Thank...

fuck, the weekend has arrived. I didn't think I was going to make it through this heinous week.

This evening, I'm heading to London to see Tuvia the Canadian. We're going to eat, drink (well, I will for both of us, as Tuvia doesn't drink. Unless it's champagne. What a gay.)and boogie. He's going to take me to (but not 'in') some of his favourite haunts. I'm somewhat worried by this as I'm not sure his favourite haunts will be my favourite haunts. The thing is, Tuvia has muscles where muscles ought not to be and I'm afraid the places he takes me will be frequented by enormously muscley gays with curiously camp voices. Muscle marys infact. And no one likes a muscle mary. No sir. Not me. Not even a little bit.

Spoke to Hot Bescher the other day. I miss him a lot. Not sure why though.

This whole internet lark is amazing. Once again, it has reunited me with a long lost friend. This time, in the form of Rick. I went to an amazing website and typed in his name and company and in .22 seconds, I had his email address.

You can run, but you can't hide.

That wasn't a threat, merely a warning.

Had quite a good outing yesterday. We rowed in an 8 with a new cox and 2 new crew members both of whom are quite attractive. The rest are still repellant, though.


Currently listening to: Luka by Suzanne Vega.

Flip-flops

How fucking sexy are flip-flops? I mean, they don't make someone sexy, but they automatically enhance someone's sexiness.

Provided the wearer has good feet.



Currently listening to: 9 to 5 by Dolly Parton.


Has anyone been to Panama? Should I bother or shouldn't I? I think the country might be a bit DIRTY. To say nothing of the people.

Most played...

on my trusty iPod:

The Zephyr Song, Red Hot Chili Peppers
Supergirl, Reamon
Bermuda Highway, My Morning Jacket
Can't Stand Me Now, The Libertines
Je T'aime...Moi Non Plus, Serge Gainsbourg
You Don't Care About Us, Placebo
Surfin On A Rock, Air
2 Wicky, Hoover
Plume, Smashing Pumpkins
The Paris Match, Style Council
What Gives With You, Abraham
Lolita, Alize
Samedi Soir Sur La Terre, Francis Cabrel
Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien, Edith Piaf
Powder Blue, Elbow
If 6 Was 9, Axiom
Hooded Kiss, Ben Christophers
Mysteries, Beth Gibbons
Alice, Cocteau Twins
Songs Of Love, Divine Comedy

I'm going through a revivalist phase, alright?

Currently listening to: one of the above.

Property values...

are going down. Jericho isn't what it used to be...

The house two doors down from mine used to be occupied by Brookes students. Crap university, crap tenants. They used to sit in the back garden and SHRIEK. For the benefit of my faithful readers abroad, Oxford Brookes is the other university in Oxford. If you meet someone (invariably a Brookes student) who says they study in Oxford, laugh loudly and mock them. The clever kids study at Oxford. There is a world of difference.
Brookes isn't as bad as the other 'university' in Cambridge though. The students there were truly stupid. Frighteningly so.

Anyway, the house two doors down from mine was recently vacated by said Brookes monkeys. My housemates and I were hoping for some fit boys and girls to perve at, befriend and ultimately, bed . Not really. We were hoping they'd be easy on the eye, though. Instead, what can only be described as gypsies or perhaps circus folk have moved in. There are about a dozen of them (at last count). I'm just waiting for the incredible bearded lady to join them. Then the family will be complete.

Currently listening to: Son of a Preacher Man by the late, great Dusty Springfield.

Conrad- photographer and artist, is in town this evening. I can't tell you how thrilling that is for me.

Why do all Coldplay songs sound alike?

Currently wearing: clothes that make me look townie (according to my housemate).

Lethargic...

is the only word I can think of to describe my mood today.

The only thing I want to do is curl up in bed with a good book. Something by Tom Sharpe, I think. I'm in need of cheering up. And maybe Simon & Garfunkel in the background. S & G are great. I've only recently discovered how good they are. To think I've been missing out on the magic of S & G all these years. Just when I think I know what I like and don't like, something I never would have considered listening to a few years ago is on repeat on my iPod.

This morning whilst attending to my morning toilet, I listened to Urban Hymns by The Verve. Beautiful songs. The album was a birthday present from Jen who used to live next to me, my first year at Cambridge. It brought back happy memories of late night walks and chats, hot chocolate and general silliness.

Apparently, your sense of smell has the greatest memory recall ability of all your senses. This is definitely true in my case. Certain smells- the polish used in New College Hall, Aqua di Gio fragrance, old books etc...evoke extremely vivid memories. Both happy and not so happy.

Songs also do this for me. I associate certain songs with certain moods and periods in my life. Urban Hymns is definitely melancholic but it was shared melancholia. The kind that bonds people. 'Tubthumping' is a happier song (if not terribly good) and the song 'You Belong To Me' by Suede reminds me of 4 very frustrating and tiring months in Angel. Those 4 heinous months precipitated my move to Oxford.

Currently listening to: Bleecker Street by Simon & Garfunkel

Go buy one (or many) of these...

They're cheap, handmade, support young designers, ethically produced...I could go on. But I won't.

And no. I'm not on commission. Cynical fuckers.

Currently listening to: Gone by Kruder & Dorfmeister.

I've rediscovered...

Mad About You, Ellen and Scrubs in a big way. I used to watch these programmes, well Ellen and Mad About You, when I was younger but now they are being shown on TV in the UK and I'm revisiting the classics. Scrubs, whilst much newer is excellent too. And Seinfeld. Seinfeld is amazing. Elaine, George and Kramer. There's a bit of each of them, in each of us. Scary shit. But true.


My weekend was fraught. On Saturday, I went to B&Q to buy paint and painting apparatus (aparatii?) so I could paint my bedroom. I was chatted up by a lovely, yet slightly bovine Turkish woman. She insisted I give her my email address. So I did. I hope that wasn't a big mistake. The thing is, I LOVE Turkish food and was secretly hoping she'd introduce me to some good restaurants. Well, not so secretly, I did ask her to recommend some Turkish restaurants. Apparently, there are none in Oxford. The best ones are in London apparently.
What's disturbing is how flirtatious she was being. She was manning the 'Refunds' counter and was generally quite unhelpful. I was waiting in the queue to return a lightbulb my housemate had purchased about 3 months ago which was broken. I didn't have the receipt. I didn't have a hope in hell. I shuffled up to the counter and said "please may I exchange this broken lightbulb for one that isn't broken?" "You have receipt?", she barked. I involuntarily took a step back. "Erm...no, I'm afraid I haven't." "You go find another one, I exchange." I scurried away thinking she probably thinks I'm really cheap for wanting to exchange a faulty lightbulb. Having not purchased said lightbulb, I was annoyed with my housemate for being asked to do his dirty work. Anyway, I finally found the lightbulb aisle and found a matching bulb. It was £9.80. £9.80?! For a fucking lightbulb? At that price, the fucking thing had better outlive me and my children (ha, ha...like I'm ever going to have those smelly, noisy fuckers). Anyway, I went back to the desk, she said "very expensive. Why so expensive?". I muttered something indecipherable, said "thank you" and hurried away to continue with my shopping. Short story long, I had to go back to her counter so she could page some monkey to mix the colour paint I wanted (pale blue) and in the process, she visibly softened, sent all the other customers away by saying "no refunds or returns today" and proceeded to flutter her eye-lashes and thrust her ample bosom in my face. Lord knows what she thought I was thinking but it wasn't what she was hoping.

Wrong forest, wrong tree.

I barely managed to escape with my dignity intact.

That evening, I headed to London to meet up with Tristan and Sophie. Tris and Soph. Who I don't see nearly as often as I should. I blame them entirely. Tristan and I used to share a house when we were at Cambridge along with the lovely Mary and the less lovely Matt. Anyway, met up with Tris and Sophie for a jug of Sangria (they were raving about it. It tasted of weak piss to me) in some 'bar' in Neal's Yard. We chatted and caught up on stuff.

Tristan and I then went off to Soho for dinner. We decided to by-pass the lovely, welcoming, extensive menu, clean, reasonably priced type of places and instead, went to some Italian place which could have doubled as a crack-house. It was, erm, interesting.

Currently listening to: Strange Currencies by R.E.M. (another great band I'm rediscovering).

Sunday, it rained all day. 'Nuff said.

Currently wearing: blue Cons, strange, yet wonderful cords, stripy shirt, knitted vest/tank, black tie, white studded belt. I look interesting according to Evil bosslady.

Currently eating: sunflower seeds by the handful. They're good for you, apparently.

Toilet humour...

An actual letter written to Continental Airlines. Hilarious.

Currently listening to: Thumbelina Farewell by Ron Sexsmith

Friends reunited...

I am, of course, referring to my great friend Alistair. I'm muchly pleased to have been reunited with the Wylie one. It's amazing what Google can tell you when you ask it the right thing. If you've not been to Paisley, don't bother. It's a shithole. Alistair is its one redeeming feature.

Today, I've been writing a report on the Russell Group. It was very exciting. I had a semi the whole time.

The woman who sits next to me is wearing, what appears to be, an enormous doiley. It's not a good look.

I had lunch at Georgina's in the Covered Market again, today. For £4.94, you can get the quiche platter, consisting of a piece of quiche (which real mean DO eat), 2 substantial chunks of bread, rock-hard butter, and a choise of 2 salads (I went for Greek and Waldorf). Bargain. The staff are really friendly and the service is speedy. The only downside is, that the place is too small and is VERY popular.

Currently listening to: Sunday Morning by Velvet Underground.

Currently wearing: flip-flops(what else?!), jeans, brown t-shirt, red zippy top, white studded belt. I look COOL.

Home time...

Now listening to: Picnic By The Motorway by Suede

Saggy titted, unwashed, smelly, uninformed...

More bombs in London. Not good.

Yesterday, I had dinner and drinks with Odette and Rob. We went to The Royal Oak which is my favourite pub in Oxford. There are lots of small rooms and nooks, candles, each light fixture is different, the music is background noise rather than deafening, there is an outside seating area, there is a good selection of beers, ales and wines, the clientele tend to be attractive. The only downside is the extortionate sums they charge. The food is okay but the portions are small and after my main course of Thai noodles I was fucking STARVING. Thank fuck for chips, I thought. I could do with a bowl of chips, lots of salt, ketchup, maybe even some mayonnaise. Clutching the menu, Odette scurried eagerly to the bar to order 2 bowls of chips. Did they have chips? Did they? No, they fucking didn't. No potatoes apparently. Who the fuck runs out of potatoes. If I'd known there was going to be the slightest possibility that the pub would run out of potatoes, I would have brought my own. I have more potatoes at home than I know what to do with. Everyday this week, dinner has consisted of potatoes in various incarnations.

Odette ordered pizza instead and it was DELICIOUS.

I had a couple of pints of Sleemans. It's Canadian. I'm Canadian. We're all Canadian. Hur-fucking-rah. Wasn't very good though.


Today has been quite good. I finished a big piece of work for evil Bosslady (only to be given another one), having drunk 4 litres of water so far, I'm fully hydrated but desperate for a piss, I was coiffed yesterday so have been running my hands through my hair like they do in shampoo adverts etc...life is good.


Anyway...haircuts. Went to a new place (in Little Clarendon Street) yesterday. Even though I was on time, I was kept waiting for 15 minutes. The bint then proceeded to wash my hair (I HATE those sinks with the indentations for your neck) in an unnecessarily vigourous manner. Anyway, her attempt at a head massage was pitiful. Pitiful. AND she hadn't fastened the smelly polyester gown thing around my neck securly so I had water down my back. She then whipped out a rubber thing which looked to me like the mats found on the floor of a car. It weighed about 10lbs. I jerked my head away. I'm sure I have whiplash. So, I was sitting there, trussed up like a chicken, reading Vogue (if they are going to cut men's hair, they should have MEN'S magazines, no?) There was a very informative article on cleansers though. And of course, the usual "how to keep your man happy and give yourself multiple orgasms" type articles.

And so, I was sitting there, reading this girlie magazine (I'm sure they thought I was a bender) when the bitch finally turns up and says "what are we having done today?". So, I dutifully explained in words of one syllable or less, what I wanted done (the same thing I had, only shorter) and she got to work. Of course, my hair was bone-dry by then so she proceeded to drench me with a spray bottle. It was like being caught in a typhoon. Not only was my face now soaking wet, but some moron cranked the music up so she couldn't hear me when I asked for a tissue and had to resort to 'tissue required' gestures.

Having my hair cut is an unpleasant experience but the guy I usually go to knows not to speak to me. I HATE being spoken to whilst I'm being coiffered. The only things I want them to say to me are "would sir like something to drink?" and "what can I do for sir today". Nothing else. NOTHING. I don't do chit-chat. I don't want to know where the bitch is going on holiday (invariably some Costa somewhere or Magaluf or if she's really classy, Lanzarote) or about her boyfriend (Kevin, Barry, Gaz, Trevor) or her dog. I don't care about what she watched on TV last night or what she's doing at the weekend. Just cut my hair, bitch.

The moron I got, clearly subscribed to the 'cram in as much incessant, mindless chatter as you can' school of though. I now know EVERYTHING about this woman. Scary shit, man. AND she kept rubbing her colossal breats against me.

End result: me not terribly happy with my new 'do and regretting ever having set foot in that fucking 'salon'.



Currently listening to: August Day Song by Bebel Gilberto

Non-verbal communication

I'll write more later. I'm very busy, you know...

Currently listening to: Elephant Man by Suede.

Apologies...

for not posting in a while. I know you sad fuckers crave my frequent musings...

That was quite rude. I'm terribly sorry. I really value my readers. I'd value my readers more if they sent cash, though...

Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin...

Since I last posted, lots has been happening. There has been:

-An upset in London
-An awful lot of rowing
-A visit from an old friend
-A bonding session
-A wedding
-A barbecue
-A paint job
-A porn related injury

Not necessarily in that order.

Well, there were some bombs in London. That in itself is disturbing. What's more disturbing is that my parents and most of my 'friends' abroad waited until the weekend to ring to make sure I was still alive. In one case, a full week had elapsed before enquiries were made as to my welfare. Admittedly, I live in Oxford but I could have been in London on the fateful Thursday.

Rowing: really fucking tedious. My crew is no more attractive than it was the last time I posted. Also, they've entered a Regatta. I mean...what the fuck?! This rowing lark was supposed to be fun. Needless to say, I won't be rowing in the Regatta. I value my weekends too much.

A friend from Cambridge days was visiting last week. This was hugely tedious. I don't like being viewed as a cash-machine. 'Nuff said. I'm disappointed and saddened though, as I was really looking forward to seeing him. Twat. That same weekend, Odette and I bonded. Odette is just so damn funny. I love her so much. If only she had a cock. Odette is a fellow Candian. Her husband was at Law school with a mate of mine who is also Canadian (who was at Keble last year but is now working in London for a year). Anyway, Odette and her husband are moving back to Canadia tomorrow (AARRRGGGGHHHH!) which means there's one less non-odious person with whom I can have a laugh this summer. Hot Bescher, Tuvia, Odette...the fuckers always leave me.

Anyway, Odette came around for dinner last Sunday bearing champagne. CHAMPAGNE! We chatted, watched TV, had dinner and took a Jane Austen-esque turn around the garden before she looked at her watch and said "It's getting late and I still have to pack for my flight tomorrow (she was going to Israel for a week), is it safe for me to walk back to my place from here. Maybe you want to walk me back with your bike, then you can cycle home?"

I live in Jericho and she lives in Norham Gardens. I just looked at her and her toned, muscular arms.

"Wait...you've been trained in hand-to-hand combat by the Israeli army and you want me to walk you home in case you get attacked?!" I asked incredulously.

She's been fucking trained by the Israeli fucking army in hand-to-fucking-hand combat and she wants me to walk her home. What protection did she think I was going to offer? I can scream really loudly and of course, I did have my bike so I'd have been alright but Odette would have been on her own. Freak.

Being the gentleman I am, I did walk her home. Uneventfully...

On Friday, I attended the wedding of yet more Cambridge people. It was in London at the Royal Society of Art. It was very pleasant. I consumed more champagne in that one evening than I have in a long time. The venue was beautiful, the service itself was short and dinner was excellent. The bride's family who are Mormons had flown to London from Utah. They are easily, the best looking family I've ever seen. Both the men and the women were tall, slim, had perfect features, were sweet, charming etc...It was like looking in a mirror. It must be the clean living, no fun lifestyles they lead. No alcohol, no caffeine, in bed by 10, Jesus is their best friend etc...

I, of course, looked rather fabulous in my cream suit, pink shirt and tie. Very Gatsby...

Saturday was spend recovering.

Sunday: my housemate had some mad friend from London visiting for the day. We decided to have a barbecue in the garden. We chatted, ate, drank and made merry. 2 other 'friends' came too. One was an hour late and brought 1 tub of Ben & Jerry's (there were 6 of us present, and it was a crap flavour) and the other was so on time that we were still unloading the car when she arrived bearing 3 cans of Stella. Classy. Needless to say, the afternoon was tedious...

The outside of the house is being painted by marginally more attractive people than the roofers.

Too much porn is bad, It doesn't make you go blind or anything but you do get a sore cock. So I've been told.

Currently listening to: Nothing Compares 2 U by Prince. No, not Sinead O'Conner; PRINCE.

Currently wearing: flip-flops(!), jeans, shirt and a bored expression.

My 'friend' still hasn't told this guy he fancies that he fancies him. What to do?

I'm going to paint my bedroom next weekend. I'm thinking some shade of blue. I like blue.

Now listening to: Octobre by Francis Cabrel.

Have a look at ipodlouge.com

We Canadians are, like, soooooo stylish...

Hilarity...

Stumbled across this today...fucking HILARIOUS.

Background: Laura Schlessinger is a US radio personality who dispenses advice to people who call in to her radio show. Recently, she said that as an observant Orthodox Jew, homosexuality is an abomination according to Leviticus 18:22 and cannot be condoned in any circumstance. The following is an open letter to Dr. Schlessinger penned by a US resident, which was posted on the Internet:

Dear Dr. Laura: Thank you for doing so much to educate people regarding God's Law. I have learned a great deal from your show, and I try to share that knowledge with as many people as I can. When someone tries to defend the homosexual lifestyle, for example, I simply remind them that Leviticus 18:22 clearly states it to be an abomination. End of debate. I do need some advice from you, however, regarding some of the other specific laws and how to follow them.

a) When I burn a bull on the altar as a sacrifice, I know it creates a pleasing odor for the Lord (Lev. 1:9). The problem is my neighbors. They claim the odor is not pleasing to them. Should I smite them?

b) I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair price for her?

c) I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in her period of menstrual uncleanliness (Lev. 15:19-24). The problem is, how do I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offense.

d) Lev. 25:44 states that I may indeed possess slaves, both male and female, provided they are purchased from neighboring nations. A friend of mine claims that this applies to Mexicans, but not Canadians. Can you clarify? Why can't I own Canadians?

e) I have a neighbor who insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 5:2 clearly states he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself?

f) A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is an abomination (Lev. 11:10), it is a lesser abomination than homosexuality. I don't agree. Can you settle this?

g) Lev. 21:20 states that I may not approach the altar of God if I have a defect in my sight. I have to admit that I wear reading glasses. Does my vision have to be 20/20, or is there some wiggle room here?

h) lots of my male friends get their hair trimmed, including the hair around their temples, even though this is expressly forbidden by Lev.19:27. How should they die?

i) I know >from Lev. 11:6-8 that touching the skin of a dead pig makes me unclean, but may I still play football if I wear gloves?

j) My uncle has a farm. He violates Lev. 19:19 by planting two different crops in the same field, as does his wife by wearing garments made of two different kinds of thread (cotton/polyester blend). He also tends to curse and blaspheme a lot. Is it really necessary that we go to all the trouble of getting the whole town together to stone them? (Lev.24:10-16) Couldn't we just burn them to death at a private family affair like we do with people who sleep with their in-laws? (Lev. 20:14)

I know you have studied these things extensively, so I am confident you can help. Thank you again for reminding us that God's word is eternal and unchanging. Your devoted disciple and adoring fan, Jake

"I'd rather be free than secure." Ben Franklin

Grottofilms c/o the Dog & Cat Hospital 26 Fell Street San Francisco CA 94102 415-255-1659 www.grottofilms.com

The Tank

Yesterday, we rowed in the tank at the University Sports Centre. It was a good session- we focused on technique (hand heights, catches, slowing the slide down etc...). Our coach was mind-bogglingly repellant. He was enormously corpulent and looked like he'd never been near a boat, let alone in one. He turned out to be a pretty good coach though, much better than our regular one (who's a twat). Just goes to show; those who can't, teach.

The tank has mirrors around it so you can watch yourself and the rest of the crew. This would be a bonus if my crew was even marginally attractive. Instead, I was transfixed by the amount of perspiration pouring out of them. I've never seen such over-active sweat glands. Fortunately, the smell of chlorine was strong enough to mask the stench, otherwise, I'd have been retching all over the place. The crew, apart from 1 person (fucking German), is comprised of pleasant, if slightly dull people. Also known as 'scientists'. Still, you can't have everything.

Currently listening to: Supergirl by Reamon. I listen to the song daily. Just fucking deal with it.

Currently wearing: damp clothes. Fucking weather.

Hot Bescher's parting shot as he left Oxford was that I abuse the English language by swearing too much in my blog. He's American. He's fucking American. I ask you...talk about the blind leading the blind.

The weekend consisted of a sojourn to London. Tedious. Some enormous concert was happening in Hyde Park and the gays were having their Pride parade thing. Anyway, the traffic was horrific. I was tripping over do-gooders and gays. Went to the Tate Modern. It was pleasant. A gayer place you'd be hard pressed to find.

Gym after work. I'm on a mission to have BULGING muscles like Marketmosley.

Mosley oh mosley
where are you, my muscular
medical Mosley?

Aren't haikus wonderful?

Now listening to: Twist in my Sobriety by Tanita Tikaram. Anyone remember her?

Now, serious question:

Suppose you have a friend you fancy but you're pretty sure he/she doesn't fancy you. He/she has had plenty of opportunity to make it known that they fancy you but no such information has been forthcoming. What do you do? Do you tell your friend you fancy them and risk the friendship being strained afterwords? Do you say nothing at all? Do you get them drunk and make a move on them?

Please tell me. I, erm, have a friend who wants to know...

Now listening to: Be Still My Heart by Silje Nergaard

Clearly my readers in Washington DC have forgotten that I want to move there for a little while (6 months?). A job...give me a fecking job out there...I'm super-qualified to do loads of shit, I have more letters after my name than I know what to do with... just give me a fecking job.

I'm not really qualified to do anything. I studied Renaissance Literature for fuck sake.

The Big Brother housemates are gormless cretins. Yet, I watch avidly.



Home time.

Lightning...

it seems, has struck...

I am deeply in love with Marketmosley. I've never actually met the boy, but still...

Oxford is a small place and I'm sure I'll stumble across him soon.

I'll arm-wrestle anyone who dares come between me and my Mosley. That's hot. HOT.

I've never been taken in an observatory...or in Green.

Currently listening to: Baby One More Time by Travis.

Currently popping: many Clarityn. My hayfever is killing me.

Currently wearing: very little.

That's not true. I'm at work.



I'm not really in love with Marketmosley.