute.org.au/

You Just Haven't Earned It Yet, Baby

2010-06-03T13:00:00.017+10:00

I have just come back from our annual work conference. For some reason, I always become rather stressed and anxious before a conference and this is often reflected in my stools. Luckily, my body grows accustomed and my bowels settle down.
It all began on Monday when the company got together for a buffet lunch in the office canteen area prior to an elaborate presentation at the Rivoli cinemas.
It is quite an extravaganza with some rather swanky videos and funky tunes to boost our energy. I am pleased I work for a company that does not take itself too seriously and those who present have a decent sense of humour. I'd go mad otherwise.

We often have 'special guests' at our conferences and the marketing department do a superb job in getting some big names (hanging out for Dawn French next year - fix it for us, Dan, could you?)
However, being the person I am, I am often a tad unfamiliar with some of the big Aussie names we attract.
At the end of the Rivoli presentation, we were the audience for Matthew Hayden, a cricketer whose book is due out in a few months. Cricket.
That's the one with the boxes, right? Ah yes... now I recall...

Well, Matthew gave his little speech with some gloriously flowery mixed metaphors and anecdotes so full of sporting jargon I was left none-the-wiser, but I don't suppose he gets paid the big bucks for public speaking gigs. It could have been worse - it could have been Jason Akermanis.
All I know is that I'm crap at cricket, so I can't complain.

When this was over, the sales teams from around the country headed to Creswick. If you have ever played the computer game (or seen the film) Silent Hill, then you know what to expect (minus rabid dogs and zombie nurses - one hopes).
The Novotel is a good hotel; we stayed there last year too. My good friend Gavin Burbidge and I usually share a room, but this time, we got a two-bedroom suite, so I didn't have to put up with his snoring and he didn't have to put up with my farts.

As you can see, it was a nice suite. It had it's own fireplace, which was not to be sniffed at - for fear of dying from carbon monoxide poisoning.

I had the larger room with the super-dooper bed and I had the en suite with the shower.

There was also a kitchenette for some unknown reason and Gavin's bathroom had a wonderfully deep spa bath. I did take the opportunity to have my once-a-year bath on the Tuesday afternoon, but it was so big, it took an hour to fill!
(Yes, I shower daily and I take care not to waste water, which is why a bath at the conference is a treat!)

The Monday evening, we had our second 'special guest'. It was the writer and environmental genius, Tim Flannery. I have had the opportunity to listen to him before, but that in no means dampens the effect the second time around. The man is simply a genius and,f rankly, he should be running the country.
No disrespect intended, but it was entertaining making comparisons between Tim's speech and Matthew Hayden's. Bless.

As for the evening meal I was still feeling a little tender in the abdomen. I hadn't had any lunch and I couldn't face much dinner either, so I ended up chatting to some of our publishing agency guests (Nina Kenwood from Black Inc. and John Hunter from UQP) and then dashing off to bed around 10 before I fainted from malnutrition.

Tuesday was a whole new ballgame. Previously, we have spent our time all sat in one room like a captive (and often unresponsive) audience - it was like that bit in Edith Nesbit's The Enchanted Castle where the children perform their play to a room full of homemade dummies.
This time around, the agencies were situated at separate tables (nothing to do with Terrance Rattigan) and we, in small groups, visited each publisher where they would give us information about their forthcoming titles and we could also provide feedback and ask questions. Bonus! It also gave us the opportunity to flirt with them too, if that was something we wanted to do. I, of course, would never do such a thing - heavens to Betsy, good gracious, no!

I spent most of the time off in the late afternoon reading the manuscript of John Ajvide Lindqvist's new book, Harbour. I simply love this man's work. Let me tell you, I am only a third of the way into the book, but it's everything you'd expect from the man who brought you Let The Right One In and Handling the Undead.

Please excuse the vulgarity of my naked legs, but alas, I had nothing 'comfy' to wear, having hoped for a hotel robe to laze around in - instead it was a polo shirt and my undies. I put the polo shirt on especially for the photograph - be grateful!

Tuesday evening, at the evening dinner, we had another 'special guest'. This time it was the Australian singer/songwriter Paul Kelly, who even performed a couple of songs for us. (In case you're wondering, yes, he has a book coming too!)
Now, prior to the knowledge of Paul's book, I had no idea who he was. So when it was announced he was our guest, I was about as excited as if they'd proclaimed the arrival of Mr Singh of the local law firm, Singh, Singh, Buttrose and Singh. However, the electric atmosphere surrounding me as the more knowledgeable and enamoured groupies thundered their applause in appreciation, I understood what this man meant to people. After hearing him speak about his songs and also perform, I became acutely aware of his talent and could see why he would generate such enthusiasm.
Oh, and although it's not much interest to anyone, this is what I was wearing that night. I only put this in because I am aware that you might want something pretty to look at. Although I'm not pretty, my tie is rather geeky fun.

Sadly, the look and the tie did not help me pick up the rather handsome waiter, Jarrod. He was tall, lean, young (d'oh) and with the most magnificent nose. I do love a big nose! *sigh*

Wednesday was the day we got to see the Penguin UK titles and, boy, they do like their funky pop music. It keeps us awake I suppose.
We also heard from our brands and licensing people (Troy Lewis is a wizard of puns and for that I am truly thankful!)
After lunch, we saw some super stuff from Marketing and Publicity and finally some interesting aspects of the future of our internal computer systems. I say 'interesting' but, as you may know, I am not the most technologically sound person you will ever meet. I got the gist of it and I can see the benefits, but I think I'll wait until the whole thing is up and running before commenting so I can do the whole trial and error perusal. (Instructions? Bah!!)

Wednesday night was the big party night. We were told to dress formal. I took two suits for the occasion, leaving the decision making to the last moment. I could have gone with the grey suit I bought for Louise and Adam's wedding last year or the funky white suit I bought three years ago. In the end, I went for the funk, mainly because this is the first time in three years I have been able to fit into it!

The damn thing cost me something between six and eight hundred dollars (I forget), so I thought I ought to give it another airing.
The blue shirt is a gorgeous Saba shirt I bought years ago in the hope that one day I'd be thin enough to wear it. Thank goodness! The time has come!

No special guests this evening, but everyone looked glam and dazzling. there are some pics below. I do not have a steady hand, so forgive the appalling nature of the pictures.

The two Louises! Or Two Lous Lautrec, as I like to call them.

Pre-dinner drinks.

Fancy!

Gossip Girls.

Kim, being classy as ever.

"Did you watch Masterchef last night?"

Then it was the awards part of the evening. Each year, there are a smattering of prizes ranging from door-prizes (who'd want a door? They're a nightmare to transport home again) to the prestigious 'Rep of the Year Award'.

Door-prizes were picked out of a large fish bowl. Two goldfish, a castle and a bit of weed. Huzzah!
Claire Hume won the innovation award (I did take a pic, but it was so blurry - blame the emotion!)
Then the two big ones.

We have a 'Hall of Fame' and this year, one of the Queensland reps won this mighty honour. Peter Leeder, who has been with the company for nearly 21 years, took to the stage and gave a very humble speech.
Then, the big one. Rep of the year went to me wonderful friend and occasionally annoying room-mate (*wink*), Gavin Burbidge.
Not only was this a well-deserved accolade as he is an amazing bloke who does a terrific job, but it was also a remarkable moment for the rest of us, for it was the first time he was "almost speechless". Shame about the "almost", Gav! Just kidding - you're a legend!

Peter and Gavin, receiving well-deserved awards.

Not only does he win the adoration of his colleagues and a $5000 travel voucher, but, as Rep of the year, he also receives this splendid award...

As anyone who knows me will attest, I am one of those big-mouthed fools who spouts off everything he thinks. It is not etiquette to say it, but I don't give a flippity-floo-flah. One day, I would like to win such an award. Oh yes! The only thing I have ever truly won was an award for having an Outstanding Personality whilst at college. In other words, I won for being flamboyant!
But to win for being the best at what you do is something we all strive for. I can't see it happening though as my colleagues are all so bloody brilliant at what they do. Everyone deserves to be recognised for their fine, hard work and I am proud of them all and proud to be a part of their team.

Still, one day, I may take that stage, and when I do... I bet I'll be bloody speechless too!

One final thing...

Someone's cleavage. I won't say who. It's not my fault. I was lunged at.

Berlin*

2010-05-31T07:13:00.004+10:00

This weekend, I watched the Eurovision song contest for the first time in my life. Well, it's true I may have channel flicked over it in my youth, but I have never sat down to endure the gala in its gargantuan glittery glory.

I did not watch the first semi-final, but I did watch the second along with my friends Chris and Richard. Chris is a Eurovision Aficionado of the highest calibre. What he doesn't know about Eurovision is not worth knowing - and some of the stuff he does know is also not worth knowing. So I was in the best possible company as I had my EuroCherry stolen from me.

Chris initially thought I was detesting the entire night due to my critical barbs, but eventually he realised that this was all part of my enjoyment.

A few points.

1) If you are a boy band with sequined hotpants, do not at any point admit that you're all straight. The majority of your audience are probably gay and you just lost millions of votes. Silly Lithuanian boys.

2) If the advertisers want us to buy their albums, please spell the artistes names correctly. It's Cliff Richard and Matt Monro, not 'Richards' and 'Monroe'. Asswipes.

3) Although I don't believe it should be judged on spectacle (costumes, dancers, lighting effects) I will give bonus points if you're cute.

I watched the final on my own on and had flurries of texts between my friends Chris and Nola regarding the various performances. My two favourites to win were Romania and Germany and I was pleased to see them both finish in the top three.

The UK entry was absolutely dire. No, that's being too kind. I cannot even begin to describe who utterly dreadful it was. The one consolation was that Josh seemed to have smuggled a badger into Oslo down the front of his pants. Now, that sounds good to me!
Another appalling entry was Ireland. This song was pathetically wet and bland. Our Australian hosts kept referring to her as 'Royalty' - what? Fergie?

Tom Dice from Belgium was a decent entry, but it felt a little out of place. I didn't mind watching him though, cute as a button. (Whatever that means).

Germany won. Hoo-bloody-ra! Somebody said she was Germany's answer to Lily Allen. No, that can't be true. Germany's answer to Lily Allen should be a rifle to the face.
So, it's Berlin to host next year?? You've gotta love those Germans. Sure, World War II was a bit of a hiccough, but give 'em credit where credit's due; their music is fun and their genes are stunning.

See! I got into it. Who'd have thought it?

*(Sure, I know it was in Oslo... but next year, Berlin?)

Clubland

2010-05-28T17:18:00.000+10:00

Something occurred to me recently. The peaceful, gentle café of yesteryear has died a death; well it has in Metropolitan Australia. Maybe it never actually existed here.
When I lived in England I was much more fond of sitting in a ‘greasy spoon’ café than whittling away my time in a pub. Picture me flicking through the papers whilst nursing a large mug of strong tea and picking my way through a fruit scone or demolishing a decent bacon sandwich.
(You cannot get a decent bacon sandwich anymore! White bread, butter, crispy bacon – HP sauce optional – it’s not that hard. These days it is all ‘bacon and avocado on rye’ – give me a break!)
The ‘greasy spoon’ as it’s commonly known, is not as vile as the name implies. This breed of café has its own charm and ambiance. Sure, there is something rather geeky and retro about the tomato-shaped sauce bottles and the gingham curtains whose length can only cover the lower half of the window, but it’s a style I seem only able to reminisce about.
If music was to permeate the air, it would have been something faint and melodious from an old radio balanced on a rickety shelf behind the counter next to an old biscuit tin and a porcelain figurine. The cable would stretch precariously down to the plug socket but invariably remain intact for the duration of its life.
These days, every café has to be ‘funky’ and blast music of jaunty tempos and pumping rhythms into acoustics worthy of Sydney Opera House. (“Pump up the jam?” “No thank you, just some marmalade and a knife, thanks!”) One can barely hear oneself think as one tries to do the quiz in the back of the local paper. Even as you cradle your beverage, the frenetic energy surrounding the venue bullies you into a scalding swallow and enforced ejection as it appears no one wants you to stay longer than ten minutes.
If I wanted to have to shout at my friends and those who are there to serve me, I’d hang out in a nightclub!
Yes, I know I sound like an old man, but I am sure I am not alone. We live life so fast these days and there is little room to take a break and relax without feeling the burdening pressure of capitalist notions and speedy delivery. Angst is thrust upon us in our daily lives through work and through the media; we don’t need it injected into our coffee breaks too.
So, bring back the old cafés, ditch the loud music and let’s enjoy the slower aspects of life before we all die.

N.B. It’s pronounced ‘Scone’ as in ‘Cone’. It’s only ‘Scon’ when there’s none left.

Designer Life

2010-05-18T08:33:00.000+10:00

One of the things I hate about being gay is the myriad expectations that come along with it.

Just because I like some musicals, does not automatically make me gay – just as how the fact that I love the 'Die Hard' films does not make me straight.
I don’t like all musicals. In fact I genuinely despise some, including 'Rent', 'Grease' and anything with Zac Efron in it. 'West Side Story' doesn’t stir my loins either, despite being directed by the superb Robert Wise. Sure, I love 'Little Shop of Horrors', 'Sweet Charity' and 'Bugsy Malone', but that’s not an entire genre.

I hate drag queens. I think the majority of them are talentless hacks (or hags?) and also slightly offensive – are these grossly exaggerated performances an insult to the female gender? If you must insist on the whole female-impersonation malarkey, at least have the decency to sing rather than mime – and please, I beg you, stop with the Shirley Bassey. Anyone would think the gay community were trapped in a time warp bubble.

I don’t own any Kylie Minogue or Abba albums. Sure, I have some Madonna, but I also have albums by The Commitments and The Kinks. Don’t tell me Andrew Strong is a gay icon.

I hate clubbing.

I am not promiscuous.

I do not own a leather harness.

I do not mince.

I do not attend Pride marches.

I don’t have a lisp.

I don’t have anything with a rainbow flag on it.

I don’t own a West Highland Terrier named Judy.

My jokes aren’t solely based around innuendo.

These clichés are not merely stereotypes. It seems some gay men feel the need to adhere to this strict code of application. Since when is it compulsory to lack individuality? Granted, the whole horrifying nature of ‘coming out’ in a still-homophobic world is cause to seek something accepting and comfortable. The gay community (for want of a much better and more appropriate phrase) is abundant with people who have been through excruciating times and are more than willing to aid and assist those who are spinning out of control due to apprehension and fear. I expect this is why these young men begin to adorn these attributes, just so that they can feel a part of something bigger. I feel I can say this because I was one of those young men and I too had mentors who helped guide me through those heart-achingly distressing times. However, I resisted a lot of the more flamboyant accessories – although I did attempt to try them for a period… (picture me singing 'Don't Cry For Me Argentina' in a cafe full of fags)

Unfortunately, because of my lack of ‘gayness’, I have had some queens say I should have my gay card revoked. (I think mine just got lost in the post.)
I have come to realise that, ironically, some gay men are also the most bigoted; especially those who deny that bisexuals exist or hurl abuse at lesbians.

Simply, I am gay because I prefer the company of men in the bedroom. And I mean ‘men’, not effeminate, skinny, mincing ladyboys with fluttering eyelids and a penchant for squealing “Ooooh!” every time the word ‘big’ is mentioned.

Sure, people should be allowed to be whoever they want to be. This is a basic freedom – as long as you’re not hurting anybody else. Just don’t expect me to fall into the same category just because I like cock.

My Affair

2010-05-04T07:12:00.002+10:00

I have been single for quite some time now and I am in two minds about it.
Part of me is quite content to be single and live a quiet, peaceful life in which I can do my own thing, live at a leisurely pace and enjoy those quiet evenings in snuggling up to my cat and watching an old movie on DVD. If I was a woman in an Eighties movie living in America, I'd also have a big baggy New York Nicks sweatshirt and massive bed socks to complete the tableau.
Then there is the other part of me. The part which yearns for company, contact, comfort and other words beginning with 'co'. (Don't be so filthy minded!)

In the past few years, there have been moments where I have ventured out into the world of dating, be it social interaction in smokey venues or in the privacy of my own home via a keyboard. However, I tend to come home empty-handed and a little forlorn. It is in those rather tedious moments that I begin to ask myself "Whose type am I?" as it appears I am no ones. Yes, I admit it's maudlin to think that way, but don't tell me you're all perfect and never have those moments of self-pity! Go on, admit it! ;)

I try to evaluate where I have gone wrong in each instance and I think I should draw up a set of rules to abide by strictly each time I open myself to the possibility of attraction.

1) Don't talk too much. I tend to suffer from DBS (David Beckham Syndrome) - I look all right until I open my mouth.

2) Don't invite them to the apartment. My belongings of the nerd variety are enough to frighten anyone off. (Can you count how many times you see the words 'Doctor Who' in my living room? It's a billion.)

3) Don't break the ice with the circumcision story. Sure, it's hugely entertaining, but it can wait until I get to know someone better.

4) Don't do the self-deprecation comedy routine - it's simply not attractive.

5) Don't try and flirt. I am horrendously bad at it.

6) Don't sing. I must remember I am not as good as I think I am!

7) Don't tell the joke about Father O'Brien, the fisherman and the big fish. Too many people don't like the C-bomb.

8) Don't be too earnest. It looks desperate.

9) Don't be too generous. It's creepy, albeit genuine.

10) Don't mention the war.

I am sure that somebody out there suits me and I suit them. I am hoping it's the wonderful Scottish comedian Danny Bhoy, but I doubt it somehow.

The truth is, all these rules are a load of old bollocks. This is me. I am a little over-the-top at times and I can be annoyingly enthusiastic and pathetically tense. Despite all these flaws, I am a good person with a kind heart and a rather odd sense of humour. I like these positive attributes and I wouldn't change them for the world.

I just hope there is someone out there who can appreciate them too.

Don't Run Away From Me Now

2010-04-20T18:03:00.000+10:00

I wonder how many people look back at their youth and find they are honestly appalled by the way they behaved? On far too many occasions, I have had sudden flashes of my adolescence and cringed with abject horror.
I, for one, was a tad confused and if I was born later than I was, I might very well have been labelled an ‘Emo’ for all the gut-wrenchingly abysmal self-pitying poetry, tormented soul-baring hi-jinks and the ‘nobody-understands-me’ vibes venting from every pore. It makes me shudder with each recollection.
For those fortunate enough to not have known me during those painful years, let me illustrate with a few details and anecdotes.

Attire had to be black. I had black cowboy boots, tight black boot-cut jeans, long black leather coat, black shirts (even one with a pirate-style lace-up job at the collar!) and a black fedora. My Mum became rather frustrated with this dour dress-code and gave me some money insisting I immediately go out and spend it on some shorts and t-shirts for the summer. Coming back from the factory-outlet store, she was gutted to discover I had spent her hard-earned cash on black t-shirts and black shorts; probably because they looked dreadful with the cowboy boots and fedora.

I did try to dye my hair black one day. I got my friend Rhian to colour my hair whilst leaning over her bath tub. It looked good in the artificial light, but then, when I strolled outdoors, it was a stunning purple. Not quite so cool after all. Having said that, I was doing some work experience at the local Old People’s Home, so I blended in quite nicely.

I grew a goatee beard and had long hair which occasionally got tied in a ponytail. It was the early nineties, after all. Hanging around Nottingham, wandering between shops dealing with various geeky items from cult television merchandise to Gothic accoutrements, I was often mistaken for a drug dealer and on one very bizarre day, Jesus. But that’s Nottingham for you.

Although not a fan of tattoos (not even temporary tattoos, but that’s because I can’t stand oxymorons) I did vandalise my skin with black or red marker pens inviting people to ‘cut here’. This was partly influenced by my rather dark sense of humour rather than an insidious desire to do away with myself. I will not deny that later on, I did have very dark days when the severely dramatic side of me sought a path to obliteration, but thankfully I was prevented from making an absolute fool of myself by friends intervening or the realisation that there was some good telly on that night.

The most embarrassing confession was my desire for a more vampiric lifestyle. Yes, this was years before Twilight and Buffy, but even then, there was something intrinsically cool about the immortal drinkers of plasma.
Despite the contemporary scares of AIDS polluting our consciousness since the Eighties, I still had a penchant for drinking blood and I did sip upon the sweet nectar from a couple of friends when accidents occurred. Before you reel back in disgust, they were willing donors and not the sort of people who gave themselves up to the pleasures of the loins on a regular basis. I may have been barmy, but I wasn’t totally stupid… well, maybe a bit stupid.
There was a time when I thought it might even be possible for me to become a vampire! I tried avoiding sunlight (plans which were continually scuppered when society dictated that I had to attend school) and I wondered how I could join the realms of the undead.
My idealistic notions were shattered when I realised I would no longer be able to eat garlic and I gave up the whole crazy shenanigans and ate some Chicken Kiev.

This period of morbid angst was, thankfully, a relatively short-lived one. These days, when having a gloomy-do, I just hide in my apartment with the curtains shut watching old Fred and Ginger movies on DVD whilst munching down a packet of custard creams and using my tea for dunking. A much more reasonable pastime, don’t you think?

Alegria

2010-03-04T17:22:00.001+11:00

For a while I was a ‘Third-hole Theo’. After some time and effort, I surpassed the ‘Fourth-hole Freddy’ mark and now I am a ‘Fifth-hole Ferdinand’! It has got to the point where I may need to puncture a new notch in order for me to be ‘Sixth-hole Steven’.
Of course, I am talking about belt-holes.

As a child, I was sometimes described as ‘stocky’ or as having a good body for Rugby – what a horrible thought. Then, I became a bit skinnier for a few years due to a terrific metabolism and the hills of Derbyshire providing superb obstacles for walking. Then I hit 25.
I woke up on my 25th birthday with a slightly rotund waistline, an extra weight upon my person. I refused to call it a ‘beer-gut’ as I do not have a penchant for the obnoxious brew, so I proclaimed it as my ‘merlot-midriff’.
Not long after, I became involved in a relationship. You do not need me to tell you what a disaster this is for the figure. Once sitting comfortably in the security of love, all hell breaks loose and the adipose tissue multiplies. Cupid strikes you and knocks you off-guard and the next thing you know, you’ve gone from Twiggy to Loggy.
Time has passed and I have been single for a good few years, but the blubber clung to me like a needy child with abandonment issues.

As I approach 35, I am aware of my physical form and, being the sort of person who is constantly wary of what people think, I want to maintain some sort of aesthetic for those who may like to act as voyeur. Anyone who knows me will attest to the fact that I can be dreadfully and hopelessly self-conscious (some may even have the gall to scream “paranoid” and slap me with a cymbal-less tambourine until I accept it) and this attacks my confidence like shock waves vibrating a kidney stone to its doom.
So, with this in mind, I made a concerted effort to take control of my destiny and forced myself to be more careful with the foods I consume and also get off my wobbly buttocks and stretch the old legs on a regular basis.

I now think twice before putting anything in my mouth (careful, this is not a Carry On film!) and I walk. I walk and I walk. Just about everywhere.
I try to walk to and from work on a daily basis (as long as I do not have to carry anything too heavy). This is a ninety minute journey and as long as I have my iPod assaulting my eardrums with a rhythmic beat, I am quite content. My happiness is only disrupted on occasion when I am forced to step off the pavement to allow cyclists past, when I see other pedestrians nearly killed on crossings due to some idiotic driver or when I see a dead animal in the kerb (I have been known to weep upon seeing a dead cat. I am such a softie!). These frustrations aside, I have a jolly exercise regime and it’s all absolutely free! If there is a god and I get to meet her/him, I must thank her/him for Legs. I will also have a quick word about blisters, inner-thigh rash and nuclear war whilst I am there, but the praise will be enthusiastically forthcoming.

So, here I am, approaching my 35th birthday and I am finally getting to a point where I think I could happily get my kit off in front of other people. Who knows, I may even streak for a giggle. Actually, on second thoughts, I’d better not. No one needs to be subjected to that.

Maybe It's Imaginary

2010-02-28T17:35:00.002+11:00

Some people have noticed a change in me recently.
I am rather upbeat and chipper!

I shall not deny that over the past few months. I have been in the doldrums and a little bit depressed due to a number of factors. 2009 was not one of the greatest years for me and Christmas was all a bit lacklustre.

However, over the past week, I have been re-energised and I have been all bouncy and sparky like a puppy on crack. This is due to a few reasons;

1) I have really begun to make a dent in my debt and I am on the way to being debt free. Sure, it will take a few months, but I intend to be clear of debt by the end of the year. This is a wonderful feeling - I can't wait to experience the emotion when I am completely in the black.

2) The recent photo session in which Eric took some fabulous images of me gave me a boost in confidence and the surprising feedback from friends has done me the world of good. I have never been particularly happy with my photographed image until now.

3) I have lost a lot of weight. I am not 'David Tennant' skinny yet (I'm working on it) but certainly much less sausage-like than before. This change has lifted my mood immensely.

4) I have more very good friends than I think one is supposed to have and I am incredibly grateful to each and every one of them.

5) I believe that my work-life has improved a lot recently and people are genuinely appreciative of my efforts.

6) This final one is a little bonus, but egged on by the confidence boosts of the above. I think the ice cage that has surrounded my heart for so long has finally begun to melt. Although there is no one on the horizon to fulfill the role of "my other half", I am more open to accept someone special into my life again. For a while, I have thought I was becoming too bitter and cynical to ever dream of love again, but recently I have felt that little dance-kick in my soul which wants to perform a waltz in swing time with someone...

So, maybe I'm delusional or just light-headed through lack of food, but I think it is more likely that I am sliding into a better place in my life.

Sorry to be so sickeningly positive, but it sure beats the crap out of feeling miserable!!

In These Shoes?

2010-01-01T12:52:00.003+11:00

Last year, I made three New Year's resolutions.
1) To give up alcohol.
2) To write in my diary every day.
3) To be celibate.

Number one was easy and I congratulate myself on that.
Number two was going great until I spilled tandoori chicken all over the diary rendering it useless and smelly.
Number three was practically sorted with the occasional fumble off the wagon in rare moments of disgraceful behaviour.

This year, I have some new ones.

1) Pay off as many debts as I possibly can.
2) Lose more weight.
3) Try out that old celibacy thing again.

The first one will be hard. I am going to try my hardest to restrain myself from spending when I don't need to (I don't mean I am going to resort to stealing or anything criminal like that! Heavens to Betsy, what a notion!)

The second one will also be hard, but I have had a good start already. I have lost six kilos in the past two months so it shouldn't be too hard to shed a further six.

The third should be easy enough. I just have to stay as I am and I'll continue to repel any interest with my lack of pheromones.

Let's just take a look at the weight-loss malarkey.
As you may know, I do like to walk and I intend to do a hell of a lot more.
There will be a strong attempt to walk to work and back more often than before, but I will also try and take more rambles during the weekends.

Today being the first day of 2010, I made the effort and went out for a long walk.

The walk is 11km (6.84 miles).
It took me 1 hour and 50 minutes (or 28 Beverley Craven Songs on the iPod) and I came home to a nice bowl of vegetable soup.

The following image shows you the route I took.

I will attempt to find other routes to keep things varied and I imagine I will be putting these trainers through some torment. But if it helps me lose weight and keep me fit, then all for the better, I say!

I Am Afraid

2009-12-31T15:42:00.003+11:00

I am afraid I may have been mistakenly recognised the other day. I was leaving the city and as I walked towards the train to return home, a man stopped dead in his tracks. He stared at me with his mouth gaping slightly and his head turned as I passed him and headed to the carriage. No, this was not a look of 'Phwoar, there's a hottie if ever I have seen one!'. It was more of a 'Fuck! That's the man who killed my brother eight years ago during our trip to Cape Cod!'
So, if I am slaughtered due to a misunderstanding, everyone will know why.

I am afraid for the finale of the Tenth Doctor. I was slightly disappointed with part one of this final adventure (but each Christmas special has been tarnished with a slight sadness as I tend to be more melancholic at this time of year - the first Christmas Special was wonderful, but I was in the UK for that one). I just hope the finale is mind-blowing and spectacular, for I'd hate to see a departure as bad as 'Carrot juice, carrot juice, carrot juice...'

I am afraid that this forthcoming year is going to be a very tight one. Last year's New Year's Resolution was to give up alcohol; I managed that successfully. This year's is to do what I can to pay off as many debts as possible. So expect me to be a little less social and a little less extravagant with gifts.

I am afraid for my friend, Gareth, who is back in hospital again post surgery. I don't know all the details as yet, but it does make me sick to the stomach not knowing and I hope to see him soon.

I am afraid of humans, especially in large groups and under the influence of alcohol, drugs and/or religion.

I am afraid of moths.

We'll Never Pass This Way Again

2009-12-24T19:37:00.003+11:00

I know it's a terrible cliché, but this year certainly has flown by. I think it is the quickest year I have ever experienced. Is it because I am getting older?
A common notion amongst my friends is that 2009 has been a reasonably rotten year with the scales tipping heavily on the crappy side, despite the occasional highlight desperately jumping up and down on the other side. One may like to blame the global financial crisis or the alignment of the stars or maybe the old man who spits at the pigeons in the park; but whomever you blame, there is no escaping it. 2009 was not the best of years.

There were a handful of good moments. The absolute pinnacle for me was the wedding of my dear friends Adam and Louise. I'm not usually one to go all weak-kneed and teary-eyed over the old matrimonial displays, but to see this wonderful pair declaring their love on the most perfectly beautiful of days was rather magical. I half expected animated woodland creatures to bashfully sneak towards the gazebo as the wedding vows were spoken.
Another couple of friends, Tina and Stuart, also got married but I was unable to attend for a number of unfortunate reasons, but judging by the photographic evidence, the Disney animators weren't kept out of pocket that weekend either.

My mother's visit was another highlight. Although it was an extremely busy few weeks with lots of theatre visits, dining out and socialising, it was still lovely to spend time with her. I was genuinely a tad forlorn when she left.

2009 was also the year without alcohol. I decided on New Year's Eve that I was going to attempt to get through a year completely sober. I am proud to say that I managed perfectly easily. I was expecting cravings but the only thing that happened was the infrequent dream of me gulping down some wine and panicking that I'd ruined my goal.

I also had a few decent work-related incidents to keep me feeling robust in my skin. I was astonished to receive the innovation award at the Summer conference for the extra work I had done. I also won a prize for raising the most money for a conservation charity on a sponsored walk (albeit a team prize - "Go team!" - *shudder*).

Self-improvement is always a plus to be grinning about and with thanks to my (beautiful) doctor, I was able to blitz some of the frustratingly persistent warts on my fingers and also had the astonishingly ugly cyst removed from my back.
I have also managed to shed a few kilos through exercise and being more careful with my diet and I intend to shift some more over the coming months. I was frightened into it by the ludicrous Body Mass Index which pointed a gnarly finger at me and shouting "overweight" at me (a finger with a mouth – intriguing).

The harder, and dare I say 'shittier', things that have happened this year have involved a number of friends. Some friends have treated me somewhat badly. I am not writing this as a vindictive tell-all in the hope of getting sympathy because those who know me well are aware that I am not that sort of person… generally speaking. I won't go into the details here because;
a) you don't want me to bore you and
b) just thinking about it hurts, so heaven knows what writing about it will do.
So, I shall leave it as a mere footnote to the post*.

The absolute worst part was seeing a very close friend of mine go through a rather horrible time when he was diagnosed with a brain tumour. Thankfully, the surgery went well and he came out fighting the other side. He’s rather indomitable and we are all grateful for that.

On a lighter note, let's take a look at a few superfluous and trivial highlights.

My Favourite Albums of the Year:

Close to Home – Beverley Craven
Beautiful Mess – Swing Out Sister
All in One – Bebel Gilberto

My Favourite Movies of the Year:

I Have Loved You So Long
Julie & Julia

My Favourite Books of the Year:

Handling the Undead – John Ajvide Lindqvist
The Enemy – Charlie Higson
The Help – Kathryn Stockett

My Favourite TV Shows in 2009:

Pushing Daisies
Torchwood: Children of Earth

Biggest Disappointment:

The so-called 'gap year' for Doctor Who.

Can we take a year off when we're a bit tired? No.

Bah!

Other Highlights of the Entertainment Variety:

Finally getting the soundtrack to Alexander's Ragtime Band on CD
The double disc set of Fred & Ginger at RKO
Watched loads of I Love Lucy, Buffy, Farscape and Alfred Hitchcock Presents.

Oh, and there was the wonderful "Pie Day" in which a handful of friends and I spent a day watching a marathon of Pushing Daisies and eating pies.

So, that was 2009. Focusing on the better things is a much better thing to do, rather than wallowing on the negative aspects. If 2010 can have more 'happy' moments, I'll be glad.

Have a great Christmas everyone and a splendid New Year.

*The Footnote: Some people are cunts.

One Good Thing

2009-11-30T17:21:00.002+11:00

What a madcap week! One of the most intense weeks I have experienced in quite some time.
The epic stadium of theatrics began on the evening of Friday 20th when I received a text message from my ex-boyfriend's partner asking me to call him. When I did, he informed me that our mutual friend had been diagnosed with a brain tumour and he had been admitted to hospital urgently and was awaiting further news.
When a friend is in trouble, I switch into 'Emergency Ben' mode and suddenly become rather efficient and focused. I just wish I could be like that more often without the triggers of other people's incidents.
I visited whenever I could and provided levity for that is what I do in situations of gravity, I simply cannot help it. It lightens everyone's mood and helps me to cope with the nastier side of life, so it’s a win-win situation.
What humbles me the most is how incredibly brave my ex has been whilst facing such danger. His attitude has been indomitable and that sort of strength touches my heart.

It was also a very sad week for a school friend of mine whose brother had gone missing (back in the UK) at the weekend and appallingly, was discovered dead a few days later. I felt so utterly helpless and saddened by this news, but the outpouring of support online via facebook was incredibly touching.

During work hours, I was kept occupied with doing two jobs. For those who aren't in the know, there is a guy at work who deals with all the sales material, proof reading copies and posters etc for the sales department and also handles the mailing out of larger items around the country. Due to his long-service leave, he is able to take time off quite frequently and I am more than happy to cover his job whilst he is away.
This involves me juggling my own job, his and also spinning a few plates all at the same time. Normally, I am quite adept at this sort of thing – the busier I am, the more in control I seem to be, but I think with the other things going on, I became a little bit frazzled this time. Sure, the heavy work load did prove to be a distraction at times, but when I stopped for a breather, I often felt overwhelmed by it all.
I hesitate as I write this for I don’t want it to sound like I'm making it 'all about me'… I don't want to be one of those people who make other people's severe problems into their own personal drama. That's not who I want to be.

On the Thursday night, I attended the book launch of acerbic journalist Catherine Deveny's third book of collected columns. It was a terrific launch and Catherine was her usual brutally hilarious self. Early on in the evening, she announced that she knew a guy whom I should be introduced to, so I waited around for a while as the book signing shenanigans continued and eventually she introduced me to one of her colleagues. "Michael, this is Ben, he works for Penguin Books. Now, off you go…" and she gestured with flapping hands for us to talk as she dashed off to attend to her adoring fan base.

I said to Michael; "I can get up on stage and tell jokes, sing my heart out and perform in front of hundreds, but I am hopeless at introducing myself to guys!" which, ironically, proved it wasn’t true as it seemed perfectly acceptable as an introduction.
We chatted for a while and then Catherine joined us before driving us to the Retreat pub in Brunswick (with a few other people in tow – I could tell a story here about the events of the trip and the discussions involved, but that's a little more private than I think you'd want to know about. Let's just say that conversation revolved around a certain operation I once had and Catherine proved how crippling funny she can be, even whilst driving.

At Retreat we had dinner and had a good old chinwag and lots of laughter. A few of us even played Spin the Bottle (albeit with a knife) which I have never played before and, despite feeling deliriously immature, really enjoyed the thrill of it.
Michael and I got on rather well (Well done, Catherine) but I couldn’t stay out too late as it was a 'school night', so I caught a taxi home.

So, with two jobs, a friend in hospital, a death and an unexpected night of near-debauchery, I had experienced a manic week.
The recent weekend which followed was thankfully a peaceful one. I was unable to visit my ex as he was still in the ICU post-surgery (they were only able to remove half of the tumour as the other half is attached to too many vital parts of the brain) but he is out today, back in the wards.
Chores were done over the weekend and I baked a couple of cakes. The highlight of the weekend was having a sort of 'date' with Michael. He came over and we had an afternoon of DVD watching with some pizza. We had a splendid afternoon and it was nice to finish off a run of heavy days with something so pleasant.

What I find difficult to reconcile is this feeling of guilt. Here I am enjoying this one good thing that has happened to me while other people are suffering. The juxtaposed emotions are conflicting and I am awash with tension as I try to do what's right.

Golden Heart

2009-11-11T17:31:00.002+11:00

Heaven knows I am not the easiest person to live with so I am impressed that Mum managed to get through three weeks in the same apartment without throttling me.
Having lived alone for the past six years, I have become a little set in my ways. Not that this is a bad thing, it’s just awkward when people come to stay as it can be a bit of an intrusion, no matter who it is.

It had been three years since mum had last visited and back then it was with other family members. This time, it was just the two of us and I have to admit I am rather grateful about that. Sure, there were occasional moments when I could have done with some personal 'down time' and I did become a little exhausted with the itinerary I had organised for her – I only have myself to blame for that – but having the chance to spend some quality time together was pleasant.

As with many family relationships, there is a bond which transcends the tensions and conflicts which often arise when in close proximity for a long time. We may have had the odd minor snap between us (usually through my own impatience), but each time it was dispelled with a touch of humour. Both of us despise conflict and although this can be a flaw in some regard, it can actually be a blessing between two like-minded people.

We had great enjoyment attending various theatrical events and eating out at numerous restaurants and cafes in and around Melbourne. My wonderful friends were often on hand to assist with invitations to their homes and meals out.

Some of the best times were had when it was just the two of us discussing our own lives and our individual idiosyncrasies. Mum and I share a lot of beliefs and values. We often share opinions with each other that we may not be able to repeat to others for fear of being chastised. It is moments like these where I feel an emotional and spiritual intimacy with my mother and although we do not agree on all things, there is an unquestionable understanding between us.

From my Mum I have inherited a lot of qualities but to itemise them here would reek of egocentricity and I fear I do enough of that already, albeit it self-deprecatory mainly. Oddly enough, we also both share similar insecurities, so we can find solace together when necessary.

Mum has a gentle soul and a golden heart and it has been a pleasure playing host her during her stay

Halloween

2009-10-31T07:12:00.004+11:00

Ah, my favourite night of the year (I sound like Tim Curry in that old film version of The Worst Witch! Not a great film, but worth seeing for Tim, Diana Rigg and Fairuza Balk. The Bonnie Langford song could have been dropped though!)

Halloween (or 'hallowe'en' if we want to be pedantic!) has always had a special place in my heart. I love the darkness, the creepiness, the spookiness and the all-round silliness.

It's a day that always reminds me of my dear friend Alison as it felt like it was our day. Alison and I have always had a certain penchant for the occult and the supernatural (without actually being satanists, although we have experienced the occasional worrying look for conservative Christians in our time) and we often hung out together for the big night, be it a large fancy dress party or a small gathering of like-minded folk.

One of my favourite memories was one weekend in Bangor. Alison was there at university and I visited for the weekend. We were in the habit of giving each other gifts for Hallowe'en back then and I gave her a mutilated barbie wrapped in plastic and called it a 'Laura Palmer' doll along with a vacuum packed bag of cow's blood.

Ah, sweet Halloween.

Another year, back in 1992, it was an unusual year because I didn't have anything planned at all. My family were out that evening and I was staying in alone. I had a bath early in the evening and I went into my bedroom and switched on the TV. I sat on my bed, wrapped in just a towel and I began watching the BBC's Ghostwatch, starring Michael Parkinson, Sarah Greene, Mike Smith and Craig Charles.
90 minutes later, I was still in my towel and transfixed!
It was such a scary programme, there were rumours of people committing suicide (well, one rumour...) and many people genuinely thinking it was a live piece of television. It was compared to Orson Welles' War of the Worlds (not Jeff Wayne's - thank god!)
The BBC did get many complaints and got into a bit of trouble for it and so they promised not to air it again. It was finally released on DVD by the British Film Institute in 2002 and I bought it whilst in London visiting my friends Jamie and Kevin. Watching it then, older and wiser, I was still thoroughly spooked and I still get chills now just thinking about 'Pipes'.

Sadly, I have to also mention my dear friend Kirsty Steele who has since passed away. Kirsty was such a wonderful person with a gentle heart. She used to hold parties quite frequently at her home and hallowe'en night was no exception. Of course, they were fancy dress! One year, I went as 'The Dread Pirate Roberts' from The Princess Bride (although everyone thought I was Zorro) and another year, I was dressed as Frank N Furter from Rocky Horror (although people thought I was a whore). I even have a picture somewhere of my beautiful friend Rhian, tied to Kirsty's mother bed, dressed as Regan from The Exorcist ("Your mother's a biology teacher in Cheshire!!")
Kirsty passed away about nine years ago and she is often in my thoughts. So tonight, I shall raise a (non-alcoholic) glass in memory of her, of great nights in my youth and also to Alison, my dark-soul-mate without whom I would not be the same person today.

Dancing in Limbo

2009-10-28T16:51:00.004+11:00

Having watched Julie & Julia for a second time, I began reassessing the nature of blogs and what it is that makes one more successful than another. My rather embarrassing need for attention, fame and approval is one of the reasons behind this rather inept display of prose which clamours for some kind of recognition out there in the infinite web.
Julie Powell had a raisin d'etre, a deadline and blogged far more frequently. I seem to embrace the true definition of random and I mill aimlessly from one topic to another.
Granted, I do not curse as much as Julie, but I don't think I am any less verbose or entertaining.

Reading back that last sentence to myself. I see the pretension some have witnessed in my personality before, but I believe in speaking my thoughts and if I do come across as a bit of a pranny at times, then so be it. Those who know me have an understanding of my true nature and welcome it like a jolly yet slightly irritating uncle at family gatherings.

Before I digress further into the psychoanalysis of my own personality types, let me return to my original point. Blogging. What makes it interesting? Over the years of writing my own personal diaries and - in later years - online, I have noticed a pattern in my style. I begin with great enthusiasm and futily attempt (and fail) to emulate some high-brow academic with awkward turns of phrase and misplaced witticisms. Over time, there appear to be days when I become rather lackadaisical and pore out the most tedious drivel stating where I went, what I did and who I met without any depth or colour to the scene. It's like having a TV marathon starting with I, Claudius and ending up with Neighbours.

One also has to be careful about what one writes. I have often deleted sentences, paragraphs and, on occasion, entire blogs for fear of being reprimanded by readers - but there I go again with the rather egotistical notion that people are reading and/or give a crap.
Does one ignore these little fences of security and express oneself to such a degree that followers bristle with vitriol or should one stay safe and post pictures of kittens eating brocolli?

Then I wonder how much of my soul I should convert into written text. I have been criticised before for thinking too much! Seriously? Can one think too much? I believe it simply makes me more interesting that I don't accept things at face value and that I like to plough through the depths of meaning that is layered before me.
It is far more fun to question things, expand the perspective and stand in another person's shoes. Sure, I may come to the most absurd and incomprehensible conclusions at times, but the journey is the most entertaining part.
Although I do tend to wear my heart on my charity-shop-purchased sleeve, I like to imagine it heightens the interest levels to a degree beyond 'tedious'.

So, to conclude, am I dancing in limbo? Is this a mere excercise for my brain and my qwerty-happy fingers? Will there be a satisfying denouement or will it peter out like a long-running TV show which has emptied the barrel of high-concept ideas?
Maybe someone will read this and leap back from their screens in a blissful act of serendipity after a misplaced Google 'I'm Feeling Lucky' search and scream from their luxury apartment that they have discovered the next Oscar Wilde (Well, while I'm being an egotistically-driven megalomaniac with delusions of grandeur, I might as well go whole-hog, right?) and the next thing I know, I'll be a household name, like 'Toilet Duck' or 'Durex'.
Or maybe someone will tap me on the shoulder politely and then, as I look around, punch me in the face for being a pretentious bumhole and subsequently break my fingers for the sake of humanity and literature.
I expect it will be somewhere between these two extremes. Until the day of revelation comes, I shall continue to do my quickstep across the keyboard and hope that this limbo is not for eternity.

Postscript: If, like with Julie Powell, someone wants to make a movie about my life, I quite like the idea of David Tennant playing me. He'd have to eat a few pies first though.

He Never Mentioned Love

2009-10-22T05:34:00.002+11:00

On Wednesday evening, I had a mad dash to get to my doctor's appointment. I left work early, but was stymied by cancelled trains, faulty pedestrian crossings and slow-walking idiots who take up the entire width of the pavement/footpath/sidewalk (delete as applicable for your country of origin).

I had to run the last five minutes in order to arrive in time, so I was all sweaty and provided evidence of how unfit I have become over the last few months.

Once in the GP's surgery, we began our usual chatty banter. I had already decided earlier in the day that I was going to attempt to find out his 'marital status' as my flirtation skills are bordering on retarded and I wanted to discover if my efforts were futile.
Well, before I could put my plan of truth excavation into action, he provided me with all the answers I wanted when casually referring to himself and his partner.

My heart sank.

Trying not to appear too winded, I aimed for a look of casual interest and asked how long they'd been together and all that sort of jolly chat. All this whilst dealing with stitches being ripped from my back and a swab dabbing at my infection.

Trying to feign nonchalance before one's crush is a hard task and I genuinely felt a little moisture build behind my eye, but I forced myself to be strong and told myself I was being daft.
Of course he's in a happy, stable relationship! He is kind, gentle, warm-hearted and beautiful. I shouldn't have expected anything else.
We did, during our talk, mention my life as a single man (it's been a few years now) and he said that one day some guy would sweep me off my feet.

What I should have said, rather than make the guttural sound of a self-deprecating 'guffaw', was "I just hope it is someone like you!"

It's not all sad. Yes, I may have an infection in my wound and yes, I may have discovered I have fallen for the unobtainable (again); but as my friend Dave says, it's good to know my heart can feel that flutter. For a while I thought my heart had turned to ice and I was incapable of feeling that thrill of connection and chemistry. Having this minor one-sided 'affair' for the past few weeks has taught me that I still have the ability to love.

All I need to do is find some reciprocation.

Things Happen

2009-10-18T13:10:00.002+11:00

My Mum is arriving on Tuesday to stay with me for three weeks. I went out this morning to buy some odds and ends including a nice bright yellow litter tray. The litter tray is for my cat, not Mum.

The morning's expedition was a little fraught as I was in a bit of pain. Let me explain why.

Saturday was a nice day: to begin with. ("Marley was dead: to begin with.")
I went into the city first thing to buy some Yorkshire Gold tea and I met my friends Louise, Adam and Nick and we headed to my favourite cafe, Gordon's, for breakfast. Then we went to Chokolait for some superb hot chocolate drinks. I had been introduced to this shop by Adam's sister, Nicole. She has a nose for chocolate...
Then we all headed back to my place for a fun afternoon of tea, biscuits and The IT Crowd.

Everyone was more than happy to assist me in shifting some furniture. I wanted to rearrange the rooms in order to make the place nice for Mum's visit.
However, very early on in this venture, I pushed a unit a little awkwardly and suddenly, every move I made was accompanied by agonizing pain shooting from my lower back down my left leg and up to my neck.
This was rather bad timing as we were only half way through the job. Unable to move, I had to stand relatively still as the others shifted each heavy object between them to my rather useless directions. I was a little humiliated as I felt like a slave-driver.
My three amigos were incredibly patient and kind to do everything for me and I am ever-so grateful.

The trouble was, I was due to head out to a fund-raising Trivia Night that evening, but my lack of mobility hindered my attendance. So, eased into a chair and wedged in with cushions, Louise and co. stuck around and got me food and kept me entertained for the majority of the evening. We watched things such as Alan Partridge and the DVD of I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue. Laughter is the best medicine, but it can also be rather irritating when each chuckle aggravated my spine.

After my saintly friends left, I was too tired to stay up. I slowly hobbled like a crippled elderly gent into my bed and tried to get as physically comfortable as possible. The problem was two-fold because of a) my lower back pain and b) my healing, stitched-up shoulder. Knocking back painkillers, I lay in the dark praying for an early train to Sleepy Town.

Eventually I drifted off, but proceeded to have freaky dreams about me going to work without my trousers and being harassed by various enemies.

So, this morning, feeling a little better, I still had to continue chores getting the flat ready and shifting more furniture. I am luckily more supple today, but it does hurt when I lift too much, turn suddenly or sneeze.

This afternoon I intend to tackle the kitchen as the lounge is more or less sorted.
As I type this, I realise how incredibly dull this post is, but hopefully while my Mum is here, there will be far more interesting things to write about.

I also think I am going to struggle using Kirsty MacColl song titles for my posts as I continue to use them up. I may have to incorporate some Beverley Craven songs eventually...

Fifteen Minutes

2009-10-10T22:48:00.005+11:00

I am occasionally bamboozled by the things I read in newspapers or hear about through word-of-mouth. One of the things that makes me scratch my noggin the most is the articles which pronounce shock revelations in regard to recent research. It wasn't so long ago that some time-wasting students of the university of the bloody obvious released a study in which it was revealed that we, as a race, are becoming more narcissistic and egocentric due to the nativity of the online blog.

Are we not more shocked that some arse-faced numb-nuts are actually whittling away precious funding by coming up with such ludicrously tedious data? Why did no one just come to me or the nearest Betty Wallace or Jimmy Fishnet and ask one of us? It doesn't take a dedicated Mensa student to figure that one out.

I believe we are all a tad egocentric, for heaven's sake, that's what the ego is. The birth of the internet has just provided us with a forum to display it to a wider audience.

See, nobody is paying me for spouting such crassly blatant statements. If anyone would like to, let me know and I'll give you my bank details.

Oh, and while I am thinking about it - you may not see the relevance, but there's a winding path of stepping stones bravely transcending the raging torrent of thoughts which leads me to this statement - if a tree falls down in a forest, of course it'll bloody well make a friggin' sound even if there's no one there to hear it. Just the same as a mobile phone will ring its cellular heart out in an empty train carriage. One does not need an aural receptacle for there to be sound. Just as light exists without sight.

Rant over. Discuss at your own leisure. In a box. With a cat. And a hammer.

Now onto the main part of the post...

What an interesting few days it has been.

Let me begin by saying that on Thursday, post-operation (it makes it sound so grand, calling it an 'operation' when it was merely a slice 'n' dice in a GP's surgery, but grant me the option for melodrama if you will), I returned to work like a brave little soldier facing the front line with a severe case of 'limb gone AWOL'.

Probably not the best idea as I was in slight agony. After lunch, as I waited for my usual early-afternoon poo and found myself seeing pretty lights dancing before my eyes. The notion of being found by a work colleague passed out in the lavatory with my trousers around my ankles had me rather worried. Mainly because I was wearing my Doctor Who boxer-shorts.
Having regained some sort of composure and dignity, I took myself back to my desk only to discover I was feeling rather feverish, dizzy and not far from the nauseous bracket. Given these rather worrying symptoms, I decided that the best procedure would be to head home and rest like I was supposed to be doing in the first place.

On Friday, after an unsurprisingly uncomfortable sleep (that's two nights of bad sleep thanks to old Cysty McCysto) I had to drag myself back to see the doctor for a redressing. (No, not 'undressing')
When I entered his office, he immediately noticed my posture and told me to relax. Once again, I felt like shouting my catchphrase; "Have you MET me?"
He stood opposite me, grabbed me by the shoulders and began to shake me. Not in a '1950s-misogynistic-husband-beating-his-wife' sort of way, but more of a 'this-is-how-you-toss-a-salad' sort of way. It was friendly, professional yet casual.

I can't deny it brought a smile to my face.

Later during the date - er - I mean 'appointment' - I pointed out how I would also like to remove the unsightly little bump near my eye which graces my face as subtly as a rhino on a bouncy castle. He reached out, tenderly embracing my head with his tenacious fingers and staring into my eyes. Well, 'between' them is more apt, but it was a wonderful sensation.

Does this guy know how to flirt, or what? Damn that ethical code these doctors have.

Saturday (today), I attended a Tuppaware party. The last one I attended was over six years ago at my friend Tina's place and I still use the wonderful cereal dispenser to this day.
Today's party was being hosted by another superb friend, Michelle. I was not totally enamoured with the majority of the products this time as they seem to have been attacked by the Manic Pastel Monster of Doom. However, my name was drawn from the plastic jug to win the prize of a fancy cake slice - very handy should there be a zombie outbreak and I need something to fend off a pesky corpse or two.

Once it was over, Michelle and I headed out to see Julie & Julia.
Having read (and loved) the book four years ago, I have been looking forward to this movie for some time and I was not disappointed (although I would have liked to have seen the maggot scene as so beautifully described in the book. Then again, maybe not...)

For those of you that do not know, is about two women. Julia Child (Meryl 'Oscars-should-be-called-Meryls' Streep), who wrote 'Mastering the Art of French Cooking' and Julie Powell (Amy 'Eat-me-I'm-so-cute' Adams) who decides to cook every recipe from said book and blog about it. Both are very successful and the rest is history.

Coming away from that movie, I wondered what my niche could be. What is it that I could do to fulfill my purpose in life? What can I blog about that anybody would be even remotely interested in?
Do I blog my way through reading all of the 'Popular Penguin' titles as I once suggested to my peers?
Do I tell of the slightly hopeless attempts at finding love in this crazy old world?
Do I recount my exploits as I try to pay off debts and save enough money to visit Cuba?

And then we come full circle back to the ego thing.

Blog. The billboard of pretension. Flaunting itself in desperation for fame and approval. "Like me!" "Enjoy me!" "Tell me I'm talented!"

It's the twenty-first century's answer to the British Holiday Camp Talent Show. Only this time, the competition is larger and the losers don't get thrown into the icy waters of the outdoor pool... it's worse... it's the freezing ocean of obscurity.

The truth is, despite my slight yearning for that quarter of an hour of global recognition (Paraphrasing Mr A. 'hole a bit), I am quite happy if I can entertain just one other person with my trivial ramblings. Sure, it passes my time and is cathartic in a cerebral way, but part of me warms to the idea that out there, one person - any person - has read through and heard my voice.

No big ambition.

Just a glimmer of hope.

Sun on the Water

2009-10-10T08:13:00.003+11:00

Saturday, the 10th of October, 2009.
Today would have been Kirsty MacColl's 50th birthday.

On December 18th, 2000, Kirsty was in Cozumel, Mexico with her two sons for a pre-Christmas holiday. Whilst out in a swimmers-only area of the sea, a speeding boat hurtled towards the family. Kirsty’s motherly instinct kicked in and she pushed her sons out of the way and she was fatally struck by the boat.

Celebrating the success of her brilliant album Tropical Brainstorm and looking forward to returning to a home decked with festive displays and presents under the tree, the happiness was torn apart.
To this day, there still has been no justice served to those responsible. However, that’s another long story covered in two biographies amongst much other media

Here I would like to tell my story of my love affair with Kirsty and her music.

To begin with, I had only a vague recognition of Kirsty MacColl. I had seen her on Top of the Pops with The Pogues and she had performed once during the second series of French and Saunders.
It wasn’t until the third series aired that I awoke to her brilliance.
In the first episode of that season, she sang Fifteen Minutes which alerted me to her sense of irony and wit. Later, she sang Don't Come the Cowboy With Me, Sonny Jim! which showed her versatility and pathos.
However, the song which will always be the catalyst for my devotion will be Still Life which is a beautiful reflective song which mourns the uprising of modern structures like Milton Keynes, destroying the memories of the past.

I bought the two albums which were available at the time, Kite and Electric Landlady (Desperate Character has sadly never been released on CD to date) and the former is still a favourite of mine for its lyrical beauty. It contains the sublime cover of The Kinks' Days which has been universally praised as being that rarity of a good cover version of a classic song. Even Raymond Davies gives it his thumbs up!. Electric Landlady is a brave album for its diversity in styles but also suffers for exactly the same reason and occasionally feels disjointed. This does not mean the individual songs should be denied kudos as the true brilliance of Kirsty still shines through. We'll Never Pass This Way Again is one of the most heartbreaking songs and it haunts me regularly.

The best track on the album is My Affair which has a tremendous Latin flavour and I recall saying at the time that I wished Kirsty would do an entire album in a similar style. Thankfully, my wish paid off, if not for nearly a decade later.

These two albums were my lifeline during a very hard period in my life when I first moved away from home to the horrors of college life in Bedford. I was struggling with my sexuality and was brutally intimidated by so many changes around and within me.

Luckily, it was around that time that Kirsty released Titanic Days on the ZTT label. Kirsty called it her 'divorce album' as it was in the wake of her split from husband and producer Steve Lillywhite. Although a melancholic album, it also displays the hidden depths to her talent. Raw yet mesmerising, the album to this day stands as one of my all-time favourites. I may not have gone through anything as rough as a divorce at my tender age of 18, but there was an affinity felt between myself and the heart worn on Kirsty's sleeve.

In the following years, there were a few compilations including the superb Galore and the collection of studio recordings What Do Pretty Girls Do? (which included a blissful acoustic version of Still Life). More backlist songs were released from her years with Stiff records including the hits that made her famous such as They Don't Know and the novelty song There's A Guy Works Down the Chip Shop Swears Hes Elvis but I was always enamoured with the jokey Eighty Year Old Millionaire. Also worthy of note is Kirsty's version of A New England which Billy Bragg re-wrote for her one morning as she cooked him eggs for breakfast.

It wasn’t until 2000 that Kirsty's opus magnum would be revealed. Having spent the past ten years flying back and forth between the UK and Cuba, Kirsty began to assimilate the Cuban music into her soul and the resulting album, Tropical Brainstorm is a tour-de-force of everything brilliant about her. The infectious beats, the steamy sensuality, the devastating; wit all combined to make a perfect album.
From the joyous opening songs (Mambo de la Luna, In These Shoes? and Treachery which will make even the most sour of pusses tap their toes), via the raucous melodies of the mid album trilogy Nao Esperando/Alegria/Us Amazonians to the heartache of Wrong Again and the pure magic of the song celebrating sexual chemistry, Head.

I fell head over heels in love with Tropical Brainstorm and it remains my favourite album of all-time to this day. I have since bought it for a number of my friends whom enjoy its bountiful frivolities.

The day I discovered about Kirsty's demise, my friend Louise was picking me up in the morning to take me to work. It was going to be a Christmas lunch at work and I had a coffee percolator on my lap all wrapped up as a gift for my colleagues. I was waiting for Louise to pull away from the kerb, but when she didn’t, I was curious. Then she told me the news.
For the rest of the day, I was in shock. Luckily, I had a number of Kirsty CDs at work and was able to listen to them on my computer.

Since her death, there have been numerous special releases chronicling her career including the superb three-disc From Croydon to Cuba and its accompanying DVD of music videos.

Nine years have nearly passed but I am still sad at the loss. Kirsty's sensibilities, humour and energy have been something which has touched my heart for many years and I shall never tire of her.

I had a plan to be in Soho Square, London this weekend in order to join the 50th birthday celebrations with a legion of other Kirsty fans, but finances forced me to abandon this dream, but I shall be there in spirit.

In an eerily prophetic twist, the last Song Kirsty recorded before her death was Sun on the Water which ends;

Sun on the water
Lapping around my feet
Sun on the water
Making it hard to see

I want to be the one to say
I'm happy here and here I'll stay
I won't remember yesterday
When I'm dreaming

It was the place where she felt free
And Heaven lies under the sea
Hell is just dry land to me
When I'm dreaming

Thank you for everything, Kirsty.
Happy birthday.

The Butcher Boy

2009-10-07T17:02:00.004+11:00

Today I had to have another day off work (what a trauma!)
For a few years I have been cursed with a sebaceous cyst on my back. I had it there once before and had it removed, but this feisty little bugger decided to rear its ugly head and torment me once again. I arranged for an appointment with my doctor to have it exorcised but as I had the morning free, I thought I'd make the most of my time and get a blood test done too. My doctor likes to keep track of my blood as I have ridiculously high cholesterol levels (can I sue Twix?) and he likes to keep well and truly on top of it. He said "Should we check for HIV too?" and I laughed. One needs to be having sex first... so I'm fairly safe there - unless you seriously can catch it from a toilet seat.

So I went to the pathology lab and awaited amongst a bunch of freaks until it was my turn. I don't think I am being unfair calling them freaks. One lady had not been able to dress herself properly with one arm missing the sleeve completely and another man kept doing an impression of a horse.
I live in a very odd area.

So, I had my blood sucked out of my arm and I am sure I saw a couple of seedy vampires lurking in the alleyway as I left. Neither of them looked like Eric from True Blood so I continued on my way home.

Now, the next image is of my cyst. It doesn't look too huge in the photo, but believe me, it is larger than one would like and is (obviously) slightly evil.

Now, I have had that nasty little blighter for going on for a decade.

As I have mentioned previously, I have a major crush on my doctor.
Well, it was embarrassing when I think about it how I got ready to head out. I showered, shaved, put aftershave on (thanks Tina!) and made sure my hair was reasonably smart. It was as if I was going on a date! (Chance would be a fine thing)
I felt ridiculous after the only intimacy was his finger penetrating my wound.

I arrived for my appointment and as I sat in the waiting room reading the same damn issue of GQ as I always read when I am there (nice interview with Jeremy Piven), I had this sudden urge to bolt. Maybe it was the memory of the previous exorcism 13+ years ago... maybe it was the fear of pain... but I pulled myself together and before I knew it, I was lying face down on a table with my shirt off.

I cleared the magazines off the table first and the other patients were a tad bemused, of course, who wouldn't be? When my doctor came out and asked me to enter the surgery, I thought it best to follow his advice.

Lying face down, once more, before my (beautiful) doctor, I began to tremble. When I am nervous, I do three things: Tremble, sweat and talk.
I talked and talked about anything my mind could think of. I am sure he was absolutely delighted to know the plot of Julie & Julia.

He told me to relax ("Have you met me?") and he began the procedure, butchering my back open and scraping out the vile monstrosity from within. First the anaesthetic needles went in all around the cyst, then he sliced it open and I felt goo and blood trickle down over my shoulder towards the bed. He spent a good few minutes digging out the dead crap.

It is at this point I would like those who have seen it to recall the second season Torchwood episode entitled Fragments in which a tumor turns out to be an alien which emits a noxious gas and kills everyone.
This scene rang bells with me as the stench was intense. I swear to God, it smelt like my cat's arse after she's eaten dairy.
This pungent odour permeated the room and engulfed everything around. I even saw a plant wilt - and it was plastic! Gross!!

The next image I took with my phone. It's the beast dissected. Not for the squeamish.

Thankfully, it has now been disposed of safely and has been shot into space to avoid further contamination.
My fantasy situation I had played out again and again in my head did not happen. The fantasy went like this...

Hot Doctor: "Are you all right to get home, Ben?"

Me: "Oh, I'll be fine. I'll walk it."

Hot Doctor: "Heavens to Betsy! We can't have that. Let me drive you home."

Hot Doctor and Ben head back to Ben's flat in Hot Doctor's car. They arrive.

Hot Doctor: "Do you need help getting upstairs?"

Me: "Hmm, maybe. And I might need help getting into my PJs..."

Oh, I shan't go on, you can guess the rest...

Sadly, I just had to walk home and pick up some painkillers on the way.

So, now I am back home, the anaesthetic hasn't worn off yet, but when it does, I'll knock back a few pills. I have had a nice mug of tea and a Twix as a special treat for being such a good, albeit talkative, patient.

This is what my back looks like now...

Thank you Hot Butcher - er, I mean 'Doctor'.

Good For Me

2009-10-02T05:50:00.004+10:00

On Tuesday, I noticed a slight strain in my shoulder, by Wednesday, it was slightly more aggressive. By Thursday, it had affected my sleep pattern (which is less of a pattern, more of a shambles). So, due to the chronic agony which pulsed through my neck, I decided to do what's best and take the day off work.

Whenever I have a sick day, I always make it worse for myself by stressing over the decision. Who am I letting down? Am I really so incapacitated that I can't work? Do I have the sick days available?

I paced the kitchen for a good half an hour as I weighed up the options but eventually, I saw sense and I dialled the number and excused myself for the day. Oh, and I am so glad I did. I have had this 'trapped nerve' kind of issue many times before and if I don't look after it, the pain can be exacerbated by even slightly strenuous circumstances.

Hot showers, heat packs and painkillers can do so much, but there's no better remedy than time out. I have to admit, i have been rather stressed at work lately - not stressed in a "Oh my God, this patient will die unless I can remove the tumor from her brain" sort of way, but just the amount of work I have been doing whilst initially covering for one colleague for two weeks and then another for a further three, so that the past month or so has had me juggling more than my usual balls (the juggling analogy doesn't work somehow).

Don't get me wrong, I actually enjoy being busy, but my social life has also been busy too and time to myself (which I cherish) has been less frequent than I'd perhaps like.

So, Thursday was spent in my PJs, reading, having many cups of tea and watching many episodes of I Love Lucy. In the evening I ordered a large pizza which I am currently regretting.

When I am off sick and I am reading books which are work-related, I wonder if it should actually be considered a work day - just working from home?! No?

As I write this, it is Friday morning around six o'clock. I still have a slight ache in my shoulder, but I am going to work anyway for two good reasons. One; it's 'Briefing Day' and I hate missing the monthly briefings (I enjoy the company of my colleagues on that day and the communal lunch) and two; I would need a sick note from the doctor were I to have a day off next to a weekend. Who invented that rule?

So, any moment, I will get out of these PJs, have a shower, get dressed and head off.
Good for me!

Tomorrow Never Comes

2009-09-30T05:28:00.003+10:00

I will not be surprised if you feel the need to scold and chastise me for being so slack in updating this blog. The truth is I just haven’t been quite interesting enough to post anything worthy. Whenever I have thought about something to post, I have procrastinated with the old adage; "Oh, it can wait until tomorrow!"

However, that said, here is a round-up of various events and notions from the past few weeks.

I have been having some recurring dreams. Two of which are most vivid. One is about David Tennant's final Doctor Who stories (in which I am a companion) and the other is me having a second crack at being a Stand-Up comedian – I am not counting the horrifying memory of me 'having a go' one Comic Relief back in my school days where I thought the height of comedy was wearing my clothes on backwards in walking onto the stage in reverse.

My first proper foray into the oh-so-hilarious world of comedy was back in 2000 when I spent time at a 'Humourversity' (I kid you not) which was an evening class run over a few months. It eventuated in me having a few gigs in and around Melbourne. Not all were side-splitting, thigh-slapping, eye-watering successes; but not all had the crowds akin to a Gorgon’s audience.
Performing comedy was something I had always wanted to do despite the vast majority of friends telling me that I was about as funny as athlete's foot. When in doubt, I said to myself, tell the joke about Father O'Brien, the pope and the very large fish.

Well, I ticked that box on my list of things to do before I die and luckily, I didn’t die on stage.
Nine years later, I ponder the notion of having another crack, thanks to these dreams in which I seem to have people rolling in the aisles. Last night's cracker of a joke was me saying to the crowd; "I hope I'm giving you your money’s worth… you paid five cents entry fee, right??" Cue hoots of laughter.

Going back to my other recurring dream, I have become rather fond of the tenth Doctor and he's going to be severely missed when he regenerates. I had fooled myself into believing that he'd stay around and 'outlive' Tom Baker, being the huge fan of the show that he is. Heaven knows, if I was offered the role, I'd be there for years. However, we Doctor Who fans know what happened the last time an actor said that. Damn you Michael Grade.

Yes, I know I'm not an actor. Yes, I know I live in Australia. Yes, I know the chance of me becoming the Twelfth Doctor is more remote than me winning the lottery or being eaten by a moth, but I like to keep the dream alive.
So, in my dreams, I am merely the companion.

Moving on…

Anyone who knows me will be fully aware that I am not exactly a sports buff. I have always been averse to competitive physical activities and I was utterly useless at practically every single event at school. The one exception was the hurdles. This is neither interesting nor important, but I thought I’d throw this fact into the mix for trivia fans.

Football in particular has been a cryptic conundrum to me. I just don't see the appeal and I often get frustrated when trying to figure out what’s going on and why people care so much. However, I have now watched two AFL games during the past decade in Australia and each one was a grand final. Also, each time, the Geelong football team have won. They are known as the Cats… So, if anyone ever asks me who I 'barrack' for, I shall say Geelong. Why not, eh?
I have watched these two games purely in support of my friend Louise who also supports said team and it is fun to see her get so involved. I also see it as a good excuse to sit on a settee, drink lots of tea and eat a lot of snack food. Sure, I could do that at home, but the added bonus of seeing Louise jump up and down squealing and cheering makes it so much better.

Now for the news.

Vegemite (The Australian equivalent of Marmite for those Brits out there reading this) have released a cheesy variant and they had a competition open to the public to come up with a name for this new product.
The winning moniker is 'iSnack 2.0'.
Yes.
I can't bring myself to type it again, even for comic effect.
They obviously didn't like my entry; 'Poo in a jar'.
Maybe they thought it was an instruction.

Polanski is arrested.
Oh, conflict in my brain!!
I just love the films of Roman Polanski. Repulsion, Rosemary’s Baby, Knife in the Water, Frantic, Death and the Maiden, I even loved The Ninth Gate! He finally won an Oscar for The Pianist. (Which I am still yet to see, shockingly. Yes, it has the beautiful Adrien Brody in it, but it doesn’t look like it’s going to be a barrel of laughs. I will have to be in the right mood. And even Mr Brody’s handsome nose could not save the horrors of King Kong – cripes, that was bad!)

I do not condone Roman's sexual assault of a thirteen year old girl back in 1977.
Yes, she has asked for the charges to be dropped as she wants to move on with her life after all these years. Roman has avoided America and punishment all these years and during that time he has made some phenomenal cinema.
Should he now be punished?
I look at it like this… if Josef Fritzl wasn't punished, he may have gone on to create the greatest cartoon character in the history of animation – The Adventures of Jeffrey the Blue Mouse. Loved by children and winner of many awards and critical acclaim.
This does not mean his crimes are exonerated.

Or has Roman been punished enough? Was the murder of Sharon Tate et al a factor in the cosmic balance of pre-emptive karma? Was it a trigger to his act later on? Should it matter?

He made a mistake; a very misguided and terrible mistake. But has he atoned for his sins? I, for one, dare not make that call.

Finally, I return back to my health, which I have frequently commented on before.

I have stopped going to the hospital to get advice and medication for my vestibular migraines. Each time I go, I have to take time off work, fork out dough for a bunch of mad-ass tablets with side-effects worse than the initial problem. So what is the friggin' point? I am going to see how I manage just coping with the headaches, numbness and dizziness. I’d rather put up with that than gain extra weight and be continually drowsy.

In other medical dramas, I am getting that ugly lump removed from my shoulders – No, not my head! Cheeky!!

I have had a large cyst on my back for some years. I have had it removed once before about thirteen years ago, but it grew back. It is not dangerous or anything, but it does make me feel like Quasimodo’s younger brother.
I could get it delicately removed by an expensive plastic surgeon, but I am not that vain or wealthy, so I have asked my GP to stab me with needles and scrape the bastard out. This monstrosity has been the bane of my self-image for some time and it has to go.
To think how strongly I feel about it, one wonders how on Earth I could have forgotten the bloody appointment last week! Idiot that I am. I have re-booked and hopefully, if all goes to plan, the offensive protrusion of doom will be slaughtered next Wednesday.

So, that’s my latest blog. A bit of everything. Even though I wrote this yesterday, I once again procrastinated to actually post this. Tomorrow never comes, eh? Well it's tomorrow now and here's my post! (?)

Clock Goes Round

2009-09-04T19:56:00.002+10:00

Well, I have found a new way to pass the time (read as: waste time)!

On Monday, I signed up for a new dating website, only this time, it was not one of those nasty, creepy, dirty, gay websites where everyone is feral and after one thing. Yeauch *shudder* etc.

I have tried those websites before and all I have experienced is sleazy blokes wanting to get their end away. Sorry chaps, you're barking up the wrong tree with me. I prefer to meet people with similar interests, who like a chat, a mug of tea and want to discover more about my mind rather than how big my penis is. (not that I'm ashamed of that, thank you very much! I just think there is more to a man than his genitalia - heaven forbid!)

So, this new site I am on is great fun. I dare not share with you the name as I fear that people will go looking for me and mock my profile, so for now, just be aware it is a site that caters for all types of people. It is funny, entertaining and easy to navigate. I have been on for five days now and have enjoyed the whole thing.

I cannot deny that I am slightly disheartened by the lack of interest so far, but I think that may have something to do with my blatant love of Doctor Who. However, I feel it is necessary to have it out there because, frankly, you get me - you get the Doctor. That's how it works, folks.

So, each night this week, I have been perusing profiles, answering compatibility questions and adjusting my own profile. It's all been a bit of fun. It has eaten into my spare time though. Normally my evenings are spent either reading a book or watching DVDs in front of that old comfortable friend, the TV. This week it's been me, sat in my cold kitchen at my computer desk, typing away and proffering my soul to all and sundry in a desperate attempt to lure somebody into my heart.

I'm not unlovable (I hope) so I imagine there is somebody out there who isn't too much of a nymphomaniac, who likes quiet nights in, isn't allergic to cats, loves a good murder and will enjoy being whisked away in the TARDIS on regular occasions.

If they've got a nice willy, then that's a bonus! (tee hee)

Until the Night

2009-08-29T17:44:00.003+10:00

I'm feeling a little out of sorts today. I think it's the culmination of a few things.
For the past two weeks, I have been doing two jobs at the same time. I have been doing my regular sales role and I have also been covering for someone who is currently on long service leave.
The great thing is that I just love being busy and I thrive on it. The challenge of juggling various tasks actually gives me a bit of a buzz.
On the other hand, it has been rather exhausting and I have been very lethargic in the evenings.
The physicality of running between point A and point B has enabled me to keep my mind off other things which have been going on. Certain issues I am having have been filed away in a deep dark recess of my mind.

Last night when I got home, I kind of collapsed a bit. The two week frenzy came to a close and as my body began to ache with the delayed reaction of a hectic fortnight and the filing cabinet in my brain I had attempted to keep shut sprang open and I had
issues strewn all over the place in a most confusing manner.

Today, some of the emotional impact that I have been avoiding has struck me like a gale force wind and I have been driven askew. All at once, I am experiencing confusion, hurt, sadness and anger all at the same time. I thought I was a little stronger than this, but apparently, this isn't the case.

I am going out this evening to see my very good friend Michelle who will cheer me up with nice food, entertainment and superb company. Sometimes we have to wade through the pensive day to reach the release of the night. It is at times like this I was not keeping myself alcohol free as I feel a little nip of something might loosen my tension a little.

I apologise for this post being a little glum (and somewhat vague), but there are times when I just need to express myself (and yet remain cryptic).

Days

2009-08-22T09:45:00.004+10:00

This weekend marks the tenth anniversary of my arrival in Australia. Looking back to that time, I still find it incredible that I managed to get organised and financed in such a short space of time. It's all a bit of a blur to be honest. The decision was made, I got a credit card, applied for a visa, had a few issues with the passport (it turned up the DAY of the flight out - no kidding!) and all of a sudden, I was on a plane to Australia.

Prior to this massive upheaval in my life, I was working as an Assistant Manager of the wonderful Legend Cafe/Bar in Bournemouth on the south coast of England. I had been studying Screenwriting for Film and Television at the university and although my life wasn't exactly as I had once expected it to be (I certainly wasn't a television personality or film star as I had once hoped) I was reasonably happy with my lot.

Then, wham-bam, I was in Australia seeking employment. I had a handful of jobs before I settled down in the world of Penguin Books including working for Blockbuster Video, Angus & Robertson Bookworld and selling tickets for comedy shows in the street. The latter job was a tad painful, mainly because they made me shift a filing cabinet in the office and it fell on my hand and broke my little finger.

During my time in Australia, I have experienced some amusing things;

1. Being a door-greeter at Myer's Department Store where, in my naivety of the Australian colloquialism for 'linen' replied to the question "Can you tell me where Manchester is?" I replied "It's in the North of England!"

2. Australia is obsessed with big landmarks. The Big Banana, the Big Marino, the Big Pineapple, the Big Shrimp etc.
I am just waiting for KFC to erect the Big Cock.

3. Some country folk are a little peculiar. One of my clients to whom I was trying to sell Paul Davies' popular Science book How to Build a Time Machine, and she asked "Won't that encourage children to build bombs and go back in time?"

I do enjoy my life in Australia and I have made some superb friends whom I wouldn't exchange for anything (except, perhaps, a working TARDIS - sorry guys, but really... this is me we're talking about.) and they have all been so wonderfully supportive when I have been down or in trouble and been there by my side for the funnier and more bizarre times.

I do miss the UK a lot. The countryside, the greasy spoon cafes, the BBC... and I think if I won the lottery, I would move back, as long as I didn't have to work or eat Asda pasta ever again.

However, I am settled here now with my partner in crime, Fizzgig, whom I adore unconditionally.

Who knows what the next ten years will hold or where I will be in that time. All I know at this very moment is that, despite a few ups and downs, I wouldn't change a great deal. Maybe I wouldn't have had that night on the town where I was so off my face that I vocally berated a bunch of talentless drag queens before being dragged out of the pub by my elbow, but we all have our little indiscretions.

Treachery

2009-08-14T20:02:00.003+10:00

Goodness, gracious! It has been a couple of weeks since I last posted something in this bog, so I feel I ought to write something again. It is Friday evening and I have no plans. I am in an odd sort of mood and cannot decide upon doing anything, so I am doing silly things like playing on the internet and taking photos of myself out of sheer boredom. Sure, I could read or watch a DVD or something, but for some reason, I am just not in that sort of mood.

My friend Lisa came down from Queensland to visit and she has spent the last couple of days with me. We ate out a lot, walked around the city (we walked for about ten kilometres - probably more. Poor Lisa wasn't wearing the correct sort of footwear - ie 'Women's shoes' - and ended up with very sore feet. Whoops.
However, while we were out wandering through the abysmal non-food segment of Victoria Market (utter poo, let me tell you - all cheap rip-offs with sewn-in labels and tacky crap that only fools would buy!) and we kept bumping into some policemen. One of whom was very cute and I struck up a conversation with him hopefully persuading him that I was not stalking him. Lisa aided the conversation and we got into quite a discussion about legalities, jaywalking and sci-fi on DVD.

This rather handsome cop requested my details. He withdrew his little brown book and took my name - I gave him my card too so he could get my number. Now, is it normal for policemen to do this?

Well, tonight, after Lisa had gone on her way, I began getting text messages from an unknown number. I texted back and forth, unsure of whether it was this very copper. I am cautious at times like these and a little cynical. I wasn't convinced about who it was. I asked and they told me to guess. After a few flirty text messages back and forth, I put a theory to the test. I asked what his initials were - no response.

So, I think it was this - due to a post on facebook stating that I had given a policeman my number, someone thought it would be hilarious to pretend to be this tall, handsome long-arm-of-the-law and proceeded to play with my mind (and heart) by leading me on. However, not knowing the initials of the man lead me to conclude that this was the truth as everybody should know their own initials and I knew what the policeman's initials were having clocked the badge on his chest.
So, whoever it was trying to fuck with me, failed.

This just exacerbates my loathing of the human race. Some people are just plain evil and it depresses me that people would think it is fun to play with someone's emotions in such a way.
It must be someone who has my number and supposedly a friend. Who can say?

OK, I don't like to whinge too often as it just makes a very boring post to read. But I had to say something...

Head

2009-07-28T17:22:00.001+10:00

Over the past few weeks, I have been nipping back and forth to see various doctors in order to sort out a variety of troubles.

Firstly, there are the problematic vestibular migraines which plague my head by imitating javelin wounds and Waltzer dizziness.

So far, I have been prescribed two sorts of medication. Initially, I was on Sandomigran but one of the unfortunate side-effects was weight gain. I have enough body-image related issues, I certainly don’t need more.

I was then given Deralin and although there were no observed reactions apart from drowsiness, it simply didn't work to great effect.

Upon my last visit, the specialist explained that now we have discovered the previous two were unsuitable, I now qualified for Topomax (which is often prescribed for epileptics) and I was overjoyed when he told me one of the side-effects was weight loss. However, having written out the details, he announced that there was a very slim chance I could develop kidney stones. Ah. I've suffered from them before. I asked if this could be a problem and he scrunched up the paper and threw it away. I should have kept my mouth shut. I could cope with a bit of abdominal pain for less headaches and a slimmer waist, damn it!

He wrote out a new prescription, this time for Verapamil (Isoptin). Once again, drowsiness was likely, so I was not to operate any cranes or industrial vacuum cleaners but he added that there had been cases of people developing severe constipation. I had to speak out at this point. They don’t call me anally retentive just because of my obsession with plug-socket switches!

So, the waste paper basket's void grew smaller.
Finally, we opted for Endep, a drug which is also used to combat depression (as far as I gather) and I am now finding that they cause the most severe drowsiness than any other. Hopefully my body will adjust to this quickly as I can’t walk around like a lethargic zombie for the rest of my days.

Last night's jaunt was to see my regular (and beautiful) G.P. who is following up on a few other matters including this mad notion of me being 10kg overweight and with more cholesterol than a Scotsman's fried breakfast. I blurted out excuses as to why I hadn't lost any weight; conferences, birthday dinners, etc. but he didn't seem too phased and said it'd take time and I just needed to exercise more. I told him I'd bought some trainers… that’s a start, right?

I also broached the subject of my moles and warts. I have had various blemishes upon my person for many years but I have begun to get rather frustrated with them. The big mole on my inner right thigh was looking a little aggressive and oddly flaky, like an overcooked raspberry soufflé. When I dropped my trousers for him to see it, I was distressed at my choice of underwear for the day; green and blue stripy boxer briefs.

He said that he'd have to put liquid nitrogen on it. Golly, was I aroused? – It was a moment before I realised he was referring to the mole – He offered to do the same to my warts. I have five little bastards on my left hand and two on my right thumb. He opened the red vat which sat innocuously in the corner of the room and he scooped out some smoking liquid and poured it into a cup. It was all rather reminiscent of a Pan-galactic Gargle Blaster. Thankfully, I was not to drink it. With the aid of a small cotton bud, he proceeded to attack the mole with the liquid nitrogen and then the warts. My hands were sweating and I was slightly amused at how I was sitting, legs apart, trousers around my ankles with a gorgeous man swabbing my warts with a freezing substance. He looked at me and smiled. "There's no dignity when you visit the doctor, is there?" he said rhetorically and I laughed in accordance.

Hard to Believe

2009-07-22T17:27:00.001+10:00

Today, July 22nd, marks the 15th anniversary of me ‘coming out’. I for one dislike that term immensely but for ease I have opted to stick with the common jargon.
Fifteen years!
That’s quite a long time really.

I remember that day very well. Friday, 22nd July, 1994.
That year, I had left Bedford University after only two full terms. I had what one may call a bit of a nervous breakdown; just a little one, about the size of an egg cup.
My time in Bedford was not the most pleasant and my brain was trying to process various conflicting thoughts and yearnings. If truth were told, I’d admit freely that I had regular crushes on male celebrities from a very early age. I won’t admit to all of these crushes, but I will say that one of them was best friends with a gopher.

Back in 1994, I was (cliché warning) fighting a losing battle. I was in a severe state of denial. Oddly enough, everyone had already figured it out for themselves but sadly, no one broached the subject with me to tell me that everything was hunky-dory.

The day in question was as low a point as a carpet tack in a basement. I was sat at home in front of the television and ironing. Then I burnt myself with the iron. Yes, on purpose. It was one of those mad moments where you think ‘I wonder what would happen if…’ and goodness, it hurt. One does mad things when one is depressed, like eat an entire Sara Lee cheesecake, shave off half your beard or burn yourself with an iron.
Crying like a four year old in a sulk, I plunged a bag of frozen peas onto my forearm and then the phone rang. It was my good friend Jamie. Being the wise and cognizant chappie that he is, he latched onto my distress instantly and invited me over for a chat.
I had no money so taking a bus was out of the question. So, I walked.
For anyone unaware of the distance between the little village of Holloway to Lumsdale in Matlock, imagine a length of string and times it by the age of Elizabeth Taylor’s husbands added together… with a big hill in between

Two hours later, I arrived and I sat with Jamie and our friend Will as I battled with tears and namby-pamby emotions for about three hours until the big moment when, exasperated, they demanded to know what the hell was up.
I blurted it out:
“You know James Dean...?” I said.

Will rolled his eyes and let out an all-mighty ‘Ohhh!’ which was loaded with a dose of ‘is that what all the fuss is about’. The three of us then went out for a walk to get some fresh air and I was relieved that I hadn’t been condemned, whipped or shot.
The funniest thing was that curiosity lead to questions about who in Twin Peaks did I find attractive. (Yes, I did say Bobby Briggs, but also Leo Johnson, oddly.)

So that was the big reveal. Over the following weeks, I became braver at telling individual friends. Some I told in a straightforward manner, some through analogy, and some through interpretive dance. The common element was the reactions which were all kind and accepting.

So, what did the fifteen years that followed bring? Well, no one can say I’ve been a gay role-model as I have not really conformed to the stereotype. I was more ‘gay’ when I was in the closet than I was out. It was as if admitting the truth shamed me into behaving more docile. Sure, I could still be exuberant, but anyone who knew me at school will know I was rather flamboyant. For crying out loud, I dressed up as Frank N Furter from Rocky Horror on a number of occasions!

So, in the past fifteen years, I have only had two actual proper relationships. Yes, I have been on dates and a number of flings, but I have never been terribly confident to actively pursue people, preferring things to happen by accident rather than by making any sort of effort. (Gosh, I’m lazy!)

I have been single now for four years and I cannot deny there are times when I wish there was someone other than my cat to greet me upon my arrival home, to wrap their arms around me when I need comforting or to blame when someone’s left the toilet seat up. Despite this, I am mostly happy being single. I have good friends who love me for who I am and do not judge me for being a little bit mad or stupid at times.

If I could change who I am and flick a magical switch from ‘gay’ to ‘straight’, I probably would, but seeing as that is a pure fantasy, I accept the things I cannot change and will continue on living hopefully ever after.

All I Ever Wanted

2009-07-19T05:06:00.004+10:00

My friend Naomi bought me the most wonderful gift.

For those who are unaware, Reynholm Industries is the company featured in the utterly brilliant sitcom The IT Crowd, written by Graham Linehan. I had once mentioned to Naomi how cool it would be to own a mug as seen in the show - and 'hey bingo!' - now I own one...

Bless you Naomi!

Here Comes That Man Again

2009-07-09T06:07:00.003+10:00

I have rejoined Twitter.
The first time I was on was a while ago and I didn't last long. It all felt so futile as people were posting every four minutes about what they were doing:

I'm eating beans for dinner!
I just saw my reflection!
and
What's that over there?

...and the like.

However, I have dragged myself back as I think it is important to be at the forefront of social networking sites - especially seeing as I am applying for a job which revolves around such media.

I do enjoy Facebook a great deal and I have blogged on many different sites over the past decade. Twitter always seemed a little restricted and futile. That said, I can now see the potential for more important things such as work-related news and updates, touring information for bands, celebrity gossip... (er?)

To be a part of a revolution isn't quite so exciting as it used to be because nothing is as (dare I say 'elitist'?) unique or exclusive as they may have been not so long ago. Things no longer seem to have a cult following as the minority following is not so minor.
As the world's population and its technology expands, so will the creativity of the human mind and its need for social engagement. Something else will come along to replace Facebook and Twitter. We may become a little distressed as we struggle to catch up, but I hope to be there amongst the crowd, struggling to keep up with as much dignity as I can muster.

Falling for Faces

2009-07-04T11:54:00.002+10:00

Social websites are not for everybody. For the past ten years or so, I have been on and off various sites including Livejournal, Facebook, Twitter and even had my own personal website for a while too. I was only on Twitter for a very brief period as it just didn't suit me - it all seemed a little futile when I had my Facebook page upon which my status updates would be less frequent and slightly less banal.

During this decade of online presence, I had been through varying degrees of emotional stability and when I have been very low, the world wide web has not felt like the safest place to inhabit and share my darkest, deepest thoughts. On these occasions, I have opted to partake in an exodus and have wiped out complete blogs. However, there are also days when I absolutely love exhibiting myself like an online whore as it gives me a sense of fame for a short time. I think Andy Warhole was right about those not-so-elusive 15 minutes of fame.

There are pitfalls in the world of cyberspace blogging. One of these is the construction of paranoia which threatens to envelop those who are more sensitive to the tribulations of human fickleness.
When on facebook, there is the constant worry regarding whether or not people are 'hiding' you or not. Believe me, I am not naive to the fact that I will be hidden by a number of people - those of us who are more prolific do have a tendancy to annoy those who see their newsfeed cluttered with time-wasting rubbish. The sad thing is, once they've hidden you from their newsfeed, they tend to forget you were ever there in the first place.

Then there are those who become friends of just anyone they can possibly find - usually those whom they find attractive and thus believe these porn-star models are slightly more attainable. When you think about it, it's all rather tragic. Goodness, I am not criticising those who do; I attempt to become friends with some celebrities in the vain hope that they'll think I'm marvellous and then I might become one of their elite circle of friends. It's hilarious how we fool ourselves in this way.

Then there is the 'Become a Fan' phenomenon'. I understand people becoming a fan of people, bands, films, TV shows and even chocolate bars... but becoming a fan of 'sleeping', 'breathing' or 'licking stamps' is veering on the edge of insanity. Actually, I am now thinking how mad it is becoming a fan of chocolate. Next people will become a fan of 'nice stuff'. How about becoming a fan of 'being kicked in the balls'? You know, just to shake things up a bit.

Facebook does have its nay-sayers, but I have to say that I love it. I love the way it has reconnected me with so many of my old school/college friends. I love how people will respond to something on facebook when they would never be arsed to reply to an email. It's a way of interaction which is more fun than posting a letter. Those who are scared or appalled by it are a little misguided in my opinion. I am not saying that everyone should partake, but at least they should understand why it can be a very healthy hobby.

That said... if the world becomes a place where nobody goes outdoors ever again and the only way we communicate is via a keyboard, I would like to thumb a lift with the next passing spaceship.
My advice to everyone is, keep booking your face, keep twittering and keep blogging - just don't forget that the human condition is maintained by physical interaction and verbal communication.

Touch Me

2009-06-17T18:05:00.002+10:00

Oh, my!

I have developed a serious crush on my doctor. I was there again this evening and it was merely a check up to see how I am going on my medication (My blood pressure has dropped from 117 to 104 - that's quite a drop!) and to check my general health.
The doc is quite concerned about the prescription given by the hospital. He thinks it's too strong, but we will continue with it for a few more weeks and hope I get accustomed to it.
Anyway, we chatted about health, exercise. He weighed me, measured me (height, you filthy minded people!) (I am 87kg and 177cm - I could have sworn I was 178+!!)

Well, we ended up discussing all sorts of things including the gym, my relationship status (god, that's facebook talk, isn't it?) and the fact I haven't dated for over a year. I mentioned how I'd love to be as fit as he is. *blush* I mean, could I make it more obvious? I am utterly hopeless at flirting, but I don't think I could make it any plainer without leaning in for a kiss!

Let me describe him; he is reasonably tall, slim, broad chest, Asian, with a beautiful smile and a pleasant demeanour.

OK. I shall stop swooning over him now. I imagine he has this effect on most of his patients.

*GET A GRIP, BEN!*

Am I Right?

2009-06-10T17:25:00.002+10:00

I would like a pair of underpants with the slogan ‘may contain traces of nuts’ printed on them.
I wish God had designed us properly. Why can’t we just poo out the fat with the other unwanted waste?
I become perplexed at the continuity announcer’s ability to make ‘Home & Away’ sound exciting or try to make me watch ‘Masterchef’ by saying “Sticky Date Pudding” in a dramatic way.
I think people who torture animals should be punished by having the same things done to them – a fire cracker for a fire cracker!
I sometimes think of myself as a good person but occasionally slip into a world of schadenfreude.
I don’t like gay people who berate bisexuals. They seem to be hypocritical bigots.
I love pigs but they are so bloomin’ tasty. I tried to be a vegetarian once – it lasted three days as I just had to have a pork sausage roll!
I hate cat-haters more than cat-haters hate cats.
I should have been on ‘Big Brother’. I’d have been great. Kicked off quickly, admittedly… but still great!
I hate bullies. School bullies, thugs, Mafia types and Gordon Ramsay.
I love the way Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter all have six letters. I hate the way Americans call ‘Autumn’ ‘Fall’ as it ruins the fun.
I love the words ‘Acerbic’, ‘lackadaisical’ and ‘hyperbole’.
I hate the words ‘Residue’, ‘Gotten’ and ‘Scrotum’.
I say ‘Scone’ to rhyme with ‘Cone’ not ‘Gone’ – It’s only ‘Scon’ when there’s none left!
I think childhood innocence should be protected. Let’s start from disallowing ‘Condom Kingdom’ stores from opening in high streets.
I think Carrie Prejean answered the question correctly (even if I do not agree with her views). It was Perez Hilton who was being ignorant. Tosser!
I believe that in today’s technologically advanced world, we should be able to watch any TV show off any TV channel whenever we want - legally (I’d pay!). It’d be great to shove the finger up at the advertising agencies.
I think ‘Australia’s Funniest Home Videos’ should just be called ‘Videos’ because they aren’t all Australian, they aren’t all home movies and they aren’t funny.
I want the world to know that plurals don’t warrant an apostrophe.
I try to be open minded, I really do, but this ‘pregnant man’ malarkey is mental! If ‘he’ still has all the baby-making parts, he is not yet a man – sorry. STILL A WOMAN!

Wrong Again

2009-06-09T06:45:00.003+10:00

Call me fickle, but I have just deleted my account on that dating website.
I'm sorry, but it was attracting the wrong sort of people. It all felt rather salacious and that doesn't suit me.
If I can find a better website to place a profile, then maybe I will try again. But this particular choice was just not me. Alas.

Yes, I do go on about how I am happy being single and I am - but there are days when I could do with the shoulder to cry on, the comfort of someone who loves me unconditionally and the happiness that love can bring. Just yesterday I was missing being able to make breakfast in bed for someone.

Somehow, that particular website didn't seem like the sort of place I'd find someone who'd still be around for breakfast.

Onward and upward! Keep on truckin' - and other positive cliches!

Free World

2009-06-08T18:51:00.004+10:00

As I write this, the long weekend (in aid of the Queen's birthday - well, one of 'em) draws to a close and it has been a very pleasant time.
Saturday was jam-packed with pie-making (as chronicled previously) and TV viewing with friends. I am so pleased we got all the way through season two of Pushing Daisies. Nola and Kirsten quit at episode 11, but Naomi, Michelle and I saw it through to the beautiful end.

Sunday and Monday have been incredibly quiet and relaxing. I nipped out first thing on Sunday in order to buy some fruit and some vegetables for my healthy 'Ripley Salad'* as the Doctor has told me to try and lower my cholesterol.
As soon as I returned, I said to my cat; "Right, that's it Fizzgig! I am not going out of that door for at least another 45 hours!" (this being at 9am and I predict I'll be out and about some time after 6am on Monday)

I spent time sitting about in my PJs reading and watching the final season of Quantum Leap (not the best season, frankly, and it's appalling that the last screen shot spells Sam Beckett's name incorrectly! Madness!) and I also played around on iTunes being a complete geek and making sure all albums were inputted correctly. Jeepers - I am a bit O.C.D. at times.

As you know (or probably do by now) I have been celibate for some time now, but I am not averse to looking for the right partner. On a complete whim, I decided this weekend to put a new profile on one of those dating websites. I freely admit that I tend to dislike those sites as 99% of people who use them are after only one thing - and you don't need me to spell it out for you.
When someone's initial question to you is 'Top or Bottom?' or ask about the size of my penis, they will get ignored instantly. Don't get me wrong, I do not condemn those who do use these sites for near-instant sexual gratification, but my profile is fairly straight forward and I do not post pictures of my naked torso for fear of making people vomit onto their keyboards - imagine trying to pick the chunks out from between the keys with a cotton-bud?
The thing is, these sites make me horribly uncomfortable - it is quite unnerving for me to lay myself so open to people's scrutiny and the process of doing it made me quite ill and I had to rush to the toilet with nervous release. I have this same reaction when I know I have to drive a car. I don't know why, but some things just give me the shits - literally!

Anyway, the profile is up and it paints a rather dull/nice portrait of a man who is not overtly keen on the more flamboyant aspects of gay life and would much rather stay in with a pot of tea.
I don't imagine I will attract many people, but if the right person is out there who is also seeking a bit of companionship and enjoys the works of Alfred Hitchcock and Agatha Christie then, who knows...

So, that's been my long weekend. Pies, books, DVDs, iTunes, PJs and profiles. It's a free world!

*Ripley Salad
Spinach leaves
Beetroot
Carrot
Celery
cocktail onions
feta cheese
red, green & yellow capsicum peppers

Happy

2009-06-06T12:05:00.015+10:00

This morning, I have been preparing the pies for this afternoon's Pushing Daisies marathon.

After sifting the flour, I added the butter...

Which I then turned to breadcrumbs...

Then I added the sugar and lemon zest...

and after mixing in eggs, was able to make a dough.

Then, with the trusty old rolling pin, made the bases for the pies.

Then, I filled the pies with the fruit.
One with pears (and vanilla essence)...

...and one with plums and rhubarb.

Then, I had to do the lids. I made a lid for the Pear pie with grated Gruyere on top.

et, voila!

I wanted a lattice effect for the Rhubarb pie, so made some pastry strips.

Now, both pies are in the oven. I shall post pictures of the finished pies later.

I am happy with how it went as I haven't baked pies in over a decade! The proof will be in the eating though.

Walk Right Back

2009-06-05T18:19:00.004+10:00

Today was the sponsored walk and we had a jolly entertaining time.
I was in a team with my friends Ryan and Nola and we were 'The Pie-Hos' in honour of Pushing Daisies. I was sad enough to make up name badges so we could 'be' the characters. I was Ned, Nola was Chuck and Ryan was Digby.

We managed to do the 8km in just over an hour and we had a good laugh whilst doing it.
As this was a company wide event, we raised over $8,000 (not all of which was calculated on the donation website as some of this money raised was through registration) and the total is expected to rise over the next week.
I am proud to say that I raised pretty close to a $1,000 all on my own. I'm not usually one to blow my own trumpet, but here I think it's deserved.

Lunch was provided and it was well-earned and I scoffed down a good number of wonderfully tasty sandwiches and a load of fruit.
The afternoon was back to the old grindstone but there was one last chore of the day.

A couple of days ago, I placed a note on the communal 'fridge in our area stating that anything not removed by Friday afternoon would be thrown out before the long weekend. At 4:30, I tackled the job. I needed a Haz-Mat suit. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought Swine 'flu originated from that refrigerator and not Mexico.

There were some seriously dead muppets in various containers. I emptied these vile furry monstrosities into the bin and washed out the tubs. Not the most pleasant experience, but somebody had to do it. Then I gave the whole thing a good wipe out.

Anyway, I'm home now - a little exhausted but I am really looking forward to tomorrow. It's 'Pie Day' and I have some friends coming over for a Pushing Daisies season two marathon. I'm baking some pies!!

Just One Look

2009-06-04T17:30:00.003+10:00

The free newspaper issued at train stations around Melbourne, 'MX', is nothing more than a form of entertainment during the tedious commute between home and work.
Sometimes I find myself chuckling over the readers' comments in 'Vent Your Spleen' or I shake my head over the reportage regarding so-called 'celebrities' who are usually famous for showing their fannies when drunk.
However, every now and again, MX (with its tongue planted in the cheek) can come out with an absolute cracker of a headline.
The other night (Tuesday I think it was) they were covering the recent news regarding Dick Cheney's stance on homosexual marriage.
Their headline read:

Dick sticks up for gays.

Well, if ever there was a genuine 'Laugh Out Loud' moment whilst reading MX, this was it.

Over the past week, I have also noticed a lot more attractive people on the trains. I was trying to figure out if there always have been attractive people surrounding me or is it more to do with the fact I am hornier than ever lately and I am finding the majority of human beings around me 'shaggable'. This is cause for concern for someone who is battling with celibacy!
I find myself taking peeks at people, staring at their legs, arms, any exposed flesh... and then their lips! Cripes! Lips! I haven't snogged anyone for over a year. How sad is that.
Do these people notice me taking a look, checking them out? Is anyone checking me out?
Oddly, since growing a beard, I have had a fair few compliments from colleagues and friends. My good friend Mersina even described me as 'handsome' (bless her!)

I certainly hope my fellow commuters do not look upon me as a perverted voyeur, but, if you're going to be sexy, you're going to have to put up with being stared at.
All these voluptuous curvy ladies and the well-defined men... I don't know which way to turn! Ah, the beauty of the human body!

Fabulous Garden

2009-06-03T17:24:00.001+10:00

Today, I received season two of Pushing Daisies on DVD through the post. I had ordered five sets – one for me and the others for friends. I have been a forthright advocate of the series since mid-2007 when I saw the pilot and have converted a good number of people to the wonders of the show. In fact, a few of us are getting together on Saturday for a ‘Pie Day’ and we’ll be watching as many episodes of season two as we can possibly cram in whilst eating some home-made pie. (I am making pear pie with Gruyere baked into the crust!)

To my mind, it is the most refreshing and delightful show to come out of America in years and it is a travesty that it was cancelled mid-way through season two. Apparently, the television executives would rather put on more of those tedious talent shows. Alas.

Despite winning three Emmys during the first season and gaining critical acclaim worldwide, the show was to see an early grave.

Turn My Motor On

2009-06-02T17:23:00.002+10:00

Anyone who knows me well will know that I do not have the highest sex-drive in the history of the human race. Whereas a lot of people would quite happily shag on a twice-daily basis, I'd much rather curl up on the settee with a nice mug of Yorkshire Gold tea and watch a Fred & Ginger movie

This is why it has been so easy to maintain a life of celibacy. Admittedly, I haven't exactly had to barricade my door from an army of unwanted suitors - I have often wondered if I am entirely lacking in pheromones and thus secrete no sexual allure - but it is also a choice on my part.

I cannot tell exactly how long it has been since I have enjoyed the company of a fellow human in an act of ferocious abandon but I do know it has been long enough to forget. I made 'celibacy' one of my New Year's resolutions. This way, no one could justly laugh in my face for being the shagless one. Now they can do it subtly behind my back.

The only problem is, there is something awakening inside me. I am beginning to get urges. I am beginning to feel like an elastic band stretched taught and ready to hurtle across the room toward an unsuspecting victim. It's like I am having an uncontrollable sugar rush.

Is this what nuns feel like on a daily basis? No wonder they sing! It's a way of screaming in tune!

It's getting to be embarrassing. After returning home from seeing my doctor last night I realised I was getting a bit of a crush on him. While he was taking my blood pressure I was daydreaming about all sorts of things. Well, what was I supposed to do - he's cute, fit and a doctor! La de da.

So, is this what celibacy is going to be like for me? A continual urge to frolic? Or will I have to give up the second of my three New Year's resolutions? Firstly my diary got covered in tandoori chicken sauce, so that threw that effort out of the window - now this… and I doubt I'll be able to stay sober for much longer.

Whatever happened to will power?

Other People's Hearts

2009-06-02T12:29:00.002+10:00

The first attempt at this post earlier this morning was fraught with emotion and a general grumpy mood. I deleted it for fear of offending anyone and have redesigned the notions in the form of a poem. How utterly pretentious of me! Huzzah!

A Tale of Self-Pity and Confusion.

The Book of Love is a riddle to me,
An emotional enigma,
A curious quandary,
Sudoku sex, a palpitating stigma.

I witness others practise love
Bemused, I feel exclusion.
Experiment, I document;
Apparatus, method, conclusion.

My heart doth lie within a maze,
Walls perform their dances.
Intrepid scouts who seek the prize,
Are spurned in their advances.

The ethics of love, a protocol,
I stumble and I fall.
A barricade of untold law,
Society’s secret wall.

Cupid mocks my eager heart,
His laughter burns my soul.
Deep within a void exists,
Incomplete: my whole.

Those confident, heads aloft,
They swagger with aplomb.
Emulate, I cannot do,
I refuse to feign the con.

So paranoid, I lay to sleep,
Clichés so often cited.
In my dreams I find the one
A love less unrequited.

Quietly Alone

2009-06-01T06:09:00.002+10:00

It is now Monday morning and I have had a very peaceful weekend. Friday evening, I had my friends Michelle and Naomi over to watch Miss Pettigrew Lives For a Day. We also had a good old chinwag and ate pizza. Oh, my waistline will never revert to its skinnier form at this rate!

Saturday and Sunday were very quiet. I was up early both days due to a) my natural body clock and b) a persistent hungry cat. With no plans arising, I was able to catch up on some reading, do some chores around the house and lie back on the settee watching DVDs (particularly episodes of Quantum Leap and Star Trek - confirming the geek within.)

I only ventured out once and that was on Sunday around lunchtime in order to get some provisions from the supermarket, mainly ingredients for the salad I make for my work lunches (spinach, beetroot, cocktail onions, celery, carrot, capsicum/pepper and feta cheese).
Oddly for my supermarket, there was a rather jovial ambiance amongst the customers. I usually go first thing in the morning when it's quiet and I am armed with an iPod to shut out the majority of noises, but this time, none of my senses were hindered and they were being stimulated in various ways. The person who served me was incredibly upbeat and chatty. His name was Israel. I think it must have been his first day - I imagine if I see him next week, he'll be morose. I shouldn't be so mean though - there is one woman there called Esther - an Amazonian Jew (if there ever was such a type) and she is remarkably jovial and I often have a talk with her when we meet.

The other thing I did this weekend was incredibly nerdy. I was reloading various CDs onto my iTunes but making sure all the correct details were applied in the 'info' box including the 'sorting' specifications. What a laborious task! Still, it is satisfying when one completes the job. I will continnue to do this slowly over time doing one artist or band at a time.

So, that was my quiet weekend. I do enjoy my own company and I often imagine what it would be like to live in a world inhabited solely by me. Watching the Star Trek episode 'Metamorphosis' last night put me in mind of a utopian world in which I could be perfectly happy... but then I imagine I'd probably go insane too. Whoops, too late.

I am fully aware that this is not the most interesting subject matter for a post, but I assure you that future posts will most likely have a little bit more to get your teeth into (or 'eyes into'?)
Forgive this dull post and blame it on the early morning mind.

Tread Lightly

2009-05-31T17:47:00.000+10:00

I am by no means a novice to the art of 'blogging' as I have posted various journals elsewhere online. Sometimes they have had reasonable lifespans and others have been still-born. This one may be the beginning of something more durable than those of the past and I hope it is of interest to somebody, somewhere in the world.

My posts will vary between random reviews of films, books and TV shows and the occasional rant about the state of human nature. There will be occasional jokes, pretentious ponderings and maybe even a picture or two. Time will only tell.

I understand people may possibly want to comment upon my various ramblings so I just might take things carefully to begin with and tread lightly.
Let us see where this goes...