Wedded bliss

Gemma offered me a lift to Kate's wedding. She assured me she'd forgotten how to drive, and she wasn't lying.

Only Gemma could make enjoyable fun out of a 300 mile drive, packed with valiant lurches towards third gear, short screaming fits, and constant rows with husband Serge (well, I say rows - generally he'd yell "Christ! We're driving on the pavement!" and she'd mutter "Yes. I know").

Gemma also perfected the Emergency Sulk. It's enormously like an Emergency Stop. During a particularly tense argument on a crowded country road she simply switched the car off at the ignition. No one died.

The wedding itself was a miracle of calmness. Kate and Mark looked charming and thrilled. Kate's brother stood next to me, sobbing during the service, and singing each hymn louder and lower than the last. Kate's mother grinned all the way through. There were hats.

The reception was a fine chance to see the hats dance. There were rose petals, amusing speeches, and small talk. We were surrounded by lawyers and accountants, so the small talk was small. Gemma decided to stay sober and drive us back ("I'd think less of myself if I mingled with these people drunk.").

Distressingly, I discovered that someone I knew and loved at school has grown-up to become A Horrible Person. I was about to say "hi" to him when I heard him toasting someone with the words, "Chin-Chin, Roger! I say, this man taught me to quaff port at an age when I could barely appreciate it." Apparently, earlier in the day he'd greeted Kate's grandmother with "What ho! I didn't know Kate had a younger sister."

Naturally, I ended up speaking to him. "What about you, old sprout? Anyone special? What? No. Pity. I'm marrying a Brazilian model. She's as rich as Croesus and I'm damn lucky. Poor you."

After two more people had asked me sadly if there was Anyone Special In My Life, I vowed to snap at the next person, "No, but I've had a fabulous summer of rough outdoor sex with strangers. Why?"

Got introduced to old friend Sam's charming mother. She's just had a mediaeval siege engine built in her garden, and was brimful of sensible advice about oysters, pregnancy, and dancing in high heels. Suddenly, she leant forward. "Tell me my dear, is there anyone special in your life?"

I looked at her. And made a bold decision. It was at this point that someone drove a wheelchair over my foot.

Suggestion of the week:

Someone's told me to join a Gay Ju-Jitsu class.

Surely that's Ju-Ju-Jitsu?

Touched by greatness

Being gay's fab. You get to shag meet such interesting people. And sometimes, they've shagged people even more interesting.

Last night's bloke was not only the cousin of someone who got into the last ten for Girls' Aloud... but he'd also had A Rather Lovely Man from EastEnders. No Lee, not Shane Ritchie.

So, while I've never shunted celebrity, I've touched people who've fimbled the famous. It's odd that this should be exciting. It's like sitting next to a 'sleb on the bus - a weird kinship formed through physical proximity and nothing more.

So, hullo then H from Steps (I'm one away from you on the shag tree). Hi there, also, annoying Blue Peter presenter (also one away). A distant wave to Matthew Kelly (I am but three away from a journey through your smoking curtains). And a surprised serve to Tim Henman (Four away with a slight bisexual twist).

Look if away if you're not a Dr Who fan...

The worst thing that's happened to me today: I was being interviewed by The Most Attractive Researcher in TV ever. About Dr Who. And I was doing reasonably well, until I happened to mention VidFIRE.

"Really?" he asked, leaning forward. "What's that? It sounds great..."

Oh, the shame of suddenly realising you've just shifted into Fan Gear, and there's nothing you can do to stop the damage...

Thirty

Things I did in the last year....

• Bought a central heating system.
  
• Got an IMDB page
  
• Beat Philip Schofield, but not Dick and Dom in a poll.
  
• Discovered Wales, Scotland and Australia. It rained most in Australia.
  
• Nearly died.
  
• Been messily in love with the wrong man.
  
• Failed to fall in love with the right man. Sorry.
  
• Met a man called James Bond.
  
• Discovered the joys of depression. None.
  
• Given up smoking. Four times.
  
• Met the living author I most admire.
  
• Built a wardrobe.
  
• Finished knitting a scarf.
  
• Learnt backgammon.
  
• Played Strip Twister.
  
• Got grey hair.
  
• Kissed in the New Year.
  
• Joined a Posh London Club.
  
• Been to a Battle of the Bands.
  
• Learnt to surf.
  
• Taken opium.
  
• Eaten hospital food.
  

Weird places where I've done Very Bad Things:

• A cage.
  
• Toy section of a department store.
  
• Traffic bollard.
  
• Blue Peter garden.
  

Well, that was my youth. Now, I guess, all men in their twenties are just "prey".

Small World Two

Having learned about the fate of a man I once dated, I bumped into another guy I dated four years ago. In pretty much the same place I first met him. More alarmingly, he's just split up with someone who sounds supsiciously like an ex.

Lovely French Laurent looked apologetic. "Me? I have done little. Same job, same flat, same car. But you - all will have changed for you, yes?"

Er, well...

PS: Had forgotten how marvellously diffident the French can be about sex. Last night saw the best Gallic Shrug I think I'll ever see.

My "K" hole

In this case, K stands for Kebab.

Went round to favourite ex-Simon's, intent on rushing out to spend an evening chav clubbin' in Stratford. Grabbed a kebab on the way - but, the salad was full of onion and pickled cabbage. I didn't realise this, until I suddenly had the most amazing, alarming, attack of trapped wind.

I arrived at Simon's looking thin and great. I left looking like I was pregnant. And making noises like I was giving birth.

Added to that, we went out with Simon's sleazy ex Michael and Michael's new boyfriend, grumpy teacher Marco. The two were in the middle of a row, which continued all through the evening.

The worst night unfolded, with me sitting in a quiet corner, whimpering, surrounded by two arguing gay men, and Simon, sadly drinking himself into a stupour.

All around us in the club were quite charming men in tracksuits, or, adorably, a pastel spattered leisure suit. It was wonderfully nasty. And I couldn't do a thing about it.

Eventually Simon took me home, propped me up on the couch, and made me peppermint tea with vodka. Things started to feel better.

Then Marco turned up on the doorstep. He'd left Michael, and needed somewhere to crash.

Simon then started to entertain us with stories of his sex life. Which is getting wilder. He currently has three boyfriends. Last week he had four. He's now dropped Greek Panos ("He was getting jealous of Freddi, Gianni, and Matthew, and didn't want to play with us.") - but only after Panos had seduced him in every form of transport going, from Connex South Central through to First Class on BA.

Simon is now settled with Freddi and Gianni, and new arrival Matthew. They have happy gay weekends, immersed in each other and a big pile of drugs. They're starting to sound weirdly like an evil version of the Cast of Friends. This weekend, they were all off to a Fellini movie together, before going back and shagging till dawn.

In a fortnight's time, all four are travelling up to Alton Towers. "We'll be riding the rollercoasters by day, and by night... heh-heh-heh!" Simon told me. At least four times. They're staying at Alton Towers. All in one room.

Matthew's already got them a present - while high on a day trip to EuroDisney, he found them each a Mickey Mouse mug with their name on it, to drink from in the mornings together. This strikes me as a new high in Sleazy Twee.

Most alarmingly, realised that new arrival Matthew is actually someone I dated. Things never worked out between us, mainly because, although he looked like a male model, he seemed appallingly shy, bookish, and cripplingly reserved about sex.

Shocked to realise that he has obviously been cured of this. Enquire how. "Oh, we kept slipping him pills till he stopped talking about sculpture and took his pants off."

Grudging admiration for this approach altered slightly when Simon continues. "Yeah, sometimes he still starts namedropping, but we soon find something to shut him up. Hehheheh."

Three horrid facts for three horrid days

YESTERDAY... Lorraine, wonderful Australian friend, announced she is pregnant. Immediate panic among circle of friends, as though pregnancy is something that might be catching.

TODAY... My boss announced he's leaving. And looks happier than he has in months.

TOMORROW... I turn thirty.

Is anyone else getting an "end of season cliffhanger vibe"? All we need now is a wedding with a lot of bitter jealousy and guns and... hang on. I've got a wedding this weekend. Poo.

Drinking with A-Gays

I've never been an A-Gay. I never will be. I'm happy making my way along with all seconds, the misshapes, and the slightly soiled gays.

But last night, Lee and I went for drinks at The Box. This is where they have a bicep check on the door, and you'll regularly see The Pissy Old Gay Formerly Known As Rupert Everett staring sadly at the mirror in the loos.

The place is so minty gay, they have mineral water on tap, and give change with a grudging flounce.

As sadly befitted our reduced status, we sat outside, to say farewell to Lee's flatmate Ian.

Ian has been in London for a year, and has joined the A-Gays. He did this by having a nice job and a quarter of a million in savings. He's leaving London with a bevy of friends called Chico and twelve grand of debt.

Lee and I felt oddly out of place. All Ian's A-Gay friends were very drunk, and strangely aggressive. Their first order of business was to work out if we'd...
a) slept with anyone famous
b) slept with any of their friends
c) slept with any of them.
d) were likely to.

Then they lost interest and spent the rest of the evening yelling "Confront the C***!" loudly at female cyclists.

The only beacon of joy was Lee's other housemate, Straight Boy Mark. Straight boy Mark is tall, handsome, and out to ruin it all by growing a beard. He tucks his shirt in, wears weird shoes, and has an irritating amount of social skills. That said, he'd dragged along a female friend who he kept on touching, like a straight boy's rabbit's foot. Can't say I blamed him.

Long lunch

The great thing about working from home is that, if you get up at dawn, you can get a full day's work done by lunchtime. Which was good, 'cos yesterday's lunch went on for nine hours.

I love my friend Rick. We have so much in common. Well, we share a birthday and a hair colour. But, unlike me, he is warm, laid-back and generous. Generous with his expense account.

Lunch included three courses, three wines, cocktails, shopping, a trip out for a McFlurry, and backgammon. It also featured cameo appearances by Rick's girlfriend Jess (Miss Jean Brodie having a catfight with Nicole Kidman), and an epilogue read by Mr Lee Binding (he turned up, sat in a chair, steepled his fingers and looked sinister).

I did discover that it's a bad idea for an old and valued friend to meet a new and valued friend. They can swap humiliating stories. In Rick's case these were stories that I'd long since forgotten about - like pretending to have a girlfriend, my rubbish university hair, and my weird ability to whinge about my love life to strangers - all habits I have, of course, shed.

Rick also revealed his trip to a gay sauna - he and some pissed journo friends had mistaken one for an after hours drinking club. With hilarious consequences.

We all shared our mutual grief at the news that our handsome friend Scott has passed on beyond the veil. He's moved to South London with his Hungarian girlfriend.