Today I had light Philadelphia cream cheese on a couple of Rivita crackers.

All that was missing on the side was my alice band and my menial PA position in a faceless media company.

Labels: gay

// posted by Lee @ 1:55 PM // 1 fabulous comments

 

I see that The Nation's Bawdy Treasure, Barbara Winsor, is leaving 'EastEnders' next year.

A thought: isn't that when they're meant to be going HD?

Just a thought.

Labels: tv

// posted by Lee @ 9:42 AM // 1 fabulous comments

 

I hate getting stopped by protesters, mostly because they tend to be well-meaning but smell of wet dog.

There were swathes of them outside the BBC last week (where I'm currently holed up colouring in some new Doctor Who stuff) for the appearance of Nick Griffin, current leader of the British National Party, appearing on 'Question Time'. Now I wanted him on there to hopefully to make an utter fool of himself - but they wouldn't listen, called me a racist and stuffed a handful of flyers in my hand. Now I think free speech is very important - we're just terrible at dealing with it in this country. Thusly when Griffin was on the show, it was rather like the horrible uncle that arrives at a Christmas lunch who every now and again lurches forward and says "I suppose you bought this gravy from the local paki shop, didn't you?" and everyone looks down at their sprouts and hopes to change the subject to more genteel matters. My only regret is that they didn't give him enough time (or metaphorical rope) to hang himself; perhaps they should have eschewed 'Question Time' and put him on 'Come Dine With Me' and maybe a slight tint to the meringue would have set him off and made him explode in ill-contained hatred.

Meanwhile on 'Question Time' he danced his considerable bulk around most of the issues thrown at him (I loved the idea he was friends with a non-violent faction of the Klu Klux Klan - what did they do, sit around on weekends comparing thread counts in their sheets?) and was only given just about enough time to semi-disgrace himself with the only faux pas by announcing he finds gay men kissing in public 'creepy'. Goodness, this from a man with eyes so independent from each other that one looks like its going down the shops while the other is coming back with the change. He looks like a constantly-surprised plucked owl. And with that hideous weak chin - oh darling readers, does it not look like he was breast-fed until he was five years old? And he says that gay men kissing is creepy? My dear thing, the idea of you getting your bow-shaped dribbling lips around anything remotely human fills us with a revulsion.

Back to the argument of free speech. The whole incident with vile journalist Jan Moir is proving that my faith in human nature is actually justified for once, when she attacked the death of Stephen Gately as being 'unnatural' - clearly alluding to the fact it was with another two men present and possibly involved drugs. She then spent a whole week weaseling around the hack language when people turned around and said "Hang on..." and M&S started dropping pictures of pants from around her column. I was surprised when another column turned up a week later trying to show off her teflon coating about the whole incident, again not really saying anything certain about anything up until the last few paragraphs, where she tries to prove herself right about the whole outcry, thusly shooting herself in her own coven hoof. Here she is saying 'anyway, so what if I was gay-bashing, I got lots of letters after I wrote that column saying I was right'. Now this just plain stupid: a handful of messages from your family in Kent undersigned 'the silent majority' does not equate with the twenty-two thousand emails that went to the Press Complaints Commission. Twenty-two thousand. There were so many that the website crashed. I very much doubt that the delusional 'undersigned' numbered that many, darling. If so, I'm going to add numeric illiteracy alongside your inability to write anything without meandering around a point. See, I'm all for free speech, I just want it to be well written.

Labels: gay

// posted by Lee @ 9:54 AM // 0 fabulous comments

 

Good lord. Modern artist Richard Whitehurst is apparently building The Tunnel Of Rape as an 'art piece', where he would sit in it and try and overpower anyone who wandered inside and rape them. Well, what fun! And there was me rolling my eyes at Tracy Emin's unmade bed. At least this one is more interactive.

Now see, my question was that if you were wandering into something called 'The Tunnel of Rape' and clearly expected to get a little fun, then clearly the sex is at least slightly consensual, yes? So not rape, then? I mean you're going to look a bit silly crawling through this clearly-marked Tunnel of Rape to get to the other end to complain that you got punched in the throat then punched in the box, aren't you. Unless there's a sign at the door saying 'FREE ACME BIRD SEED - THIS WAY' I think you're going to get everything you deserve. Although I am also imagining some poor child playing Catch and their little red ball just rolling into the Tunnel... Cue the music from 'The Exorcist' as the kid walks towards it. Or the theme from 'Benny Hill' - take your pick!

Clearly its meant as an attraction, which instantly pings into my head that there's probably going to be a gift shop at the end. With t-shirts that say 'I had my tunnel raped in the Tunnel of Rape!' and maybe those pictures in the cardboard frames that you get taken on the ride. I hate those pictures. My hair’s always a mess and I always look so disinterested. Well, same as, I suppose…

Although on further digging, Whitehurst's piece is a fake - he's often announcing 'shocking' pieces to the world in order to upset the apple cart. Which is just as well as rape is clearly a horrible, horrible thing... unless you were there to witness that late night episode of everygreen soap 'Hollyoaks' with a bit of backdoor boy-rape happening as part of an ongoing storyline where some awful chavvy thug had Gary Lucy over the bonnet of his car in the middle of the night. I felt funny for days, I tell you. Clearly it was meant to be shocking and vile - but really, these boys were beautiful. Troublingly so. It wasn't so much 'rape' as 'Free Surprise Sex!' in my widened, lustful eyes.

As a result, I did spend most of the article scanning through it, thinking 'yes, yes. All well and good. But is Whitehurst pretty?' Shame it turned out to be fake: I think my logging straight on to LastMinute.com was holiday wish fulfillment after too many years visiting Butlin’s boring Holiday Camp in Bognor. Vivre le difference, I say.

Labels: sex

// posted by Lee @ 8:14 AM // 4 fabulous comments

 

Being a screaming Gentleman Who Owns One Too Many Gingham Shirts, there is one sliver of thought that runs through any instance of food poisoning. Throughout the endless vomiting, poised on the edge of the toilet like those oscillating dippy-bird toys. Through the explosive instances at the other end of the body that renders leaving the house an impossibility, as well as turning it into a No-Poking Compartment. And that thought is this: Oh my good lord, this is better than any diet going and I'm going to look faaaaabulous.

Labels: gay

// posted by Lee @ 8:33 AM // 3 fabulous comments

 

I mean clearly I'm a stranger to feminine hygiene having never been near a splayed bacon sandwich since my dear mother shot me into this world. Male hygiene - well you're lucky if they run it under the tap before you find it insistently bobbing around before your mouth, but I understand that women get it all a little worse - compounded by someone sending me this delightful ad:



Well, isn't that just lovely! Cher bless you, 1950s housewife. You're not going to get any, my love, because your frustrated, Bryl-Creemed husband has locked himself away to smoke pipes and build ships in bottles just to take his mind off the idea of plunging nuts-deep into your drip-tray - that just happens to reek like the bins of a sea-view hotel on a summer's afternoon.

Although I have to ask - 'soda'? They used soda? Really? I can't really imagine sitting there during 'Wheel of Fortune' while your nethermouth is fizzing away like a Sodastream. Well I can, I just choose not to. I'm strong like that. Yeah.

Labels: sex

// posted by Lee @ 12:37 PM // 4 fabulous comments

 

And so we reach the finale of the book where the story has stopped three chapters previously, Langdon has managed to find his spiral staircase and the man who had his hand removed only hours before stop halfway down and discuss all sorts of theological issues for what feels like hours. He then buggers off and leaves the rest of his lecturing to his sister, the Speak & Spell with Lipstick, to pick up where he left off so Dan Brown can throw in all the rest of his research in and underline all his favourite bits from previous chapters. What remains is five or six chapters on how we are all Gods and isn't that lovely and why not have a slap on the back for being so clever. I haven't had such a forced upbeat ending since I went to group therapy that happened to be run by a former Butlin's Redcoat.

I still have no bloody idea what the lost symbol is. I shall pretend it's the silly little thing on the key below the Escape on your keyboard.

I think what I will primarily take away from this book is that it needed an editor, a sub-editor and much more Pam the air stewardess. I shall also take away the unmitigated joy at every character being so damn surprised about everything, and Brown expecting his audience to follow suit. I mean, one character opens a drawer and gasps at one point - and this constitutes the end of a chapter. Elsewhere, a minor character has been on the phone to the vile Character Traits on Legs in her helicopter, and expresses utter shock when the vile Character Traits on Legs phones her back from a rooftop. She genuinely thinks 'Director Sato is on a rooftop?!' like this means she's turned into Spider-Man and climbed up there herself. Every revelation is unveiled with characters having to pick their jaws off up the floor, and whether this is the discovery that an ancient pyramid has some symbols on the bottom, or that someone realizes an extractor fan is on in the kitchen. Thank heaven there wasn't a sex scene is all I shall say.

Bless you all for sticking with me though this. I'm now going to read something good. Or at least shorter. And with less pictures for once.

Labels: books

// posted by Lee @ 8:05 AM // 1 fabulous comments