November 8th 2004 - November 14th 2004
Sunday Who's sorry now
Saturday Heading for trouble
Friday Whine
Thursday King of my heart
Wednesday Mums the word
Tuesday How gay
Monday Oxton
Sunday 14th November 2004
Ok, it's not enough to make up for Bush's win - but it's a start
Saturday 13th November 2004
Local papers often have to make hard decisions about what to carry on their front page, with local news stories often being preferred to major developments in national or international news. Thus it was that the Derby Evening Telegraph, on the day that the world learnt of the decapitation of Ken Bigley, chose to carry a story about a local educational furore, headlined: Campaign for head's return
Friday 12th November 2004
Unbelievable research claim of the month
Four out of five Britons keep their homes permanently stocked with their favourite wines, according to a survey by Marks & Spencer.
In your dreams.
Thursday 11th November 2004
Every so often, I remind myself I ought to have a boyfriend - to look after me in my old age, if nothing else. And, once in a while, I think I really should try harder to appreciate the merits of men my own age. But suitable candidates are so rare...
Hello though, who's this attractive 51 year old?
A graduate of the academy of musical art of Prague (where he moved when just 9 years old), he also studied cinematography before becoming a professor of classical dance in Paris.
More recently, he worked for Unesco, where he concentrated on the issue of stolen art works.
A gentle, self-effacing man, his qualities should not be under-estimated: "He's certainly no fool," said one colleague. "There might be some surprises if people think of him as a soft touch."
He speaks five languages. He supports gay marriage. And, to no one's great surprise, he's single. ("He loves women as his sisters" says his devoted mother.)
Anything else to recommend him? Oh yes. He's the king of Cambodia.
Wednesday 10th November 2004
My letter-box rattles (I don't have a door-bell).
I lurk about in the shadows, trying to spot some clues about who wants me, without confirming that I'm in.
The top of the caller's head is only just visible through the frosted glass - unlikely to be a bailiff then. A Jehovah's Midget, perhaps?
I reach for a dressing gown, and call out "Hello?"
A pause, and then an elderly female voice, clearly expecting a more cordial welcome, quavers "Is your mother at home?"
Tuesday 9th November 2004
A sexy lap dancer says she invented a passionate four-month romance with EastEnders star Chris Parker to help him end rumours that he is gay.
Thus a story in last week's Sunday Mirror.
Two nights ago, Parker was rushed to hospital, after reportedly slashing his wrists and taking an overdose of paracetamol.
Like, how gay is that?
Monday 8th November 2004
Admit it, you're desperate to know how my birthday went.
Well, not so bad at all, thank you.
The night before, and not without a great deal of effort and emotion expended in rearranging the rota, I actually got to attend an office party. (I always seem to be working on party nights, which seems a trifle unjust.) Needless to say I didn't enjoy it. (What on earth had made me think I might?)
But the point is, I'd dressed - relatively - smartly. Which meant that, when I escaped south of the river and turned up to sample the delights of RudeBoyz in Vauxhall, the door-ho was quite within his rights to haltingly point out that I wasn't costumed in an entirely appropriate fashion. ("It's...like...a sporty night, and you're...")
I was drunk, but not drunk enough to cause a scene, so I smiled politely and took my business elsewhere - furiously persuading myself that my exclusion had nothing to do with my (equally inappropriate) age or physical attractiveness. Plus: this was all before midnight, and thus not happening on my actual birthday, and thus not any kind of omen for the year ahead. Not, not, not.
For my birthday itself, I'd taken care to book myself the company of The Dane, someone who knows how to make a boy feel good without laying it on too thick. More care taken might have procured me his sole company, but as it was I had to settle for sharing the evening with his date - a prospect I viewed with distinctly mixed feelings.
But his date turned out to be an utterly delightful 24-year-old, who warmed to my charms and made me feel like a right roué - we chattered on very nicely, more or less ignoring The Dane and another nice friend of his. We drank about six pints at The George, and then another pint or two at the Joiners and then Trailer Trash, and I staggered home very drunk.
Saturday night I spent at the Joiners again, with an air-kiss here and a meaningful look there, passing from friend to acquaintance to friend and back again. And staggered home drunk.
Sunday I had pencilled in for Horse Meat Disco, but Andy had insisted I join him for lunch at the Bricklayers. There were seven of us there in the end, and very enjoyable it was too - even if I did become increasingly convinced there was no way I could last out till the end of the evening.
But lo!, one disco nap and a great deal of will-power later, I staggered in to Horse Meat Disco around 9pm, saw lots of people I knew (and one person I didn't - hi Ben!) and had a generally fabulous time. And staggered home drunk.
Over the four-day period, I calculate I bumped into around forty people I know by name, and about twenty more I vaguely recognise. Add to that a dozen or so texted or e-mailed best-wishes, and you've got quite a party; let's do it all again next year!
......previous week
