We outgayed ourselves this time

Another week and another trip to the local library to update my blog. I realised that going to the internet cafe and spending money to do it left a rather bitter taste in my mouth, especially as the first six months of my bloglife were on work time and so it was all free. This is why I had so much time to read other people's blogs, to leave 'hilarious' comments on their posts and to reply to comments on mine. When you have to actually pay for your internet usage, you can become a selfish blogger. Well, my library offers free internet and so it has become my new Saturday hang-out. Fun!

I've already had a fair amount of fun this week and I'm surprised I've got enough time for anymore. With my manager away, I was running the show at work and it was super stressful - so much so that I took up daytime smoking again* - and on Thursday, I asked Doormouse if he fancied a 'quick one' after work.

We should've known that a quick one is never a quick one with us and this week was no different. We began our onslaught on Gay London at The Yard with a couple of cheeky ciders. Then Doormouse reminded me that Bar Code, the dreadful cruising bar round the corner, had free internet access until 8pm. I think it's intended for all the Marys to check their Gaydar profiles, but as we are the only homos in the land not on Gaydar (maybe this explains the man drought), we thought it would be an ideal opportunity to have Sambuccas and leave offensive comments on Gil Duldalau's** MySpace page.

By the time the free web access ran out, we were well and truly on our way to pissed-ville and as we had already left our pride at the door by appearing in such a tawdry venue, we thought there would be no harm in a quick trip to The Admiral Duncan. Yes, the place is full of leering old men, and yes, we popped in. We didn't receive a very warm welcome, which may have had something to do with the fact that we were slagging off everyone in there, so we drank up and crossed the road to Comptons. On a normal day, I would rather set my feet on fire than go there, but I was so drunk, I didn't care. Cut to me, sitting by the window and waving at all the boys as they walked past. They even played So Macho by Sinitta and I sang along.

After that, we headed to the new, revamped Ku Bar and had trouble sitting on their seats without falling off. We didn't seem to be welcome there either, so we did what two self-respecting gentlemen of the lavender persuasion should do in that situation. We went down the road to the scummiest cruising bar in town, CXR 79. It's where all the pikey gays hang out. Dirty old men and crusty scallies who need a good wash. Not the decent scallies who wear clean trackies, but the ones who have just collected their giros and can splash out on a can of Red Stripe and 10 Bensons.

Did I fall up the step on the way in, dropping loads of money on the floor? Yes. Did I ask the barman for a kiss? Yes. Did I ask the cloakroom boy for a kiss? Yes. Did I continue popping down to the cloakroom to pester the said boy? Yes. Did he eventually get so tired of seeing me that he started to ignore me? Yes. Did I fall up the stairs and land on the bouncer's feet? Yes. Did Doormouse give an American a blow job in the loo? Yes.

WAIT! What? He actually went down on someone in the toilet at CXR 79 and I don't think he did it out of politeness.

Well, that's me at a defecit, then. It was supposed to be our year of the cock and he has managed to get some, while I have managed to continue embarrassing myself.

As a last resort, I did then throw myself at a scally called Rob, who at the time seemed to be eveything I was looking for, but in the cold light of day was really nothing more than a yob in a tracksuit.

I did take his number and I have sent him a text since. He did reply and it was pleasant enough, but it was a confused combination of lower case and capital letters and, to be honest, I'm just not sure I can have a relationship with someone who says, "nice 2 SEE u, keep IN TOUCH mate."

Getting back to Doormouse's at half three meant I had a dreadful day at work yesterday, but I knew I could count on my new best work friend to make it all OK. I emailed her about my super hang over, and this was her reply:

"Oh, I know how you feel. I'm desperately trying to hide the stench of vodka, but I'm sure they can all smell it. I knew I was drunk last night, but you can imagine my horror when I woke at six thirty this morning face-down on the sofa, still wearing my coat and boots."

Cat, I salute you!


* I was officially a non-smoker, but after a drink, would be happy to ponce as many smokes as people were willing to offer
** Gil Duldalau was Janet Jackson's dancer/choreographer from Velvet Rope to All for You, like as if you need telling

The kindred spirit is brilliant

It's great when you finally find someone on your wavelength in a job where you thought you were the only one who knew anything about how crap people can be.

As I mentioned previously, I have found a soul mate in my office. I began talking to Cat at the work drinks I went to and this week we have been engaging in email banter.

This is one of the emails she sent me yesterday:

Haha. OK here is the deal. Whoever breaks out of this hell hole first and bags a job at Nat Mags or Conde Nast has to put a word in for the other one!!

In the pub last week Joe was really slagging off consumer magazines and I had to bite my tongue to stop me from screaming out, "I want to work for one! I want the freebies and the long lunches and the fun office atmosphere and the longer deadlines and the celeb parties."

Cat, you are officially my new best friend, call me every five minutes.

It really is grim down south

I went to look at my first flat this week.

It was billed as being a 'flatshare on the Old Kent Road in a completely gay household, with five guys looking for a sixth'. Don't get me wrong; I'm not looking to live with gays because I am gay-exclusive, I just felt that if I were to move into a gay household, one of the guys in the house is likely to have a gorgeous friend that I can date and Doormouse is probably going to fall for one of the others in the house and then we can both be seeing significant others. It just adds up.

None of my friends or family were overly enamoured with the idea of me moving south of the river, but as I pointed out, I lived in Tooting (if you please) when I was at university and I just about made it out alive.

However, their fears were justified when I arrived at the 'flat'. First, it wasn't actually on the Old Kent Road (which, despite being south and therefore pikey, it is on the Monopoly board and therefore must have some cache), it was on a street 'just off' the road. Second problem was that it wasn't a flatshare at all, but was in fact a house with lots of bedsits inside with shared kitchen and bathroom facilities.

Call me a snob, but I just ain't interested in living in a house where the bathroom is cultivating its own strain of bacteria and the kitchen smells like corpse. No self-respecting homo should be happy in that building and I can only assume that the people who already lived there were the kind of chaps that frequent the Halfway to Heaven pub in Charing Cross. Grim? Doesn't even come close.

Needless to say I am back to the drawing board as far as flathunting goes and I will definitely be sticking to the leafier, greener side of the river.

If my budget allows it, of course.

House parties are dangerous

Jobs are shit, right? Right. So, this post will be about anything but.

Last week ended up being one of those weeks where you just can't stop yourself from drinking. Recovering from the previous weekend of debauchery (dancing and sweating and telling everyone I loved them in Cafe 1001 on Brick Lane), I started the week of wine on Monday for a swift one after work.

Tuesday arrived and I popped to an intimate little gig at the Soho Revue Bar, to support that gorgeous chap I went to see perform once before via MySpace. It was just as good this time round, and both me and Snow got very Tuesday-drunk.

Wednesday was where it started to get slightly more raucous as I had an evening out and in with Doormouse. We met in Soho and had a few halves in some dubious men-only venues (Rupert Street, Duke of Wellington and Bar Code, if you please), and then we headed back to his, armed with Vodka and a menu for an 11pm Indian. Takeaway, not man.

Thursday was for drinks in my hometown after work and Friday saw me have some drinks with the work crew (OK, that was a work mention, but it was not a whinge) and then Snow and I met up again and had some fun in West One.

By Saturday, I was thoroughly hung over and spaced out, so took some friends and family for drinks in Highgate, possibly to convince myself I was already living there in a quaint studio flat.

The piece de resistance came on Sunday when Doormouse threw a house party to celebrate his birthday. If you want to get technical, he turned 29, but as I pointed out, why tell the truth about something so heinous? We agreed that he could easily pull off 26, so that is how old he said he was.

Being at the end of a week-long drinking frenzy, I was slightly sceptical about the whole affair, and also because parties in houses are generally frightening - you don't know who is going to be there, you end up spending longer than is acceptable in the kitchen, and then you throw up in the bath, or something.

As it turned out, it was the highlight of the social calendar for many of London's homos and a gaggle of hags. It was such a blast and one of the most memorable moments saw Doormouse and I offer up our own rendition of Janet Jackson's 'If' routine. Not only do we know the moves and the words, we also reenacted all the dialogue from the 'making of' video, which we have off by heart.

I seem to remember a fair amount of salsa dancing, courtesy of a lovely girl called Emma who said I was a natural and other than that, it was the usual mix of too much drink and too much swearing.

I paid the price for the fun, though. I left Surrey Quays at 9:30pm and didn't arrive home in the suburbs until 12:55am, following a tube ride, a bus ride, a BR train ride and then a coach ride through some country lanes at speeds of at least 80mph.

Did I feel like shit on Monday? Yes.

Would I do it all again this weekend? Yes.

Only low point was that there was no one there for me to kiss.

Which I didn't need to mention as you probably guessed that.

We're out of the woods

Hooray! At last, time for some good news.

The new job is no longer a nightmare.

As it was Friday yesterday, some people on my team thought it might be a nice idea for us to go to lunch. I didn't really have any money, but as we were only going to Pizza Express, I thought there was no harm in it. At the end of my rather delicious dough balls and Tortellini, they announced that the meal was in fact on the company, and so therefore I didn't actually have to pay. This was the point I decided to order the Chocolate Glory dessert!

After work, we all nipped over the road to the local pub and it was here that I found my kindred spirit. It turns out there is actually someone else in my office with a shred of decency and the best bit is, she too loves a drink.

We had a right good gossip, she told me some sercets about people in the office and she said that the reason she doesn't get on with most people in the company is that she works to live, whereas they live to work.

So now I am happy I made the move.

To celebrate, I popped to Paul's bakery on Old Compton Street and got a quiche Lorraine, a mini croissant, a tarte au chocolat and a frangipane.

Oh, and then I went to Urban Outfitters and got myself a vintage brown leather man bag. Sadly, it wasn't the Mulberry Poynter bag at £575, but was a mere snip at £50.

Am still frantically flat hunting, but there is sod all out there in my price range and areas of choice. I think I may be being too choosy. Doormouse suggested I should broaden my scope and look at places like Greenwich and Bermondsey. I'm not sure I could live south of the river again, but then at least the Powder Monkey could become our local. May even meet some sexy scallies in there!