Friday, November 30, 2007

The Dry Week, Day 3

"Metronidazole?" laughs the nurse. "It's hilarious when we give it to alcholic tramps in A&E. We warn them, but they don't listen."

I ask him what will happen if I have just a tiny glass of wine. We're having supper. A glass of wine would be lovely.

"Oh, you'll throw up," the nurse assures me.

Just the glass of wine?

"No. Everything in your stomach, right down to chewing gum you swallowed when you were ten. You'll be in agony for a day. But there's a chance it won't affect you."

"How much of a chance?"

"Let's just say I'll move my chair back a little."


We leave the Stockpot. It truly is the cheapest place to eat in London. Next to us are a couple on a first date. "Choose whatever you want, baby!" says the man. "Thanks," says the woman. It is obvious to all but him that this restaurant has been A Bad Choice. After glancing at the menu, she twists the knife a little. "What would you recommend?" she asks sweetly.

He suggests the special. Boiled potatoes, tongue and a bowl of minestrone soup. Fatal.

The nurse and I leave, going for a walk along the Thames. Halfway along the Thames path we realise we're surrounded by rats. Large rats. We both scream and clutch each other, and then stand laughing on the path. We spend the next quarter of an hour daring each other to move. Eventually, eyes clamped shut, we run hand-in-hand past the vermin, and find ourselves outside the kind of hotel it would be very nice to have a cocktail in. But we can't. As I don't drink.

So instead we walk up to St Pauls. The nurse tells me about a disastrous evening with his ex ("I was soooo dignified in the pub, then I went round to his flat and screamed at him until someone called the police. Augh!"), and then he's off to the pub he works at ("Maurizio's working tonight. He's so sweet. He really fancies me but doesn't do boyfriends. I keep telling him not to be so damaged, but he just keeps wearing more perfume. I don't know what's going on there.").

I go home and smoke 7 cigarettes. I don't feel drunk. I walk to bed in a straight line.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

The Dry Week, Day 2

I used NEVER to drink at Christmas parties. I learned my lesson after a bacchic BBC Education party where horrifyingly drunk strangers crawled drunkenly around the floor with helium balloons tied to our wrists and the names of famous authors strapped to our lapels in fruitless search of vol-aux-vents to soak up the wine. I set off for home and woke up in the bed of a waiter who spoke only French.

Shortly after that I gave up drinking for two years, and thereafter stuck to sobriety at work dos. It was a great policy, and worked out well (Pretty Straight Coder is drunk. I am sober. Any lunge I make is therefore my moral responsibility). Then I moved to Wales, and the whole idea of not drinking (at any time of the day) seemed wrong. Like not taking aspirin for a headache.

So, here I am, at a Christmas Party, two days in to my sober week. It's at my lovely new firm. The party is full of people I don't really know, they seem rather nice. I make a bit of small talk. I realise how dull I sound (I know none of you well enough to talk about anything other than work). When I realise I'm talking to the Prettiest Man In The Room about database integration, I go home.

Also, frankly, these pills have made me knackered. But I'll make up for it next week.

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

The Dry Week, Day 1

Night One of not drinking. I'm back in the flat after seeing The Darjeeling Limited (In Wes Anderson's world, when you stop worrying about money, you start worrying about your relationship with your father. Blah blah some Indian stuff blah blah).

So, I'm back in the flat. This is normally the point where I'd have a little drink and a smoke before bed. What do sober people do?

I start folding washing. The phone rings. It's The Squaddie. "Where the fuck have you been?" he asks.

"Scotland and ill." I say.

"Fuck off," he says. "I'm coming round."

"But-". He's hung up.

It is at this point I remember that someone was laughing annoyingly loudly throughout the film. This is wrong for two reasons - Firstly, it's a Wes Anderson film. Secondly, it was me. Clearly, the cocktail of codeine and antibiotics has gone to my head. And the Squaddie is coming round, doesn't sound happy and, and... I've just taken a sleeping tablet.

Ten minutes later the Squaddie is in the flat and I'm high as a kite.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he asks.

I give him a slow smile. "Making you coffee, silly."

"You've been staring at that cupboard for a minute. I've been watching."

"Is it not a kettle? Oh."

We sit in the living room. He wants to have a row about me not calling him, but I keep laughing at his voice.

"That's a very naughty word," I tell him, seriously, "But it doesn't sound so naughty when you say it."

He looks at me. "You fucking drunken idiot."

"I know." I start to light a cigarette, but instead stare raptly at the flame on my lighter. "Would you like some booze? I'm sure I've got some. You can drink it and I can watch. Won't that be dreamy?"

I've decided I'm going clubbing this week. We've clearly reached a point where I am artificially in love with the whole wide world and should hug it. "Hug" may be a euphemism, but let's make the most of it while it lasts, eh?

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

The Root of the Problem

"So," says my dentist, "What made you wait 10 days before seeing me?"

"Wikipedia," I mumble.

She looks like she's about to say something, but instead just prods away at my gum. Eventually she sighs.

"You'll have to take some antibiotics before I can get to it. It's an idea to avoid alcohol." She sees the look in my eyes and barely pauses. "No, really. It'll make you very, very sick. Everywhere."

So. A week without booze. I can do this. I've done it before. There was a period of two years when I was dry, smug, and wafer thin.

But this is different. I've a week before I see her again, and in the meantime I can't really do the following...
  • drink
  • eat
  • sleep
  • have sex

Hmmn. This leaves me with smoking and TV. Oh and the gym. Oh dear.

Friday, November 23, 2007


A dozen years ago I edited a student newspaper. I've still got fond memories, good friends, and a box of back issues. Very sweetly, I was invited to a reunion, organised by a recent editor.

The Oxford Student is a journalism powerhouse these days. We didn't do too badly for ourselves, but now it's Student Newspaper of the Year every year, its staff are marked for success like members of a satanic frat house.

It was a surprisingly lovely evening. I discovered why I kept seeing pictures of Lydia wearing daring hats (she's the racing correspondent of The Times), that a vicious politcal opponent is now a single mum in Jerusalem, and that a beloved ex-editor is now *something not at all sinister* behind the scenes in government.

I was in avuncular mode, which was a mistake. A typical exchange with a sharply-haired youth of about 12 went:

ME: So... I hear you work at the Beeb?

CHILD: Yeah. It's all right.

ME: I did a bit of that myself, once. Ha ha. So, what do you do for them, then? Bet it's a jolly good way of learning the ropes.

CHILD: Actually, I'm the business producer of the Today Programme.

ME: ...

At the end of the evening, these brilliant child geniuses piled into taxis and went laughing off to a club. We ancients stood behind, dejectedly sharing cigarettes on the pavement.

After a while, one of us said, "For the first time, I feel my age."

We all nodded, quietly.

Russell Howard topless again

Quietly cheering.

Thursday, November 22, 2007

The Knitting Tarot

.."is, quite simply, a Tarot deck with original art, and accompanying book with original card texts, for knitters"

The Knitting Tarot

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

The Hole Tooth

There were two nice hours last night. They were when I discovered that I could block the pain of my wisdom tooth with cheap whisky and fags.

Unfortunately, after two hours I was pissed, so fell into bed, praying for oblivion.

Instead my tooth woke me up a couple of hours later. And then, three hours after that, it woke me again.

So. It's 4am. I'm staring miserably at my pale, pus-and-blood-streaked reflection in the mirror. And I'm thinking "This can't get worse."

Then my boiler explodes and floods the flat.

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

The Whole Tooth

My wisdom teeth never finished coming through. My last two got so far and then stopped.

However, every time I have a cold, they start moving again. It's clearly some weird sinusy side effect, and it's vile. Colds I can cope with - they're an excuse to replace the gym with a book and some whisky. But the aftermath is horrible.

It's basically a week of my wisdom teeth girding up their loins and making a doomed final push through the gum. The gum doesn't particularly want to know ("Didn't we do this last year?"), so promptly gets all inflamed and huffy, which drives me mad.

I've about four days before
1) lefty realises that he's actually double-parked.
2) righty remembers he's growing sideways into my cheek and gives up again

... and then that'll be it until my summer cold.

In the meantime, that's four more days of whisky, bonjella and jabbing valiantly at infected gum-tissue with a cocktail stick.

No, I'm not going out much at the moment.

Sunday, November 18, 2007

Buy My DVD update...

Not only still in the top 100, but more importantly: outselling Poliakoff. That is all.

Friday, November 16, 2007

Police mistakenly shoot another "terrorist"

Only this one turned out to be in a diabetic coma. Police explained that he looked a bit "Egyptian".

A diabetic points out the worrying fact that when her blood sugar is too high her breath "smells like Acetone... if they sniff that, I'm a goner."

Google Ex

I was watching the play of All About My Mother, and suddenly thought "I too have slept with an Esteban."

I even remembered his full name - the marvellously improbable Esteban Mihuel C Hubner. My main memory of him was his charm, and that he taught me that it was possible, if not easy, to kiss whilst pedalling up the Woodstock Road.

[I'm looking back at the sentence I've just typed and thinking 'Should I bother clarifying that?']

Anyway, since I can remember his name, perhaps I can find out what happened to him? And bless you Google, I can. He's married to an Argentinian gay footballer. Result! Isn't the internet marvellous?

(PS: I've even found a clip of him on YouTube. I was going to post a grab of him, but he's wearing a really nasty paisley shirt)


Man arrested for having sex with his bicycle.

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Stephen Poliakoff's The Bill


The camera tracks slowly in to Sun Hill Police Station. It is a lovely large mansion. We move towards it across sun-dappled fields, past police sheep and police ponies and giant fluttering police flags.

In the background The Bill theme plays, arranged dramtically for strings.

PC MARY: (voice-over) When first I came to Sun Hill, it was like I was wandering through a dream.

The camers pushes slowly up the grand police lobby and spins steadily up the spiral staircase, decorated with ornate pictures of constables and useful signs such as "Crack is not nice" and "Do stop that thief!"

We push past open doors. Each room shows a single mahogany desk with a single policeman, writing earnestly in journals, surrounded by slowly billowing curtains.

After all these identical rooms, we come to an end room, just a little smaller. In it is MARY. She is staring away from us out of the windows. Seated at a chair is a CROOK, wearing a striped jersey and an eye-mask. At his feet is a bag labelled "Swag".

CROOK: I did it.

MARY: (sadly) Did you?


MARY: (slowly, sadly) I don't know. (sighs) I just don't know.

CROOK: No. (smiles) Or yes. Perhaps.

MARY: (smiling too. sadly). Perhaps. You're free.

CROOK: Am I? Am I free? (picks up swag bag) Am I really free?

MARY: Are any of us?

CROOK leaves the room, fading away as he walks out.

Dissolve to...


Mary is in her best police-lady gown, descending the lovely police staircase. It is lit with thousands of candles. The hall is lined with policemen, standing in a dutiful row.

MARY: (voice over) We were hunting a grass. Gerry was the greenest grass, and yet the wisest. As is always the way. As a man he told both truth and lies. But then, all men do that, don't they? All I know is that I felt very lovely in my nice Police Lady gown. There's something exciting about going off to hunt down a killer, especially when the satin of the uniform is pressing close to your skin.

Dissolve to....

A typical modern slum street. Organ grinders and prositutes with monkeys are walking slowly up and down. Each prostitute wears a lovely big dress of a single colour and hold a matching parasol.

GERRY THE GRASS runs past. He is holding a big torch.

MARY follows behind. On a bicycle, her way lit by a lamp on the front of the bicycle using electricity.

C/U on the LAMP. It glows.

MARY: (shouting) Stop! Stop Thief!

Her cries continue and the music swells.

MARY: (voice-over) Ah, but can we ever stop? So many bad men, and bad women, doing exciting and mysterious things like drugs and evil and theft. I wonder if our crimes catch up with us, or do we never really escape them?


MARY is now played by someone more famous. She still wears her police gown. Even though she is old. She is sobbing.

GERRY THE GRASS walks past. He stops. And watches her. Briefly. And then walks away


Buy My DVD!

My brief career as a producer of space pirate animation is in the shops now. And I made the special features, and it's less than a tenner.

Monday, November 12, 2007

Capturing Mary

In a nutshell: Don't let a career-mincing bitch ruin your life.

Which is all very well, but it took ages to say it, in endless lovely frocks in unending gorgeous rooms. Veerrrrrry sloooowly.

And was David Walliams playing... Satan? or Billy Bunter? It's hard to tell. But any trace of atmosphere is instantly dissipated when he looms over Maggie Smith and intones "Silly girl. You silly girl."

Gareth McClean's review

Sunday, November 11, 2007

BBC Cutbacks: The audience responds

From Feedback: "I was disgusted to hear the Chairman announce that there would be less programmes. Outrageous. He clearly should have said fewer."

Saturday, November 10, 2007

Scottish borders holiday

Well, that was lovely. The stately home turned out to be statelier than described with our own enormous hise and extensive grinds. There was a lot of food, fireworks, drinking, walking and playing of games. And it was lovely. Except when we accidentally ended up in a stripper bar in the village of Newton StBorstal.
The plan next time is for a castle.

Monday, November 05, 2007

Streoid Diary: Clenbuterol


I'm doing this for research. And vanity, naturally. But remember – research. I'm possibly working on a project which invloves writing about steroid use, but I know nothing about them, and don't want to approach it from a simplistic angle. Plus I'm a vain old bugger, and a curious one too.

So, I do a bit of research and discover Clenbuterol. Clenbuterol is not a steroid, but it's similar (readers with chemistry degrees are banging their heads on desks. Remember, this is not Tomorrow's World). Apparently very popular with gym-mad city mums and whippet gays, it is praised for stripping off fat and increasing muscle tone. Or so a couple of articles say.

So, I decide it's a good place to start, and buy some. It is, naturally, not available in any pharmacy. So I get it off ebay. From a man with a Russian name. It takes 2 minutes, and I've purchased a £20 “Clenbuterol Information Pack” which contains a free course of medication. I feel daring, but bet it never turns up.


Bless ebay! My legally dodgy drugs have turned up. Now it's got a bit serious. Do I take them, or just brag about it?

I sit down and read the information pack. The list of side effects looks interesting. So do the possible benefits. But will it really strip fat from my body and inflate my arms? Or just melt my liver?

The information pack tells me that Clenbuterol was originally marketed as asthma medication, until doctors noticed that their patients were looking remarkably buff. It was swiftly banned in athletics, but curiously, my leaflet tells me that 60% of American athletes promptly registered as asthmatic.

I find a flip side on a US site for ladies health, where their medical expert says that it was popular for increasing perfomance of racehorses, but that any meat contaminated with Clenbuterol is labelled unfit for human consumption. Hey lady, I think, who'd want to eat horse anyway?

So, I start the pills. It's just one 20 mg tablet today. It's apparently important to start the fortnight cycle with a low dosage and then build up.

Dose: 1 tablet
Weight: 73.5 kg
Side effects: None

Hangover. I've drunk a normal amount, and yet my body is not happy. I blame the drugs.

I take 40mgs today, and see what happens. It takes about an hour. One of the ways Clenbuterol works is by raising the body temperature by 1 degree. And suddenly, I'm feeling a bit warm and tingly. Not sweaty, just tingly. Interesting.

The “muscle cramps” have started as well. It's like being stabbed in the arm or leg with a really hot needle, but for less than a fraction of a second. It's a curious feeling. The pain's gone before you get a good chance to complain about it. Hmmn.

Headache comes on after lunch. And gets really bad when I'm at the gym. I take some pills, and it goes away. What persists is an odd feeling of dislocation and unfocus. Like being a bit drunk. I find my sentences are drifting. My appetite is also down. I go to the supermarket, forget why i'm there and come back with clingfilm, toilet cleaner and a tin of ravioli.

Dose: 2 tablets
Side effects: Muscle cramps, headache, warmth

Hungover again. Quite mild, but still unusual. I take 80mgs, and within an hour am feeling a little toasty. By lunctime I've noticed that my hands are shaking. Only very slightly, but still. Thinking about it a little, all of me appears to be quivering gently. Jubble. Jubble. Jubble. Like I'm near a very big speaker, but I can't hear the music.

I have a quick look for other people's experiences of clenbuterol. There's this website forum where people called BabyPhat and Jenefer alternately shout and plead with each other. No one says when you're supposed to wake up and go “wow! I'm as skinny as a rake”. There's a lot of defensiveness. People post to say things like “The only solution to manageable weight loss is diet and exercise. And anyway ephedrine is much safer and easier to get hold of.”

I'm still looking for a hint of what to expect. Clearly some people on there have taken Clenbuterol, and have experienced whacky side effects. But hey, all i'm thinking so far is that it's a chilly day and i'm feeling toasty. It's like i'm wearing a hot water bottle. But not in a bad way.

The online medical Doctor does say that hospitals have reported some horrific reactions to Clenbuterol, which sounds worrying... but actually, this turns out to be in cases where heroin addicts have had their supply cut with it. So I can relax – I may just lose a liver, not my kidneys too.

Things are feeling quite tight. Which might be a breathing thing. Oddly when I go to the gym, it's extraordinarily tough. I do the same exercises at the same weight as normal, but it feels as though I'm tearing muscles apart. This has to be a good thing.

Strange things happen in the evening when I smoke. Quite anxious.

Dose: 4 tablets
Side effects: Trembling, headache


I have a six pack! Fucking hell. After three days? I just nip back and check in the mirror. Ooooh. I mean, it's not actually a proper six pack that you could bounce off, but it's like someone's marked out the foundations. “Put six pack here”. There's space at the top and the bottom, and a neat line down the middle and ooh. I wonder if i'm just kidding myself. And I'd quite like to have a lot of sex, right now. But somehow posting on Gaydar “Hey guys! I woke up with a six pack and would like to use it...” seemed odd. Even by gaydar standards.

Sudden desire to clean the house topless. Or go shopping topless. Or whatever it is that people who live in West Hollywood do. Perhaps I should clean the car shirtless. That's a socially allowable thing. Only I don't own a car. I can't even drive. Perhaps I can hire a car, and clean it. No, wait that sounds weird.

Also, no hangover this morning. And the muscle cramps I'm getting used to.

The hangovers and mild anxiety make sense. When I was on beta blockers briefly last year – I didn't get nervous, but I also didn't get hangovers. Or if I did, they slid in gently over a morning. But then, that's cos Beta Blockers slow down the metabolism. Which explains why I put on 6 kilogrammes on them. So it only seems fair that Clenbuterol gives you a hangover and the jitters. But I'm not employed, so my stress levels are pretty much at zero. Apart from a moment at the self-service checkout in Tesco, but that's only human.

I have now found a few “Clen diaries” online kept by proper body builders. They're a bit helpful, but they're not great reading. Here's a sample entry: “upped dose to 180mcg clen, t4 200mcg. i will start ramping clen dose starting tom. no sides at all. i love this clen! could have gotten to 200 or even 220mcg but dint want to waste the clen."

I'm sticking at 80mgs for today. I don't know if I should go any higher. Men can, clearly, but it already seems to be working well, and I don't want to run out of pills before the end of the cycle.

I'm getting increasingly worried about the quality of information on the internet. Some of it is very good. Some of it isn't. For instance, this looks like a helpful article, but repeats itself halfway through several times, and then ends “Ha Ha” and has a link to how cats carry the plague. WTF, as I believe we say.

Later in the day – I notice my pecs have got bigger. By the evening the six pack has deflated slightly. And, despite drinking loads and loads of water, there's a burning pain when I wee. Clearly cut down on the diaretics, and up the water. So an evening of caffeine free diet coke.

Appetite is really down, but oddly when it returns it's ravenous.

Dose: 4 tablets
Side effects: Trembling, slight headache


Another slight hangover this morning. Take today's dose and the trembling in my hands starts. It's quite severe today, but not serious – I wouldn't darn socks or touch up pics for my gaydar profile, but so far it's been fine for typing, chopping carrots and lego, so we're looking good. Soup's suddenly eating soup with an edge.

Worrying chat with my new dentist. She'd like to give me a filling next week. She asks among other things if I'm taking anything for breathing difficulties or have been prescribed steroids recently. I lie. I wonder if that's a stupid thing. Paranoid, I decide to reschedule the filling until the cycle's over. I don't want to die in a dentist's chair from a vanity pill. It's not going to look good.

Despite noticeably improved chest definition, I still have love handles. So I look like a pear that does sit-ups.

Clenbuterol isn't recommended for people with stressful jobs. Being unemployed I'm fine, but a slight problem with a direct debit sends me into a right state. I can hear my voice trembling when I ring the bank and feel my heart pounding and I think, “clearly, not a drug for racing car drivers”.

Dose: 4 tablets
Side effects: Trembling


I wake up with a burning pain in my chest and difficulty breathing. This is it, I think, the rare “breathing difficulties” that are reported. And then I belch and realise that the burning pain is just indigestion from last night's pizza. Ah well. It's easy to blame every little niggle as a side-effect of the miracle drug.

There's an overall tightening of the stomach. Things are less springy, and my leg muscles seem more defined. I catch myself squeezing bits, like a lady with new breasts. Jubble jubble.

At the gym, I make a hurried attempt to measure my body fat with calipers. It's not a roaring success as I don't know what I'm doing. Seemingly at 37% body fat I'm clinically very obese, if not dead. I'll try and get it properly measured at some point. But do notice that I've lost 200g since last I measured myself.

To put it in perspective, that's not a great drop. When I did a no-alcohol, protein-only diet years ago, I was losing about 4kg a week. The most I've lost this week is a kilo. But it's a week that's included a vast amount of booze and a pizza. So, hey. And no. I've never had 37% body fat.

Dose: 4 tablets
Side effects: Trembling


I don't make it to the gym today. Instead I meet a friend for lunch which goes on till about 10pm. Interestingly, the loss-of-appetite makes an appearance. When I crawl in, I just have a few slices of ham and some tomatoes.

Oddly, cigarette cravings reduced a bit. Hmmmn.

Dose: 4 tablets.
Side effects: Trembling


Business as usual. Take tablets. Feel a warm flush after a quarter of an hour. Then fingers shake a little after half an hour. Hey ho.
Great workout at the gym (how weird it is typing that), with trainer commenting “Your body shape's really changed recently. In that you no longer look like shit.”

After the workout, we're stretching, and trainer John notices my hand playing the Murder She Wrote theme on an invisible piano. “Is that normal?” he asks. I assure him it is. The shaking subsides. “Could be MS,” he tells me. I don't tell him it could also be pony pills.

Appetite again tiny. Odd.

Dose: 4 tablets.
Side effects: Trembling


The impossible happened. Pullups are the hardest exercise to do. You dangle from a bar and lift your own bodyweight. I've never been able to do them, unless helped by a grunting personal trainer assuring me “...uhnf, you're doing all the work... gasp... no, mate, it's really all you... oh god, my back...”. My trainer and I tried them a fortnight ago, and just couldn't.

But today, I was resting in between another exercise, passed the bars and thought “let's just have a go.” All of a sudden, I was going pullups. Bad pullups, but pullups all of my very own. Wow.

Of course, these things have their downside. I get back from the gym, and a nice guy I'm supposed to be meeting texts to postpone. And I send him a vile text back, and then spend half an hour actually quivering with rage. Even my breasts are spasming angrily.

Thinking back over the past few days, when things haven't gone completely my way, I've reacted very badly, very quickly, without a pause for thought. It's like these pills have unleashed my inner twat.

I try and imagine how I'd be coping right now with these pills and a stressful job. And it's not good. It's like putting unfiltered teenage me in charge.

Dose: 4 tablets.
Side effects: Superhuman strength, Behaving like a grumpy arsehole.


As I get out of the shower, the phone's ringing. It's a recruitment consultant. She seems lovely, but clearly hasn't read my CV. The red mist descends and the urge to snap at her and hang up is enormous and scary.

From what I've read, you can “stack” clenbuterol, taking it simultaneously with a steroid. Instead, I'm stacking it with Beechams Kalms.

Searched for the baby steroid Dianabol on Ebay. It recommended a Dinobots T-shirt.

Dose: 4 tablets.
Side effects: Red mist.


Nothing interesting happened today. Kalms have sorted out the mood swings nicely. The abating of side effects echoes the advice that after a fortnight your body starts to counter the chemical.

Dose: 4 tablets.
Side effects: Mild, mild trembling. Like a slightly nervous rabbit.

DAY 12

Managed more pull-ups at the gym. Other than that, getting used to seeing more ribcage. Tomorrow, I start to wind down the cycle.

Dose: 4 tablets.
Side effects: None.

DAY 13

Am going round Habitat with my friend the student nurse. We weigh each other in the bathroom section. I am pleased to notice that I weigh a shade over 70 kgs. While holding a litre bottle of water in my hand.

The nurse gets on to the scales. “Damn. 60 kilos. No matter how hard I try, I just can't put on weight. Ooh, you're scowling at me. You're kind of hot when you do that. For an old fat man.”

Dose: 2 tablets.
Side effects: None really.
Weight: 70.5 Kgs. Ish.

DAY 14

So, what have I learned after a fortnight on drugs that are only really legal if I'm a pony? Clearly, that drugs make you sexier. And behave like a twat.

I've also learnt that next time I try something like this, I should measure it more carefully. The weight loss/increase in muscle tone has been visibly dramatic. Some of that may be down to visiting the gym six times a week. But the drug has definitely helped remarkably. Still got some love handle left, though.

I've lost more weight before over a similar period (either through giving up booze, Atkins, or food poisoning), but this has certainly been quite straightforward and painless. The aggression has really been the only irritating side-effect. Other than that, Clenbuterol has left me lithe and whippety.

So what am I going to do? Yep, a course of drugs that achieves exactly the reverse.

NEXT: Steroids.

Sunday, November 04, 2007

Not the same old Saturday night

So. I had a big Saurday night planned. I'd even made a list of Exciting New Places To Go. But then I got caught up in packing for holiday, and cleaning and suddenly it was half ten and I felt all middle-aged.

So, I went to the Black Cap. In the smoking garden a (not particularly attractive) straight man was telling a group of (very attractive) young gays "I guess we're all biseckshewell. Buy me enough drinks and we'll see."

An hour later, he was no closer to sleeping with any of them, but very drunk. I left, and went to Central Station for a last drink. I figured there'll either be cabaret or mildly amusing sleaze.

Up on the smoking terrace a man in Chelsea strip had his feet up on a guy in Man U kit, who was hunched over, lapping beer out of a dog bowl on the floor. "Pity Andy can't come," sighed Chelsea.

"Yurr," replied Man U, in between slurps. "Did you text him?"

"Oh, I did, but he's not replied."

"'Kay," replied Man U, burying himself in his bowl.

At which point, Chelsea took a long, deep drag on his cigarette, leant back and groaned powerfully.

I went home and watched Family Guy.

(PS: Yes, I checked the kit colours when I got home, and I was right. Clearly I have general knowledge. As soon as I get back from holiday, I am going out properly. To a place with bright lights and music that goes thump-thump-wheee and drunk gays who do the same.)

Saturday, November 03, 2007

A week's holiday

I'll be in a Scottish stately home for a week:

But I'll leave you with a big update on another project tomorrow.

Friday, November 02, 2007

Camp alert! Alcazar's ABBA Tribute

The holy grail of camp euro-pop is on the internet. Someone has put up a bootleg of Alcazar's fabled ABBA concert.

The Swedish pop menaces fall on Waterloo like cats on a shrew. I've been giggling all morning. Yeah, the arrangement is flat (imagine a lost Andrew Lloyd Webber musical called Orgy!), and it's a bit slow, but hooray for their version of As Good As New.

Yeah, it may be ABBA (these days Dancing Queen clears a dancefloor faster than vomit), but.. but... it's Alcazar.

Thursday, November 01, 2007

Trick or treat

A trick or treater came round last night. I did a panic raid of the cupboard - cup-a-soup, rice crackers, miso paste, low carb pasta.... finally found a box of jaffa cakes.