Forgot to mention the great performance at Duckie on Saturday night. H2 Dance were stunning and worked wonders on the tiny stage. A triffic end to 'contemporary dance month' and the crowd agreed.

Last night at Duckie was smashing.The merchandise whore was sporting a TD t-shirt and explained that he was taking his empire into the market place because his public deserve the best. We ordered mugs and mouse-mats as the t-shirts are only available in white and I eat like a pig. Steve spotted us first because he wasn't wearing his nose jewellery (we were standing on a raised platform scanning noses as they bobbed past). There was much camaraderie as we chatted, got drunk, and watched Mike dancing to Duran Duran. It was a strange feeling taking friendships from the interweb thingy into ‘real life’ but thankfully it resembled nothing like Simone and felt so natural, wholesome and healthy (3 words never before used to describe anything to do with me). You were missed and get well soon.


This afternoon, while Darren toottled around in our garden (arms folded gossiping over the fence with Joan next door), I went for a bike ride down the river Lea tow-path. Lovely sunny weather but a nasty headwind which caused me to get back home knackered. Darren was still in the garden when I returned, hose in hand watering the lawn. I moaned about feeling sweaty so he shut me up by turning the hose on me and making me squeal like a stuck pig. This caused the nosy neighbours to open windows and doors to see what all the commotion was. They hopefully all went back to their sleepy afternoons muttering "it's only those two poofs from 33 mucking around again". Happy Texas is on TV in an hour and it should be full of very offensive and homophobic jokes. Naturally we are gonna watch it and hopefully laugh our tits off.

Slap a readers wife....
Seems like we have a bit of a blog-meet going on this Saturday. All bloggers welcome! Taking place at Duckie from 10pm onwards and already we have confirmed appearances from blogging royalty. Duckie will be rammed from 11pm onwards so get there early. March at Duckie has been 'contemporary dance month' and this Saturdays theme is Northern Soul. Bring slippy-soled-shoes to shuffle round on. I don't want to wear a name badge so here's a picture of me:

See ya there!

Welcome to my nightmare.

It's on in 50 minutes. I'm going to watch it through a 30 denier stocking with a hole cut out for my mouth (through which I will pass cadburys fingers). Darren has stuck a knitting needle through his cheeks (his facial cheeks!) for the event which should result in more fingers for me. Hurrah!

This made me laugh-out-loud at work. For which I am grateful as I work in an office with a bunch of humourless cnuts.

I have been a Leigh Bowery admirer ever since he terrified me at various London night clubs in the 80's. In the 90's his band Minty provided me with some of the most upsetting, distressing and amusing nights out. Then he died and became an icon. Now he is a West End theatre experience (and a bloody good one too). Last year I went to see a little home-made movie called 'The Legend of Leigh Bowery' at the ICA. It was a hilarious tribute that Leigh would surely have approved of. This week BBC Four are showing the movie three times starting on Tuesday at 10pm. If you have cable or satellite telly then I reccommend it.
This video clip of Leigh made by The Clothes Show in the early 90's is too good to be missed. You'll piss yourselves laughing.

You know those folk who take a picture from a magazine along to their plastic surgeon and say "I wanna look just like that!"? Well, here's the picture I would take along if I was as dumb as them.

Duckie last night was great. Kiki and Herb were in fine form doing stuff by Eminem, Kate Bush and Crass cohorts The Poison Girls! Genius. Kiki was wandering among the throng before the show looking very Mary Tyler Moore. Good job we got there at 10.30 as it was one-out-one-in just after we got through the doors. That singer from Heaven 17 was there wandering around on his own. He had a bit of a dance when Love Action by The Human Leage came on. We thought this was funny. There was a performance by the Al Queda State Ballet before Kiki and Herb which was mildly amusing. Party tune of the evening - Life in Tokyo by Japan. Were you there? You have a looky-likey if you weren't.

18.00 on Friday night and I'm still at work. I've worked like a cnut this week, sweated blood and broken nails. This international situation hasn't helped I can tell you. I'm off home soon though and I'm craving beans on toast for dinner tonight.
I like to heat the beans up in a frying pan (non-stick naturally). I let them simmer for about ten minutes until the tomato sauce has been reduced and the remains are a thick gloopy mess. I toast 2 slices of bread and let them cool by placing them in a wigwam shape on my plate. When the toast is cool I apply butter and then scoop the congealed mass of beans onto it. Hopefully the toast remains crispy and I am able to pick the whole thing up and eat it like an open sandwhich. This is how my mum used to make it when I was a lad. It was my favourite tea (tea is dinner up-north) after I returned from the swimming baths. Beans on toast in front of the telly with my weekly Whizzer And Chips. What a lovely memory.

During these 'dark times' it's good to see that our figurehead is doing her utmost to let us know that life must go on and that we mustn't be ashamed of our actions. Go Liz!

Kiki and Herb are playing at Duckie this saturday. Dunno if we're going. The war is making me lethargic. I have a cousin out there. Hardly know him though. My Uncle is a captain in the Marines. He's not out there (too old to fight at 45!). I'm a relatively young man and this is my umpteenth war. Jeez.

I must force the gaiety that once came so easily. The pain of the craving has long ago driven away the joy of the taste.

This is cheering me up during the war

Oh dear, here we go....



Water was running; children were running
You were running out of time
Under the mountain, a golden fountain
Were you praying at the Lares shrine?
But oh your city lies in dust, my friend

We found you hiding we found you lying
Choking on the dirt and sand
Your former glories and all the stories
Dragged and washed with eager hands

But oh your city lies in dust, my friend

Hot and burning in your nostrils
Pouring down your gaping mouth
Your molten bodies blanket of cinders
Caught in the throes .......

And your city lies in dust

...I've been to Fort Worth and I've been to Spain
and I aint too proud to come in outa the rain...

If you've never heard of Douglas Sirk, or seen any of his films, you may want to stay far away from 'Far From Heaven'. Melodrama can be a confusing and annoying moviegoing experience. Prepare yourself by buying the DVD of 'All that Heaven Allows' (not least because you'll get to see Jane Wyman say to Rock Hudson, "Sometimes I think you wish I were a man") or 'Imitation of Life'.

With 'Far From Heaven' indie poof Todd Haynes aims to recreate Sirk's odd, unique style down to the most minute detail, and he succeeds to an often ridiculous degree (which undermined the drama a bit I thought). The magnificent Julianne Moore plays Cathy Whitaker, a poised, cheery suburban housewife whose world of picture-perfect domesticity is just begging for a jolt of some kind. There are actually two jolts, delivered one after the other: first, Cathy learns that her businessman husband Frank (Dennis Quaid) is a miserable homo (quite against his will, which is very funny to watch), lurking around gay bars full of camp things drinking cocktails and shagging a young man over the desk in his office. Heavens to Betsy! Then, to add oil to the fire, Cathy finds herself seeking refuge in the company of her kind, proto-yuppy black gardener, Raymond (Dennis Haysbert). So many Dennises, so little time...

Performances are just this side of camp, just short of diving headlong into a Connecticut version of Coronation Street. Emotions are constantly bubbling under the surface but rarely poke their heads above the amazing production design, the lavish color-coded costumes, the psychedelically lush photography (by Edward Lachman, who shot 'Kids' for Larry Clark) and the '50s schmaltz of Elmer Bernstein's score (he has been scoring movies since the '50s, after all).

Moore soaks Cathy with buckets of optimism against the most ridiculous odds: the more her world falls apart, the harder she smiles. Watching that gorgeous smile collapse repeatedly in the face of one sticky situation after another, and then magically reappear is the best bit of the film. Don't wanna spoil the ending for anyone so I'll stop there. I loved the bit in Miami (heyday of big hotels and swimming pools) where Dennis Quaid showed us his lovely torso, the cars were great, the furniture and interiors were to die for (darling) and the costumes and hair stunning. But, and it's a small but (unlike mine!), I was left a little unmoved by the drama (unlike two weeks ago when me and Darren were reduced to snivelling on our sleeves at the end of 'Imitaion of Life'). Very enjoyable but not as good as 'The Hours'.

I've just found out that Julianne Moore had the same initials for her character in Todd's 'Safe' - Carol White. Spooky. Is she his muse now?

I don't watch much TV. But when I do it's usually the crass, cheap ITV type of rubbish that I enjoy. I'm currently enjoying 'Reborn In The Usa'. The Sonia -vs- Dollar stuff was priceless and had me and Darren howling. Thereza Bizarre made me wanna spit at the telly but it's a pity that Dollar won't be on next weeks show. Watch out for media fallout this week as David Burger-Van-Day scoops as much as he can from their fiasco.
The best voice on the show for me is Leee John from 80's homo-disco group Imagination. He sounds like Galaxy chocolate (if it could sing). Spookily, I came across a review of an Imagination album this morning from the NME in 1983 (20 years old and just about to be sold on e-bay):

'Imagination have produced another enjoyable LP that lures Youth to its Doom. All this music is very disturbing to an avid fan of mindlessness and cultural collapse like myself.'

I remember a particularly fantastic Top Of The Pops back then which featured Imagination, Patrice Rushen, Bauhaus and Honey Bane. Finger paused on the 'rec' button of the huge toploader VHS player and then watched many times over that weekend as various 'non-video household' friends popped round for coffee and a flick through the NME.

Well that was the week that was but is now nearly over thank Christ. This war thing is making my job very difficult. Ministers plans changing at the last minute, Ministers refusing to commit to stuff for next month (but still requesting all the bloody briefing in case they do), air-space agreements over Central Asia in turmoil causing Embassies to wet themselves.... blah blah blah. Stupid job. Stupid war.

It was my Dads birthday this week and thieves stole the paraffin heater from his greenhouse. Poor Dad. Twas also my first boyfriend Tom's birthday. Tom lives in Switzerland, is single, earns too much money and has a suntan all year round. Lucio (my second boyfriend) cooked a spanish feast last night in honour of Tom's birthday. Tom couldn't make it so Darren (my third and current life-partner) ate his portion. Paella with longuistines, mussels and pulpo. Fricken' delish. We ate late, Spanish style, and therefore got to watch spewing and shitting on Jackass (which always compliments a meal I find).

You did a marvellous thing for charity, you worried us (hope things are looking up) and you told a hair-raising tale about being a prison bitch.

Sharing a Billy Crystal moment with Darren by e-mail today.
'Wasnt Soap just brilliant. A homo on the telly who was camp-ish in a real-life way. He was randy, he had other gay friends, he wasn't in the closet at home, his life seemed amazing to me when I was 10. I used to watch Soap and that Elaine Stritch/Donald Sinden show (Two's Company) on my black 'n' white telly in my room on Sunday nights from 11 to midnight. I had a flesh coloured single ear piece I used to plug into the TV so mum and dad wouldn't hear.'

"Everyone's got their own straw to break their own camel with."
This chap is going to be fun to follow. Welcome.

"help! I've fallen........"

Very po-wah!
That's the last quiz I'm gonna do. Shocking response.
*storms off, coat tails a-swishing*

Back now. Thanks to the four entrants who made the effort. You, You, You and Mr Wiz (Sabrinas apprentice).
At 07.50 this morning I weighed 12 stone and 8 pounds. Which makes Blue Witch the winner with her guess of 13 stone and 3 pounds. Peter at Naked Blog guessed the weight 11 stone and 2 pounds which is actually the weight I should and would like to be. I'm going to try and score that goal over the next few months. So far today I've had about 20 biscuits (caramels, ginger snaps and a few shortbread) and 2 litres of water. Is that good?

Last chance to guess my weight (see below). I stood on the scales this morning and noted the needles point of rest. Results this afternoon. Remember, there's an awfully good paperback at steak, sorry, stake (food on the brain).

Duckie last night was mighty agreeable as usual. As the designated driver I only had three Bacardi Breezers, four cans of diet coke and a bottle of still water. Had to tiddle in the street near Brick Lane (I have such a small bladder). Darren and Lucio (he's the one not whistling) got very drunk (incoherently drunk) and Rob remained merely merry (he was over the moon to hear a Fox song from his youth). The punk rock tunes were spot-on as usual and I got to take a pee next to a Readers Wife (no, I didn't look).

The Sunday quiz in honour of Diamond Geezers birthday.
Guess my weight by looking at the photos of me here. I shall weigh myself on Tuesday morning (apres ablutions) and post the result. The nearest guess will receive a copy of the paperback 'The Fuck-up' by Arthur Nersesian. Stones and pounds please, none of that metric nonsense.

Remember, I enjoyed the pleasure of three 'all you can eat' buffets in Vegas, as well as doughnut breakfasts AND several extended meals in fancy restaurants with real paintings on the walls.

me in Calico with strange hair

Darren at Hoover Dam. He's not sure about those Starck specs but I love 'em on him so please tell us what you think.

can anyone explain/pronounce this?

You can have your Marsyas, this is big, breathtaking and beautiful.

I was considering buying some real estate down below but discovered I couldnt even afford one square centimetre.

Twisted and mean and really hard on the ass. Actually, the coaster was too.

Day 5
Drove to the Hoover Dam, took pictures of Lake Mead, HD was vast (but is not named after the famous cross-dresser, which was disappointing to learn), took the full tour which included a peek at the turbines in the bowels of the dam, ate pretzels in the cafe, drove back to Vegas, went to Paris, wet ourselves laughing at the mime in the Paris shops who was 'bothering' passers-by with his feather duster (he was very droll, honest), had a luscious late lunch here, back to the hotel to rest and prepare for our evening at the theatre, Blue Man Group at Luxor was exceptionally good, earsplitting, psychedelic, demented, absurd, ridiculous and grotesque, we might buy their cd, took a drive down the strip taking pictures of the neon at night, bought milk and cookies from Walgreens and ate them in bed before lights out.

Is there anything more faux beautiful than a large clump of newly opened daffodils at the base of a gritty tower block in Seven Sisters? It’s comparable to finding junky hypodermics in the gutter at the Magic Kingdom. What a magnificently dirty world we live in.

By the way, I can't give up any of those things on the list below. Because I don't do any of them.
Oh alright then, but just that one, maybe I do buy too much sour cream.

Day 4
Doughnuts for breakfast, took our hire car (neglected for the past two days) for a drive down the strip, Sahara was old skool, Golden Nugget was even older, downtown Vegas is nothing like it's uptown sister, downtown is bit more 'real', if the new glitzy part of the strip is Beyonce then downtown is Lil' Kim, terrified ourselves on the Big Shot ride on top of the Stratosphere Tower Hotel (me: "I can't look down, I can't look down"), best dinner of my life (honest) at Bellagio (chicken wellington, seven-spices lamb, sirloin, garlic asparagus, creme brulee AND chocolate cheescake; "paging Mr Creosote"), waddled round Aladdins back passage before bed.

What shall I give up for lent?
* pissing sitting down?
* beetroot blinis?
* smoking in bed?
* nipping farts?
* letting the dog lick my sour cream dipped cock?
* worrying the samaritans?
* home enemas?
* cheap whisky with cheap cola?
* stroking my barbers balls with my elbow?
* John Foxx -vs- Midge Ure debates?
* kicking down garden walls in Buckhurst Hill?
* changing the bed sheets twice a year?
* secretly wishing I was Deirdre Barlow slash Rachid?
* all of the above?

Day 3
Breakfast - and so it came to pass that we discovered the power of the Krispy Kreme doughnut factory in the Village Food Court here, coffee and doughnuts is a real fat bastards breakfast, more hotel exploring, New York New York (Darren put $10 into a slot machine, the jackpot on that mutha was $2m, he didn't win), Monte Carlo, Bellagio (this place takes the biscuit for utter American luxury in an imagined Italian way) and Caesars Palace, all mind bogglingly perfect and plastic and luxurious and trashy, lunch at a fantastic NYC deli in Caesars called Stage Deli (those huge cinematic sandwiches with meat falling outa them), back to the hotel, watched Jackass The Movie in our room (lots of man-flesh on show, which was nice), went next door to Luxor to see a movie about the Grand Canyon on the Imax screen (too scabby to fork out for a helicopter excursion to the real thing), ate egyptian pizza, walked back to Olde England and collapsed exhausted with cheese in my hair.

Day 2
Woke up here again, eggs, pancakes, french toast and coffee, head to Vegas, lunch in Barstow (which is the home of the U.S. Army National Training Center, Marine Corps Logistics Base and NASA's Goldstone Deep Space Network), lack of Dairy Queens forced us to eat here, two fun hours in Calico Ghost Town, the Sheriff was a blond stud in too-tight jeans and leather chaps, I tried not to stare but couldn't help myself (I jaywalked across deserted streets, I stole expensive soaps from the gift shop, I stood up on the miniature train ride while it was moving but he just wouldn't arrest me), drove into Nevada and made a pit-stop at Buffalo Bills in Primm to do this (big, tall, fast and fun), an hour later we were in Las Vegas and checking into our hotel and this was the view from our bedroom window ($10 extra per night to get a view of the roller coaster at New York New York Hotel opposite, worth every cent), explored Luxor and MGM hotels exhaustively and in awe, Darren bought us tickets to the Blue Man Group show for later in the week (ta chuck, twas brill), ate till we bust a gut at ye olde worlde rountable buffet at Excalibur and fell asleep watching the Manhattan Express do it's stuff.

Day 1
Woke up here, eggs over easy, bacon, pancakes, coffee, short drive to San Fernando Valley, Magic Mountain, park was quiet, Colossus was down, but all the others were running liked raped apes, Goliath was best, nice black-out helix at the end, X was worth the 2 hour wait but scared the pants off me, takes a lot to unsettle me but I was a wreck after riding it, $12 souvenir photo of my husband and I here, dinner in Culver City at Dinah's (50's diner as featured in The Big Lebowski), knackered and in bed at 9pm watching the Grammy's, The Clash/Strummer tribute was a nice surprise, ace day.