Top
Nonsense
These We have Loved
BLOGADOON
latest
next week
previous week
first week
Links
Responses to:
blogadoon@iansie.com
º February 5th-February 11th 2001
Sunday Esprit
Saturday So many men
Friday Izzy wizzy
Thursday Urban nightmares
Wednesday Eat this blog
Tuesday Quizzlet
Monday Matty
º Sunday 11th February 2001
"Contemporary British television is a complacent dog licking its own testicles in the hot cathode sun." Now that's what I call criticism: Will Self writing about Channel 4's "Boy Meets Girl" in today's Independent.
Speaking of which, I had a night in yesterday (cashlesse oblige) and, channel-flipping mid-evening, thought I'd found a new comedy series fronted by fresh-faced twenty-somethings, all awkwardly earnest and pseudo-sincere, ho ho.
But no, it was the BBC News.
L'esprit d'escalier: literally, 'the spirit of the staircase' - that moment as you leave when you realise what you should have said back there. As in: they say, "I don't have a problem talking to people of your generation" and you wish you'd said: "Just as I have no problem talking to complete assholes".
º Saturday 10th February 2001
Encountered at Bar Code last night: Sharon, the Minkered one, an MA in Water Management, Roger (somewhat emotional, bless), Darren, little Steve, a foetal pathologist, Brent (no, not the borough), Robert (ex Comptons Cafe), FT Paul, Simon (in a mood), another Simon (you know you want me), Curtis, Matthew, Wayne...and a gorgeous Brazilian with been-to-bed eyes, yum.
º Friday 9th February 2001
M. Minky may think he has cornered the market in strange dreams, but check this: I dreamed that uber-asshole Kelvin McKenzie and gay-peer Lord Alli announced they were going to co-operate to launch a gay radio station called, this is the best bit, Purple Radio. Oh no, hang on, it's all true.
Izzy wizzy let's get busy? St Isidore poised to become patron saint of computers. Now we'll know who to blame.
Can't say I've ever been a great fan of Brief Encounter, despite it's pioneering role as one of London's earliest cruise bars. The last time I was in there, it was crowded with besuited sleazeballs and rentboy wannabes - drawn by the name, no doubt.
Nevertheless, I popped in again last night (reasons unstated) and, my, what a change. No more than twenty customers in all, divided equally between the basement bar, the main bar and the toilet (I assume the last third had stopped to buy a beer first but that's by no means certain).
Nothing that floated my boat much, except for one guy who steamed in and seemed to catch my eye; five minutes later, he was in a steamy embrace with a drunk on the staircase. Hmmph.
Lord knows, I'm no stranger to casual sex but this was a level beyond that. Casualty sex?
So I didn't stay long - no more than a couple of hours. Still managed to get my pocket picked though. Hmmmmph.
Listening to- Soft Cell: Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret & The Art of Falling Apart.
You think Husqvarna has a sponsorship deal on the cute boy's chainsaw?
º Thursday 8th February 2001
Worst Urban-lifestyle Nightmares?
Central heating (slash air-con) breakdown
I have undergone (and, yay, overcome) each of the above in the space of the last three weeks. So what should I look out for next? Typhoon? Plague? Prohibition? Suggest something.
º Wednesday 7th February 2001
Appallingly slack reaction to my mini-quiz yesterday - but, hey, I'm a fiver less worse off than I could have been.
¶ Boris 'Yours-Is-Yum' Becker (who fronts an underwear brand and is claiming that a woman gave him a blow-job and then used his, ah, ejaculate to fertilise herself).
¶ Condoleezza 'Olive Oil' Rice (George Bush's new National Security Advisor and former Chevron Oil director, currently discussing US plans to revive the Star Wars missile defence plan with British Foreign Secretary Robin Cook).
¶ The 'Turkey Votes for Christmas' Mufti of Jerusalem (just one of many Palestinian authority figures now being quoted as welcoming a Sharon victory because it will alienate hitherto pro-Israeli opinion in the west).
USA Today yesterday quoted US security officials as claiming that Osama bin Laden and other terrorists hide maps and photographs of potential targets in sports chat rooms, on pornographic bulletin boards and other websites. They declined to give ((xL |LYh=X"+Ľ ZfQFgY .Q8n c _!3(X@ @ [02B Jj@S 4 %Y Sj 5d' zVhF ` x~a*)) the names of the sites, however.
Sharon secures crushing victory.
º Tuesday 6th February 2001
Three answers that might figure in tonight's Pop Quiz:
¶ Here With Me
¶ Inner-spin
¶ Snoop Dogg
And three questions that won't:
¶ He's big in underwear but his genes are all over the place since Angela Ermakova allegedly stole his sperm. Who?
¶ A woman with an oil-tanker named after her is currently starring in the latest Star Wars revival. Who?
¶ Say what you like about that Hitler, but at least you know where you stand - political figurehead welcomes Sharon victory as revealing his enemies "for what they are". Who?
A fiver to the first person to press the hand-written answers to these three questions into my hot little hand tonight.
º Monday 5th February 2001
My resolve to get a digital camera was strengthened mightily by Matty's 30th birthday at The Royal Vauxhall Tavern, not least by the sight of fifteen gay men in identical t-shirts crammed into the toilet, prior to swarming out to sing Happy Birthday to Matthew at the bar. (Not the only rendition: Dame Edna was kind enough to lead the audience through another during her act - a rendition that earnt her a shower of tulips from the Vauxhall Massive.)
I've never been one for uniform at the best of times, so it was quite a revelation to me to find myself part of this t-shirted hive-mind: for the first part of the afternoon, my eyes moved from t-shirt to t-shirt noting those few faces that I didn't recognise, for the last part my glance was skating across the t-shirters in search of fresh meat. (Which is not to say that I wouldn't be up for some shirt-lifting with of one or two of them - you know who you are.)
Lord only knows what the RVT's other customers made of it all: as someone (maybe David) said: when you're out on your own and see a crowd like us you think "what a bunch of prats" but, as I said, when you're part of that bunch of prats, my dear, you really couldn't give a toss.
Certainly those few faces that were brave enough to cross our path on the dance floor seemed to do so with all the trepidation of minnows caught amidst a school of sharks - understandable, given that the celebrations started in Bar Code on Friday evening and had been moving steadily forward all weekend. (And given the haircuts, whoever it was that said we looked like a convention of Holocaust survivors wasn't so far off the mark, I guess.)
An evening of dirty laughter, drunken debauch and drug-fucked lurv, a night of raucous glee and mumbled revelation, a celebration of all the mindless joys that bind us: I was privileged to be there - thank you Matthew for being 30, and thank you Andy and Alex for making it happen.
......previous week
