Bank Holigay Weekend

The Bank Holigay is almost upon us, and as me and Doormouse are venturing out on the town, we decided to grab a copy of The Oracle (Boyz magazine) last night to find out what’s going on in the World of Lavender.

Scouring the clubs page has brought about a realisation: We are not kinky enough to call ourselves gayers.

From last night through to Monday, it appears that the only events worth mentioning are ones that pander to a fetish, or at the very least, require a dress code and changing room facilities.

There are various scally nights being held, including Fit Ladz, Rude Boyz, Scally Ladz and others, but while I love a scally, I don’t want to actually have to wear tracksuit bottoms and a Hacketts t-shirt on a night out.

For a more refined evening, there is City Boys, a night which caters for men in suits and ties, and even has a shoe-shining service for those ‘saucy spillages’.

If you like fatigues, there is a night called Squaddies where you can dress like a soldier and cruise other like-minded men.

Steeping it up a gear are the nights for the more advanced tastes, such as Boots – where the only outfit you should wear is a pair of boots – and then there are the S&M and master and slave nights.

If you really want to let your hair down, you can go to Buff, which is simply a night of naked fun and they even have an off-shoot (no pun intended) called Spunk, which is a jerk-off party.

But where are all the regular nights for homos who want to drink, dance (with their shirts on) and make fools of themelves?

It looks like we are destined for a night in Profile. They have a text service where if you see a hotty you like in the bar, you send a text and your message appears on the screens. Doormouse tested it out, but had to report that sadly they don’t allow the word ‘cunt’, instead replacing it with ‘cabbage’.

So it looks like we’re going to get well and truly cabbaged at the weekend.

And not in a ridiculous outfit.


DISCLAIMER: This post was written in my lunch break, while the rest of the office went to the pub.

'A' Lister

I had to wear a disguise on my way to work this morning.

I didn't want to get recognised on the train.

I donned oversize shades, a baseball cap and a scarf to cover my mouth.

You see, fame has finally reached me. It took longer than I'd hoped, but at last I can now call myself a celebrity.

Of sorts.

My favourite rave, Sunshine Daze, has released a CD and DVD pack* of the last ever event they held at The Scala in King's Cross in July of last year and me and Snow are on it.

Looking very sweaty.

Every time we went to these events, we'd jump up on stage when our favourite DJ, Norris Da Boss Windross, came on and we'd dance to his entire set. Without getting off the stage. It was a trip down Memory Lane for us because back in the day, he used to do our favourite set at Bagley's each and every Saturday.

The last time we went, there were cameramen floating around and they caught us dancing to Norris.

The point where we were filmed was quite late in the night - around 2:30am - and so we were looking particularly choice. Very out of it, hair stuck to our faces and throwing ourselves around in gay abandon.

I couldn't stop laughing when we appeared on my screen and I got to see what other people get to see when we go dancing.

And it did give me a little insight into why we never get approached by hunks when we're out.

While everyone else reacted to the cameras being thrust into their faces by jumping around and screaming and waving (and many of the girls did their very best 'sexy' dance), each time they pointed the cameras at us, we looked very serious and turned our backs.

I told Snow about this and she defended us by saying that we really get into the music and that's why we look so serious.

I agree with that, but no one wants to chat up someone who looks so unapproachable.

Some of our other friends are also on the DVD and when they got in front of the camera, they were smiling and blowing kisses and as a result, looked much more fun.

So next time we go dancing - which will be a night at Fiction (if it's open) next Friday - I will aim to have more fun, to smile at every opportunity and not to take the dancing too seriously.

I'll need to look as approachable as possible for all the potential autograph hunters.



* In order to get this pack, I had to walk into Uptown Records in Soho, go down the metal staircase to the Garage section and ask at the counter if they had it. Let's just say, when little old gay me strolled in and sauntered through the thick cloud of 'ganja' smoke, there was a fair amount of confused faces, kissing of teeth and not-very-well-disguised sniggers. I'm not really Uptown Records' target audience.

The budget starts next week

If I was sad and desperate enough, I would've worked out that it is a mere 13 hours and 44 minutes until my wages are paid into my bank account. But of course, who has the time to find that out?

Thing is, all that talk of budgeting is going to have to take a back seat as I have a rather hectic weekend planned, starting today. I left home this morning laden with two huge overnight bags and I won't see my own bed again until Monday.

This evening I am round at Doormouse's for an evening of wine, Will and Grace, and if he has his way, a crash course in taking calls on the chat line.

Then after work tomorrow, Snow and I are meeting up with Saskia and we're staying at her plush new Highgate flat for the whole weekend. Saskia's Devoted Hubby was due to be away for the weekend and so we were going to have a three-day marathon of angel cakes, fizzy pop and chick flick/Sex and the City DVDs. The Devoted Hubby is now not going away - which me and Snow are happy about coz he's lovable (Saskia will hate that I said that) - but I have a sneaking suspicion she might banish him to their bedroom for the whole three days surfing the net and staying out of our way.

On Sunday evening, I am celebrating the fact that I have Monday off by going drinking and dancing with Snow in East London. We don't know yet where we're going, possibly Herbal, but we're going to do it in style.

I just hope I can find a place to leave all my stuff, coz no one wants to go dancing with two bags full of clothes, toiletries and a hairdryer!

How was it for you?

Aside from the calendar of the year, what else did I get up to at the weekend? Well, the trip to the theatre was as good as I could've expected. Ashlee Simpson was playing Roxie Hart, but more importantly, Brenda from X Factor was playing Mama Morton and she brought the house down. Everyone screamed when she sang and she got the most applause at the end. Read it and weep, Simpson.

The most exciting thing after that was my cinema trip on Saturday afternoon. I went to see Step Up with Snow and we both fell in love with the main star. It's a typically cheesey story about a break dancing boy from the wrong side of town who falls for a middle class girl at dance school. Will he help her inject some tough street moves into her classical showcase? Will she get her big break? Will he inject something else into her? Who cares - so long as he gets that defined torso out and parades around the screen once every five minutes in nothing more than a tight pair of shorts, I couldn't care less what happens in the story. Thank the Lord for Channing Tatum and all of his muscles - each and every one of them.

To top it all off, we went dancing on Sunday. I'm not sure what's happened to us, but since we moved from being 'early-to-mid-twenties' to 'mid-to-late-twenties', we seem to have lost all traces of rhythm. Back in the day when we were 19, Snow was a podium dancer in clubs up and down London and I was a passionate clubber, busting it and attending street dance classes. We hit 27 and POOF! Neither of us can dance anymore. I think it might have had something to do with my long, grey winkle pickers, but rather than cut a dashing shape across the dance floor, I ended up looking rather like my dad. But slimmer. And not as drunk.

Still, everyone else was pretty wasted, so I can't imagine anyone even knew we were there. Let's hope not.

I now plan on spending the rest of the afternoon thinking up different combinations of me, Philip Olivier and Channing Tatum in various states of undress. Yum.