In no particular order, here are some blog postings which have particularly stuck in my memory during the last couple of weeks:

1. Buni attends his first stag do - and it's far from what you might expect.

2. Marcus writes movingly about cuddles (yes, cuddles), with his customary disarming honesty.

3. Nigel the Invisible Stranger (but for how much longer?) puts some big butch blinds up, with his big butch power tools.

4. Stuart Hg discusses Patti Smith, with exemplary erudition and eloquence. (That sounds a bit Good Old Days, doesn't it? "Ladies and gentlemen, with his Exemplary Erudition and Eloquence (crowd: ooooooooh!), we proudly present: Mist-ah! Stu-ahrt! Hyyyyy-dra-gennnnic-ah!" Note: non-UK readers, and all readers under the age of at least 35, won't have the faintest idea what I'm on about. Shall I get on with the next one?)

5. Safely back at the helm of her Little Red Boat (what's with all the cheesiness today?) Anna Pickard describes the best act she saw during the entire Edinburgh Festival. Warning: this does involve some heavy duty stuffed animal abuse. (Hello Google!)

6. London Mark has been on a massive roll of Sheer Quality for weeks now, especially with his delightful "The Art Of..." series. It's hard to pick out just one, but the final entry, The Art Of Losing, is particularly fine.

7. Old Gold Retold: in one breathtaking swoop, Marcello Carlin reviews every single to enter the UK Top 40 in 1982. (Archives busted, so scroll down to Sunday August 10th: 1982: A YEAR OF SINGLES CHARTED.) Why not fire up your internal iPod, settle back, and enjoy those golden hit parade memories of yesteryear? (I'm doing it again. Bugger.)

8. More shagged archives (is this New Blogger's annoying "Sunday postings" bug rearing its head again?), so scroll down to {Sunday} 30 THERMIDOR; IDLE THOUGHT to read a lengthy, heartfelt, passionate and (for me at least, secure in my little demographically post-coded bubble of Gracious Living) chilling and haunting rant by Ian Penman. Impossible to sum up, so just read it. The main theme kicks in after the first few paragraphs, then keeps on building and building.

9. Finally: a proper permalink reference for Faustus MD's masterful Gay Dating Haikus. Start here, then keep scrolling up.

Right then. It's Stop-Start-Stop here at Troubled Diva, as I'll now be away from decent Internet access until next Tuesday (this includes e-mail, I'm afraid). Yup: after two weeks' holiday already this month, it's now time for a hard-earned four-day break in Derbyshire and London. Maybe see you at the Blogmeet or at the RVT: I'll probably be the one in the checked shirt. (I usually am, except when I'm poshed up. Which usually means stripes instead of checks. Creature of sartorial habit, me.)

I seem to have morphed into a full-time Blog Interviewer today. Answers have been provided by Caroline (Prolific), followed by Sarah (Not You, The Other One), Elisabeth (I'm Hip To You), Chig (World Of Chig), Blue Witch, and John (Rainbow Villa). Meme-o-licious!

Meanwhile, the long, slow slide into self-parody continues. As well as having the cottage photographed for a forthcoming article in Peri0d Living magazine (or Menstrual Moments, as some of the freelancers like to call it), we're now having the house in Nottingham photographed for a two-page editorial spread in the property section of the local newspaper (hey, got to shift the place somehow). Meanwhile, the house we're buying is going to be featured in the Sunday Times in the next two or three weeks, so we've been told. Oh yeah, and the PDMG has been shortlisted for some sort of national garden design award - it's the institute of something-or-other (British landscape designers?), but I'm not exactly sure what. It's all a giddy whirl round here, I can tell you.

I should tell you a bit more about the Peri0d Living shoot. The photographer (a slightly grand and wholly delightful ex-theatrical type, with a neat line in outrageous quippery) and her assistant turned up rather earlier than expected, to be greeted by K in his dressing gown and oven mittens (being just about to remove the teapot from the bottom of the Aga, y'see). She didn't miss a beat. "Darling, are those your Night Gloves?" We howled. It was going to be a good day.

We were initially rather worried that our beloved cottage was going to become re-styled beyond recognition, and turned into some frightful confection of period chintzery for the benefit of the Target Demographic. "You're not going to bastardise our Original Design Concept, are you?", we trilled, brows furrowed with concern. "It's New Rustic Minimalism, you know. We invented it! Will it be too advanced for your readers?" However, the changes turned out to be fairly minor, amounting to not much more than swapping a couple of paintings around, and plonking down a few blousy-yet-tasteful flower arrangements on spare surfaces. We were also surprised to find the two of them actually adding clutter - teacups, saucers and biscuits on the kitchen draining board, shoes and shirts strewn about the dressing room - giving the impression that real people actually, shriek, lived in the place. Quelle horreur!

For one of the kitchen shots, the photographer decided that she needed one of us to stand beside the Aga. K duly disappeared upstairs to change. After about five minutes, he popped his head back round the kitchen door, still in his dressing gown. "Er, just one thing. Will I be cooking lunch, or will I be cooking dinner?" Because, obviously, he couldn't possibly select an outfit without having a full back-story. (What's my motivation for this shirt?)

I wouldn't have him any other way.

Oh yeah, and for the "couple on the sofa in the sitting room shot" (well, me on the sofa and K sprawled at my feet, actually - a glaring mis-representation of our power dynamic if ever there was one, but I wasn't complaining), the photographer insisted I change out of my best shoes, because they looked too much like trainers. The readers of Menstrual Moments might be ready for Challenging New Design Concepts Which Successfully Fuse The Period And The Contemporary - they might even be ready for Swanked Up Poofs Flagrantly Sprawling At Each Other's Feet - but they were clearly not ready for Cutting Edge Casual Footwear. The horror!

The feature isn't going to appear until well into the Autumn (we even had to light the fire, to give a suitable impression of Autumness). But don't worry, I'll be sure to let you know when it hits the news stands.

Labels: top25

Now, that's what I call Product Placement. I guess that (in some sort of bizarre conceptual way) this is the closest I'll ever get to, um, tipping the velvet. Which is clearly not very far at all.

It's Getting Bongo Rock In Herre: a fantastic mish-mash of Tiga's equally fantastic cover version of Nelly's Hot In Herre, with some piece of obscure Swinging 60s groovery. God, but this works...

(Of course, strictly speaking, you can't really have multiple apotheoses. They are, almost by definition, once-and-once-only events. But I'm not letting that stop me.)

There's a two-stage Blogmeet happening in London this Saturday. Details are still a bit woozy, even at this late stage, but as far as I can tell, the arrangements are as follows.

Part One: Regent's Park, from 14:00 to 18:00. Exact spot unknown. You probably have to Know People for this bit. I'll still be on the train, so shan't be turning up until...

Part Two: The Green Man, 383 Euston Road, opposite Great Portland Street station (turn right and you can't miss it). Here's a map. Bloggers will most likely be in the basement bar, from 18:00 to closing time. It won't be cliquey or tech-geeky, honest. I was worried about that before the last one, and it was anything but. So please say you'll drop by.

As for the rest of the weekend: Saturday post-pub is still undecided, but after two weeks of peaceful bucolic bliss in the Derbyshire countryside, I am more than ready for a counter-balancing dose of Big City Metro-Poofter Action. Any suggestions? I'm vaguely thinking Queer Nation @ Substation South at the moment. Sunday afternoon/evening has to be the Royal Vauxhall Tavern (of course), followed by either DTPM if I'm feeling fly & foofy, or LA3 (La Trois) if I'm feeling feral and filthy. Tough call!

As the hard drive on my home PC collapsed and died on me yesterday - before I even had the chance to download the last two weeks of e-mails sent while we were away on holiday - I am currently unavailable through e-mail.

(What's that? Web-mail, you say? Nope, banned at work. And my work e-mail is only known to the select few.)

So, if you've sent me an e-mail recently and have been wondering why I haven't replied, that's the answer. Sorry about that. Didn't want you to think I was being all remote and arsey, or anything.

Hello! My name is Mike. I'm 41 years old, I live in the UK, I work in Nottingham, and this is my weblog. I hope you enjoy it. You won't remember this (it would have been well before your time), but in my day, I was known as a rather prolific weblogger. I know!

Anyway, do please stick around - because Troubled Diva is a crazy place where anything can (and frequently does!) happen.

To help you get to know me a little bit better, I have decided to participate in the "Interview Game" meme that has been floating around some of my favourite weblogs recently. It goes a little something like...

...THIS.

(cue Jason Nevins/Run DMC backing track)

The Rules.

1. Leave a comment, saying you want to be interviewed.
2. I will respond; I'll ask you five questions.
3. You'll update your website with my five questions, and your five answers.
4. You'll include this explanation.
5. You'll ask other people five questions when they want to be interviewed.

My Questions, as supplied by the sublime Zbornak.

1. Your blog is ace. Why?

Why, Mister Zbornak, how cruel you are to flatter me so. Pass me my fan, for I blush, I fairly blush...

At the risk of giving the appearance of evading the question in a show of false humility, my considered answer to your question is this: it is not for me to attempt to analyse why people might enjoy this blog. In fact, it could be positively dangerous to do so.

Shall we wheel out an illustrative analogy? OK, picture this. You're on a date. The object of your desire says something wildly amusing (good job you remembered to specify GSOH, right?), and you throw your head back in peals of delighted laughter. This is going so well!

"Oh, can I just say that I love that cute little laugh of yours", they reply, leaning forward and gazing at you fondly. "It's so natural, so full of life, so sexy. It's everything I like about you."

The next time they come out with something equally amusing, and your head starts to tip back, you suddenly think: hey, here comes that uniquely sexy little laugh of mine - the one which makes me so attractive. Consumed by a sudden and crippling self-consciousness, you attempt to repeat the exact same laugh, just the way they like it. And as that thin, hollow, mannered little whinny escapes from your mouth, you realise that You Will Never Be Able To Laugh In Quite The Same Way Again. And a little part of your soul dies that day.

So, Mister Zbornak, you naughty, naughty man, we won't be going there.

2. What is wrong with youth culture? What is right with it?

Why, Mister Zee, I do declare: that's two questions, you naughty, naughty - oh, enough with the Scarlett O'Hara-isms already. Sheesh. All my new readers will think I'm such a camp old twat - and how wrong would that be?

What's wrong with youth culture? Firstly, that it's largely imposed on youth, in a flagrantly cynical and calculating manner, by a significantly older generation. Meaning that it's mostly a huge con, merely giving a spurious impression of having emanated from the genuine and spontaneous creative impulses of yer actual Young People. Evidence for the prosecution: Avril Lavigne, Amy Studt, Busted...and, come on, aren't Kings Of Leon a bit too good to be true? Whereas back in my day (uh-oh, middle aged whinge alert), the whole Yoof Culture thing wasn't quite so tightly sown up. There was still an emphasis on genuine individuality, which allowed all sorts of weird stuff to seep from the margins to the mainstream (Soft Cell, The Associates, O Superman...) Why, even Smash Hits had an Indie page! Back then, you could find diamonds amongst the dross. Now, it's just seven shades of perfectly pre-processed shite, even down to the fixed three-year shelf lives of almost every new pop act.

What's right with youth culture? It's bright and shiny and colourful, and it frequently makes me smile, and it's honest about its utter superficiality. Back then, your allegiances actually mattered, and an awful lot of guff was wasted over the tribal significance of, I dunno, flick wedge hairdos, or the crucial semiotic distinctions between Psychobilly mohicans and Punk's-Not-Dead mohicans. Now, pop culture has its place - as nothing more or less than light entertainment, pure and simple - and today's pop kids aren't so witless that they don't know full well that they're being manipulated (see Popstars and Pop Idol, which have laid the system bare for all to see). You want depth and meaning? Then look elsewhere. Youth culture is there to reflect and celebrate the fun, frivolity and freedom of being young. Because, at the end of the day, there ain't no party like an S Club party.

3. Your life is being made into a Moulin Rogue style musical. Which songs would be used to emote your life?

Cue Ewan, cue Nicole, cue orchestra, hankies out, and we're off...

Entering the world:

"A ray of hope flickers in the sky, a tiny star lights up way up high, all across the land dawns a brand new morn, this comes to pass, when a child is born..." (Johnny Mathis)

A happy, innocent childhood:

"All my best memories come back clearly to me, some can even make me cry..." (The Carpenters)

But the dream shatters:

"It ain't easy growing up in World War III, never knowing what love could be, well I've seen, I don’t want love to destroy me like it did my family...I don’t wanna have to split the holidays, I don’t want two addresses, I don’t want a step-brother anyways..." (Pink)

A secret adolescent crush, which the world must never discover:

"But don't you know you're turning me on, I know that it's wrong, but I can't stop this pain inside me...don't you know I'm out of my mind, so give me a sign, and help to ease the pain inside me, baby, love really hurts without you, love really hurts through and through, and it's breaking my heart, but what can I do?" (Billy Ocean)

Coming out into the gay world:

"Are you ready, are you ready for love? Yes I am, yes I am..." (Elton John)

The search for love commences in earnest:

"Searchin' and seekin', never sleepin', I've got to find me a man. I want no disguises, just surprises, someone who I'll understand. I don't need a guy who spends only one night, then tells me he's got no more time, I'm looking for someone to share my life, I'd better move on down the line...searchin', looking for love, all the time I can, searchin', looking for love, I've got to find a man..." (Hazell Dean)

A string of disappointing lovers:

"Was that all it was, a way to pass some time, a momentary thing, not worth remembering in the morning, must it be so cold, like something bought and sold, was it just a game, would you recall my name if you saw me..." (Jean Carn)

Looking for love in all the wrong places:

"Once upon a time there was light in my life, now there's only love in the dark, nothing I can do, a total eclipse of the heart..." (Bonnie Tyler)

But hark! Who is this?

"He's a soft-spoken guy, also seems kind of shy, makes me wonder if I should even give him a try, but then again he can't shy, he can't shy away forever, and I'm gonna make him mine, if it takes me forever..." (The Chiffons)

Could it be? Could it really be?

"You stopped, you smiled at me, and asked if I'd care to dance, I fell into your open arms, I didn't stand a chance, now listen honey, I just wanna be beside you everywhere, as long as we're together, honey I don't care, 'cos you started something, now can't you see, that ever since we've met you've had a hold on me, no matter what you do, I only wanna be with you..." (Dusty Springfield)

A life of domestic bliss ensues.

"He works all day to earn his pay, so we can play all night...my baby takes the morning train, he works from nine till five and then he takes another home again, to find me waiting for him..." (Sheena Easton)

But with the ensuing material success come a whole host of new temptations...

"The city lights of fashion lifes, busy streets and fancy cars, booze and drugs and all the crowds, everyone's a shining star, it's so inviting to my eyes, that I can only be surprised, by all that sound and ecstacy, I thought all this was meant for me, but was it really meant for me?" (Patsy Gallant)

...giving way to a new realisation of what really matters in life...

"Running around, trying everything new, but nothing impressed me at all, I never expected it to...and as for fortune, and as for fame, I never invited them in, though it seems to the world they were all I desired, they are illusions, they're not the solutions they promised to be, the answer was here all the time..." (Julie Covington)

And cue the breathy spoken-word bit, as a tear-streaked Mike turns straight to camera:

"Hey, you know what paradise is? It's a lie, a fantasy we create about people and places as we'd like them to be, but you know what truth is...it's that man you fought with this morning, the same one you're going to make love with tonight, that's truth, that's love..." (Charlene)

Time for the all-singing, all-dancing cast finale:

"There's a party goin' on right here, a celebration to last throughout the years, so bring your good times, and your laughter too, we gonna celebrate your party with you...celebrate good times, come on! (let's celebrate)...celebrate good times, come on!" (Kool & The Gang - entire cast freezes, arms outstretched, backlit in silhouette, at the final "on!")

4. How have you changed as you've grown up?

Relatively speaking (and, I stress, relatively speaking), I've become less neurotic and less self-obsessed (although well aware of the inherent irony of declaring this on a personal weblog).

I've become less idealistic, less dogmatic, less black-and-white. More pragmatic, more relativistic, more shades-of-grey.

I've left the fantasy world inside my head, and have begun to form some sort of understanding of how the real world actually works.

I've learnt a great deal about the intricacies of human behaviour, which were once an utter mystery to me.

I've become better at presenting a self-contained front to the world, without compromising myself in the process.

I've stopped blaming all my shortcomings on my upbringing.

I've become much less reliant on obtaining regular fixes of self-validation from other people (both socially and sexually). Again, the inherent irony of this statement is noted.

I no longer feel the need to wrap all my utterances up in protective (and largely impenetrable) layers of cynicism and irony.

I get two day hangovers.

I have to go wee-wee in the middle of the night.

I have to hold my tummy in when I'm trying to look alluring.

5. Have you/do you have a crush on another blogger?

I've always been heavily prone to forming crushes. Crushes happen when I don't know someone that well, but when what I do know of them intrigues me, making me want to get to know them better. Crushes end when I've formed a fuller, more rounded understanding of the person, and am therefore no longer able to keep them on a pedestal. Blogging is therefore a medium which is tailor-made for crushes. I shall say no more.

Good questions, Mister Zee. Got any more self-pics?

Reminder: If you want me to interview you, then leave a comment in the box below. Yes, we're Meme Crazy here at Troubled Diva!