Briefly back to London for a leaving party in Islington's The Green, an otherwise pleasant gay cocktail bar rammed full of Smug Rich Gays Who Wished They Went Out More.
It was a nightmare - fighting to the bar through a sea of cashmere sweaters and then standing for 10 minutes while the staff ignored you, got the drinks wrong, or huddled giggling in a corner over an English-Latvuanian phrase book.
I spent so much time queuing at the bar a weird form of Stockholm Syndrome set in, and I started to find even the ugly barman attractive.
But the people there were great - and all looked fabulous, thanks to the extraordinarily dim lighting.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Friday, January 13, 2006
Club Class
I belong to a swanky private club in London. I love it, but have always felt a fraud whenever I go there.
Ironically, my club phoned this morning to tell me that I was a fraud.
A friend had signed in as me last night. The club had cottoned on in seconds, and asked him to leave. He was less than gracious about this.
My club were silky voiced about the incident: "Obviously we wouldn't want you to think that this in any way jeopardised your membership. No no, not at all. We've just made a tiny little note of this against your name, barely a mark.
"We're so sorry to even be phoning you - poor you to have such friends! No, don't apologise - it's already forgotten. And we know it won't happen again, so we won't even hear talk about withdrawing your membership. Please, think no more about it."
Eeep.
Ironically, my club phoned this morning to tell me that I was a fraud.
A friend had signed in as me last night. The club had cottoned on in seconds, and asked him to leave. He was less than gracious about this.
My club were silky voiced about the incident: "Obviously we wouldn't want you to think that this in any way jeopardised your membership. No no, not at all. We've just made a tiny little note of this against your name, barely a mark.
"We're so sorry to even be phoning you - poor you to have such friends! No, don't apologise - it's already forgotten. And we know it won't happen again, so we won't even hear talk about withdrawing your membership. Please, think no more about it."
Eeep.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Not expedient
Since buying a holiday with Expedia, the amount of spam I'm receiving has rocketed. That is all.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Meanwhile, on Radio Three
The latest edition of nu-Music show Late Junction opened with: "Well, it's been an exciting year for Norway..."
Monday, January 09, 2006
Flat-u-lence
The flat is very large. A bit too large for my intended minimalist chic.
Or, as Edward put it, "It looks like we've been burgled."
The vague feeling of being nobbled continues when I try and connect a TV or phone line.
It turns out that the flat doesn't actually have any TV aeriels or phone ports. Nothing. Just weird sockets on every wall labelled "NTL". There's a package in the kitchen labelled "Welcome to NTL - about what we can offer you" and an invitation to call Eugene Cumberbatch.
With a name like that, how could I say no? Sadly, Eugene is on annual leave for a fortnight. But suggests I try the main NTL Cardiff number. Which rings out.
Instead, I ring NTL Customer Services, who, after 10 minutes on hold ("We value you. We value your call. We value entertainment"), transfer me to the Sales team.
"Sorry sir, but we don't supply NTL to that area."
"But there are boxes on the wall saying NTL and no other way of getting TV in the building...."
"Sir, I'd just like to clarify that NTL does not supply your area. Thank you for your call. *click*"
uh?
Or, as Edward put it, "It looks like we've been burgled."
The vague feeling of being nobbled continues when I try and connect a TV or phone line.
It turns out that the flat doesn't actually have any TV aeriels or phone ports. Nothing. Just weird sockets on every wall labelled "NTL". There's a package in the kitchen labelled "Welcome to NTL - about what we can offer you" and an invitation to call Eugene Cumberbatch.
With a name like that, how could I say no? Sadly, Eugene is on annual leave for a fortnight. But suggests I try the main NTL Cardiff number. Which rings out.
Instead, I ring NTL Customer Services, who, after 10 minutes on hold ("We value you. We value your call. We value entertainment"), transfer me to the Sales team.
"Sorry sir, but we don't supply NTL to that area."
"But there are boxes on the wall saying NTL and no other way of getting TV in the building...."
"Sir, I'd just like to clarify that NTL does not supply your area. Thank you for your call. *click*"
uh?
Friday, January 06, 2006
Why Estate Agents are miserable arseholes
On Sunday I move into my company Cardiff flat for six months. It's a bargain, but all's been quiet with the estate agents. I phoned them earlier this week, to remind them I was moving in, and to see if they'd taken me up on my invitation to invoice our accounts department in mid December.
Them: "We forgot to invoice you."
Me: "Then it'll take our finance manager a while to pay you."
Them: "Well, we need payment in full before we let you in."
Me: "But, you forgot to invoice us!"
Them: "Doesn't matter - we still need paying."
*** many calls later ***
Me: "Well, I've spoken with everyone I know in accounts, and they can't possibly issue you with a company cheque in time."
Them: "Then you can't move in."
Me: "What about if I come down with a personal cheque?"
Them: "That's not valid."
Me: "Then I think we'll stay in a hotel and find somewhere else. As I said, I'm busy, and accounts payable aren't something I'm good at."
*** many calls later ***
Them: "James, Mark. Have you considered bringing down £2,000 in cash?"
Me: "No."
Them: "Well, it would make it easier for us."
Me: "But I'm not happy carrying around that kind of money. I live in King's Cross."
Them: "I'm afraid it's all we're offering."
Me: "Don't worry about it. I'll book myself into a hotel. There are other apartments."
Them: "Well, we've got a signed contract from you."
Me: "Doubt it matters - you won't let us into the flat, and you've made it very hard for us to pay you."
Them: "A grand up front in cash. How's that for an offer?"
Me: "No! The whole idea's terrifying."
Them: "We'll leave you to think about it."
Me: "No! The situation is horrid, I've got other things to do, and I've made it clear that you should deal with our finance people, not me. Please, leave me alone - I've got hotels to book."
Them: "Well, don't be hasty - think about it."
*pause*
Them: "Tell you what. Your company's a good one, they always pay, why don't we just move you in, and then we'll sort out the money in the next few weeks?"
Me: "..."
So, I'm now moving down on Sunday. To Cardiff. With all my stuff. But there's every chance that they may not let me into the flat. Just for the sheer twatty fun of being an estate agent.
NB: Have just checked. No, I've never shagged an estate agent. I'm pleased. See - I've got standards.
Them: "We forgot to invoice you."
Me: "Then it'll take our finance manager a while to pay you."
Them: "Well, we need payment in full before we let you in."
Me: "But, you forgot to invoice us!"
Them: "Doesn't matter - we still need paying."
*** many calls later ***
Me: "Well, I've spoken with everyone I know in accounts, and they can't possibly issue you with a company cheque in time."
Them: "Then you can't move in."
Me: "What about if I come down with a personal cheque?"
Them: "That's not valid."
Me: "Then I think we'll stay in a hotel and find somewhere else. As I said, I'm busy, and accounts payable aren't something I'm good at."
*** many calls later ***
Them: "James, Mark. Have you considered bringing down £2,000 in cash?"
Me: "No."
Them: "Well, it would make it easier for us."
Me: "But I'm not happy carrying around that kind of money. I live in King's Cross."
Them: "I'm afraid it's all we're offering."
Me: "Don't worry about it. I'll book myself into a hotel. There are other apartments."
Them: "Well, we've got a signed contract from you."
Me: "Doubt it matters - you won't let us into the flat, and you've made it very hard for us to pay you."
Them: "A grand up front in cash. How's that for an offer?"
Me: "No! The whole idea's terrifying."
Them: "We'll leave you to think about it."
Me: "No! The situation is horrid, I've got other things to do, and I've made it clear that you should deal with our finance people, not me. Please, leave me alone - I've got hotels to book."
Them: "Well, don't be hasty - think about it."
*pause*
Them: "Tell you what. Your company's a good one, they always pay, why don't we just move you in, and then we'll sort out the money in the next few weeks?"
Me: "..."
So, I'm now moving down on Sunday. To Cardiff. With all my stuff. But there's every chance that they may not let me into the flat. Just for the sheer twatty fun of being an estate agent.
NB: Have just checked. No, I've never shagged an estate agent. I'm pleased. See - I've got standards.
Mutton and Lamb
So, suddenly, I'm dating a student nurse. An 18 year old student nurse.
*buries head in hands*
Look, nurse is older than his years - I've done many things, but I've never done anything as brave as clearing up after incontinent mental patients. Plus he's fantastic company. When he's not quoting Little Britian.
But, um, anyway, I'm moving away to Cardiff this weekend, so hurrah. No danger of developing any emotions for the dear man. Phew!
PS: *sniff*
*buries head in hands*
Look, nurse is older than his years - I've done many things, but I've never done anything as brave as clearing up after incontinent mental patients. Plus he's fantastic company. When he's not quoting Little Britian.
But, um, anyway, I'm moving away to Cardiff this weekend, so hurrah. No danger of developing any emotions for the dear man. Phew!
PS: *sniff*
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
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.
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.
Sunday, January 01, 2006
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