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.

Gaying it forward

Crikey, what a hang over.

It may be the last day in the office and I may be leaving at midday, but my head is so full of cotton wool and sawdust I might not make it through.

Last night was a blast - Doormouse, Snow and I gayed it forward and showed the moxuals in Soho how to really do it.

We headed to The Yard, Barcode and Escape and drunk lots of cider. There were some bad points: Striding down Old Compton Street to meet the others, I slipped on a banana skin and nearly went arse over tit - in front of some very sexy men; the bitchy DJ in Escape was far from impressed when I performed my party trick (I stood in front of his booth and begged him to put on some garage - he refused); and there were no decent men for any of us to kiss.

I tend to wander around with blinkers on when I go out and so rarely notice the attractiveness of others, but we played a little game in Barcode. The three of us had two minutes to look round the bar to see if we fancied anyone. Before the time was up we all announced there was no one there we'd fuck!

Aside from all that, there were some other points worth noting. I'm not sure what annoyed me most: That we didn't go dancing; that Snow yet again got more attention from the gays than I did; or that my copy of Boyz had the hooker ads and porn pull-out removed.



As an aside, a piece of advice: Should a hang over make you want to kill yourself and you decide to take 6 painkillers before you leave the house, be prepared to arrive at the office with absolutely no idea how you got there.