Two out of three ain't bad

It's been a few weeks, but here I am again blogging. The difference is, I am not sitting in a library or internet cafe. No, this time I am sitting at the computer at home. Yes, I finally moved. Hoorah for me!

I am now a Hampstead resident and I am lauding it up on the Mac that comes as part of the package. After my horrifying experience looking at the flea-ridden bedsit on the Old Kent Road, I had resigned myself to the fact that I was going to end up living somewhere heinous, and then I saw an ad for a flatshare in Hampstead that was within budget and two minutes from the tube station.

I viewed it, loved the flat and got a really good feeling from the two guys already living there. They had a couple of other people coming to look round, but after a couple of days of nervous waiting, they clearly saw the light and asked me to move in. I felt like all my birthdays and Christmases had come at once and, a week after unpacking, I am just waiting for the moment they say they made a huge mistake and could I please pack my stuff and return to small town life.

Anyhoo, until that happens, I shall make the most of it and enjoy the high life. Everyone who has come round to see it has admitted that they are immensely jealous and I shall bask in the envy that they throw my way. There is of course the fact that I am not technically Hampstead material, what with the swearing and sweating when drunk, but until those facts are discovered, I shall remain under the radar.

Had anyone in the vicinity seen my behaviour on Thursday, I can't imagine they would want to share postcode space with me. After-work drinks with Snow to celebrate the upcoming Easter weekend turned into a 12-hour raving session that ended with her finding me asleep on the floor of her communal toilet at 9am on Friday morning with my pants round my ankles and my hand covering my cock (even when trashed, I am always respectful of other people's potential embarrassment).

The night itself was one long riot, until we ended up joining a group of people we didn't know as we exited cafe 1001 at midnight, followed them to an illegal warehouse party, ditched that and went to 54 and then after that, who knows? We did lots of naughty things we probably shouldn't have done and the last four hours of the night have been completely wiped from my mind. It was at this point I lost my mobile phone. I have no idea if I dropped it, misplaced it or had it stolen, all I do know is, without it, I feel like I have lost a limb. (As far as Orange and the Metropolitan Police are concerned, it was stolen from my back pocket at midday on Good Friday – I just hope there wasn't a long line of international calls made between the moment it was stolen and the time I called and got it switched off.)

This is how I have wound up sitting in front of the computer on a Saturday night. I have no way of getting in touch with anyone as I know no numbers off by heart and I am still trying to recover from the excess of Thursday night's antics. The person I really feel sorry for in all this is Snow as she had to go to work today. And with no text contact from me to tell her that she was not the only one feeling rubbish, I can only imagine how awful it must have been for her.

And finally, as if that wasn't enough, my kindred spirit at work has handed her notice in. She'd had enough of working in an office with people who didn't know how to drink the way she does and so she resigned. When she told them she was leaving, they made her a counter offer, which was better than her new employers, so she told them she was going to stay put. Then the new people counter offered the counter offer and told her that as well as more money, she could choose her own title. It's a shame to see her go after only just discovering her, but there's a glimmer of hope that when I hand in my notice, they might do the same for me.

So now I have a gorgeous flat and a job that I wanted for ages (and can't really wait to leave). All I need to do now is find a man. And that really has been the problem all along.

I'm sure he's out there. There are plenty of hunks wandering around Hampstead. I just have to work out how to talk to one of them. Still, the Heath is literally a two minute walk from my flat. If I just have another beer, I might be tempted to go for a midnight walk...

New Year Backtracking

Right, I take it all back.

I don't hate Christmas anymore.

Christmas is fucking brilliant.

Why the change of heart?

Well, there were still some definite rum points throughout the festivities including more time spent with family and step-family than is absolutely necessary, and of course living in a medieval town that has NO INTERNET CAFES AT ALL, I had no way to blog through it all*.

But all of that was forgotten when I saw some of my presents. There was the usual stream of DVDs and chocolates that never go unappreciated, but there were two rather spectacular presents that made it all seem OK.

First was my present to myself. As a Single Gay, I felt the boyfriend deficit meant that while I would not be getting a gift from a special someone, I wouldn't have to spend money on one either, so I bought myself a little something. And what I bought was a gift set of the new Prada men's fragrance.

It came in some splendid royal blue Prada wrapping paper and it even had Prada tape. I bought it on Christmas Eve and opened it as soon as I got in. It was so beautiful that I applauded when I opened it.

Seeing as it was so amazing, I decided the best solution would be to wrap it back up again in its glorious packaging so I could reopen it on Christmas morning. And I applauded the second time too.

The other phenomenal gift was from my mum and sister and constitutes a birthday present rather than a Christmas one, but they were so excited, they couldn't wait till September (the 5th - put it in your diary) to give it to me. And it was...

... two tickets to see Justin Timberlake in concert at the Millennium Dome in July. How happy was I? So happy that a single tear fell down my cheek.

Snow is going to take the second ticket and she was just as excited as I was when I called her and told her. We've started planning our outfits already as we both expect JT will see us dancing in the crowd, fall in love with us and ask us to go backstage with him. Separately, obviously, as that would just be sick.

So with my new fragrance and seven months to look forward to being in the same room as the Trousersnake, all the crap about Christmas was soon forgotten.

There was also some shoddiness surrounding New Year's Eve - at the last minute, Snow and I agreed to go to The Opera House in Tottenham for a garage-fest, but when I got there they refused to let me in for wearing trainers. My protestations that they let me in with trainers last Boxing Day** fell on deaf ears and so we went for cocktails and were home by 11:30pm - but I'm still on a high (and I'm wearing my Prada, so I smell great), so it wasn't a massive deal.

And as it is now January, I was able to crack open the Phil Olivier calendar.

Happy New Year to me!


* Both my mum and sister have internet access, but I thought it might appear slightly rude to enjoy the dinners they cooked on Christmas Day and Boxing Day respectively, and then disappear upstairs onto their PCs to moan about it all.

** Snow and I originally went to The Scala on Boxing Day 2005, but the night was rubbish. We left and strolled through King's Cross to get a cab to take us to a better night at The Opera House. On the way, I slipped on some ice and fell to the ground, fracturing my elbow. We had two choices: we could go to the hospital and get it put into plaster, or we could go to the club anyway. We jumped in a cab and went to the club. By the time we got there, my left hand was purple and three times its normal size, so with my right hand I stuffed it into my pocket and spent the night dancing with only one arm. I went to the hospital the next day and they put it in plaster for me. Even a broken bone won't stop me dancing.