New Addiction

Bejewelled - how come this was on my Freeview box for a year and I never discovered it?

It's like an autism factory - there's filing and colours and shapes and Everything Had To Be Ordered.

Suddenly I'm no longer worried by problems at work or that my only serious relationship is with Marlboro Lights. I have this. And it does nicely.

New York State of Princess

Imagine what happens when you take four New York Queens to an Italian restuarant in Cardiff Bay.

No, really, imagine.

It was worse.

The combination of "hey, bitch!" pickiness with uniquely Italo-Welsh service was terrifying.

It began easily enough. Sliding slopes leading to crocodile pits are usually fairly gentle.

"Excuse me - what meat is in those meatballs? I just need to check that it's all beef?"

"Okay, now - these olives. What's the pickle exactly? Hmmn. Okay. Can we change that?"

"Now - so if there is pork in these meatballs, can I cancel them? I just don't do pork."

"This ciabatta - okay - now what wheatgerm is here?"

"Right. Now I've cancelled the meatballs, I'd like to change my main. Thing is, I've been to the gym, so there's not really a protein hit in ravioli, so it'd be great if we switched that to the chicken breast?"

I swear, they started taking away plates before we'd finished eating.

The advantage: Going clubbing later, and watching them "put their gay on" - as they swept off their shirts, revealing sleeveless t-shirts and arms made out of girders.

It's not often you see an entire nightclub take one step back. And whimper.

But it was Thursday night, so we're talking about 12 people. Including a lesbian barmaid with a donkey jacket and an open wound.

My mother's language

As parents get older, they start substituting words. Years ago my mother swapped "Specific" with "Pacific", and "Art Nouveau" has pretty much always been "Art No View".

Someone clever just told me this is called "Mummification".

Her latest trick is to replace "Yank" with "Wank".

I first heard her say "oh, just wank it over the washing line".

I found this boggling. Later, when Dad finished a bottle of wine she told him, "Just wank it out the window. I'll scrape it up later."

My mum's gone all salty. She's never been exactly prim, but when Dad offered her a crisp, she yelled "Aw, stuff it in my gob, big boy."

In 20 years, she's going to be the terror of the retirement home.

Missed me

Got the following email from a dear friend:
There I was browsing the internet for information about Noel Coward, when I stumbled upon an advert for a splendid DVD set called "Hot Nude Yoga"
- and it made me think of you.

The link is (just about) work safe, although you may need to blink a couple of times before you realise this.

Email of the week

How pleasant it is to be copied in on an email exchange about video file types, which starts off wonderfully sensibly and then results in emails like the following?

"... encoding of mp4 content... what are the consequences of specifying these choices of mimetype and extension... For example, the differentiation of content subtypes by extension... ITMS DRM ... Using m4v ... without an aac-encoded audio stream may cause difficulties as iTunes ... has trouble rendering mp4 files with an mpeg layer 3 audio stream ... as per the differentiations in RFC4337?"

I read it four times. And can still only hear "I don't wanna. I don't wanna" ringing in my head.

Thrilling rebound shag #1

Was *another* Tesco worker.

Every little helps.

Terrible Infidelity #4: The Air Steward

"I can't believe I'm doing this. I'm boarding a flight to Alicante in an hour."

Is there anything better than a day when "working from home" means "flight attendant"?

Conversations with dead people

Bumped into my not-sure-what-was-going-on-but-well-he-certainly-feels-like-an-ex. First time I've seen him since he got off with someone else in front of my friends on Saturday. After such a humiliation, it was always going to be an interesting chat.

HIM: Hello! Have you got over Saturday?

ME: (stunned) No.

HIM: Hey ho. I saw Will Young last night, which was lovely...

It's odd how conversation works. The brain has this amazing ability to generate endless, light small talk, all these pointless words words words spilling out while inside all you can feel is this boiling rage/misery that's yelling "FuckerYouColdBastard Youfuckingfuckingfucker. Youhurtmeyoufucker. Fuckyouyoufuckingfuckingfucker!" and yet at the same time you can hear, vaguely through the red mist, your voice burbling merrily away about restaurants and haircuts.

*sigh* I wish I was more confrontational. I suspect it's a skill I've learned from my job. Meetings with Exes are rather like meetings with managers in so many ways - trying to look uncaring and fabulous while wondering "do you still love me?".

When it was over, I realised I badly needed cheering up. Fuckit, I thought. I'm gonna buy the most expensive thing in H&M.

I checked my pocket. Yes, I had a tenner. Today was going to be all right.

Terrible Infidelity #3: The Artist

A friend from work had had a bad date.
As had my friend's friend.
So, accidentally, they were out together.

"Thing is," said my friend from work, "I think he really fancies you. Yeah, I know."

The guy who fancied me was an artist. He paints portraits on commission while he's developing his own serious work. And hates it.

"Haha!" I laughed, "At least you're not painting pets."

"Actually, I've just done a King Charles Spaniel watercolour."

"Oh."

But he still let me walk back to his car.

While I rather like that awkward pause before a goodbye snog, it's also a little horrid isn't it? Especially when the Artist was being a bit odd.

"Oh, I can't," he said suddenly.

"What?"

"Your friend told me you're only here for another few months. I'm not interested in a relationship that'll last less than six months."

"Excuse me?"

We went and sat down in a courtyard outside a call centre. "I just can't commit to anything... short term," he said. "I wish I could - dear god, at university i shagged my way through the GaySoc, but not now. I just feel that one night stands are a form of abuse, don't you?"

"More of a hobby," I said without thinking. "What did you say? Abuse?"

He ran his hands through his really very lovely hair. There was a lot of it - you could have hidden chewing gum in it. "Yeah, I've always thought that I'm just abusing someone's body for an evening. It feels wrong."

I stopped myself whimpering "-but oh so right," and instead managed a sincere nod.

"So you're saying you won't come back?"

"No. Even sitting kissing you here feels wrong. But you're incredibly my type. I'd love to..."

"...abuse me?"

"Absolutely. But it would be wrong. I wouldn't know how to treat you afterwards. And I really just want a long-term life partner I can talk to about my art."

And then, dear reader, I made a big mistake. "So," I said, "Tell me about your art."

Is there anything worse on a hot summer night than sitting next to an attractive man who fancies you rotten but won't have sex with you? Yes, it's hearing him describe in desperate detail his concept for art.

But, I heard him out. I nodded. I smiled. I made sympathetic noises while realising, creepily, that he worked in isolation in a portacabin by the sea and had no real social contact with anyone. Worryingly.

By this time it was very late. "Oh, I'm so tempted," he said, "But I know I'd just use your body, and I'll feel awkward about it and be weird around you when I next see you. And I'd hate that."

So he went. And the next time he saw me, he was weird around me. I hated that.

Terrible Infidelity #2: The Internet Virgin

"So nervous. Never done this before," he told me.

"Really?"

"No. Having a vodka then coming over. So nervous. Be nice."

Ordering a shag online is a shaky business - especially in Cardiff. But bless him, he turned up 20 minutes later, and stood shivering outside on a warm night.

"Are you that nervous?"

"Yes."

"It's fine. Come in."

As we walked into the flat, he suddenly tensed. "Do you live alone? Only I was worried there'd be several of you, and you'd... you know... do something scary. Ooh."

Never forget - All Cardiff Gays Are Mad.

We sat down on the sofa, and he sweetly explained how he'd just come out of a relationship, and how he and his boyfriend had never really done much sexwise for three years "just really wanking and cuddling, you know". It's weird the sentences you find yourself nodding sympathetically to.

"Anyway, now I'm out of that, I'm looking to explore a bit more. So, this is a new thing for me. Just being, you know, treated as a sex object." He paused, "You know, you're not really interested in me. Just my body. That's nice, isn't it? Fun."

"You're still scared aren't you?"

"Petrified." He nodded, and sniffed bravely.

"You afraid of heights?"

He nodded again.

"Come and stand on the balcony."

So, we stood 11 floors up, gazing down at the tiny railway station.

"Now, what are you more scared of - having sex, or the height?"

He smiled - "The height."

After a while, I looked across at the building opposite. "Wow. They've got builders in - and I think they've spotted us."

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe they're porn builders. Anyway, I think they're expecting a show. Go on."

A bit later we came back inside, and he sat down, sighing. "Well, I've never had sex outside, at height, or with people watching. Blimey. I've really done it all tonight. Do you mind if I pee?"

He went off to the loo, and I fixed us drinks, and wandered into the bathroom. He giggled. "Ooh, you're watching me pee. I'm blushing. That's like watersports isn't it? I haven't done that since this orgy my ex and I went to in June."

"Orgy?" Hmmn. Clearly, at least one of us had been had.