SitCom

The worst thing about having my parents in town for Christmas was the hideous way the chance it gave fate to create situations I'd missed out on in my youth.

F'rintance, there I was one morning, happily finishing last night's boy when my parents turned up early.

How embarrassing - having to try and sneak out a shag without my parents noticing. Why did I give them keys? Why? We dressed and sat giggling on the bed. I popped out into the corridor to check the coast was clear. No.

"Hope it's okay," said shag, "I got nervous so I've lit a joint."

Oh god. Sex and drugs double-whammy horror. Please don't be pregnant, I thought as I ushered shag through the hall. I opened the front door - and there was my mother, scrubbing the front step. Bizarre. I didn't know I had a front step.

Her chit chat about emulsion vs eggshell tailed off suddenly as she realised I wasn't alone. "Oh," she said, darting poor shag a bitter glance, "hello."

We spent the rest of the day not talking about it. And then went out to supper, also not talking about it. Despite sitting next to a Lesbian Football Club Xmas Dinner.

2006

Whose bright idea was that? I feel so old....

All I got for Christmas was...

My parents in London for a week installing a new bathroom. A lovely sweet gesture that turned out to be A Horrible Thing.

My dad's now in his 70s, and refuses to admit it. Sadly, in the last six months his hands have started shaking, which made plumbing tricksie. He's also getting forgetful, not helped by my mother anxiously cleaning up after him. He's very deaf, so he can't hear when you tell him where the screwdriver is. And his nasty temper has become a helpless rage.

A typical day (and there were Nine of Them) went like this...

DAD: Bugger's leaking. (HITS PIPE WITH WRENCH) Now it's gone everwhere. Get me some newspaper you bugger.

I run off for newspaper.

DAD: Where's my wrench? I just put the bloody thing down.

MUM: Oh, I've just cleaned it and popped it back in your toolbox.

DAD: I said, where's my wrench? Oh. It's leaking again. Have you seen my wrench?

I run off and get the wrench and put it quietly by Dad.

DAD: There it was all along. Why does this thing keep leaking?

ME: Er... Don't you turn it clockwise to tighten it?

DAD: What?

ME: Clockwise...

DAD: You bloody bugger! I am... no hang on... You bugger, letting me do that for ten minutes like that and not saying a word. You lazy sod.

ME: Please get out of my house.

DAD: What was that? Oh. It's leaking again...

On top of that, it took them minutes to disable the central heating, turn off the water, and fill the house with necessary bits of DIY gubbins. I even caught Dad trying to store plywood in my flatmate's room. Within half a day the flat was cold, damp, full of grit and completely cheerless. All that was missing from my childhood was an extra four stone and regular beatings.

Christmas in the Ventilation Shaft

I spent most of Christmas on my own in the BBC Broadcasting House "business lounge" - a desolate room. The only interesting feature was that ... something... was scuttling about near the open ventilation shaft over my head.

A horrid experience, made rather worse by my ex phoning to tell me about his new boyfriend.

But, slightly vile as it all was, it was sooo much better than the last week with my parents.

Blitz spirit

There's always a right time to go home. On Saturday it was when the man who'd been chatting me up was all of a sudden getting off with a bald fat guy instead.

"Return to base," said my body, too drunk to have any better ideas. So, I tried to leave.

"Sorry," the doorman said, "Security alert. Suspected bomb. We're all in here until further notice."

I went back inside, and tried not to notice that the man who'd been chatting me up was now licking fat guy's scalp. It was a small bar, so this wasn't easy.

I switched to Plan B, and chatted up someone prettier. He turned out to be called Paul and worked in a hotel ("Bar work, you know. Behind it. Under it. On it. Rich bitches."). He was out with his boyfriend's gay cricket team. His boyfriend looked rather like you'd fear a 40 year old gay cricketer would look. I was heartbroken.

Paul was defensive, "Six years, you know. It works. We go to Trade, he plays the slot machine, loses track of time, thinks I've been gone for 10 minutes. As far as he's concerned, monogamous bliss."

I looked over. His boyfriend was indeed playing the slot machine, oblivious to a fight going on next to it.

Paul shrugged. "And anyway, I'm normally very well behaved. Otherwise he'd take my gaydar profile away."

I pointed out this wasn't going to stop me chatting him up. After all, we could be blown up at any second. How would you like to spend your last minutes?

Paul glanced over at his boyfriend, "He does seem to be really enjoying that fruit machine, doesn't he? And, you're right, we could die at any moment..." He grinned.

BedHead

Most alarming thing I've seen on gaydar recently:

Alcazar Split

In a week that's been full of crumblies remembering where they were when John Lennon was shot, spare a thought for Alcazar, who appear to have split up without anyone noticing. Gutted.

On their official site, there's simply a bizzare message from One Of The Ladies explaining:

It´s time for your favourite band to take a break from this wonderful and fantastic years we´ve had with Alcazar."

So much wonderful people we have had the pleasure to meet and beautiful places we´ve seen!

I just wanted to thank you all for making our journey with Alcazar to the most terrific time of my life!


And, of course, a message from Magnus, who has just finished a spot in Grease as Teenangel:

Hmmmm.... it feels kinda strange. The Grease-adventure is over.... I was just lurning the lyrics and how to sit on the magic carpet - and what-do-you-know, suddently it is all over.

Remember that the whole idea of the break is to gather new strength and a small break from it all. I will continuing recording my first pop solo album!!! (In one of them I sing "I'm not the woman that I used to be" (LOL). It sounds hilarious!!!

I will keep you all informed and hope you would like to take part of and follow me on my journey as a new-born Solo Artist.

Sick Building

On October 23rd I told our building management team that the light over my desk was giving me headaches.

On December 14th, after much prodding, a man turned up, grunted, stood on a ladder, and turned the light off after flicking a switch on the top of it.

If I'd know it was that easy, I'd have stood on my desk to do it. Only that would contravene Health and Safety regulations. Instead of which, I've sat at my desk, suffering regular headaches and blurred vision.

Odd, that I'm prevented from doing something to stop me from becoming ill out of concern for my health.

Dunnit

So, is having sex in the doorway of The Mousetrap:

a) So tacky only a tourist would do it...

b) A fine old London tradition....

c) Unforgivable if you reveal the ending?

Things which remind me of my ex.

Tourists in Bulgoslavia are warned to be aware of attractive people who come up to you in the street and persuade you to take them to expensive bars and restaurants.