Travel Sweets

Does anyone remember these? Tins of hard-boiled sweets covered in a huge drift of dusty looking icing sugar. I think you can still buy them in some forgotten shops in eerie backwaters of the country. They were so hard that when you managed to eventually break them (rather than your teeth) they shattered into vicious shards that would slice and tear at the insides of your mouth.

Hmmm…

Anyway. Travel sweets may well be required. I’ll need something substantial to suck on in a few days, as I’ll be idle for 22 hours from Wednesday evening.

I have a good book, I have an iPod, I have lots of thinky stuff to do. There may be films and there will hopefully be booze to keep me occupied. With any luck there will also be some attractive gentlemen to look at whilst they service me, however in past experience there are usually lots of sturdy, older ladies with formidable bosoms and mouths like dog’s bum’s smeared in lippy instead. I am, of course, referring to my flight to Sydney!! Yay! At last it’s within sight. I’m beside myself with excitement. The fact that it’s been raining and grey there for the past week or so hasn’t dampened my spirits. The friends that we’re staying with are a little disappointed on our behalf with the forecast, but I don’t care. It’ll be great to be in Sydney again and to spend time with them as they are just brilliant and I can’t wait. I can’t wait. Did I mention I can’t wait?!

This will probably be my last post before departure. I’m not sure I’ll get to post again until I return. I’ll do my best but can’t promise.
Just in case I don’t get to do post again until 2008…

Merry Christmas and a Happy & peaceful New Year to you all.

To those who read or comment often, thank you, I feel honoured that you take the time to read my ramblings and make the effort to comment from places all over the globe, I can guarantee that each and every one of you has made me smile at some point this year. To those who may have happened here by accident or by chance, season’s greetings to you, please call in again and leave me a message so I can return the visit.

Tagged

Ooh! Completely new to me - I've been tagged to do this by T$ - why thanks!

Here goes...

1. When you were born, how much did you weigh? Not very much at all. I was tiny and jaundiced, so at least I looked like I had a tan. For a while, when I returned to the hospital for checks etc I was mistaken for a new born baby all of the time and only given smaller amounts of food - which even then made me a wee bit cranky!

2. What's you're sugar poison? Obvious innit?! Cake

3. If you had to choose between meat and cheese for the rest of your life, which would you choose? Then be specific. Hmmm... I'm really not a fan of cheese. It's pants. Especially if it's got lots of blue veins in it. urgh. Meat? Well, has to be sausages. I think they are divine and the 3 Kings should have arrived manger-side armed with a string of Lincolnshires instead of myrrh.

4. What, is your opinion, is the worst song ever? Not sure if they're the worst songs ever but... I just don't get Mika's stuff. They're such irritating prattle.

5. Who was your favorite teacher growing up and why? Miss Barker from 6th form English Lit. She was great, behaved like she was our friend, invited us all over to her house for dinner just before Christmas and was generally cool. How could 17 year olds not love that? Even gay ones!

6. What personal activity, when performed in public, bothers you the most? I can't bear spitting. It's just so deeply unpleasant and antisocial.

7. Ok, there's a $50 bill lying on the ground. You pick it up. Dumbfounded by your incredible luck, what do you selfishly purchase? See answer #2. I'd probably have my ill-gotten cake with booze. Or sausage butties. With HP sauce. Hunger crisis....!

8. Do you have a recurring nightmare? It's not a nightmare but I used to have it often when in my 20's and lately it's returned. I dream that I am, or I'm turning into, a vampire. It's not scary, I don't get upset by it as it's fascinating at the time - I can feel my teeth straining through my gums and my throat getting dry. A dream dictionary advises seeking help or counselling... outrageous cheek!

9. Name one place on Earth you've never been, but vow to visit at least once. South America. Anywhere there that's historic or of particular importance - Galapagos Islands, Machu Picchu, The Amazon Basin... ooh so much stuff there to see.

10. You notice that question #9 wasn't really a question. You feel smart for catching such a small detail. What else can you do really well that reminds you how smart you are? Hmmm... doesn't remind me how smart I am but my memory spooks me sometimes. My friends say I have a freakish memory. I can remember what we had for dinner in Key West in 2003, What TOH was wearing when I met him, the names of my whole class alphabetically from when I was 7, those kinds of things.

What do I do with this now? Am I supposed to pass it on?

Advent Calendar (with chocolate)

I'm having my own kind of advent calendar this year. Days until departure for Sydney. I now have 2 weeks left. 14 days. In fact, less than that now, this time in two weeks I shall be on a plane heading to the other side of the world. I can't wait.

It's been about five years since I was last in Sydney. When I was last there, I really felt that I'd missed it from when I was backpacking and living there. At that time I still really wanted to live in Sydney and TOH was also keen, meeting up with companies in the hopes of securing employment. Time has moved on, so have I and I don't think I want to live there now - it's so far away from my friends and now ageing family. However, I'm not sure I'll feel the same when I land and remember, truly remember how much I love it.

As my travelling diaries had some success a few months ago, I'm going to post my diary entry from the day I arrived in Sydney for the very first time 14 years ago.

Here goes...

"I've had a mixed day. It has swung from excitement to complete disappointment and then elation. I'm so bloody tired!

I didn't get much sleep on the bus as it was cold and stopped everywhere. Some of the places we stopped in, I had really wanted to visit but since Jane and I left the others, our main aim has been to get to Sydney to find work. My money has run really low thanks to Surfer's and Byron Bay and I'll need work pretty quick in order to stay for any length of time. No word from Steve or Nick since we left them. I'm not upset or bothered. That confuses me a bit as we were all such good friends and I feel nothing about not speaking to them again. I thought I would.

I was wide awake for most of the night but at the time I didn't mind as I was so eager to see Sydney. As we drove I got more and more excited, I woke Jane up when I started to see the signs indicating Sydney was close (by close, I mean close in Australian standards i.e. less than one light year away). As the day broke we were very near, by 7am we were crossing the harbour bridge on a grey, dull and wet morning. Jane and I looked out of the window and I felt cheated. It wasn't what I expected. It wasn't beautiful, it wasn't breathtaking, everything just gunmetal grey, the water looked grey, the sky looked grey, the city looked grey, even the Opera House looked grey and was made even worse by cheery coloured sections that had been added for the now successful Olympic bid.

We got off the bus and headed to a hostel that Neil from Byron Bay had recommended. At the time I wished we'd stayed in Byron. We were so tired that we went to sleep, we didn't speak a great deal, it turned out that Jane was feeling much the same as me.

I woke up at about 11.30am. I was so thirsty. I got up and roused Jane. I met her in the bar of our hostel - it's a bit rough around the edges but everyone is friendly and welcoming which lifted my spirits a little. We decided we'd walk into the city for a look around - we both felt determined to find something that would make us happier. We walked from the hostel past Central Station, I was surprised to see a Liverpool Street here - I felt the name should have made me perkier but, as the rain was still falling, I was having trouble with my soggy mood. It was a decent walk and as we reached the centre the rain eased off, giving us some relief and then the sun came out so we started to get hot. We agreed to press on to the harbour so that we could say that at least we'd given it a try, despite our earlier impressions. As we neared the harbour we could see the sun shining on the water, then the street opened out and we were there. The sun was blazing down, the water an amazing green and the Opera House terrifyingly white, harsh but still astonishingly beautiful. I actually laughed out loud. I couldn't believe it. I was here in Sydney gazing at the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House. It's astounding. I don't understand how I could have been so mistaken. It's only been one day and already I don't think I want to leave. I HAVE GOT to find a job here so I can use my working visa to stay as long as possible.

Jane and I celebrated with beers at a bar on the harbour and then walked back to our hostel in much higher spirits. We then celebrated again in the bar this evening and made some new friends, Jane even managed to secure herself a job as a barwoman here - I don't know how she bloody manages it. I reckon it's because of her enormous yet impressive chest. It seems to have magical properties and charms all males within a mile radius. Still, at least one of us has a job and we can sub each other if needs be. The couple that are running the hostel have recommended a few agencies which they say were great at putting work their way so I'll give them a go tomorrow. If not, I'll see what I can do to get a cleavage like Jane's to boost my job possibilities.

I'm now in my bunk writing this. My dorm has 2 sets of bunk beds and I'm on the bottom of one set. Above me is a guy from Warwick - he seems nice enough, his nickname is Sharky as he's a bit of a ladies' man apparently. Opposite is Barry, an older guy who used to be a jockey. He's been here ages and the folks in the bar say he's great when you need a tip for the bookies. He scares me a bit tho. Above opposite is a Canadian called Matt who arrived later today. He seems really nice, quiet but friendly.

It's quiet in here and I'm feeling so happy. It's a bit like Christmas. I really want to sleep so I can get up tomorrow and explore but I'm too excited about being here to sleep."

I had such a great time at that hostel before moving out to Coogee Beach. Matt became a good friend and we're still in touch. I had an enormous crush on him whilst in Sydney, pleasingly that's faded away now and he lives in Chicago. God, I hope he never chances across this blog!

I got a job a couple of days later in Bondi Junction working for Westpac card services which paid me so well I was even able to save some cash! Jane and I stayed together for ages until she left Sydney for New Zealand. I still couldn't bear to leave so I stayed with my new found friends, one of whom I'll be staying with in Sydney this Christmas.

2 weeks. And counting...

p.s. The pic is from my last trip to Australia - this was Boxing Day 2002 and 3 kookaburras were all wet and fluffed up on our friends' deck. So cute - this one is eating some fruit - it took it from my hand - so jolly friendly!

Food Guilt

I’m not normally that bothered about how much food I eat – it’s just what I shove in my mouth that counts. However, with now only 20 days before I board my flight to Sydney I’ve had a crashing realisation… I need to be beach ready.
Bugger! I’ve left it too late. I’m concerned that whilst lolling about in the sun with the surf lapping around my ankles, some Greenpeace do-gooders will spring from the bush and attempt to haul me from the beach and back into lifesaving waters whilst asking the age-old questions “what does cause them to beach themselves knowingly?” “How come it’s here at this time of year?” “Why is this one wearing shorts?”

Maybe I’ll just buy a kaftan and pretend I’m Turkish.
Do they wear kaftans in Turkey?

I’m unprepared in other ways for Sydney too. I haven’t even considered wardrobe options, I haven’t thought about body husbandry and I can’t remember if my visa was done when we bought the tickets or if I still need to do it.

Hmmm… On the upside – it’s still 3 weeks away so I’ve got a bit of time to sort stuff out.

The festive season is almost upon us so I’m going to be busy all the way up until departure. Already, every weekend is taken care of and midweek drinks and dinners are now filling up so that we can meet up with friends and family to wish them season’s greetings.

Note to self. Must get a mistletoe hat….

Ice...

...cold. Brrr...

It's turned cold, grey and miserable here in London. This is a pic from my front door this afternoon at 3.30pm today. Bone-chilling drizzle has settled in for the next few months, hailstones hammering on the window woke me up last night. It's already so hard to remember what it feels like to be too hot, too hot to sleep, too hot to move around quickly, too hot to cope with London Underground. Why is that? In summer it's so tough to remember what it feels like to have cold feet or ears so cold that they hurt. Hmmm...

Already I'm missing blue skies and light evenings. It's dark, properly dark, here by 4.30pm now. I can understand how people may suffer from SAD. I'm lucky that I can escape from the gloom and speed off to brighter, sunnier climes. Only a few weeks to go now before I touch down on the opposite side of the planet to soak up some summer heat. If it rains in Sydney, I may actually cry. Still, at least it's pretty there and they sell beer - that'll cheer me up no end.

I've just spent a lovely weekend in the country and by the sea. One night at our friends' house in Kent - an impressive building which looks like a doll's house from the outside. They're both gentlemen of lavender persuasion so it's a bit 'Hello Dolly' (or should I say doily) on the inside too. If you're reading this boys - you know we love you both! It was a great evening with a splendid dinner and I enjoyed playing with Mungo, their pug, immensely. Apparently, Mungo pug helped himself to far too many Murray Mints in the afternoon and our friend had to spend some time sponging down the interior of his car before his other half finds out... Naughty pug.

We then zoomed off through the deluge to Brighton to be wind-burned, chapped and sea-soaked for a couple of days.

I'm a bit smug with myself at having conquered most of my Christmas shopping, with now only a couple of presents to get. I treated myself to a few choice items too, as did The Other Half, but we both admitted that we got a bit carried away as the shop assistant, a super hottie from Italy, was extremely positive whilst we tried on clothes. I'd have bought a bin bag to wear if he said I looked good in it.

I'm now home sheltering from the rain and wondering what it feels like to have toasty warm hands. Perhaps I should actually get off my big ol' behind and pop the heating on.

Send me warmth and sunshine someone...

I’ve had my fill!!

I’ve said this so many times over the years and I’m saying it again now. I’ve had enough of my job. I just wish I could think what I’d rather do instead. My problem is, I don’t have a clue.

After a meeting this morning with some very grumpy managers bleating on about the same old things (which they are responsible for) expecting me to be able to make things different for them. They seek my advice yet choose not to take it, making our processes unfair.

Bugger! I’ve done this for a long time now, for the same company and I’m pretty sure it’s time for a change. Ridiculously, my job is to recruit people and to advise others within our company how to consider their suitability for other roles, yet I can’t apply my own advice to myself.

I feel a bit trapped as I’m now approaching 40 and it just gets harder and harder to change your career when you get to this age. What now? Well, my first instinct is to begin running in circles, yelling a lot whilst tearing at my remaining hair.

I need a plan, I need to find out what it is that I really want to do when I grow up. However, the grown up part already happened and I forgot to check the calendar, so it’s all come as a bit of a surprise.

I want to work in London where it will only take me a short time to get to work – I travel 1.5 hours each way every day.
I want to work for a well-recognised brand with a reputation for innovative thinking and a unique style, like the company I work for now.
I want to be close enough to my friends so that I could meet them for lunch on a work day if we wanted to.
Do I want too much?

Sigh. I feel blue…

on a much cheerier note tho... There's a new blog in town! If anyone fancies joining cuteCTguy and I in a spot of reading, we've started a book-club-blog-type thing. Check it out and see if it's of interest...

www.metrotextuality.blogspot.com

Fuzzy

I mentioned my dog in a previous post and it’s a subject that’s been on my mind for a while. I’ve finally persuaded TOH that we (or I…) need, actually REALLY NEED, a dog. It’s taken a while for me to convince him that it’s a great idea but since achieving this small victory many people have said things that have made even me waiver in my certainty that it’s what I really want.

Questions posed…

“You have a lot of holidays. What’s going to happen then?”
This is true. We also have a whole battalion of people waiting in the wings who are desperate to be dog-sitters. Phew! Next…

“You both work. Is it fair on the dog to be alone all day?”
TOH is currently working from home so the dog would usually have someone around to begin with. We’d also be having doggy-daycare pop in twice a day to take him for walks and to ensure he’s happy.

“Is this dog a child substitute?”
!!! This is the question that throws me every time someone asks it. Because I’m a gay man in a relationship with another gay man, people seem to assume that we want our lives to resemble a straight married couples’ lifestyle as closely as possible.

I’ve had to stop and think about the question though. Would the dog be a pseudo-child?

No. It would be a furry pet that I can take for walks and do fun stuff with but it would be just that - a pet. It wouldn’t be treated like a person, it wouldn’t be allowed to sleep on my bed, it wouldn’t be allowed to dictate what goes on in my house. I can sense the shaking of heads and rolling of eyes as people tut and say “just you wait”. My previous dog was brilliant. He was friendly, amiable and always up for tummy rubs but he didn’t think he was a person because he was never treated like one. I reckon he thought we were all dogs (I’m always keen on a biscuit and a backscratch myself!)

All I know is that I really enjoyed having a dog and I miss it. It’ll mean a change in our lives, true, and it will be a responsibility but it will NOT be a child and therefore not treated like one. It will have to wait until next year anyway as we’ve got too much on until then. Who knows? Circumstances may not allow it by then and I do feel a bit nause at the idea of scooping up poo…

Now, I have to decide what kind… just needs to be fuzzy and up for scratch behind his ears at any time of day.

Bon bons…. Can you shake yours?

In my last post I mentioned how certain music can lift my mood, Muzbot recently posted about his music collection and whilst faffing around with my iPod on the way to work this morning, trying to decide exactly what kind of mood I was in before I could choose appropriate music, I realised that it’s time I told you all something...

Back to this morning...

I really couldn’t settle on what to listen to so I just let fortune decide for me and put the whole thing on random. After a couple of songs I realised that this morning, absolutely nothing else would do but a playlist that I love yet don’t listen to very often. I’m not sure why I don’t listen to it that much and every time I do, I tell myself I should listen to it frequently and add more tunes to it.

Not sure if this should be a secret but now we’re all friends I’m feeling confident. I’m unashamed.

My name is Darth and I love Latino music. The cheesier the better. I suppose it’s my musical guilty pleasure.

I’m always on the lookout for new stuff so any recommendations will be gratefully received.

In the summer TOH and I were driving to a party in the north – about 5 hours drive – and we gave a couple from Buenos Aires a ride. We’d never met them before but they were good friends of the birthday girl and had flown to the UK especially for the occasion. I was a little anxious about the journey at first as we didn’t know them, it’s a long drive and I don’t speak any Spanish (apart from ‘Ola’ and ‘ tres cervezas por favor’). The trip turned out to be brilliant as they were so entertaining and lovely. Paola is an ex-model who eats like a horse yet remains glamorously toned - TOH and I watched slack-jawed as she demolished a Burger King mountain before dashing off to get donuts for the rest of the journey, just to keep hunger pangs at bay you understand. Esteban is a flirtatious, cheekily friendly little chap who won over this uber model by jumping into her car at traffic lights during Buenos Aires rush hour to ask her for a date.

After the preliminary introductions and clarification of links to our mutual friend, the conversation tailed off into silence as we all gazed out of the windows to watch the countryside zip by and to will the time to pass. As a desperate ploy to engage in something that we could talk about I volunteered my enjoyment of latino music as a starter for ten. Before we knew it, we were arriving at our destination, I had a huge list of artists to look up on iTunes and we’d made some new friends who proved to be hilarious company later in the evening at the party.

Just goes to show that music can unite us all. Right, I need to find a bucket to vom into after my last, seriously groany comment.

Cue brassy trumpets, maracas and rapid plonky piano….

Pick n Mix

I was dithering about what to write today. Whilst a fair amount has gone on and I've done stuff lately it's all quite bittty and, I reckon, wouldn't make for interesting reading. Then I thought that I didn't start this blog to make it interesting reading but that it was for me to write that was the point. Then I had to have a sit down as I was out last night with some lovely London bloggers and a visiting Australian, I mixed far too many drinks, stayed out far too late on a school night and enjoyed myself far too much. Actually, I don't think I could ever enjoy myself too much.

So. This post is going to consist of some random bits and pieces. Apologies if it makes no sense, follows no acceptable patterns or reason. I'm kinda hungover, which for me doesn't actually involve headaches or nausea but a vague and distant state of thought and being. Right now this feels like I'm using someone else's hands to type and I definitely have at least one of someone else's eyeballs in.

Random thingy no. 1

Here's a pic of the beautiful view I woke up to each morning in Wales where I spent the weekend with TOH and 10 of my friends.

Random thingy no. 2

Here's a pic of the wide, blissfully empty beach that we walked along for hours in Wales. My friends all happily incognito too.

Random thingy no. 3

Whilst listening to my iPod this afternoon on my way home from work I was considering why certain songs literally make me smile - I just can't help it. I have a playlist called "Smile" which I listen to to cheer myself up or just because I'm feeling perky.

Some songs make me smile because they remind me of something in particular - people, for example, or places. Some songs just make me smile because they're so damn good. This may be something that could warrant more discussion in a post devoted all to itself but my train of thought moved on to how certain senses bring back such powerful memories.

Here is a quick list of a memory that I associate with each sense.

Clove cigarettes - the smell of these instantly brings back memories of Western Australia, Perth in particular. I was in a new country - one that I'd been desperate to visit for many years - and I loved it.

Little Red Corvette - this song just reminds me of being young, with hair and actually enjoying being a youth! I don't understand why but the guitar solo is the bit that makes me grin my head off.

Fur - I love animals, I can't help it. Stroking dogs or cats reminds me of my dog, Blue. He was 18 years old when he died and I was away backpacking around the world. For months after I got home, eating a biscuit always had a sad, little ending as I always, ALWAYS gave the last corner of it to him. I felt bad finishing a whole biscuit to myself for ages.

Ribena - I don't actually like it any more but the tase of it still makes me feel like I'm about 5 years old. For some reason, when I was growing up, it always seemed like such a luxury. We weren't the poorest of families but we weren't rich either so I suppose mum and dad made sure that the essentials were always there. Ribena always tasted... forbidden almost, a guilty pleasure - hard when you're only 5!

The Adventures of Priscilla Queen of the Desert - Not just because it reminded me of Australia and our own van, Mitzi, but because it reminds me of when I saw it first here in London with my friends. The Prince Charles cinema had a drag show before the film and everyone dressed up. It followed on from their infamous Friday night screenings of the Rocky Horror show and Sing-along-a-Sound of Music. I was newly gay, new to London and absolutely loving it. I loved my friends and I couldn't believe that my life could be so brilliant. Watching it now still fills me with a little of that excitement. However, it's like drugs, it never ever feels as good as the first time and fades a little more each go.

My final words are to recommend a song to make you smile. It's brilliant, I defy anyone not to grin at some point during it. Wierdly it's about a shipwreck but it's kinda sea-shanty-like and totally jolly. Look it up if you've never heard it.

Lady of the Sea by Seth Lakeman

Tea & Toast and Fluffy Socks...

...that's all you need when you return from a trip away.

I arrived home at 4pm this afternoon. Tomorrow morning I have to get up early to catch a train to North Wales where I'm spending the weekend with TOH and 10 of our friends in a beautiful country house. I can't wait.

Apologies to those who've commented that I'm never here (Matterdays!). I promise I'll do a proper post early next week.

In the meantime here is my homecoming haiku. I'm trying hard Muzbot!

Goodbye Fuji-san.
Here brittle blue London skies,
Love's open arms. Home.

Sushi

Just back from a damp and grey Mallorca, heavy cold firmly established and now I'm dashing off to Tokyo. This time it's for work. Interviewing for a couple of batches of new recruits.

I'll give more details about both Mallorca and Tokyo when I get back in just over a week's time.

Inspired by travel to Japan and the sensitive and super deep Muzbot, I've had a bash at my first haiku. Apologies if it's pants and upsets the delicate creative balance of the universe. Here goes...

Tokyo's autumn warmth
Dreams made real, some hopes shattered
My heart yearns for K

hmmm...

Out to Lunch...

...in Mallorca!

Normal service will be resumed on Wednesday when I return, hopefully tanned and stuffed to the gizzards with Spanish food.

Have a super weekend if you've dropped by to say hi.

x

Left Overs...

I wasn't sure if I should include any more of my old (now very old!) diary entries from when I backpacked around vast swathes of the earth some 13 - 14 years ago. I decided that anyone reading it would get bored with my yesteryear pretty soon but thought I'd include just one more entry as a post here.

This entry was my last of the whole 2 years of backpacking. It had been a long, eventful trip and I wouldn't have changed a moment of it back then. Now? I wish I'd taken more pictures, kept in touch with all of those amazing people I met and really, REALLY made sure that I treasured every second of it. Of course now I look back, all of those seconds I can remember are but only a fraction of the whole, so I value them greatly.

By the time I wrote this entry I'd changed as a person. I realised that I valued my friends more, how much I really missed my family but not my home and that I just couldn't believe I'd ever been swayed by peer pressure, by the end of my trip it was all my show, my life and I'd already decided what changes needed to be made in order for me to begin to enjoy it as someone being honest with himself.

So. Here it is. It's kinda dull but it ends the story.

"Hello diary. It's been a few weeks. All I've used you for is to lean on to write letters. I'll make amends.

I honestly do like Hong Kong. It's such a vibrant, interesting place. It makes my head spin and fills me with excitement when I'm out and about. In lots of ways I'm sorted here. I now have my HK resident's card, I have a job and I have somewhere to live. Shih and Shih are great guys to live with but I rarely see them, they work such long hours. Sai Kung is lovely too. It's pretty and people are friendly, considering I'm one of the few gweilos in the place. It's a long haul into Central tho and the cash I spend getting to and from work and then on rent takes up most of what I get paid. I wish I'd taken that step and just gone to Chungking Mansions like all the other backpackers. I'd have met more people that way. It was so kind of Shih to take me in and it would have been fine if Jo had made it here. Jane said she'd fly out too but not sure if she actually means it.

I'm lonely here. I don't seem to have made friends like I did everywhere else. Sometimes I go to Central to walk around or go to the peak to write my letters just so I'm where there are lots of people. I've found myself eagerly volunteering to take photos for people so that I get to talk to them. That sounds so weedy but it's true! I s'pose I speak to people at work but as I'm the only person there, it's just customers but everyone's in such a rush here they barely say two words.

I've been thinking about home a lot lately. I don't really miss it. Not sure if I should feel bad about that or not. I've never been the kind of person to get homesick so I suppose that's why. I do miss mum and dad though. Pete and Martin have written a fair bit. Mark never writes - for some reason he seemed annoyed when I left and two years later I haven't found out why, nor has he replied to letters. Wierd as Bev has replied and they were supposed to have moved in together by now.

...oops. I left writing this a couple of days ago as I needed to meet Shih. Things have changed a lot in such a short time.

I guess I'll find out why Mark hasn't written fairly soon as I've decided that I'm going home. I had a bit of a fiasco at STA as they told me my whole return ticket was only worth £60 and I'd have to pay more for my flight back. I don't understand how it all works and the lady in the shop didn't really know why either. I had to put it on my credit card. The woman at STA suggested I contact head office when I get back. I've got a flight anyway and I'm due to arrive home on mum's birthday which is a good present, I reckon. I'm flying on Virgin Airways, a new airline for me - they've got TV's in every seat! I could do with a bit of telly - it's been ages.

I'm looking forward to going home now. Only 2 days to go. It's hot and sticky here and I feel as if I haven't seen proper seasons for such a long time. I can't wait to see some non-tropical trees that will lose their leaves in a few weeks. What a nerd. Mum and dad seem really pleased. I haven't seen them for nearly 2 years. Wonder if they'll think I've changed. I wonder if they have!

I'm going out for dinner with Shih, Shih, King and the christian girls tomorrow to say goodbye. The girls tried to persuade me to stay. They're lovely and Shih P says that they all desperate for me to ask one of them out. He also laughed and said that they hope I'll go to church with them and join their social club. Small panic about that. The last thing I need is someone to try and convert me to a die-hard church-goer. They'd freak if they knew what was going on inside my head. They haven't seen Shih working out in the spare room like I have. Perhaps another reason why it's best I left. I'm not sure I can carry on with my act any more, not whilst he's parading around with very little on apart from sweat covering a billion muscles.

So. Homeward bound. I'll write more tomorrow and then I reckon one more post when I get home to finish it all off."

I never did finish it off. Shih and Shih gave me a watch as a leaving present - I nearly blubbed. My intentions of writing a final homecoming entry were never carried out. I was excited to get home, it was great to see my parents, brother and friends again. I arrived home early on a Saturday morning. I picked up my diary on Monday morning to complete my account of my journey. I couldn't write anything. It hit me that I'd made a massive mistake. I couldn't believe I was home and that I'd now need to find a job, pick up my old life with my old friends and carry on as if nothing had happened. I cried for hours. It's a good job everyone else was out at work.

Fortunately for me, by then my passion for travel had become hard-wired into my brain. After a couple of days moping I realised that any career ambitions I may have had were no longer relevant. I didn't care about work. I just wanted more travel. My flight home had given me an idea. I needed to be able to combine the two things. I decided that home couldn't live up to where I'd been and the only place in the UK that could, would be London. It was also the place that I knew I'd feel safest and have more opportunities for... well... for everything I'd need as a gay man.

Oddly enough, my Virgin flight spurred me into a career in travel but it was quite a few years later before I actually considered that it might be a good company to work for. It is. Now I do.

These days I travel all of the time, often for work, all of the time for pleasure. I'm truly content.

Another slice...

Ok. My last post seemed to be of some minor success... so I'll continue in a similar vein with a different kind of twist. In my last post I explained that Australia had a special place in my heart. This is just one of the reasons why.

People travel around the world for many reasons and whilst backpacking these were often topics of discussion when meeting new people. What inspired them to travel, why they'd chosen to travel where etc. Lots of folks do it just to broaden their experiences and 'find themselves'. Now, if I'd had a pound for every person who'd said that to me I'd have been able to do the whole 2 year trip in First Class luxury and would never have had to worry about bedbugs or finding cockroaches in my bags. My point of view at the time (and even now, to some extent) was "pffft! What a load of bollocks!" Finding oneself seemed such a load of nonsense.

One very hot, very overcast, very humid day in Queensland I found myself considering the whole thing. It had been a stressful few days - the 4 of us hadn't been getting on so well - crammed in a camper van together for a few months meant all our nerves were fraying and I strode off down Mission Beach to get away from everyone so that I didn't thump them instead.

I thought about the concept of self discovery whilst travelling - at first I rejected it all then I did discover one thing... that being honest with myself wasn't as difficult as I expected it might be...

"...We left Cairns and drove the short journey to Mission Beach in the rain. The campsite is really nice and really close to the sea. I spent the afternoon alone on the beach. I love Jane, she's my best friend, but even she's getting on my nerves at the mo. Nick and Steve are driving me mad. They're so dull and, as far as they're concerned, anything that seems different or interesting about Australia just means deviating from their planned route or will just cost extra in petrol.

I sat on the beach this afternoon and really missed mum and dad. Right now I want to be with people who love me just because. It got me to thinking. Jane says she's really missing Ravi. I miss my family and my friends. I don't have anyone that I miss because I'm in love with them. It hurts. It hurts because I know why. I sat on the sand for a little while trying to avoid what had made it's way into my mind. There was no-one else there to distract me and sandcastles just don't do the trick at times like that. I can't believe how much I panicked. I felt so anxious and a bit sick forcing myself to really - REALLY - think about who I am. At one point I was so angry about it I thrashed around like a kid. That made me feel even more stupid so I slumped in a gloomy pile on a beautiful beach in a beautiful country and felt wretched. Fortunately, I've been blessed with at least a bit of an optimistic outlook. I decided I have no choice and that I need to deal with it.

I sat with my feet in the sea for a while which cheered me up and then decided I'd go and have a beer with Jane.

Don't know what to do now. I feel better that I've woken up to myself but totally clueless about what should be next.

Fuck I'm scared."

Mission Beach, Queensland, Australia. The place I eventually accepted I'm gay.

I even took a picture of it to make sure I didn't try to blank it from my mind. It took me a long time to do anything about it tho. I wish I'd tried harder but I was young and a bit spooked.

Preserves

OK. Here goes. A couple of posts ago, when at a loss of what to blog about, Brechi came up with the splendid suggestion of wrting about a memento I'd had for over 10 years. As I mentioned in my last post I don't really keep much stuff but it did give me an idea...

I've been hugely fortunate to have travelled an enormous amount in my time. I'm massively grateful that I've been able to do it and it's something that I'll keep inside forever as some of the most amazing things I've ever done. I backpacked around huge junks of the globe for 2 years and then again around South Africa and Zimbabwe for 4 months in a seperate trip.

All of the small, easily carried mementos reminding me of special things/times/people that I did have were stolen in 2 places - both in Australia - bad Australians!

A bloke in Perth took everything of value from my bag at a youth hostel in Northbridge - he was a Perth guy working at the hostel and of course we all trusted him. Sadly when the police caught up with him, he'd got rid of everything he'd stolen from us poor travelling folk.

Then, in Sydney many months later, someone stole my whole bag from under our table in a bar in The Rocks.

The wide world of thieves, beggars, con-men and liars were unable to get to me but when I let my guard down in Australia someone took advantage.

I don't blame Australia though, as being there was a part of my trip that has a special place in my heart. I made so many friends and met so many amazing people, quite a lot of whom I'm still extremely close friends with today. I actually cried when I had to leave Sydney as my visa was due to expire and I was unable to extend it again. There are claw marks right through the check-in area and departures hall where I was dragged through to my flight, totally heartbroken and in despair.

So... my memento. All I have left apart from memories and photos are my diaries. I shall now copy an entry from my diary. Today's date, 14 years ago, Koh Samui, Thailand (pre "The Beach", pre the arrival of sealed roads and electricity to most of the island)....

"September 2nd 1993

We got up to catch the early boat back to Samui and have breakfast. However, Michelle had been out all night and wasn't back in time so we missed it, as we couldn't go without saying goodbye. She's the first of our merry band to break out alone. She'd had a drunken argument with her Australian bloke on their last night together and she was upset and weepy. She brightened up over her breakfast tho and then it was time for her to leave us. She's off to Krabi first and then Koh Phi Phi before heading through Malaysia, Singapore and Bali. We said our farewells and she was off to her boat. We'll meet back up with her in Indonesia or Australia.

We lounged around all morning and then had lunch (action packed day as always on Koh Pha Ngan), after which we dragged our rucksacks down to the beach to where the small boat was to collect us and take us out to the ferry. The little boat was packed and so low in the water. My arse was soaked as I was perched on the side - I had my bum in the ocean for most of the ride. All of the rucksacks were piled up high on the flat bit at the front of the boat and wobbled dangerously. I'm so relieved mine was wedged right in the middle, as the ones on the bottom were waterlogged and the ones on top drenched from the splashing of the waves.

When the boat got to the ferry, we all had to clamber up the side of the ferry on ropes. No mean feat when the little boat was crashing against the side of the ferry due to the waves and we had to then haul our rucksacks up on ropes, not to mention a very cranky and frustrated Jane whose feathers were extremely ruffled at the indignity of being dragged and hauled up like cargo because of her plastered leg. I wouldn't make a good pirate, which is a shame as I reckon I'd suit stripey jumpers and an ear-ring, not to mention all that rum and yo-ho-ho...

When we arrived at Bo Phut on Samui we managed to get a bus into Chaweng. Steve and I had to sit on the roof with the bags - bloody hell, I wish that I could travel in comfort and style just at least once whilst I'm in Thailand.

I had crab fried rice for dinner but forgot (again!) that here they don't shell their seafood so I spent the whole time crunching away and winkling bits of shell and bone out of my mouth. Must remember to order chicken.

After some 35 baht cocktails we thought, that as they are sooo cheap we should have some more. After many 35 baht cocktails and much fabulous barefoot dancing I was boiling hot. I went for a swim in the sea - still so warm at night. I thought I must have been REALLY trashed or that there was more than just alcohol in my drinks because the sea had lots of twinkly patches in it. I thought my eyes were having a bit of a fit, but each time I rubbed them and looked again there were definitely glittery patches in the water. Apparently, I am quite sane, someone told me it's "phosphorescence" caused by super small jellyfish. Not sure if that's true or not but it was amazing. They also told me off for being stupid and swimming at night when I was pissed. Fair point I s'pose."

sigh. Oh! to be young and adventurous again. Oh! to have Thailand unspoiled and undiscovered again. Oh! to have hair again...

Apologies for the ropey photo but it's quite tough getting a 14 year old photo into a system that wasn't invented when the picture was taken. It's from a bar called Bauhaus in Lamai, Koh Samui, around about the time the diary entry was written.

Eating words (not my own)

Well. I asked for words and there were some provided. Thanks to Brechi for being brave and suggesting something first – your suggestion was very grown up and there’s tons I can work with there. Cheers, you’re a luv.

The rest of you are dreadful, naughty sex-mongers, peddling filth and hoping to get a peek under my skirts. We’ll see…

If you’ll allow me a little while to sort out what memento to discuss I’ll return to that in my next post. I’m not a hoarder so I don’t generally have lots of stuff that I’ve kept hold of but there are a few things. Brechi’s suggestion has also given me an idea for another post (maybe more) so it’s been a fun exercise for me.

Undershorts. Courtesy of GIL. Right – I can talk about that here and now. I’ve put the wrong ones on today. They’re more the kind I’d wear with jeans but with work trousers, thay’re a right pain in the arse – literally. The buggers are riding up something wicked and I’ve spent far too many minutes today wrenching them back into position. I jumped into them fairly quickly this morning too, failing to ensure safe and comfortable placement of all the equipment involved. It’s been a trouser tugging day I call tell you all. I love Aussiebums – soooo comfy – unless you’re wearing clingy ones under your work trousers… all that static build-up. Yikes.

My “early sexual experiences” – thanks for that CuteCTguy… Do you mean with ladies or gents?
I think I enjoyed them all! There has only ever been one time when I’ve woken up and thought “oh no… why the hell did I sleep with that?!”.
Either I’ve just been super lucky or my beer goggles have had an in-built moose-detector. That’s a bit unfair though because I actually quite like mooses (or should that be meese?!). Note to self. Visit Canada to see a real moose.
Of course I’m now REALLY lucky as I have TOH.

Ok. Next… “Hairy-chest”. This one from Monty. Cheeky usage of the hyphen to facilitate one-wordedness there. I have one (hairy chest, not hyphen). There you go. Enough said.
Ok ok. I’ve pondered the “should I wax it or leave it” question many times over the last few years. I personally love a hairy chest but I know that so many people don’t. TOH seems to like it and has one of his own. I do make sure I maintain the appropriate levels of body husbandry with regular trims though. I think I know how some of you feel about it but not sure about the rest. Chest hair that is, not my body husbandry.
Lots of my lady friends just don’t like it and prefer a smooth chest with baby soft skin. That’s kinda nice too – but my preference would be hairy.

Gee. Is that me done?

Also, please note that I've sussed how to do links. I'm nipping off to have a cinnamon mocha in celebration and to secretly glow with pride at my new achievement!

Empty

Heck!

It's been nearly forever since I last posted anything on my blog.

I'm a bit stumped. I don't know why but I'm seriously lacking in inspiration or motivation to do it. Not sure why that is as I've always enjoyed writing my blog.

I need everyone's help.

Just one word from readers may spur me into action. Whatever words are left as comments, I'll try and write something relevant about me and my experiences (past or present) for each word. I may even be able to link them to food!

One word each.

Ooh. I'm a bit excited....

Greek Yoghurt with Honey & Nuts

Why is it that stuff you eat on holiday tastes sooooo good but when you come home and have it, it’s all a bit of a let down?

Whilst in Mykonos I had the above a few times. It’s great – obviously I like it with as much honey as can be squeezed out of as many bees tiny behinds as possible. I love it. I’m just a bit worried that if I give it a go now I’m home I’ll be hugely disappointed.

Mykonos was terrifically lovely. I don’t think I’ve ever seen sea as deep a blue as it is there. It made me ecstatically happy sitting looking at it. There’s usually a bit of a stiff breeze in Mykonos too, so there’s always lots of little white caps on the waves.

Meeting up with our friends from Sydney also made me happy. I realised that I actually miss them quite a bit, as they’re great fun and so easy to be with. It was a real wrench to leave the island with them still there for a few days more. I had the worst case of post holiday blues that I’ve had in ages.

Hilariously, our Sydney friends invited their personal trainer along (men and women were swooning everywhere!) and they were all busy working out each morning with savage hangovers. I, on the other hand lolled about by the pool until everyone had finished and TOH had managed to haul himself from the bed and fill himself with paracetamol to numb the previous night’s excesses.

Then it was time for lunch – as I’ve mentioned in a previous post some time ago, there’s nothing better for lunch on holiday than a club sandwich. Haven’t got a clue why, it’s just the way of things. We’d then all pounce into a jeep and head off to the beach for an afternoon’s sunning and ‘meerkatting’ at attractive gentlemen. After much neck-ache inducing gawpery we retired, crispy-red, to the nearest beach bar for cold beer and possibly a few snacks to discuss where to go in the evening.

I think I’d like to be Greek. Well, for this week at least. Of course, I wouldn’t mind being Italian either. Or Spanish. French at a push. Mediterraneans are just soooo lucky. And so yummy!

Chocolate Amaretto Tart

Today’s dessert offering at the staff restaurant. It’s a conundrum for me. I like chocolate, I LOVE Amaretto, I find tarts generally quite appealing. The whole combo tho’ doesn’t fill me with joy. Why is this?

Anyway, I can’t eat any of it as I have another couple of days of healthy eating before I can blow out hugely in Mykonos. Yesterday I had the most massive cravings for junk food. It’s been a while since I’ve thrown myself face-first into anything junky and I think my whole body was screaming out for a trip to the dark side of food. I admit, I strayed. I didn’t even attempt to use the force to resist such temptation, I just gave in. I ate chocolate digestives with peanut butter dolloped all over them (?) and then devoured a few super tiny snickers and bounty bars from a large box of Celebrations that has been lurking ominously around the kitchen over the weekend. TOH looked on in horror but wisely stood back, well out of harm’s way, lest he lose a limb in my feeding frenzy.

Today I feel no shame but I’m filled with new purpose and back to eating healthily again.

The weekend was a bit of a monster really and went so fast. Friday was a late night (well, early morning) affair with our friend Jon who’s staying with us. Jon is British but lives in Sydney lucky him (his partner arrived this morning too but I haven’t caught up with him yet - can’t wait, as it’s been ages). We went out in Soho and got completely lashed up. It was great. The only downer was that our friend David had his wallet stolen. He does admit that he made it quite easy tho, as when he checked his bag into the cloakroom of the club he asked quite loudly (he was slightly hammered) “will it be ok if I leave my wallet in this front pocket of my bag?” Short of saying “I’ll leave the zip open, will you be able to find it yourself?” I’m not sure how he could have made it any more obvious.

Saturday I searched fruitlessly in Covent Garden for a few items of clothing that I wanted. A few surprises along the way tho'… I found a cheeky bargain in a sale, which I’m already super fond of. Also, upon entering Paul Smith, a fabulously muscular chap bade me a cheery hello. He had the most bizarre moustache – kinda like a cavalier’s, without the beard – and whilst it was a bit mad, it was also strikingly cool and a bit sexy. He offered to help but I was so flustered I couldn’t really respond coherently. I was content to just watch him glide around the shop. Saturday evening we went to some friend’s for a BBQ and then went to an absolutely brilliant pub close to their house. It was nicely done inside with a great restaurant upstairs. The best thing about it was they had a pianist, a drummer and a saxophone player in the corner. The stand-up piano sounded so ‘east-end’ in it’s plinky-plonky way and they played such fun music. It was a total hoot. Sunday was Harry Potter day. I immersed myself heartily into the world of Hogwarts etc. Nerdy? Yes. Kids book? Yes. Enjoyable? Bloody hell, yes! I’m loving it. If you’ve read the last book, sshhh! As I’ve nearly finished it and don’t want to discuss until I do..

So… this week. Greece is the word. It’s only for a few days but I’m really looking forward to it. There’s a lot of lamb in Greece, which is a bit grim, but I think I’ll cope with all the other goodies on offer.

Now then. I need to consider my wardrobe for Mykonos. In the absence of ridiculously flappy linen (really not me), I need to work out what to wear instead – it’s 35 degrees there at the mo’, so I’ll need something to let the air circulate…

How Great IS Cake?

Now then. It’s been just over 2 years that I’ve generally blathered on about cake. Well. That’s the reason for this post. I started blogging about cake. Then it transformed into all ‘food’. That was followed by stuff about what I was doing at the time. Lately it seems to be a travel journal.

Do blogs grow up?

I feel I’ve strayed from my cakey origins but I don’t think that I mind so much.
I like the fact that I’ve made some blog buddies and I enjoy the interaction with them. I’ve now also met up with a couple of these people.
1. Muzbot in Rome – the glamour – trying to find someone you’ve never met in a foreign city… it was like a movie – all we needed was Meg Ryan and a bit more of a plot. (plus a little less jetlag for him and a little less of hangover for me)
2. London bloggers. It was a total blast.
CuteCTguy has already blogged about the evening – if I knew how to insert a link here, I would – but I’ll give a quick summary of events.

Introductions & champagne
Champagne
Chips
Champagne
Lairy chat and much naughty giggling
A short walk
Curry
GIL’s reluctance to drink more
CuteCTguy and I persuading GIL to drink more
Arrival of ma-hoo-sive beers
Arrival of curry
CuteCTguy dunking most of his sleeves in curry
Accidentally thrusting Ctguy from his chair – sorry.
Weaving our way outside
Hugging a stranger in street (he was hot! At least I think he was but I may have had beer goggles on by then…)
Carriages

T’was a splendid evening and I’m looking forward to ‘part deux’ v soon.

It was such fun that the two gents above should really be awarded some kind of recognition for their part in the shenanigans. Therefore, they are to become honorary Knights of Cake and their titles shall now be “Beef” and “Short”... -cake, obviously.

I’m off to Mykonos next week so I’m really only permitted to write about cake. Consumption of anything resembling a sugar/flour-based confection would lead to weight gain causing horror, maybe even terror, (possibly expulsion) in the streets and on the beaches of the island.

Sigh. I’m off to gnaw on a rice cake.

Foie Gras

En Provence there was lots of this

Beaucoup de these

A lot of sitting here

Tons of this around (including the bees!)

Lots of these

And a great deal of general (usually drunken) holiday merriment.

Sigh.

I feel like a goose who has been crammed full of stuff to make foie gras. Obviously, there was no funnel forcibly shoved down my throat, I did it all to myself quite willingly. However, I wish I’d shown a bit of restraint now and again. There is a worrying amount of trouser-tightening going on. (No rude comments please). I only have two and a half weeks to prepare for my next sojourn, to Mykonos, and the panic is beginning to mount as we’re meeting some lovely friends there. They’re old friends who moved to Sydney six years ago and whilst there have turned into “uber gays”, meaning they don’t have a single ounce of excess body fat and have literally everything trimmed, waxed, curled, dyed and tonsured. Sitting next to them makes me feel positively ancient and ‘under-developed’. I need to put in at least a little effort to improve. Actually, they’re great so they won’t be bothered anyway and it’ll be brilliant to see them - it’s been far too long this time and I kinda miss them.

I know, I know. “how many holidays do you actually go on?”

I can hear you all saying it. I do work in the travel industry tho. I’m NOT a trolley dolly however, so before anyone starts bleating on about that – cut it out!

My week away has flown by. I can’t believe I’m back in London already. The taste of croissants has diminished, the scent of lavender faded and the Provencal skies seem a beautiful, but distant memory. The weather here is still a pile of pants. It’s been so wet I’m almost convinced I’m beginning to grow webbed toes and fingers.

Bugger. Now where did I leave my brolly....

Baguette!!

Zut alors! I’m quite excited. My holiday to Provence has come around really quickly. I can’t wait – I can almost smell that Lavender.

My facial disfigurement is, thankfully, on the decline thanks to some whiz-bang antibiotics and I’m now thinking of such pithy issues as what to pack? What will I need? Do I need fancy shoes?

I’ve never been to Provence before so this should be quite fun. The other half has packed his French language CD’s. I imagine they’ll return from France in exactly the same pristine state as they are at present – unused. I need to brush up on my Francais so that I’m able to order the most ludicrously large lunches, buy vin by the case load and nibble on fromage until dawn. I’m actually not that keen on cheese but I’ll give it my best efforts as an Englishman abroad.

I’m looking forward to sitting by the pool, reading a small Alp of books, listening to a shed load of music and generally lounging about – glamorously so, of course.
There’ll be quite a few of us in our gorgeous villa so it’ll be great fun. There’ll be me and TOH, naughty David (see pic in my post about San Sebastian), lovely Adrian, hunky Mike (from Arizona – they make them well out there don’t they!) and some ladies – PC Jayne and Irish Liz.

I’d also like to mooch around a few Provencal villages, maybe try on a beret or two and learn to play boules. It’s obvious that I’m almost half way to being French already. All I need now is to devour Le Figaro every morning over a seething black coffe and e voila!

p.s. has anyone tried the new M & S rocky road mini bites? They’re delish!

Boiled eggs

Sigh. I'm truly contented, for the moment at least. It's Saturday morning and I've just had boiled eggs and toastie soldiers for breakfast. It's my fave. It's also super-duper comfort food. More of that in a bit.
As a kid, although fairly feisty and a little 'spirited', I was a bit of a girl in some ways (big surprise!) and I hated toast soldiers being called 'soldiers' for some reason. Everyone had to adjust and, in my presence, rename them as toast rabbits. What a pain in the arse!

Anyhoo. It's been a bit of a frustrating fortnight really. Despite doing lots of lovely things I've hit a tricky patch health-wise which is unusual for me as I'm normally never ill. I've got some kind of skin allergy, previously diagnosed by my doctor as a food allergy but now he's changed his mind. Grrr. I can't keep up. It's just like getting a skin peel - red and itchy with swollen eyes and then my face peels off in a matter of days. Grim.

I've spent the week in Manchester on business, and it's been such a busy, hectic week with long hours. One good point was I got to spend an evening with my brother & sister in-law as they live pretty close to Manchester. We went out for dinner and drank beer and they laughed at my face..... whilst in Manchester, I had to visit a health clinic as one side of my face swelled up to Elephant man proportions. Apparently, possibly as a result of my skin reactions of the last couple of weeks, I now have a skin infection. I literally have no jaw line on one side of my face. It's too depressing. I'm taking about a gajillion tablets a day now for a whole variety of possible and, as yet, undefined ailments that I'm starting to rattle when I move fast.
To add icing on the cake I seem to have picked up a hideous cough which makes me hack like an old smoker. I want to hide away from the world for a very long time.

What a misery-guts. I'll pull myself together in a wee while.

One brilliant ray of sunshine is that I'm going to Provence next Saturday to stay in a beautiful villa for a week. I'm taking a pile of books, my iPod and planning to do zero for 65% of the time. The other 35% I shall be eating.

I promised that I'd throw a few pics of our recent visit to Rome in my next post so I s'pose I should do that here and now. Lately, I'm having problems getting photos on to my blog - it's seriously giving me the hump!

Here goes....

I love this pic - it makes me laugh out loud every time I see it. My friend David in the bottom left looks like a muppet gatecrasher!

Yikes! Haven't got a clue what's going on with my shirt here - I'm the one in red, in case you're new here. It's all a bit Tom Jones isn't it?! I promise I'm not wearing leather trousers.

What lovely chaps! I'm so lucky to have them to accompany me about the globe!

Whew!!! Swan Sandwich anyone?

Apologies for the dreadful tardiness and general lack of postings over the last few weeks. I’ve been busy.

Here’s a brief summary.

Rome
Paris
House of Commons (get me!)
Wales (North)
Swan Lake
Work x lots

Tomorrow I’m off to Bruges for the weekend. I’m exhausted.

Rome was spectacular, beautiful, warm, friendly and tremendous fun. I met up with fellow blogger, Muzbot briefly. He was totally jetlagged and very brave for setting foot outside his hotel room in such a state. Not sure exactly what he’s like as a person (I think he may have been a bit stunned by the deafening roar of the conversation between my friends and I) but despite the big, bikey, blokey demeanour he seemed a gentle and friendly type. Anyone who knows him, feel free to agree or correct – Muzbot, you’re not allowed to comment!

Paris was, as usual, achingly, untouchably chic – this is meant in a positive way. Paris is like a model (or in my experience, a sexy barman). Right there in front of you looking amazing and incredibly flirty but you both know you don’t have a single hope of getting into their pants. Rome on the other hand has a big arrow pointing to the zipper with a ‘first ride free!’ ticket.

The House of Commons terrace was for a friend’s 50th birthday and was fun –influential political types plonked about (the friend is quite well connected and used to be something in politics a ways back) and other big-wigs from advertising and national bodies. I focused on champagne.

Wales was another party for the friend above, held at another friend’s enormous pile set in 50 acres of countryside. More champagne, a ludicrously large, budget-gobbling firework display, Welsh poetry & music (again – completely clueless was I), plus dancing outside until well on into the wee small hours.

Swan Lake. Utterly beautiful. The English National Ballet’s production at the Royal Albert Hall is ENORMOUS! There are about a gazillion swans all paddling elegantly in the mist-enshrouded lake.
It’s just lovely. Go see.

Tomorrow we’re off to Bruges to stay with our smashing friend Sophie. Sophie is groovily laid back so we won’t have to be up at the crack of dawn each day. She loves long, lazy breakfasts (something that they do really well in Belgium – with added Nutella!). I’m really looking forward to it, although I feel like I should have my own carriage on Eurostar these days, I’ve been on it so much.

The other half still has more travel to deal with. Next week he’s off to New York and Las Vegas for a stag do. I’m pleased I don’t know the ‘stag’ which means I can relax at home for the first weekend in a couple of months.

I’ll try and get some pics of my latest adventures (many under the influence of far too much booze) in future posts.

Talking Italian

On Friday I’m off to Rome! I can’t wait.

It’ll be warm, it’ll be sunny. The food will be great, the wine will flow.
I’m already a bit worn out with so much contented sighing and I haven’t even left London yet.

I’ve been to Rome so many times that it’ll feel as familiar as a pair of comfy shoes (stylish designer obviously, possibly Italian).
What to do whilst I’m there? Well there’s shopping, of course. I’ve seen most of the sights so I’m on the look out for unusual stuff that’s not mobbed by the gazillion tourists that will be clogging the place up. Any suggestions would be gratefully received. I was about to add “clean ones only please” but then thought “what the hell!?”. Lay them all on me!

Perhaps I’ll just park up in a bar on a square and watch people. It’s my favourite thing to do anyway. I may as well just find the best spot and start gawping straight off.

There’s the Italian chaps to keep an eye on too…

This is my usual conundrum.
Italian boys are such a contradiction. They all look/act gay yet are so vehement about their passion and adoration for women. Mind you, it’s been said to me before that the difference between a gay Italian and a straight one is a bottle of Peroni. On a previous visit, the other half and I were propositioned by a supposedly straight guy who was quite open about the fact that, as we were tourists it was unlikely that we’d ever meet his girlfriend, therefore he was perfectly safe and not actually gay at all – because no-one would find out. Hmmm… Regardless of whether they are gay or straight though, they’re all unbelievably, excitingly and dangerously flirty. It’s baffling, maddening and fabulous all at the same time. Damn those naughty Italian guys.

I suppose I’d better talk about food (How Great is Cake? I’ve almost forgotten whilst thinking about gents of a Roman – or even roamin’ – persuasion). I intend to demolish a modest amount of Tiramisu, maybe a small hillock of pizza and a few shovel loads of risotto. I LOVE risotto. However, this provides another quandary. Carbs are the enemy of the gay. I still have a small way to go before being ready for summer and I don’t want to undo it all at the final hurdle. I’ll never be the snake-hipped twenty-something I used to be so I need to make sure that I stick to lots of fruit and veg. What the hell am I saying?! It’s never going to happen. Bugger. Bring on the lard.

Also I may meet up with a fellow blogger if we can co-ordinate schedules – that’ll be super-exciting!

Ciao all!

PST

Well...

Here goes. I didn't actually promise I'd do it but here y'all are.
Just remember, it was taken when I got home after a really busy day which aged me by at least a decade. I look like I haven't shaved in weeks.

At least you can see I'm wearing a pink shirt (a range of pinks actually).

Please bear in mind what I've just mentioned and be kind...

Panini

Just had one for lunch with chicken, cheese and roasted onion – sounds a weird mix but it was delicious. It was a sandwich I wanted to last forever, but alas it came to an abrupt and greasy chinned end and I sat quietly and sadly for a few moments before continuing with my day.

I’m soooo tired lately. I can’t work out why. I slept a fair bit over the weekend too.

We had a lovely weekend pottering about and meeting up with friends. Spent part of the bank holiday in Brighton too. It’s a while since we’ve been, so it was good to get back to the flat and to get some sea air. It was a bit strange as the town felt deserted. The weather was ropey tho, which may explain the absence of the usual holiday weekend crowds. It gave us the opportunity to walk along the beach and get suck in a few lungfulls of fresh air, combined with a few gallons of sea spray as it was fairly rough.

We’re back to Brighton again this weekend as we’re having some friends to stay. I’m quite looking forward to it as we haven’t seen them for a bit and it’ll be fun to catch up over dinner and a few barrels of booze.

As it’s nearly Summer I’m attempting to cut down on eating rubbish but it’s so darned tough. My whole blog revolves around my love of cake for goodness sakes. Actually, that’s not strictly true any more is it? I’ve rambled on about numerous non-cakey subjects of late, often encouraged to do so by naughty blog visitors who have interests other than baked goods. Anyway, I’m trying to cut down so that I can be trim and toned for those all-important shorts and smaller outer garment appearances whilst on hols. Eat less cake, exercise more. Gloom…

For those who have demanded it, I shall endeavour to remember PST this week, evidence may be available but I haven’t decided yet – I seem to have gone a bit shy.

Pink Champagne

It’s great. I like it. But how in hell do you get rid of the taste of it the next day? Short of shaving my tongue, I’ve done pretty much everything I can think of. All to no avail!

Last night the other half and I went to see Equus with our lovely friend Chris and a couple of good-time girls who Chris works with. The play was brilliant and Daniel Radcliffe, as well as being awesomely buff and disturbingly sexy for a 17 year old, was excellent. I’ll never be able to think of him as Harry Potter again, not least because I’ve seen him running about the stage totally stark naked. He really was great in the part and deserves much credit.

Afterwards we went to a gay bar in Soho for ‘one’. I held firm that, as it was a school night, I needed to be home in plenty of time to fit in adequate beauty sleep. There were murmurs of general agreement but I should have realised that the low-level response heralded the onset of a much meatier night out.
We moved on to another bar where pink champagne began to flow – one of the ladies was responsible. Us boys, being of a pinkish persuasion anyway, set to with gusto. Chris lives in Edinburgh, so he wanted to maximise gawping at cute London boys, another sign that I wasn’t going to be able to tear people away from what was beginning to slide into ‘a bit of a big night’. I was brave and declared that it was time for me to head home and I would take my leave. Everyone agreed that we should leave too. “Hurrah” I thought. “Bugger” I thought immediately after, as I was grabbed by both arms and hauled into the club we were passing. My bag was whizzed into the cloakroom and I was shepherded to the bar, protesting weakly – I’d had vodka, champagne, no food and I’d come straight from work. I gave in. I drank more pink champagne. I figured that it was already late, I’d feel tired today anyway so I might as well make the most of it, drink more and watch the cute and the lovely gays of London bustle about the club.

Whilst eating 3 minute noodles in our kitchen at 3am with the boys I remember thinking “What the f… am I doing?!” The thought didn’t last as I was immediately distracted by shovelling another heap of noodles into my mouth.

Some questions…

Why noodles?
It was all we had in – no bread, no cheese, no fishfingers (always great on a sandwich when you’re smashed!)
Why am I finding a 17 year old sexy when my mind tells me it’s just not right?
I can’t help it – he’s uber cute.
Why can’t I get rid of the taste of pink champagne?
Please! Someone come to my aid on this one.

And to top it all off, of course, on waking this morning I felt as rough as a bear’s arse and looked like a total bag of spanners for the whole day.

Harrumph!!

Donuts

Right. Crucial, Friday type of debate.

Ring or jam?

Now you need to think carefully. Opinion here at work is divided. My own thoughts are, why bother with a ring of plain, glazed dough? There’s nothing exciting about them - from the moment you start into one until you reach your fingers on the other side. They’re yawn central.

Jam filled however… cheeky surprise inside. Also, there’s an element of danger involved – you have to eat carefully or you could be scraping sticky donut innards from the front of your shirt and from your chin.

Krispy Kreme is a current favourite as their donuts are soft and squishy. Most other brands are too bready.

Leading on from this one step further, is the dilemma - jam or custard? I’m a bit torn there really, as I love a bit of custard. I also love a bit of jam. In a donut, in biscuits, on toast.

It’s the weekend. I’m off out for tapas this evening and then off to a birthday party in Holland Park tomorrow.

I suspect I may have a hangover story to tell come Monday…