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Fingers in other pies: post of the week · shaggy blog stories · village community blog Friday, February 15, 2008
"I don't read blogs, but I DO read..."
There's no interview today, and there's nothing scheduled for next Friday either. These things come in fits and starts, and I'm glad to be taking a little rest for a while. The transcriptions alone take bloody hours; it usually takes me ten minutes of typing for every one minute of recording, and most interviews clock in at between 15 and 20 minutes each. And that's just the raw transcript, before I start the editing process. Not complaining! Just saying!
Anyhow, the next published interview looks like being Gary Numan, in a fortnight's time. (A surprisingly excellent interviewee, and I have high hopes.) In the meantime, I'll be starting Year Six (SIX!) of the Which Decade Is Tops For Pops? Project next week, with the first instalment hopefully appearing on Monday evening. In which case, I'll need all the free time I can get. Yeesh, when did life get so busy all of a sudden? At work, the new bunch of clients are working me hard, with the additional burden of daily conference calls at 9:30 every morning. Nine chuffing thirty! Crack of bloody dawn! It is Hell. Yesterday, I mailed my submission to You Are Not Alone (see next post down for details). It's a re-working of something which appeared on the blog in 2006, and I have to say that the re-editing process was something of an eye-opener, in terms of how my writing style has tightened up in the last couple of years. Having become accustomed to the rigours of word-count-driven economy, I was startled to discover how darned waffly the original was. It's much better now, I think. Yes, I know what you're thinking: you'd rather return to having daily blog posts from the old Waffly Mike, in preference to a couple of freelance copy-and-paste jobs per week from the new Professional Mike. Well, we have discussed this before. And I'd love to oblige you - but this isn't 2003, and my priorities are re-aligned. (And my life is, in every respect, much improved. I was talking about this with friends the other day, who reminded me of how unhappy I used to be with certain aspects of my lot. In this respect, we agreed that the China trip in late 2005 marked something of a turning point.) Onto the meat and potatoes of today's post, then. Amongst my non-blogging offline friends, who merely use the web for sensible things like shopping, banking and the gathering of practical information, very few have been converted to the Joy Of Blog over the years. Sure, they might follow Troubled Diva (in the vain but touching hope that one of these days, I'll post another jolly heart-warming ramble about the cottage garden, or another racy confessional tale of nightclub debauchery), but that's pretty much as far as they'll venture into the blogosphere. That said, I've had a number of people tell me that while they "don't read blogs" in general, they have formed an attachment to the odd one or two. So, for instance, my sister doesn't read blogs, but she does read Petite Anglaise. "Bob" in the village doesn't read blogs, but he does read Girl With A One-Track Mind. A work colleague doesn't read blogs, but she does read Non-Workingmonkey. And so on. (Meanwhile, although K has yet to start following any other blogs at all, he always reads my Twitter home page, to find out what my pals are up to. He's even got a little crush on one of them. Not saying who! Are you mad?) This got me to wondering: have any of your offline friends latched onto a lone favourite blog? And if so, which one? Answer me, do. We're off to Aunty and Uncle's in Kent over the weekend, regrettably missing Gordon's London Blogmeet in the process. Have a lovely weekend yerselves. The next fortnight will be mainly devoted to Which Decade. Such excitement!
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Friday, October 26, 2007
Grandad's on the guest list.
It's a strange age, 45.
Even up to a couple of years ago, taxi drivers would occasionally call me "young man". (Usually at journey's end, as I squiffily fumbled for change. They know what they're doing, the little tarts.) Last week, as I was heading into town for my lunchtime cob (local vernacular; means "bap"), some old boy blundered round a corner, rather too quickly. "Sorry, youth", he muttered myopically, as our guts briefly barged. I can surf off such slip-ups for days. But there again, see. On my way into the Bodega Social Club the other night, I was kindly spared the effort of walking all the way round the corner to the back of the roped off entrance walkway. As he chivalrously unhooked the front section of rope and beckoned me through, the smirking doorman bestowed this deadly rite of passage upon my stooped shoulders: "Step this way, Grandad! You come on inside, and take the weight off your feet!" "Grandad's on the guest list", I icily retorted - aiming for Imperious, but landing somewhere around Huffy. Yeah, that told him. I always knew this would happen. Right from the age of 14, as my occasional dates with Uncle John Peel ("Britain's Oldest Teenager!" I joked, in the letter I never wrote) became nightly, unbreakable ones, I knew I these were no mere passing generational fancies. No, these passions were for life. (For a fickle little madam, I can be surprisingly steadfast.) The other night at the Foals gig, with 95% of the audience under the age of 23 and a significant proportion in their teens, I counted just two other middle-aged men, up on the balcony, away from the fray. "Let's stand at the bar and look like we're Industry!", I muttered to Sarah as we wedged ourselves in, dizzy from the fug of Biactol, rotting trainers and two-week-old T-shirts. I don't attend such events to be Down Wid Da Yoot, to leech off their energy, or indeed to feel much in the way of collective connection. I go because, on a good night, I get to witness a certain freshness of spirit - an instinct, an attitude, an attack - which has yet to be dimmed by recognition, repetition, routine. By them, or by me. And besides: I was 19 once, and it hasn't really changed that much. (Just don't tell them that. Best if they don't know.) That's why 45 rocks. Halfway between 20 and 70, and close enough to feel you can touch it all. Caught up in the middle, jumping through the riddle, Grandad's on the guest list tonight!
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Friday, April 13, 2007
A little experiment with Johari windows.
To what extent do other people see us as we see ourselves? Here's a way of finding out. Bearing in mind some of the topics which I cover in the post below this one, this feels like a particularly appropriate moment...
Whether you "know" me offline or not, please follow this link and select five or six words which you think describe me the best. I've already picked my own. Be as complimentary or as critical as you like; the experiment works best if you're as honest as possible. You will then be taken to a page which compares my perceptions of my personality with yours, by dividing the words that been chosen into four categories: "Arena" - known to self, known to others. "Facade" - known to self, not known to others. "Blind Spot" - known to others, not known to self. "Unknown" - words that haven't been picked by anybody. (Thanks to Meg for the heads-up.) Update: For the more critically minded, and for those who felt that the available choices were overly complimentary, I dare you to try the Nohari window. Come on, I can take it! Remember that "Anonymous" feature!
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Monday, January 01, 2007
Seven successes in 2006, and five things you don't know about me.
As you may have noticed, I almost never get "tagged" with memes - probably because you all consider me much too grand to be bothered with such trifles. Yes, that must be it. However, when a member of my company's management team tags me with a meme, then I guess it would be prudent to comply, and to comply pretty sharpish at that. Because I'm just so damned good at taking instructions and keeping to deadlines. Oh yes I am! Watch me!
Seven successes in 2006. 1. Covering Eurovision for Slate, backstage at the Olympic Arena in Athens. This caused me more pressure and more stress than any piece of paid work I have ever undertaken in my life (for several reasons, including a broken laptop, four hours' lost work, and the small matter of the sudden hospitalisation and death of K's sister) - and hence more attendant fulfilment when the work was successfully completed. 2. Helping to arrange a truly beautiful and special funeral for K's beloved sister M, and delivering the main eulogy on the day. I've never had to deal with death in a practical way before, and shall be all the better equipped to deal with it on subsequent occasions. 3. Registering my civil partnership with K, after twenty-one years together as a couple. This was the last time that either of us saw M, who died just over three weeks later, and I'm thankful at least that our last memories of her were such happy ones. 4. Becoming a freelance music writer for the Nottingham Evening Post (and occasionally for Stylus), and learning how to deliver copy to fixed word counts and tight - extremely tight - deadlines. I love writing my little gig reviews when I get home from the venue (the copy deadline being at 6am the following morning), and then seeing them printed in the paper the following lunchtime. It still makes me tingle, every time. Same goes for the album reviews. My next immediate goal is to tackle some interviewing work; it just needs the right act to start with. (I've already turned down the drummer with Placebo. Such arrogance!) 5. Purely on the basis of an hour-long telephone interview, landing the assignment with the big new clients in Canary Wharf. Those three weeks of conducting job interviews in Hangzhou exactly twelve months ago must have stood me in good stead, then... 6. Making the absolute most of my five months in London, and spending many delightful evenings with many, many lovely blogpals in the process. I've loved the offline social aspects of blogging that have developed during 2006. 7. Inasmuch as a family tragedy might appropriately be mined for examples of personal "success" (but I'm trying to answer as honestly as possible): completing my course of cognitive behavioural therapy, which equipped me with the means to cope with the emotional aftermath of a major bereavement without succumbing to any major depressive relapses along the way. Oh, 2006. You were the best of times and the worst of times. However, and for what it's worth, you were rarely dull. OK, time for a shift of gear. Five things you don't know about me. 1. Sexual fantasies make me sneeze. Not actual sexual activities; just fantasising about them. How weird is that? But then, isn't the trajectory of a sneeze rather like the trajectory of a sexual climax? (I'll leave you to tease out the reasons for yourselves, because some of them are a bit icky.) Incidentally, I am not altogether alone in this: in Thomas Hardy's Tess of the D'Urbervilles, the character of Angel Clare falls victim to the same phenomenon, while spying on Tess from afar. I discovered this at the age of 17, while studying the book for my A-levels, and fell upon the discovery with joyful - if silent - relief at not being quite such a weirdo after all. 2. It doesn't come over in the blog at all, but I can be a right crabby little madam at times. Tetchy, irritable, cross and downright rude, and especially so to people whom I care about. 3. My lack of practical skills and aptitude is so severe that I would have serious trouble looking after myself alone for any extended period of time. Sometimes this scares me. 4. I've had [rough numerical estimate deleted] sexual partners. Which is fairly par for the course in contemporary urban gay terms (especially when one has been sexually active for nearly 28 years), but it does raise a fair number of heterosexual eyebrows. Of course, I'm well past my peak in that respect - and on balance, and without wishing to disown my wild past, I reckon I'm all the happier for it. Didn't Boy George once say something about cups of tea? 5. I do a lot of my best work when I'm busting for a pee. It's something to do with the psychology of displacement activity. Works for me, readers! Update (1): Oh, are you're supposed to tag other people? Forgive me, for I am a little rusty with these conventions. I hereby tag Siobhan (who reminded me), Luca and TGI Paul. But only if they feel like it, of course... Update (2): Siobhan's done it... Update (3): Luca's done it... Update (4): TGI Paul's done it... here and here.
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Friday, December 15, 2006
Ever fallen in love with someone you shouldn't have fallen in love with?
(And, oh dear, this was one of the Guardian Guide's questions from two Saturdays ago.)
Mike answers: It all depends upon your definition of "falling in love". From my early teens until my early twenties, I suffered my share of unrequited romantic obsessions - but with the benefit of hindsight, I'm not sure that any of them counted as being "in love". Love's a vibration, man. You send it out, and it returns to you. Loving someone without their reciprocation - or, hell, even their knowledge - is something else entirely. So I'm answering the question in the negative.
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Do ya think I'm sexy?
Mike answers: Do I think I'm sexy? Hmm, tricky. I have occasionally had the s-word said to me - but usually to fairly specific ends, and at a time and a place when certain people (and why am I even being gender/orientation non-specific about this, I mean GAY MEN of course) will say most anything to achieve those ends. So we can count them out for starters. The mercenary little scallywags.
There again, there was that one time in Finland, in the summer of 1994, when that awfully good-looking chap picked me up at a gay disco on a boat, and whisked me away to a wooden cabin on the edge of a pine forest, way out of town - and as we tumbled amongst the freshly-laundered linen while the soft magenta fingers of dawn stole through the shutters, he leant his face close into mine and, with that same disarming, shining-eyed, sincerity that had so won me over, breathed these words: "You're beautiful." (slight pause) "But you're not sexy." A harsh judgement, but then I'm not sure that I've ever really pulled off Sexy to any great effect. The sexy people - the truly sexy people - are the ones who are comfortable within their own skins, with an understated yet unmistakable confidence which allows them to forget about themselves and to concentrate on you. Well, that was never me. Back in my glory days - those ten years or so when my physical attributes were at their peak (and I'll admit to not being at the back of the queue looks-wise, which must have helped) - my strongest suits were flirting, and teasing, and exuding a sense of fun that could sometimes rub off on others. But these were milder, lighter, more diversionary powers, fit only for their limited and transitory purpose. Under the right sort of lighting, and in the right sort of outfits, and provided that it's-ten-to-two-you'll-do desperation hadn't set in, I could generally approximate a certain template of urban gay male foxiness. But true sexiness required a cooler eye and a steadier hand - and I knew the limits of my range, my scope and my aspirations. Flirting, teasing and mucking around suited me just fine. As for these days - these days when I don't even bother putting lenses in for an evening out, and when I'd rather be chatting in the corner than making an exhibition of myself on raised surfaces - sexiness barely enters into it. As Molly Parkin once put it, the post-sexy experience feels rather like being unchained from a lunatic - and I don't miss that needy old tart one little bit. Labels: confessional, gay, memoir, myself, questions
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Tell me what you want. What you really, really want.
Mike answers: To know what I want - what I really, really want - and to be guided by that knowledge.
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Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Open Mike #6 - Question 8.
Cliff asks: Name your 5 cities INCLUDING songs to go with them.
Working on the assumption that Cliff was looking for a list of my five favourite cities... 1. London. Waterloo Sunset - The Kinks. Need you ask why? Gets me every - and I mean every - time. 2. Barcelona. Barcelona - D.Kay & Epsilon featuring Stamina MC. Because it was a hit while I was working there, and it reminds me of some good nights out in the old town. My boss at the time liked this, and he was a nice guy, so it all ties together. 3. New York. Peace (In The Valley) - Sabrina Johnston. The Saint at Large Halloween Party at the Roseland Ballroom, October 1991. It was my first ever big night out in New York City, and I had accidentally stumbled across one of the major events of the gay social calendar. Sabrina Johnston sang this on stage at around 3am. One of those sometimes-life-is-just-like-the-movies moments. 4. Amsterdam. Amsterdam - Peter Bjorn & John. I'm looking forward to a few more visits in 2007, as my good friend Alan @ Reluctant Nomad will be working over there for 12 months, starting in January. I'm going to miss him horribly, of course - but at least there will be compensations along the way. 5. Stockholm. Once In A Lifetime - Ines. Fond memories of the Best! Eurovision! Disco! Ever! at the Tip Top club, Spring 2000, the year that "Fly On The Wings Of Love" won. Ee, the tales I could tell about that weekend... Runners-up: Hanoi, Paris, Berlin, San Francisco, Boston, Marrakech, Riga, Shanghai, Lisbon, Istanbul.
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Open Mike #6 - Question 5.
z asks: Mike, honey, what makes you so Good? Not in the saintly sense of course.
Plenty of fresh food in my diet, the love of my man, nice socks, a sunny disposition and an enquiring mind. OR... A ready smile, a cute bum, a focus on the other person's needs, and a great snogging technique. OR... Guilt, shame (or the lack of it), displacement activity, a neurotic fear of criticism, a competitive, heirarchical mindset and an ego the size of Leeds. OR... Peter Pan Syndrome, Olympic levels of denial, Molton Brown moisturiser and a resolute belief in Nirvana through Shallowness. OR... Let me take you by the hand, and lead you to my previous answer. I'm warming up now, amn't I?
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Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Whacked.
I feel whacked out.
A couple of weeks ago, I took a couple of sick days, with what I took to be a viral infection. Constant fatigue, aching limbs - but no other symptoms. It passed, and I returned to work. In the last few days, the fatigue has returned - but in a more subtle way, that I can't really attribute to a virus. I go to bed at a sensible time, sleep for 8 or 9 hours - and wake up feeling as tired as when I went to bed. During the day, everything feels like an effort - even the most straightforward of everyday tasks, even getting up from my desk to make a cup of tea. Give you an example: even when busting for a pee, I'll stay at my desk until I'm absolutely desperate - because I can't even be bothered to go upstairs to the loo. And it's not only fatigue. My piles have flared up; a couple of days ago, I was in severe pain just walking home from work. I'm back on the bum bullets and the prescription gel. They're under control now, but I'm having to be careful. The eczema on both ankles has also flared up. I've treated the affected areas with hydrocortisone cream, every day for two weeks. It brings the eczema under control, but not to the point where it actually vanishes. I went to the dentist today. The "nasty" area around my bottom left cavity has been giving me grief. The dentist says it's the early stages of gum disease, to be treated with a high-powered mouthwash to stop it spreading and doing damage. Work has been tough for the past few months. I'm been out of my comfort zone all year. Every new task involves areas which are largely new to me, and the information which I need isn't readily available. The work is difficult, but not unsurmountably so. It's just taking a lot of will power to apply myself. I started the year in China. Shortly after returning, I started commuting to London. For five months, I lived out of a suitcase. Keeping on top of things at home was another struggle, when all I wanted to do was flop out. In the middle of it all, K lost his sister. He has needed a lot of support, and so has his family. Outside of work, I have taken on a considerable amount of freelance music journalism work. I've reviewed nearly thirty gigs, over a dozen albums, several dozen singles, and the Eurovision Song Contest in Athens. Most weeks during the Autumn, I've been doing two gigs a week, sometimes three. So the physical problems that I'm experiencing: as K gently pointed out this evening, they have to be stress-related. I may not be climbing the walls with stress, but that doesn't mean that it's not taking a steady toll. Mercifully - and I have last year's cognitive behavioural therapy course to thank for this - none of this has led the sort of depressive relapse which plagued me in the last half of 2004. I'm proud of this fact. Sure, there has been the odd wobble - but nothing which I haven't been able to challenge and rationalise. Next week, we'll be on holiday, in gentle, tranquil, relaxing... Marrakech. Hahahahaha! But hey, a change is as good as a rest. I can't wait, and neither can he. In amongst all the helpful comments which people have left me (see next post down), these two (from Boz) have particularly struck me. "Expect to get lost - but don't mind if you do. Going with the flow is part of the fun." "All the traders will be out for your money, but actually, it's part of the craic. Pretend you're Indiana Jones." Excellent and much needed advice - because, by default, both situations could all too easily stress us out. I shall bear them in mind, Boz. And finally, and just before I retire for the night: in amongst all the madness, we've still found time to cultivate a garden which looked like this, just before the village gardens open day in June. (It's a professionally taken photograph, which may be appearing in a garden design book some time next year. I'll tell you when I know more.)
I'm proud of this, as well. In fact, I'm proud of the way that I've handled a lot of situations this year. But oh my darlings, I'm whacked. Labels: confessional, cottage, health, journal, myself, pdmg
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Tuesday, October 08, 2002
100 things about 100 bloggers which also apply to this blogger - Part 10.
Start here and work up.
91. I do not feel bad about eating animals. Nevertheless, K and I were vegetarian for several years – on the principle that we couldn’t see the need to eat meat, when we could manage perfectly well without it. In fact, going vegetarian meant that we started eating much better than before: more fresh food, less junk food. About three years into this, K got a new job which took him all over the world. On average, he was away on business for about one week in three, over a seven year period. Everywhere he went, his hosts would take him out for meals, more often than not to the best restaurants in town (he was quick to tell them that food was one of his passions). After a short while, he became frustrated at being presented with so many interesting sounding dishes in so many different countries, yet always being stuck with the vegetarian options on the menu. We therefore introduced a new exclusion clause. Eating meat was now permitted, but only for research purposes. If there was an interesting new gastronomic experience to be had, then education was allowed to override principle. It was, of course, the thin end of a very big wedge. A year or so later, the clause had widened to include any meal in any restaurant – but preferably white meat, of course. Meat was still not to be brought into the house. A year or so after that, meat dishes were allowed in the house, but only as part of takeaway meals. Next, the occasional piece of uncooked chicken was permitted over the threshold. Then in summer 1994, driving round France, we finally succumbed to the delights of steak. After all, you couldn’t go to France and not sample steak et frites, could you? By the end of the year, we were once again fully fledged – indeed voracious – carnivores. Well, at least we did our stint, I suppose. 92. My front teeth are capped. July 1999. After my caps have been fitted, I stop off for lunch in McDonalds on the way back to the office. Mindful of their delicate state, I order a Filet-O-Fish, reasoning that it would be suitably mushy, and sit myself down with my usual furtiveness, facing away from the street. McDonalds is something of a guilty secret of mine; if any of my smart friends were to pass by and catch sight of me in there, then my cherished “foodie” reputation would be in tatters. Chomp. CRUNCH. Uh-oh, what’s that? Fish bones? Or something worse – like a brand new cap on a front tooth, perhaps? Still in denial, I open my mouth for my second bite. Chomp. CRUNCH. I’m getting a nasty feeling about this. I spit the fish out into my hand, only to discover the cracked remains of not one, but both caps. My tongue reaches up for my front teeth, and makes the gruesome discovery that they are gone. Only a couple of bleeding stumps remain. Disaster. Serves me right for eating in Macky D's, of course. Instant-food-karma's gonna get you, yeah. I finish my meal and head straight for a phone box – I’ve got to get back to my dentist as quickly as possible. While talking to the receptionist, I accidentally catch my reflection in the metal phone set. Dear God, I look like Worzel Gummidge! I had been trying to avoid seeing myself like this. What’s more, the absence of front teeth is affecting my speech, making me sound like a comedy drunk. The dentist cannot see me until after lunch, in just over an hour’s time. My office is a short walk away, but I haven’t been in the job long, and I just cannot let my new co-workers see me like this. We haven’t yet reached the stage where we could all laugh it off. Instead, I spend the next hour hiding out in the most obscure corners of shops which I never usually visit, burying my head in books and magazines, hoping against hope that I won’t run into anyone I know. The dentist is all apologies, the second set of caps give me no problems, and my dignity is preserved. 93. I have worked on a gay telephone help-line. Great for a while – I learnt a lot, especially about “active listening” techniques. It was all about support, respecting and “reflecting back” what the person is saying to you, helping to define options and assessing possible outcomes. As a result, I am now much less likely to force judgemental advice down people’s throats. However, although the satisfaction at the end of a good call was immense, the number of support/advice calls was not that great, and was slowly dwindling (a sign of our more tolerant, less homophobic times). Most of the time, we were just sitting around, or else reciting details of the local pubs and clubs yet again, or telling yet another disappointed caller that there were no gay saunas for miles around, or politely explaining that no, we couldn’t recommend cruising grounds. Or else, we would be fielding long calls from our small group of highly talkative “regulars” – which could sometimes stretch my patience to its absolute limit. Eventually, after two years or so, I lost enthusiasm and started dreading my fortnightly stint on the phones. Besides which, I was all Gayed Out by now. Simply put, the whole subject had started to bore me. I no longer wanted to read Gay Times and Boyz from cover to cover, gleaning useful factual information all the while. Meanwhile, there was still a steady stream of eager, motivated new volunteers, ready to do their duty. It was time to move on. 94. There is no #94, as the blogger in question hasn’t published their list. Blogger #94 is someone called Diva, incidentally. Bad diva! Diva bitch-slap! 95. I dwell on things. For instance, I’m still wondering why Blogger X took me off his blogroll a few months ago. Which is schtoopid, as I’ll happily take people off my blogroll for no good reason other than that I’ve stopped reading them regularly. I’ve never yet de-blogrolled in anger or irritation, or because I’ve thought somebody’s site was a piece of crap. So really, I should stop dwelling. Unfortunately though, I’m just a dweller by nature. 96. I'm impatient with slow people, and people who don't pick up on things as fast as I do. Discipline issues aside, I would have made a crap teacher. Besides which, I can sometimes be remarkably slow at picking up on things myself. 97. I'd much rather type 3 pages than write 3 paragraphs manually. The real reason why I didn’t get any writing done for years on end? I hated the physical act of applying pen to paper. In particular, I really hated having to copy final versions out “in best”. I was also permanently tyrannised by the blank page, in a way which simply doesn’t occur with the blank screen. 98. I don't floss as regularly as I should. But I’m getting better at it. Partly because more food seems to get stuck down the cracks as I get older; partly because I’m sick of being bullied by my dental hygienist (“You WILL floss!”) 99. I am afraid of heights. …to the extend that I can actually experience empathetic vertigo when someone else is telling me a story involving heights. Sweaty palms, increased heart rate, and – when it gets really bad – a feeling that my testicles are liquidising. 100. I am most productive when under pressure and/or working against the clock. Must get this finished before lunch! Yes, done! Previous 10.
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Monday, October 07, 2002
100 things about 100 bloggers which also apply to this blogger - Part 9.
81. I now have no grandparents.
Ten years ago, my grandmothers – both long since decimated by Alzheimer’s - died within a week of each other. Eighteen months later, after just one month in the nursing home which he had fought so long and hard to avoid, my grandfather followed suit. With entirely typical efficiency, he elected to pass away after exactly one month and one hour in the home, his bill for the first month having just been settled in full. Knowing his painstaking attention to detail, and his deep dislike of causing inconvenience to others, it is hard to view this as entirely accidental. 82. The toilet paper goes over the roll, not under. Thus making it far easier to peel off three sheets at once. If the paper goes under, it has a frustrating habit of auto-detaching after the first sheet is pulled down. 83. Guitars are wonderful instruments. What other instrument offers such sheer sonic variety? What other instrument has a sound that is capable of being so completely customised, so that each individual's playing style can instantly be recognised? 84. I have no Zilla Zilla. Yeah, well. Can I just show you the list that this originally came from? It makes a mockery of the whole project, I tell you! 85. I used to be socially introverted. Lost in my own little world, almost unable to connect with outside realities. Still, that's adolescence for you. However, although I can now pass more freely between private/inner and public/outer levels of consciousness (if we can be all cod-spiritual for a moment), I am still more socially introverted than many people might imagine. Although I love "going out" and being with friends, and although I am generally seen as a sociably active type of guy, my favourite social activities - dancing, seeing bands, cultural events - are actually those which still allow me the option of retreating back into myself. At dinner parties, or at house parties with no dancing, or at any occasion where there is no escape from constant, unrelieved social interaction, I can sometimes struggle, and will sometimes zone out entirely, while I mentally regroup. 86. I worry way too much about the little things in life. Sometimes I can obsess over certain niggly details, while remaining blithely oblivious to other, wider issues. But then, God is in the details, right? 87. I keep to myself at work. 'Twas not always thus; in my previous job, our group of desks was the cheery, laugh-a-minute social hub of the entire office. Happy days indeed. In fact, I liked just about everything about my last job, except for one thing. The work. Bit of a deal-breaker, that one. 88. I've travelled to almost every single country in Western Europe. Countries I have yet to visit: Ireland, Denmark and Norway. Also Malta, Monaco, Luxembourg and Andorra, if we're being completist. 89. I used to play with dolls. To elaborate: I wasn't particularly interested in dressing them up in cutesy frocks, or changing their nappies, or Big Gurly Stuff like that. My enjoyment came from assigning them characters and creating little dramas for them. This struck me as much more fun than kicking a ball round, or pretending to shoot people - where, pray, was the creativity in that? 90. I cry in movies. But almost never in real life, these days. That's quite a common phenomenon, isn't it? Dear me, whatever is becoming of us all? Next 10. Previous 10.
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Monday, September 30, 2002
100 things about 100 bloggers which also apply to this blogger - Part 8.
71. I've never stayed overnight in a hospital (the hand surgery was outpatient).
As a child, I was actually rather keen on the idea of spending a night in hospital. It all looked rather jolly: there would be friendly nurses, and lots of toys to play with, and new friends to make, and Rolf Harris might pop by and give us all a song, and I could even send off for a Magpie badge for my troubles. The state propaganda of 1960s children’s television was clearly doing a fine job. 72. I don’t spend enough time exercising. Enough time? Any time! Apart from walking, that is – I’m a strong, fast walker who has to make a deliberate effort to slow down when in company. 73. Guilt plays a very large role in my life. Although not as large a role as it used to. I am either becoming more self-forgiving, or else I’m screwing up less. Or both. 74. I change my mind a lot. Or maybe I am still constantly plagued by guilt after all. Fancy not being able to decide. That’s terrible. I’m so sorry. No I’m not. 75. I don't like criticism. I can become horribly defensive when criticised – which doesn’t stop me taking even the mildest criticism to heart, and obsessing over it thereafter. For this reason alone, I shan’t be signing up for David’s promising new venture: What Not To Blog. 76. Not a cook. I am a microwaver. I am, in fact, a microwaver par excellence. No-one else can ping those buttons with quite so much panache. For an amusing tale of culinary incompetence, which haunted me for several years afterwards, take a look at this. 77. If I had to choose a religion I would chose Buddhism. Mainly because it’s not overtly doctrinaire or proscriptive (at least in my limited understanding of it). I like the lack of Thou Shalt Nots, and the laidback attitude towards self-improvement. (Try just a little bit harder in your next incarnation, and work your way up the ladder of enlightenment at your own pace. There’s no hurry. Have as many re-incarnations as you like.) 78. I love my barber. He's wonderful and extremely handsome. Ant has been cutting my hair for maybe 12 years or so now, and we have developed a great rapport over the years. There’s something about his manner which encourages total frankness from his clients; sometimes, it feels like I’m attending confession as much as I’m having my hair cut. In fact, Ant is probably privy to most of the juiciest gossip in Nottingham. He never breathes a word of it though, to everybody’s amused annoyance. He just smiles his inscrutable smile and carries on clipping. Which, of course, is the secret of his success. 79. I love to dance. …and what I might lack in formal technique, I more than make up for in unbridled enthusiasm. I’m one of those lyrics-mouthing, air-punching whoopers. 80. I am not a morning person. Do you know the real reason why I could never sustain a heterosexual relationship? It’s that whole Morning Thing. How can most women be so goddammed chirpy and fully functional at that time of day, whilst I can barely pour the tea or squeeze out a coherent sentence? It’s not natural, I’m telling you. Next 10. Previous 10.
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Friday, September 27, 2002
100 things about 100 bloggers which also apply to this blogger - Part 7.
61. I cannot do anything handy or crafty.
Airfix kits? Corn dollies? Macrame plant pot holders? Dresses out of feedbags? Nope, none of those. With me, it more or less begins and ends with Lego. 62. I am a good kisser. The trouble with being a good kisser: it can sometimes set expectations rather too high for comfort. One doesn’t like one’s hors d’oeuvres to be the highlight of the meal. Still, know thy strengths and all that. 63. When I was child, I wanted to be an artist and an astronomer. And a circus clown. And an architect. And a pop star, of course. And, somewhat bizarrely given my particular skill-set, an engineer. 64. I do not think blondes have more fun. I was blonde myself for a few months in 1983-84. It was my Kirk Brandon look. Fun levels neither increased nor decreased. Funny looks definitely increased, though. 65. I want to be more organized. The study’s a tip. The CDs need re-filing. The paper mountain in the kitchen is getting ridiculous. Hoo-wee, my crazy madcap life! 66. I don't wear make-up. Apart from the occasional touch of Kohl round the eyes in the early 80s, but then we all did that, eh lads? Lads? My first boyfriend used to pile on the slap, though – not for any particular effect, but just because he thought he had blotchy skin. However, it was only blotchy because he piled so much slap on top of it, and didn’t look after it properly. Caught in a vicious cosmetic circle, so he was. Once, before a Saturday night out dancing at Part Two, he talked me into having the full decorative treatment: eyes, lips, the lot. He spent a good hour working on me, using - to quote his initial vision statement - "all the colours of the rainbow, but subtle." I still ended up looking like a barmaid. I’ve got a photo somewhere. Jee-zus, will you look the state of it. Never again. Ditched him not long after. Couldn’t be doing with it. 67. Indie bands and soulful female singers are played frequently. I think you might just have gathered this by now. The Coral and Angie Stone, if you want contemporary. Aretha (who else?) and The Smiths (who else?), if you want classic. 68. I like computers. Okay, struggling a bit with this one. Important distinction though: I like using them, not knowing loads of boring technical stuff about them. The destination, not the journey. The meal, not the recipe. The message, not the medium. The...okay, you get the point now. 69. Chocolate yes. Candy no. Fresh bread excellent. Pumpernickel not. …and I particularly like what Dave has to say about bread. 70. Given a choice, I'll gladly take the boy in the nice button-down shirt, jeans and loafers over the muscle-bound kid virtually poured into his tank top. Don't get me wrong here: obviously tarty looking men can definitely do it for me. Hey, I like cheap. You know where you are with cheap. What I don’t like is that antiseptic, sanitised, everything-just-so look. The look that aims for some abstract ideal of “perfection”. There’s nothing sexy about perfection – it’s the flaws which help to make us beautiful and desirable. On the other hand: if the muscle-bound dude’s tank top looks like it has been through the wash about 50 times, and if it’s a bit loose, and sagging or drooping in the wrong places - then yes, maybe. But I’m probably still looking in the other direction, silently willing another button open on that nice button-down shirt, like the sad old perv that I am slowly becoming. Next 10. Previous 10.
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Thursday, September 26, 2002
100 things about 100 bloggers which also apply to this blogger - Part 6.
51. I acknowledge that horoscopes aren't accurate predictors of anything.
Well before Dave Gorman, I also conducted a little astrological experiment of my own, details of which can be found here. 52. I always wanted a surprise birthday party. The reason why this could never happen: like me, K is completely incapable of keeping secrets. (A frequently heard wail of mine: “Why can’t we lie to each other, like normal couples do?”) He did try once, bless him. It was doomed to failure, though. As I recall, the conversation went something like this. “So, what do you think I should do for my birthday this year?” “Oh, I knew you’d work it out! You’re too bloody sharp, that’s your trouble!” “Huh? What are you going on about?” “Very well, then. If you must drag it out of me. Yes, that’s right, I was trying to arrange a surprise party for you, with all our friends turning up, and now it’s ruined!” 53. I have used a Ouija board. There was something on Nationwide about it, when I was about eight years old. The thrust of the piece was to warn people away from the dangers of dabbling in the supernatural – but of course, it only got my curiosity up. So I made my own, with a piece of cardboard and a sink plug. It worked. Oo-er. Not terribly well, mind. For instance, I can remember the board telling me that I would be Prime Minister one day. Ghosts, eh? They don’t know shit. 54. Before this one, my longest relationship lasted 5 months (the next longest was 2 months). Now, that is spooky. The five month relationship ended not long before I met K. It was a light-hearted, going-out-on-dates, going-dancing-at-weekends type of affair. In fact, as we would cheerfully admit to each other, we had nothing in common besides both being students and both having a soft spot for Hazell Dean. And I wasn’t even that keen on Hazell Dean. He ended up shocking us all by getting married, to a much older woman (his stepchildren were older than he was). I think that, for both of us, our relationship was just a comfortable way of passing the time. We were serious enough to have an Official Break-Up Tune, though – it was Number One when we split. I can’t quite bring myself to mention it here though, so you’ll just have to follow the link. As for the two month relationship: he was a New Yorker, an air steward who was living in Berlin when we met. I was in the Anderes Ufer bar with my friends, when he walked in with his friends. Our two groups fell into conversation; there was a tangible charge of attraction between the two of us, but nothing was acted upon. A week or so later, I was sunbathing at Halensee (a naturist area down at the end of the Ku-Damm, heaving with homos), when I noticed one of his friends lying there, a few feet away. “Sorry, didn’t recognise you with your clothes off. Where’s your American friend?” “Gone shopping for shoes. He’ll be sorry he missed you, though. Very sorry. He liked you.” “Really? Well, I liked him, too. Here – give him my number.” “OK, will do. Hey, you never know…” “You never know…” When handing over my number to the air steward, this guy played a naughty trick. “You know that I met Mike up at Halensee, right? Well, there’s something that you perhaps ought to know about him, before you take things any further. He’s only got one leg.” Anyway, we met, and went out for two months before realising that we made better mates than lovers. After I left Berlin, I didn’t see him again for the best part of two years. Until this happened. 55. I've kissed over 10 X the number of men who I've considered myself truly in love with. The maths wasn’t particularly complicated for this one, I have to say. 56. In public places I enjoy watching others. It's funny just to see how people act/behave. Sometimes in these situations, I feel like the central character in a Thomas Mann novel: observing the little human dramas around me with a detached, analytical eye. 57. I want to visit New Zealand and China. Amongst other places; Cape Town for Christmas being our latest idea. As the Yangtze gorge is being flooded next year, time is running out for the China trip. As for New Zealand, this might have to wait a few more years, until we have a longer period of time at our disposal. There’s no rush. 58. My facial expressions are often more revealing than I would like. I’m always giving myself away, with occasionally embarrassing consequences. At such times, a little more emotional obtuseness wouldn’t go amiss. 59. My parents have never had "the sex talk" with me. I picked all my knowledge up from heterosexual pr0nography (which terrified me), and from dirty jokes in the playground (sidling up to trusted friends afterwards: What did that mean, exactly?) My comparative sexual ignorance was legendary amongst my classmates, and a source of much joshing. For a long time, I had one particular stumbling block. How exactly did the man’s sperm get into the lady? It had to be via the rudest part of the lady’s body, I reasoned – which meant the nipple, obviously. “Down there” was simply the place where there was no willy, so it couldn’t be there. No, it must be willy-to-nipple. After all, I knew that milk could come out, so it only stood to reason that something else could go in. It must be an uncomfortable business, though – balancing a willy on a nipple. Wouldn’t the willy keep falling off? Also, the lady’s head would have to be buried right down inside the bed, which couldn’t be very nice. Perhaps someone needed to invent some sort of double-ended funnelling device, in clear plastic, which could then fit round the man’s willy and the lady’s bosom. Yes, that would help. If they had ever dared to broach the subject with me at the time, my poor parents would have had one hell of a lot of explaining to do. Too much information, you say? Oh, come on. It's funny. 60. I never saw the Grateful Dead live. Like Frank Zappa, “The Dead” have always rather passed me by on the other side. Have I missed anything? Next 10. Previous 10.
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Wednesday, September 25, 2002
100 things about 100 bloggers which also apply to this blogger - Part 5.
41. If you don't answer my question, I will constantly ask.
…in a horribly repetitive, whiney, why-won’t-you-tell-me kind of way. So annoying, that people usually cave in and give me an answer, just to shut me up. Paxman and Humphries could take a few tips from this technique, I reckon. 42. I wish it was summer. Hmm. This was certainly true when I originally drew up the list, but I’m rather more reconciled to the autumn now – and looking forward to October, always my favourite month of the year. However, summer always feels like the shortest of the seasons, and I never feel that we quite get enough of it. All those nice summer clothes that barely get worn, for instance; it seems like such a waste. 43. I wish I could sing well. A topic recently covered in greater detail here. 44. On the evening of our tenth anniversary, my partner and I ate a meal which was personally cooked by Marco Pierre White. (List #44 on The Yankee Blogger’s “100 things” directory is actually my own, so here’s my #44 from that list.) On April 20 1995, K and I ate a truly sublime meal at “The Restaurant Marco Pierre White”, situated inside the Hyde Park Hotel in Knightsbridge. (I was about to say “sublime, unforgettable” meal - but that would have been a big fat lie, as I can no longer remember what we ordered for our first course.) For our main course, we both ordered a dish of caramelised calves liver; a special of the day, which, so we were informed, “Marco will be cooking himself tonight.” It was pure perfection; so much so, that when the highly formal and correct French waiter brought our dishes to the table, he couldn’t restrain himself from exclaiming: “Look at ‘zat! Ah, just look at ‘zat! ‘Ow I weesh I was eating it wiz you!” I have never eaten in a place which was so chronically over-staffed, and tightly choreographed down to the last detail. There were strict hierarchies: for instance, the immaculately groomed head waiters never stooped to anything so base as actually touching the food. There were whole armies of underlings to do that. It also seemed that the younger and frailer you were, the more arduous were your physical tasks. At one point, a series of colossal meat dishes were brought out, in covered metal platters, by a team of pale and spindly bantam-weight teenagers, who then had to assemble in a line before passing them up the chain. Some of them barely looked capable of sustaining the weight; you could almost see their legs wobbling with the strain. K and I got slowly, and very graciously, pickled on the wine list. At one point, a glowing, beaming K leant over and slurred to me, in a sentence which has since passed into our private folklore: “You know, I think I’m forming quite a rapport with the sommelier.“ We also started trying to play a game of trying to reach the door of the toilet without being intercepted. This was impossible to achieve; no matter how carefully each of us timed our exit from the dining table, a member of staff would always, always emerge from seemingly nowhere and quickly strut ahead of us to open the door (“Let me get that for you, sir.”) We couldn’t work out how they did it. It was almost supernatural. We started speculating as to whether they were paging each other: Alert! Poof in suit getting up for piss! The only negative aspect of our evening: our fellow diners. Wankers, the lot of ‘em. When the bill arrived at one table of four, one particularly bumptious oaf grabbed it, held it aloft, and started braying to his companions: “Guess how much! Go on, guess! No, higher! FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS!” On another table, a couple of work colleagues were clearly having an affair. Towards the end of the meal, the man started assertively laying into the woman. “Of course, your career would be nothing without me. You do know that, don’t you?” (Visibly shaken) “No, I don’t. What do you mean?” “Well, who do you think got you that promotion in the first place?” (Looking at the table) “I didn’t know...” (Scornfully) "God, you didn't think you'd done it all by yourself, did you?" (Quietly) "No, I suppose not." For dessert, I had a bitter chocolate soufflé, which was slit open at the table so that hot chocolate sauce could be poured inside it. I can see it in front of me now. 45. I get extremely sarcastic when I'm angry. The ice within the fire, or something. It’s one of my killer rhetorical devices - or so I like to think when I'm doing it. 46. I don't know how many people I’ve slept with. I used to maintain a list, because I didn’t like the idea of forgetting any of them - especially not their names. But that was some years ago now. 47. I like loungy electronica. Haven’t you bought that Gotan Project album yet? You really should, you know. Almost a year after its release, the word still seems to be slowly spreading; there’s an article about them in today’s Guardian, for instance. The next Royksopp-style mainstream crossover, maybe? 48. I've never been arrested. I once had a copper shout at me for stepping out into moving traffic, though. It was all very humiliating. 49. My favourite place to travel to is London. 1 hour 45 on the train, get a couple of magazines, bung the headphones on, bang, you’re there. Looking forward to the end of next month, when I should be down again for a party. RVT on the Sunday, maybe? Ooh, could be. 50. I think my nose is too big. A family trait, on my father’s side. My grandmother used to take rather too much delight in telling the following story, which she found hysterically funny. I shall relate it without further comment. You may draw your own conclusions. One evening in 1940, my grandmother walked into my father’s bedroom – he was 7 at the time – to find him sitting on his bed, the contents of his piggy bank spread around him, in floods of tears. On asking him what the matter was, she got the following reply. “Well, with all this money, and this nose, people will think I’m a Jew…” Next 10. Previous 10.
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Tuesday, September 24, 2002
100 things about 100 bloggers which also apply to this blogger - Part 4.
31. I rarely get to see my best friends, or so it seems.
Oh God. Now there’s a “live issue”, if ever there was one. Fuelled by drink the other weekend, an old friend of ours (it’s OK, he doesn’t read this, and you’d never guess who he was anyway) launched into an extended diatribe, all about how K and I have this habit of drawing people in, spending loads of time with them, making them feel special - and then dropping them for the next lot of new people. He then went on to illustrate his point by listing conversations he has had with a sizeable proportion of our oldest friends, all of whom have complained about feeling ignored/abandoned by us. Okay, so he was drunk and exaggerating (and was fairly remorseful about it the next day), but his words hit home. We are currently at a crisis point in our friendship with a couple of other old friends (it’s OK, they have never read this, and you still won’t guess), who have stopped returning our calls because they feel so badly ignored. It’s like this, basically. Once upon a time, K and I enjoyed a certain dubious status as "social lynchpins" in Nottingham. We had an unfeasibly vast circle of friends, most of whom knew each other, and were forever entertaining them at home, or getting pissed with them in city centre pubs and clubs. However, our priorities changed. In particular, K found it quite impossible to sustain such a high level of social activity any longer. It stressed him out. Particularly since his business was now taking off, and his life had become a lot more centred round his work (in a good way – his work is both socially useful, and integral to his identity). So, we calmed down. We started spending more time with each other, rather than with other people. We got a weekend cottage, miles away from the people we know, and started spending all our weekends there. Nowadays, we only spend four nights a week in the city, which doesn’t leave much chance for maintaining all of our previous friendships. We try and keep up, but have learnt not to let our social lives be motivated by guilt. We simply go with the flow. Now, as before, people ring us more than we ring them, and we are always happy to go along with spontaneous suggestions. In fact, we favour spontaneity over diaries which are booked up weeks in advance (another source of stress). The friends we have are still important, still valued, still loved. Hopefully, they know who they are. What has changed is the amount of time we have at our disposal to share common experiences with them. What hasn’t changed is the enjoyment we still derive in getting to know new people. I can see how this makes us look fickle. However, those who know us best should also be aware that we are capable of immense, almost unshakeable loyalty. If we haven’t seen you in a while: hope to see you soon. Give us a ring. Drop us a line. Invite yourselves over for a Saturday night. We’re always pleased when you get in touch. 32. I believe in true love. Not the idealised hearts-and-flowers romantic kind. I’m talking about true love. The stuff that’s based on trust, honesty and respect. The stuff that doesn’t have to struggle to fit into pre-conceived notions of what true love is. The slow-burning embers of long-term companionship, rather than the quickly consumed fires of delirious passion. Love that is freely given and freely received, in equal measure, so that it becomes entirely instinctive – second nature. Love that isn’t forever analysing itself and self-consciously declaring itself. Oh yes, I believe in all of that, to the bottom of my soul. 33. I can pee standing up. Can you tell that I had particular difficulty finding anything at all in common with this particular blogger? Well, vive la difference and all that. 34. I hate marketing, now more than ever. Oh dear, and two of my best friends have worked, or are working, in marketing. I don’t want to offend them, so I’d better quickly qualify. What I really hate is the effect that such ruthlessly efficient marketing is currently having on society and culture – neatly compartmentalising us into easily processed demographic groups. It takes all the fun away – the fun of unexpected choices and discoveries. It homogenises culture, essentially. Quick, move on! 35. I've always wondered what it would be like to be famous. The only change over the years: once, I would dwell on all the ways in which fame would be fabulous. Now, I am more likely to dwell on the artificiality, fragility and arbitrariness of fame, and the absurd pressures that it must bring in its wake. 36. I'm a happy drunk. I don’t get maudlin, or aggressive, or sleepy, or incoherent, or overtly annoying. I can still string sentences together, make reasonably intelligent (even profound!) conversation, and keep people entertained and looked after. It’s one of my better life skills. 37. Orchestral violins bore me. Isn’t that a terrible admission? But horribly true, I am ashamed to say. I can never mine much emotion from massed ranks of violins. Give me guitars and brass, every time. 38. Long hair is a turn-off. Mainly because short hair is such a turn-on. Especially back of necks. Yum. 39. I don't like telephones. Unless I know the person I'm phoning, and also whoever is likely to pick up the phone, very well, I can put off phoning people for days, months or years, depending on the actual urgency of the call. This probably relates all too closely to #31 above. More often than not (and sure, there are plenty of exceptions), I am uncomfortable talking on the phone for any extended period of time. Thank God for e-mail, which I have adored right from the off. 40. Pepsi is better than Coke. Because it has that nice lemony tang to it. Coke goes off before you get to the end of the can – there’s never much pleasure in those last couple of mouthfuls. Next 10. Previous 10.
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Monday, September 23, 2002
100 things about 100 bloggers which also apply to this blogger - Part 3.
22. Love going for walks.
…and here’s some recent evidence. 23. I don't have a DVD player. I can only echo David’s sentiments on this: I too have always been a late adopter of technology. Hell, I haven’t even got myself a mobile phone yet (much to the annoyance of most of my friends). 24. I like to spoon. He’s not just my Long Term Live-In Life Partner; he makes a damn fine hot water bottle too. This has not gone unremarked between us. (”I’m just a great big hot water bottle to you, aren’t I?”) 25. I don’t like clothing around my wrists. Sleeves rolled up above the elbows, that’s me. Except jacket sleeves, of course. Because that would be so very, very wrong. Nevertheless, I was a very late adopter of short-sleeved shirts, and I almost never wear T-shirts. Yes, it’s another of those inexplicable contradictions which make me so gosh-darned fascinating. 26. I think George W Bush is a moron. In view of recent blog postings, the irony of this statement is not lost on me. 27. I have never eaten tripe. Have you? If so, where did you eat it, and what is it like? Do tell – I’m genuinely interested. 28. Evening is my favourite time of day. It’s when I’m at my most relaxed, and yet most energised and mentally alert. 29. I over analyse. This is the 129th fact about myself so far. I rest my case. 30. I frequently zone out. Particularly when someone is telling me an extremely long and discursive anecdote which could have done with judicious pruning, or when a discussion is taking place around me on a subject of which I have little interest. The lights stay on, but no-one’s at home. Fortunately, I have honed the whole smiling and nodding thing to near perfection. They need never know. Next 10. Previous 10.
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Friday, September 20, 2002
100 things about 100 bloggers which also apply to this blogger - Part 2.
11. I have stopped wearing a watch.
Firstly: they irritate my wrist, getting me sweaty under the strap. Secondly: when I wore one, I used to look at it constantly, like a nervous reflex reaction. If someone was talking to me at the time, this could look terribly rude. Thirdly: when I wore one, it gave me an overly heightened sense of time and urgency. I needed to chill out a little more. Fourthly: I have a good instinct for knowing what the right time is anyway. Fifthly: There are clocks everywhere. Sixthly: You can always ask someone. 12. I can be quite prudish. Another one of my self-contradictions, as I also have a highly developed sense of smut. On that score, I actually rein myself in quite severely on this site. Not an appropriate medium, and all that. Trust me though – when I want to be, I can be filthy. But only when I want to be, mind. If I think the occasion is not suitable for smut, then I can be the most censorious, purse-lipped prude on the planet. Plus, I cannot bear witless smut. Smut for its own sake, whose intended humour merely rests on the fact that it smutty. Like audiences who giggle just because the performer has said f**k, for instance. If, however, there is genuine wit and purpose behind the smut, then fire away. Be as rude and crude as you like. Just remember though: carefully chosen euphemisms can be a whole lot funnier. 13. I've never been upside down on a roller coaster. Have I talked about this before? I always used to refuse, point blank, to take any roller coaster rides at all, until my old mate Stex and I went to Blackpool for the weekend in 1991. Down at the Pleasure Beach, knowing full well what I was like, Stex pointed out the entrance of a fairly harmless looking ride – a series of old fashioned carriages with wooden seats, with a well-behaved party of children climbing on board. “That’s one of the old traditional rides,” he said. “It dates back to the 1930s, I think.” How could anything from the 1930s possibly be scary, I thought to myself, as we climbed on board and the carriages started trundling away. “So what happens exactly?” “Well, just at the very beginning, it’s a little bit roller-coaster-ish. Then it flattens out and becomes a nice easy ride.” We were actually riding The Grand National, one of the best known roller coasters in the country. Best known to everybody except me, that is. He’s a sly one, is that Stex. We climbed and climbed and climbed – and plunged down. I screamed and screamed – and suddenly realised that a certain amount of controlled fear could actually be fun. After that, we went on all the roller coaster rides that the Pleasure Beach had to offer. Each time, nervously eyeing them up, I would ask Stex: “So, what’s that one like?” “Oh, not nearly as bad as The Grand National.” “Might as well go on it, then.” There was just one exception: the roller coaster ride with the 360 degree loop. Oh no. Not me. I’m not turning myself upside down for anybody. And that’s the way it has stayed to this day. 14. I can be very quiet or very talkative. Sometimes, you can’t shut me up; I’ll be bursting over with words. Other times, I’ll just sit there, letting the conversation wash over me, convinced that I have nothing useful or interesting to add. Sometimes, I will swing from one to the other and back again in the course of an evening. Although this all depends to a large extent on the company and the situation, it’s still very difficult to predict which way I will go. Most of the time, however, I strike a happy medium. Just bear all this in mind, if you ever meet me. 15. I get very cranky when I'm hungry. Just ask my boyfriend, the cook. He’ll gladly tell you all about it. At length. 16. I can be a drama queen. We both can. Stop being such a drama queen, will you? I’m not being a drama queen, you’re the one who’s being the drama queen… Et cetera, et cetera. 17. I am finally happy with who I am as a person, but there's a part of me that always strives for more. And cue Whitney. Learning to love yourself is the greatest love of… Ugh. Always hated that song. 18. The few things I'm ashamed to have said still make me flush with embarrassment. There are things that I said in Nineteen Bloody Eighty that still, to this day, make me flush with embarrassment. Actually, scratch that – I’ve just remembered something I said in 1974, when I was twelve years old. Colouring up as I type. Oh, the horror! Will my demons never leave me! 19. I don't wear jewellery. Well, it’s poofy, innit? I used to wear a chunky pewter (?) ring on my middle finger, until one hot day when my finger swelled up and I couldn’t get the thing off, and I started to panic that I would never get it off. 20. I could read by the time I was 5. I don’t quite know how I managed it now, but I taught myself to read before I went to school. I can still remember reaching the last page of Kitty And Rover, and running excitedly downstairs, shouting “I can read! I can read!” Next 10. Previous 10.
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Thursday, September 19, 2002
100 things about 100 bloggers which also apply to this blogger - Part 1.
Maybe it’s just because I’m a sucker for lists, and the comforting way that they appear to make order out of chaos, but I found myself getting absolutely hooked on The Yankee Blogger’s “100 things about 100 bloggers in 100 days” project. Some of the lists described fascinating, complex, sometimes even faintly disturbing characters. Other lists were, inevitably, banal in the extreme; but even then, their very banality had something about it which still gripped me.
So here’s what I did, in my all too frequent compulsive-obsessive, don’t-do-anything-by-halves kind of way. Looking through each one of the “100 things about me” lists in turn, I selected one item from each list which also applied to myself. Restrictions: nothing too obvious (like “I am male” or “I am British”), no repetitions, and nothing that hadn’t already appeared on my own “100 things” list. I did this partly in the idealistic belief that, out of 100 wildly varying individuals, there would always be at least one thing that we would have in common with each other. Because, y’know, we’re, like, all connected to each other, right? Here goes, then. 100 things about other bloggers which also apply to this blogger. Plus, to make it more interesting and less of a dry read, I have added some of my own annotations. Also, to prevent complete boredom setting in, I shall be releasing these in bite-sized chunks over a period of time. 1. I am a gossip. (adopts Alan Bennett style Yorkshire housewife accent) I says to her, I says…No!, she says…Yes!, I says…Well!, she says…Really!, I says…Ooh!, she says… 2. I prefer to sleep in the nude. Pyjamas are the Devil’s work, and sleeping in any clothes whatsoever is horribly constricting. I wake up feeling sweaty and grubby, and in desperate need of an immediate shower. 3. I prefer briefs to boxers. …although when it comes to nether garments, I find that I need the comparative constriction of a snug pair of briefs. Boxers offer too much freedom, and lead to me continually making rather alarming looking “adjustments” throughout the day. Going commando, while undeniably thrilling, results in far too much laundry at the end of the day. 4. I don't know my blood type. There’s not much point, since – as an active homosexualist – I am still prevented from donating blood, “just in case”. I didn’t know this rule still applied, until I attended a one-on-one pre-screening session with a young and inexperienced nurse at my old workplace. Although she tried her best to mask her embarrassment, this was clearly the first time that this particular “issue” had come up for her. 5. I talk out loud to myself if I’m on my own. …like a complete and utter lunatic, I’m afraid. You wouldn’t believe the crap I come out with when no-one can hear me. Funny noises, comedy voices, bizarre dialogues with myself – the lot. A bit like one of those scary people you try and avoid when you see them walking down the street towards you. 6. I'm not capable of anything useful, like plumbing or carpeting. My talents are more, ahem, cerebral than that. Well, that’s the polite way of putting it. K might occasionally express it in more...robust terms. 7. I love champagne. I’m convinced that champagne must have some unique psychoactive ingredient that distinguishes it from all other alcoholic drinks. It gives me a very particular sense of well-being: enlivened, yet benign. Plus the decent vintage stuff tastes gorgeous: fragrant and floral, or deliciously biscuity, and wonderfully complex, and, and…oh, stop. 8. I hate sports. All of them, almost unreservedly, both as a spectator and a participator – but with the following exceptions. a) Wimbledon fortnight, in small doses. b) The World Cup, when England are playing; three or four football matches every four years seems healthy enough to me. c) After five years at boarding school, with a table in the common room and repeated practise, I eventually managed to drag my table tennis skills up to “almost average”. Still can’t put a spin on the ball, though. 9. Have never really hated. Really. I realise that, semantically speaking, this stands in clear contradiction to #8 above. But I am a man of many contradictions. Besides, the essential difference lies in the word “really”. I could say that I hate Celine Dion, for instance (which I most assuredly do) – but I don’t really, truly, loathe and detest her from the bottom of my very being. You see what I’m getting at here? 10. I like being called first. Me! Me! Choose me! I want to be first! One of the advantages of having a surname starting with the letter A. Next 10.
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Tuesday, August 27, 2002
One Hundred Troubled Diva Funfax! Count 'em!
100 things about 100 bloggers in 100 days? Now, this is a m*me which I couldn't possibly resist...
1. Giving birth to me meant that my mother missed that evening’s episode of The Archers; happily, it was repeated the following afternoon.
If you want to participate in this, then the instructions are here.
2. I was dropped on my head as a baby, fracturing my skull. 3. Aged 16 months, I was taken by my grandmother to visit my grandfather at his office. He got up from his desk to greet us, and suffered a fatal heart attack in front of me. 4. I spent my first year of education at a girls’ school. 5. I proposed marriage for the first and last time at the age of five, to my Austrian au pair. 6. The only girl I ever snogged is now a well known comedy actress. 7. At school, I once played Mole to Jeremy Clarkson’s Toad (of Toad Hall). 8. I have not ridden a bicycle on an open road since 1981. 9. I cannot swim, due to a phobia induced by twice nearly drowning as a small child. 10. I was top of my class every year until I went to boarding school. 11. If I had joined the family solicitors’ firm, I would have been the fifth generation of eldest sons to have done so; the family firm no longer exists. 12. I first fell in love (of the unrequited kind) at the age of 9. 13. I first fell in love (of the requited kind) at the age of 23. 14. I have remained in love with that same person for the past 17 years. 15. My first sexual experience was at the age of 17, when Tubeway Army were at Number One with Are ‘Friends’ Electric?. 16. I have never had a sexual experience with a member of the opposite sex. 17. The first time I ever saw a naked adult female breast, it had a baby attached to it. Not having known about breast feeding before, I felt faint and was given a glass of Ribena in the kitchen to calm myself down. 18. The first single I ever bought was Tom Tom Turnaround by New World, in the Summer of 1971. 19. The first album I ever bought was 1967-1970 by The Beatles, in the Summer of 1973. 20. I had to be led out of the cinema during both Mary Poppins and The Sound Of Music, because in each case I was too scared of the strict father figure. 21. My father had by far the worst temper of anyone I have ever met. 22. My nickname at prep school was Brainbox. 23. My nicknames at boarding school were Sister Michael, Moaner Greaser, Nouveau Riche and Twitch. 24. At the age of 16, I had no friends whatsoever. 25. At the age of 30, I had so many close friends that it had become impossible to sustain them all on a regular basis. 26. I have simulated masturbation on stage, in front of the German ambassador. 27. I have had chocolate sauce licked out of my navel on national television, while simultaneously being interviewed by Davina McCall. 28. My grandfather took part in the official procession at Sir Winston Churchill’s funeral. 29. My grandfather, my mother and my partner have all been to one of the Buckingham Palace garden parties. 30. I have never been to Buckingham Palace. 31. The first London gay bar I ever visited was Harpoon Louie’s in Earls Court, in the Spring of 1983. 32. I first visited the Royal Vauxhall Tavern in 1984, and hated it. 33. I last visited the Royal Vauxhall Tavern just over three weeks ago, and loved it. 34. I worked as a club DJ from 1986 to 1989. 35. As a club DJ, my biggest influence was Graeme Park. 36. In 1989, Graeme Park turned up at one of my club nights, and danced to Talkin’ All That Jazz by Stetsasonic. 37. The first extended 12” single I ever bought was Contact by Edwin Starr (on pink vinyl). 38. The first CD single I ever bought was First We Take Manhattan by Leonard Cohen. 39. I own every album made by Kevin Ayers from 1969 to 1983. 40. I played the lead role (der Heutige) in a German language production of Die Chinesische Mauer by Max Frisch. 41. I played the part of Gordon (an irritating neurotic) in an independent film production called The Real Thing; the film only ever received one public screening. 42. An entirely imaginary single (Listen To The Placemats) by my fantasy post-punk art-rock band (The Placemats) on my fantasy indie label (Dining Room Records) is officially listed in a published directory of New Wave record releases; I have no idea how this happened. 43. I have a mild allergy to saffron, which brings me out in red blotches. 44. On the evening of our tenth anniversary, my partner and I ate a meal which was personally cooked by Marco Pierre White. 45. I have eaten raw reindeer meat. 46. I have eaten cooked scorpion meat. 47. I have never eaten dolphin, snake or dog. 48. I have never taken heroin, crack, GHB or magic mushrooms. 49. I have never driven on a motorway. 50. I have never driven a car with no other person present in the vehicle. 51. I have never owned a working mobile phone. 52. I stayed for seven years in a job I hated and was no good at. 53. The worst year of my adult life was 1999. 54. The best years of my adult life have been 2000, 2001 and 2002. 55. I have been online since Autumn 1995. 56. I have been blogging since October 2001. 57. As I have never been trained in web skills, and as I don’t know anybody who works in web design professionally, everything on my weblog has been entirely self-taught (or adapted from other sites’ source code). 58. I have a “thing” about men in unbuttoned shirts. 59. I once had a crush on Paula Wilcox, who played Chrissie in the 1970s sitcom Man About The House. 60. I once had an erotic dream involving Kylie Minogue. 61. I have never had any other erotic dreams involving members of the opposite sex. 62. I have always voted in every election: local, national or European. 63. I have voted Labour on every occasion except one. 64. Although fully salaried, I have had no actual work to do for the past 8 weeks (except for a very brief software evaluation exercise). 65. I have had 22 holidays (or weekend breaks) abroad in the last 10 years: Washington DC, Rome, Canada/USA, Thailand, San Diego, Barcelona, Finland/Sweden, Burgundy, Paxos, Ibiza, The Azores, Sri Lanka, Chicago, Cephalonia, Gran Canaria, Egypt, Stockholm, France, Turkey, Boston, Tallinn and Vietnam. 66. My partner and I collect contemporary paintings by living artists, and caricatures by James Gillray. 67. I have never paid for sex. 68. I have exceptionally poor practical skills. 69. I have exceptionally good emotional intuition and empathy. 70. I have an exceptionally low pain threshold. 71. I have exceptionally good language skills. 72. I have exceptionally low physical strength and stamina. 73. I really do have a gorgeous looking arse. 74. I place a very high value on aesthetics. 75. I place a very high value on honesty and truthfulness. 76. I am sometimes too honest and truthful for my own good, which means that I can sometimes upset other people unintentionally. 77. I am rather too prone to view society in hierarchical terms. 78. I have never been in a fight. 79. I am not religious, although I do have my own concept of The Divine. 80. I am overly self-critical. 81. I am inconsistent and unpredictable, and enjoy being so. 82. I am good at seeing all sides of an argument, but poor at forming fixed opinions. 83. I am good at making people laugh. 84. I have a winning smile. 85. I am exceptionally lucky. 86. I enjoy perfect health, save for a recurring problem with haemorrhoids. 87. I am poor at initiating actions, but good at completing them. 88. I have a keen eye for detail. 89. I have the concentration span of a goldfish. 90. I know far more rock and pop trivia than is good for me. 91. I have seen the following acts in concert in the past 12 months: The Pernice Brothers, Cosmic Rough Riders, Super Furry Animals, Gorkys Zygotic Mynci, Air, Gong, Hawkwind, Pulp (twice), Ash, Yes, Kylie Minogue, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, The Libertines, Le Tigre, The Musical Box (Genesis tribute band), Brian Wilson, Damo Suzuki’s Network, Pet Shop Boys, Neil Diamond, Patti Smith. 92. I am a reluctant monarchist. 93. I am still, after all these years, in favour of unilateral nuclear disarmament. 94. I am in favour of the legalisation of all drugs. 95. My favourite politician is Gordon Brown, by some considerable distance. 96. I’m a good shag, if you treat me right. 97. I hate going to pubs at lunchtime. 98. I hate going to bed at night, and I hate getting up in the morning. 99. I’m a lazy sod. 100. I love making lists.
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