Readers, I am back in London. I have exchanged Xmas greetings with the entire family and incidentally scored two Friends points. Thanks to M&D for hosting the whole thing and patiently enduring everyone’s casual ingratitude.
Tomorrow I am making roast turkey dinner (stop laughing) for Little G and then we are into my absolute most favourite part of the holiday season, the part immediately around New Year, where you can kick back and relax and assess your options.
As the Christmas Angels programme suddenly crashed, taking me out of the dating game until mid-March 2014, and as I have eaten a disgusting amount of chocolate biscuits this Xmas and am bulging out all over, it is clear to me that I need a new mission, and what that mission should be. If I have to live like a nun for the next 10-12 weeks, well okay. I know how to do that. We’ve done it before, like when I had months of dental work. I will take this opportunity to attend church, I mean the gym, religiously every single day and I will not be tempted by romantic pursuits. If I do this and I now have no reason not to, I will be so buff by the middle of March. Just in time for spring. So that is the plan. Gym every day. Clean eating, clean living. Maybe get my teeth bleached. Maybe I will even have time to do some Chinese as well.
Welcome to the new regime. There is one turkey dinner between me and it.
Sing along now, do.
Notorious BIG ft. Too Short & Puff Daddy: The World Is Filled (1997)
Chinese-Speaking Angel, my favourite and by far the most beautiful Angel of them all, just texted me to find out about my availability. God damn it. I gave him the address of this blog and told him that right here is all the information he could possibly want about my current circumstances.
Welcome, baby. Happy reading. I can’t have sex with you until March but yes please, I still really, really want some Chinese lessons. I’m just trying to do the responsible thing here. Let me know how you feel about that. I appreciate that this is Srs Bizness and I don’t know if I could be arsed with it at 22. I did get you a present, by the way, if that helps.
My Xmas tree.
Fail. I still have so much work on and I am starting to think that I will be very, very lucky indeed to get the house clean enough to let visitors in, never mind getting the damn tree out of that plastic crate.
My super exciting Xmas dating plans.
Fail. So annoying. As you know, the other day I had to piss on a stick and you might have guessed this was because there was an Incident involving a condom, or lack thereof. I am not pregnant, which is great, but the current state of play as of now is that I am in between HIV tests and I can’t have any sex for three months so as not to muddle up the results. I am really extremely pissed off about that as I was not the one being negligent. This is what you get for having sex with men. I should know better.
So what I have been doing is working and feeling aggrieved. I need a plan. In fact, two plans.
(a) Plan for Xmas. God damn. It is going to happen whether I like it or not. I need to clean my house and book train tickets.
(b) Plan for the next three months of enforced celibacy. (Did I mention that I am hopping mad about this. I am hopping mad.) My plan is to go back to the gym as soon as possible and be there every day. Go back to swimming. I can swim again now. I am still a bit deaf but the doctor says it is probably a blocked Eustachian tube and I can get back in the pool now. Maybe I will even be able to fit in some Chinese as well. Possibly not with the help of Chinese-Speaking Angel. Jesus tap-dancing christ, I am so massively pissed off about the whole thing.
In other news, I am a fat fucker, which is all the more reason to get back in the gym. All I need is to pass the next, most immediate, massive work deadline and then I can dedicate three months to sculpting my beautiful non-pregnant, HIV-free body.
Merry goddamn Christmas.
I have nearly finished packing and the taxi to take me to the airport isn’t for hours, so we are all OK. In fact, I am so far ahead of schedule that I have time to watch re-runs of Ally McBeal while getting my stuff together. I used to love that show in the 90s and now I remember why. Bloody hell. The amount of totty. Even though it is getting on for 3am right now, I really had to come online specifically to show you this clip. Here we see Whipper (that would be the blonde character, played by gorgeous Dyan Cannon, really rocking it so hard at 60, I hope I look like that in 15 years) and Renee (played by Lisa Nicole Carson) interviewing men for a job at their new law firm.
I just had to show you because it reminded me so much of TLYW Christmas Angels. Don’t miss the guy 48 seconds in who wags his finger. It made me go “Oh my god” out loud. Out loud. And that is why I used to watch this show. Look: youtu.be/AvB6bFCRg2c
Great tune as well, isn’t it? Here it is in full.
Smashmouth: Walking On The Sun (1997)
I have spent so much time in skyscraper heels recently that I can now walk around comfortably in them. Only about three weeks ago, any footwear other than ergonomically designed trainers felt upsetting to my feet.
Was supposed to work tonight. Didn’t. Put on a pair of my favourite heels (see picture), my cerise silk cocktail dress that wowed Marcel this time last year, and went to a party with Sayed. It was cool. We had a nice time. He is a sweet man really and we care for each other but he is all kinds of neurotic and inexperienced and is full of anxiety and is particularly terrified of me, which is perhaps as it should be. So many issues. I don’t know if I even have the patience to detangle him. He needs it, but do I really have the interest or the energy? I’m thinking not. He needs too much work doing. Anyway, we had a nice evening and I looked fairly gorgeous, especially around the ankles, and we made a very handsome and stylish couple. I always liked being out with Sayed, he dresses beautifully and is tall and is still very attractive at 60. Also we saw Sayed’s best friend, who I haven’t seen in 15 years and who greeted me with great affection and kept coming over during the evening to put his arm around my shoulders and stroke my hair, which was amusing, because in those shoes I am well over a foot taller than he is.
Meanwhile, my phone was busy with messages. Hungarian Boy emailed me and is being deferential, because he is a little tart who wants a present. Also there was a conversation with that Middle Eastern Angel from the other night. You know the one. The rich one who is just like Sayed except younger and with more of an appetite for punishment. We need to give him a name, let’s call him Faisal, after Faisal Antar, the footballer. He certainly has the body for it. So Faisal would like some more of my attention. And I am kinda thinking about it, I cannot lie. I am considering it. But now we are on a countdown because the amount of time between now and getting on a plane is turning into hours rather than days and I have a shitload of things to do. I can’t be sitting about texting boys and chatting to you all night long. I might even have to cancel the Angel that I had lined up for tomorrow.
There, that took my mind off the Head Honcho, didn’t it.
A quick midnight post because I need to play a tune. I managed to have a night off from work, which was much needed and very welcome. I met a Lebanese Angel who was quite young for his age and was one of that extremely rare breed of people that I occasionally meet who do not fancy me. It’s hard to believe, I know. An old friend of mine said earlier today that his brother, who I recently met, likes me. ‘Yeah,’ I said, looking satisfied. ‘Everybody likes me.’
Nearly everybody. The Head Honcho has gone quiet. Let’s have some Marc Almond while we are waiting.
I love and respect Marc Almond. As an artist, he completely wears his heart on his sleeve, with no shame. Everything is revealed. You feel as though, if you broke up with him, he would lie down in your front garden, crying and getting snot all down his face and singing desperate love songs until you came back to him. I totally believe reports that the whole of the album Non-Stop Ecstatic Dancing was written and recorded under the influence of MDMA.
Ready to sing along? I promise you, you are going to want to, as he becomes increasingly unstable near the end of the song. Plus, don’t miss the synthesised steel drums. A little heartbreak at Christmas time. Beautiful.
oh baby, what can I do when I still love you? / what can I say when I still want you? / won’t you come back?
Soft Cell: What (1982)
I am so glad I went out and had five minutes of fun, because work is kicking my ass again. I just pulled yet another all-nighter. It is always like this right before Xmas, for no good reason except that my business clients urgently want to feel like they’ve accomplished something before the year ends, which they achieve easily enough by passing the buck to me.
While I am having a good moan, I will observe that I obviously have not been to the gym, of course I haven’t. I wouldn’t be able to swim, in any case, because my ears are still broken and I’m not supposed to get water in them. (Seriously. Three weeks later, I still have significant hearing loss. So if you were thinking of taking up swimming … yeah.)
The good part is that there is upcoming travel. In fact, I should do some laundry and pack a suitcase. Maybe I can use the gym at the hotel while I am away.
I told Hungarian Boy and Chinese-Speaking Angel that I would bring them back a present. Hungarian Boy is shamelessly materialistic, this being perhaps his least attractive quality, and Chinese-Speaking Angel deserved something, in my view, to lure him back after I cruelly abandoned him at the tube station the other night. I would not decline a bit of physical comfort from either one of them right now, but work says no. Work says I have to wait. Sucks. Where is the Head Honcho when you need him? I would have benefited from some of his attention while I was up working all night, but he is nowhere to be seen.
I think that’s all the news. I might go and sleep for an hour or two now before it all starts up again.