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…

Energy Drinks

I feel I really need a cart-load of energy drinks right now. After 2 gruelling weekends of artery-narrowing food and a kidney-punishing amount of alcohol, I think I’m ready for a quick visit to The Priory (UK version of Betty Ford clinic).

Last week was a major booze fest that I don’t think I fully recovered from until Wednesday, all made worse by having a super sore throat. This weekend was another stonking booze-fest which ended yesterday in an 8.45am cab dash through the streets of London, to get the other half and I as close to home as possible before the city roads shut down for the London Marathon. We had to walk the last part as we’d left it just a little too late to end our shenanigans before attempting to head home. Our ‘dirty whore walk of shame’ in last night’s clothes, reeking of drink and fags took us through preparations for street-side marathon parties and cheery faced early gatherers, getting ready to wave their loved ones on. My unshaven, blood-shot eyed look sadly wasn’t convincing enough as one of the many fancy dress runners. One of our friends, who we’d left at 8.45am, sent a text message to say that his partner looked like a ‘drag fish-wife’. You can only imagine my appearance as I fell through our front door, crawled up the stairs and flopped onto the bed like a rancid old tramp.

Yesterday was spent loafing about in post-booze haze. I think I drank about 8 litres of water standing at the kitchen sink as soon as I got up. I really wanted to just get a garden hose and place it down my throat for an hour. My tongue felt like the inside of a vacuum cleaner bag (probably looked like one too, but I couldn’t risk facing it in the mirror).

I’m off to see the stage version of The Sound of Music this week so I need to dig out my wimple and starting dusting off a few of my favourite things.

If anyone in the UK has the chance to see ‘Boeing Boeing’ at the Comedy Theatre just off Haymarket, snap up a ticket – it’s hilarious!

Ok. I feel the water cravings returning. I need to go and suck dry a water barrel or three.

Eating for England

I really went for it! I showed Spain what a stomach on legs can really do. I made an enormous dent in the San Sebastian pintxo output. Sadly my trousers suffered the complete opposite - no dents but every space was filled to capacity. So much so, that on Tuesday back at work, my trouseres split and the fly started to fall out. Honestly! I was crimson with shame. However, I think it's more to do with poor needlework than massive overindulgence in this case, as they were brand new and the other pair I bought on the same day are holding out quite nicely.

Back to my trip to Northern Spain. The train was hilarious. It was kinda like camping but on the move. A group of fully grown men in one compartment might sound like the recipe for a wild old time but it was more like a scene from "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" rather than "Some Like It Hot"! Six men attempting to step around each other in a small compartment of a rapidly moving train in stripey pyjamas. It was a good job we'd had plenty of wine before each journey, as we just fell about like rag dolls sustaining absolutely no injuries at all. It was a hoot tho.

The gay bar (note - no 's' at the end of the word bar) was fun too but, as per the official Spanish Nightlife Rulebook, no-one turned up until midnight. I was pie-eyed by then but still managed to roll into the hotel at about 5am each morning. The other half had performed his usual task and 'child-proofed' the room for me each night (bless) before my dramatic entrance and graceful swallow-dive onto the bed. My friend David and I seemed to be the naughty boys of the weekend (no change there) as everyone showed admirable restraint on the alcohol front, apart from us. I was still up red-eyed and scruffy-tailed each morning tho, to embark on yet more pintxo adventures.

Pintxos really are amazing. There are literally heaps of them on each and every bar and you just help yourself, telling the bar staff how many you've had when the time comes to move on. Of course I was hopeless at this, as David and I were shovelling fistfulls of the things into our permanently open maws. I'm putting in some photos of pintxos to give you a little local flavour.

Please note also the pic of me - dreadful it is too, but I said I'd do it in my last post. I wasn't too smashed when it was taken but all in of the others I have a somewhat vacant gaze... I'm on the left and naughty David is on the right.

Oh. And could someone pleeeeease explain to me how I get pics where I want them, rather than bunched up at the top of a post? Ta.

Pintxos

Huh?

Yes. Pintxos. It’s the Basque word for tapas. It’s something that I’m hopefully going to be VERY familiar with by the close of the weekend.
Tomorrow I’m off with some chums to San Sebastian in Northern Spain. A group of 6 gay men on a sleeper train through Europe to the sun. How pink is that going to be?

Here’s my weekend holiday checklist…

Tickets
Money
Passport
Hot water bottle – for storing gin onboard the train – a la “Some Like It Hot”
Splendid pyjamas – essential bunkwear for sleeper train chic
Sunglasses – extra dark - for secret, unobserved perving at super cute Spanish hotties
Cap – to prevent my newly shaved head from becoming toast
Glamourous eveningwear
Shorts – need to get my legs brown. Winter has taken it’s toll…my legs look like hairy church candles – although still marvellously shapely!
Cool and groovy daywear – no excuse for looking shoddy
Elasticated waist trousers – pintxos, tapas, pintxos, tapas, beer, beer, beer…
Camera – I’ll try and get evidence of Spanish hotties as mentioned above
A solid constitution – a whole weekend of Spanish booze will require serious focus
A list of San Sebastian gay bars – more of a pamphlet really. We should get around all of them by midnight on the first day. We’ll probably be on a continuous gay loop for the weekend
Easter eggs – rude not to

I really, really love Spain. It’s warm and sunny, people are generally attractive with fabulous skin and no-one goes out in the evening before 11pm. To do so would be social suicide. Everyone has dinner at the kind of time I would be having breakfast, were it a work day and even the cheapest of wine tastes great – in fact the more you drink, the better it gets as your taste buds get gradually killed off…

Adios!