Monthly archive: March 2003

On the way back to Dr Bitful's flat after Nag Nag Nag (or possibly after the Shadow Lounge, I can't remember), we saw a purple triple decker bus. And then another one not far away, surrounded by cameras and a film crew. We did not think much of them, considering the state we were in.

I can now happily say that the buses were for real, and what we saw was in all likelihood the Knight Bus and some location filming for the new Harry Potter movie.

Another landmark.

One thousand fags (not smoked, in my case) in under five weeks?

Scary.

Saturday night: joined a birthday party at the Friendly Society, then all moved to the Shadow Lounge – guestlisted if you please, stormed in with Yvette (soon to join the unemployed, after the "last ever" Love Muscle at the Fridge on April 5th?) and were escorted to the VIP area.

Sunday night: spent a few hours drinking on the grassy knoll behind the Royal Vauxhall Tavern, went in for the show, then out again to assist Dr Bitful while he was sick and lied down, and patiently wait for him to be able to stand up and face a cab ride home – and be sick again before falling asleep on the floor. I say "patiently", but in fact I mean "desperately trying to convince him that he'd feel better inside dancing" every time that Dannii phrase "…really driving me crazy" was teasingly mixed in with other songs.

There was this documentary the other night called Fat Girls and Feeders. I missed most of it until I got a text from Dr Bitful telling me to switch it on. To put it briefly, it was about a man who enjoyed his wife being big. I mean huge. I'm talking 60 stone (or 840 pounds for people across the pond – or 380 kilos for those stubbornly sticking to that new metric thing).

"These men aren't satisfied with a merely big partner, but encourage and even coerce them to gain weight to the point where the women become immobile and risk their lives."

The woman had to lose weight for health reasons (she was afraid she was not going to live long enough to be at her daughter's high school graduation – she did not seem to worry about not being able to leave her own bed for years), and her husband had a dreamlike look while talking about how wonderful it used to be to put his hand in between folds of fat and not being able to reach her waist. He also said that whenever he wanted to get quickly aroused he would watch videos he'd made of his wife when she was at her heaviest.

I am normally not one for judging what other people get off with, and yet I had a feeling there was something wrong with it.

And, as I'm typing this, Dr Bitful is behind my back blissfully squeezing out my blackheads. Spotty boys and squeezers?

I was not surprised to hear that 65-year old Manfred Lubitz electrocuted himself with electrodes attached to his genitals, or that he'd called his home-made sex toy Orgasmatron. But watching a film called Hot Vixen Nuns? It sounds like one of those absurd search requests.

The English football team are playing against Liechtenstein later today. I am normally not into footbal (unless it rains and the players' kit is white), but I'm curious to see what happens when the same national anthem is played twice (the UK and the Liechtenstein anthems share the very same tune – click on thumbnail for the score).

I did a quick search to find out why, but could not come up with the answer. I found out though that Liechtenstein has reformed its laws and is no longer a money laundering paradise, and that after a referendum held in March 2003 it is Europe's only absolute monarchy.

update: I have watched the pre-match anthems and yes, they are the same – played in the same key and with the same arrangement. They had someone singing the lyrics (a man singing the English ones and a woman for the German version) to make them different.

And then I promptly switched off the TV – our boys are wearing white but there's not a drop of rain in Vaduz today.

I've said it before, and now I am absolutely convinced that Madonna's records contain a subliminal message that, if played backwards, hypnotizes you into believing that what you are listening to is rather good and not the crap you thought it was at first.

Only this can explain why I've downloaded American Life (the single) on Wednesday, listened to it a few times, thought it was one of the worst songs ever produced, and now I'm humming it constantly. Will also probably mouth all the words (gangsta rap included) next time they play it somewhere public.

Maths fail me. Last night I thought I was being very considerate with money and did very well. I went to Nag Nag Nag with Dr Bitful and David, we skipped the queue thanks to David's knowing the security person at the door, then we only paid one pound each because I'd kept some six-month-old vouchers from Boyz magazine. Considering that we got back by night bus, how the hell did I manage to spend 25 pounds?
Ah, that'll be the beer then. And that explains the headache as well.

Yay me!

Elated.

Always alert.

Never complacent.

From: Dr Bitful
To: Riverside Restaurant / Bed & Breakfast
Sent: Monday, March 24, 2003 12:46 PM
Subject: Bread & Butter Pudding

Dear Anne and Anthony,

Just a quick note to say thanks for the recipe.

I cooked it for my (Italian) partner who, despite an almost addictive obsession with bread, hasnever tried bread and butter pudding. This is the
first time that I've cooked it and it turned out perfectly.

I would like to draw your attention to one mistake on the web page: 'You should get a minimum of 12 portions to this recipe.' : We found that it only served two! – my partner has a similarly flawed recipe for tiramisù!

Thanks again,

Your slightly fatter Bread & Butter Pudding fans in London

Dr and Mrs Bitful

I'm jet-lagged – and I haven't even left the country. It's just that after a drunken mini-nap after the RVT (taking Steve by the hand and dragging him to the dance floor as soon as MiniMinogue started playing can be so tiring) I woke up to the beginning of the Academy Awards ceremony, and I decided to watch it all live.

(clutching award for most spendthrift cinema goer who only considers reduced-price shows before 5pm)
Oh my goodness, this is so unexpected… I would like to thank the slump in the British economy which means that being unemployed I can catch shows in the afternoon… But most importantly I want to dedicate this award to my good friend Guy, cinema companion and connoisseur extraordinaire: thank you for dragging me to many a show I would not have considered myself, and for lending me your comfy shoulder to take my one-minute power naps in between my short attention span cycles. I wouldn't be here without you mate.

More on halitosis: National Fresh Breath Week starts tomorrow.

Things I learnt or discovered during the weekend:

• how to spell my name in British Sign Language
  
• the reason why last Christmas Eve at ten to six pm there was not a pint of milk, a single egg or a pack of bread at my local supermarket is because in the past they used to close until the new year, and people are still used to stock up for the holidays
• the flower market in Columbia Road – and the art and photo galleries on the side streets – and a gorgeous-looking (but sadly disappointing-tasting) cream cheese and fresh strawberries blueberry bagel on the go
• the GE club, for cool birthday drinks
• Halitosis is not a proper medical term, but it was pioneered by Listerine in their marketing campaigns to make people realize that bad breath is a serious condition.

The other night I had homemade bread and butter pudding for the very first time. And then I had some more for breakfast yesterday. Life finally makes sense. It was worth waiting all these years.

As with my tiramisù recipe, Dr Bitful's bread and butter pudding recipe serves 12 (or 2). I have a feeling that we'll grow old fat together.

'Centrino is a mix, one part is the center, being in the center of all the things we do, and the other is the thin and light form factor'

(Mathias Raeck, a spokesman for Intel)

centrino (m) : [noun] doily, small decorative napkin

(Italian – English dictionary)

Breakfast conversations in London E2
(*puts on mock Swedish accent* "If I tell a yoke, you've probably heard it befooore…")

Me: Have you heard about Osama Bin Laden's niece who is currently in London trying to launch her pop career?

Dr Bitful: I'll hit you if this is bad.

I am pretty intrigued by What Happened Last Night, a play that opens today (and runs until April 19) at the Pleasance Theatre in London after a run at The Courtyard last year.

"Sexy, edgy and controversial… This is definitely worth checking out" ATTITUDE
"A groundbreaking new play. A heart-stopping mix of clubbing, drugs and sex" AXM

Are there any theatregoers among you who've seen it and would like to share their feelings about it? I would like to go and see it, and although this review is tempting enough, these days ten pounds are hard to come across, and I do not want to risk spending them on a bad play just on grounds of its gay appeal.

Found it at last! It's Dannii vs Dead Or Alive (via Popjustice: search 'Begin To Spin Me Round' on Kazaa).

Oops.

This should be forbidden. Very sad to watch has-beens tear their hair out for a glimpse of their vanished fame. I normally do not cringe before crap TV, but last night I just had to switch Reborn in the USA off.

Click here to pre-order Madonna's new single as an mp3 file – a "Digital Single" for $1.49 – it will be emailed on March 24th along with a special message from Her Madgesty herself.

I heard American Life in a café in Soho yesterday afternoon, and I still think the lady could have made a bit more of an effort. I wonder if the controversial anti-war video (look, a bandwagon – jump, jump!) will make the song more bearable to listen to.

I wonder if you can tell I have a love/hate relationship with La Ciccone.

Via Troubled Diva: Weight Watchers recipe cards from 1974. A Frankfurter Spectacular, anyone?

Via plasticbag.org: this is fun fun fun! A stats service / hit counter with a traffic monitor that plays a sound every time your website gets a hit. Free for the time being. Ooh this is cool!

(Two minutes later) – Alright, this is fun for the first few minutes, and if you don't get much traffic.

(Four minutes later) – Ok, let's switch off the damn sound NOW!

I was having a stroll with Anne (my friend visiting from Paris) after seeing Chicago (the movie) with her and Guy (well worth it), when I got a naughty text message from Dr Bitful, asking me to meet him at Expectations for a spot of "adult shopping", and then back to his to try out our new "novelty items".

I briefly told Anne why I had to leave, and I told her how great it feels that after such a long time together we still can't wait to get into each other's pants. She pointed out that I've only been going out with Dr Bitful for under six weeks. I replied that it's an eternity when converted into "straight years".

Has anybody thought of a mathematical formula to convert gay relationship time into its straight equivalent? And what elements should be taken into account, apart from the average length of a gay relationship vs. a straight one?

RND03 (Red Nose Day 2003)

So this is why Mike has been silent for a while now. Click here or scroll to comment #38 to find out what it is all about. It's for a good cause, and every comment counts.
Via Diamond Geezer, as Mike is not allowed to blog about it himself.

Via Popbitch: Geri Halliwell not just as a judge, but as a coach on All American Girl she

puts [...] her team through their paces in a vast array of disciplines that include athletic ability, mental agility, performance in the popular arts and beauty.

Geri Halliwell. Mental agility. That's a foxymoron.

GayDatingBlog has been taken offline. All I hope is that the guy behind it (Tom?) found happiness and love with his recent date, and therefore decided to stop making his sex life public.

I'll miss that.

It is now exactly two weeks since I smoked my last cigarette, and I've decided to allow myself to post something about it.

It has not been easy, nor was it the most bitful task to go through, but it seems to be working so far. The strong feeling of pride balances out the panic of having to start doing everything without cigarettes.

I'd like to thank the following for their role in helping me to stay smoke-free for 14 days:

• Dr Bitful, for never failing to mention how great it is for him not to lick an ashtray anymore every time he kisses me – and for providing something else to suck on whenever the urge striked;
• G. the flatmate for going on holiday for three weeks, thus removing his tempting cigarettes from being around me all the time;
• the great chap who first thought of grinding and brewing coffee beans;
• Fitness First, for providing a means to burn the 300 extra daily calories that my slowed-down metabolism (because of kicking the filthy habit) cannot cope with any longer.

Without you I am nothing.

That's it. After much complaining from Dr Bitful, I've finally chucked my smelly clubbing trainers. Well, my feet do not (normally) smell, as I'm terrified by BO and I spray them with deodorant and then always fill my shoes with deo powder. These trainers though (or, to be precise, the right one only) had a strong cat pee stench that not even several machine washes at 60° could take away.

Yes, my right foot smelled of pussy.

I wanted to take a picture of the shoes before binning them (this being item #6 in a series of 30 daily completely irrational and slightly deranged behaviours), and my flatmate's cat decided to be in it while waving goodbye to the marvellous aroma she proudly produced herself.

I managed to resist the temptation to bin the cat too.

Ooh I'm bad.

I'm having a friend from Paris visiting me for a week, and I can't skip going to the Royal Vauxhall Tavern even once. I must be addicted to testosteron. Or something.

I'd told everyone I was not going because I could not really see this friend of mine in that place (female, straight and not very tall), then at the last minute the thought of giving the RVT a miss was unbearable and I took her there.

I promised her we were only going to stay for the show, but then the DJ took some perverse pleasure in teasing me by playing half a bar from I Begin To Wonder every other song for over fifteen minutes, and I was absolutely compelled to to stay until la miniMinogue was played entirely in all her glory.

Dr Bitful had got tickets in advance for us, to avoid the 5pm queue (and the risk of not being able to get in at all). And apparently as of next Sunday it won't be possible to go early and buy more than one wrist band per person. Bummer. Oh well, summer is nearly here (*looks out of window* um, maybe not) and then we'll all spend most of the afternoon on the grassy knoll behind the venue, drinking beer bought at the off-licence instead.

Being on the guest list would be very much appreciated, and yesterday evening I thought I had some chances to be on it, as I was going to a birthday party for someone I thought was the man running the place.

Wrong! Once there, we found out that the celebrations were for someone else's with the same name (oops), but luckily the party (and the birthday boy) turned out to be lots of fun (probably also because two thirds of the people there were familiar faces from Sunday afternoons). I quickly became friends with a 5-liter bottle of vodka with a dispenser/pump on top, and all I could remember before collapsing on the couch was standing in the middle of the kitchen with Dave, rambling about something I can't quite recall.

update: the new wrist band policy will most likely not be applied this coming Sunday, as it has not been officially annouced yet.