The shot that broke the camel's back

Went into town on Friday for dinner at Henry's to celebrate the presence in London of his tutor from UPenn, the very Miss Jennifer Siegal - historian, friend of the gays and all round dinner party legend.  Also had the pleasure of finally getting to know Amy's new(ish) man, Neil, he's taking the photo below so will be spared blushes.  Although Amy wasn't.  Neil got to hear any sordid detail of her history we could dredge up.  She was less than impressed - our tongues were loosened by booze and her anger was inflamed by it.  More of which later.  Had a lovely time, ate delicious food and drank enough alcohol to wipe out a small Russian village (and them's folks is hardy).  Think our alcohol consumption has long passed 'out of control'.  There was a review in one of the TV guides about the Australian version of Come Dine with Me, which they showed here last week.  The review was all 'of course one of the major differences between the UK and Australia is the amount of alcohol some hostesses feel the need to provide' and went on to list a HUGE amount of alcohol (one of the items was about 60 shots of vodka ... for four people) that one of the women had provided at her night.  Anywho, when I first read it I seriously thought 'hmmmm I'd probably get a bit more wine than that'.  Here we all are enjoying the light buzz of alcohol:

And here's Richard providing a useful representation of the state we [not including Jenny obv!] were all in by the end of the night:

Charming no?  I'm seriously thinking about giving up drinking.  Normally once suitably sloshed all the gays slope off to a local club and have a dance, although on this occasion we thought it better if Richard didn't leave the house.  Obviously I normally end up making a fool of myself and consequently feel shame-faced and guilty the next day.  This time I did nothing untoward and still woke up feel shameful and embarrassed the next day.  I might be too old now.  Not saying I'm not going to toast my friends successes from now on, but I do think I should have more diversity in my life than seeking oblivion on a weekend.  And its not exactly cheap.  Doig ended up going home with a guy who robbed him of his phone, £150 in cash, a bottle of vodka and his dignity when exiting his house in the a.m.  If I felt shameful I can't imagine how Doig was feeling.  I ended the night by having a long intense chat with Henry.  Seemed all very important and relevant at the time but retrospectively it was at least 30% drunken rambling and I'm sure we both said things we'd rather not have said, or at least found better ways to say them.

So all in all I am thinking alcohol = evil.

Canterbury

Over the weekend my aunt had her retirement/house warming/birthday party in Faversham in Kent.  Since mum is one of those people who thinks that driving for more than 45 minutes is an epic undertaking and it's at least 2 hours away she decided we would spend the night in the area the day before and make a weekend of it.  So mum and her sister Sue ('Titch' to the family .... a nickname so ingrained I didn't even know she was called Sue until I was 17) and I spent the day in Canterbury on Saturday before going over to Faversham on the Sunday.  I guess Canterbury is pretty famous in a historic way - the Tales, Beckett, the Cathedral (oldest in the country, started in 597AD), the Archbishop of etc ... guess they're all extensions of a similar theme.  Turns out it is STUNNINGLY pretty and also extremely popular with tourists.  It seemed like there were a similar number of tourists that Oxford gets in a place about a third of its size, but seriously though:

How pretty!?!?  A lot of the town looked like that and even the newer bits weren't too ugly.  We had a nice lunch, walked around the shops and visited the Cathedral:

What can I say really?  

Voyeurism

Went into town yesterday so see Cicely and go to the Voyeurism exhibition at Tate Modern.  Seeing Cicely was brilliant but the exhibition was rubbish.  Went into town about midday and met Cicely at Brittany's office in the Lloyd's Building.  I'm always excited to go there and I think its a testament to its great design that 30 years on it's still strikingly modern and there were still a large number of people in the street taking photos of it:

LOVE IT!

Cicely and I then went to the Tate and into the exhibition.  Was a bit of a ham fisted collection of photos by artists, of celebrities and social document.  Some striking images - especially a picture of Andy Warhol lifting up his shirt to reveal some truly terrifying operation scars following being shot - but mostly we just sort of thought HUNH?:

We then wandered down the South Bank in the sunshine, through Trafalgar Square and into Soho where we met Gayden and Brittney for drinks.  We were both really annoyed that we'd spent £10 on seeing Voyeurism at the Tate when it would've cost the same to go see Ernesto Neto at the Hayward:

Ah well.  Lovely day though.  They all went off for dinner and I went home - eating out is definitely not within my financial grasp at the moment.

Far and few, far and few

Although it may seem like I've given up blogging again my apparent silence is actually a reflection of how infrequently I can afford to do things these days.  In all fairness I did go to the Summer Exhibition at the Royal Academy last Tuesday but since mum bought a print I'm waiting until the print arrives so I can illustrate the post!  This weekend just gone Susannah was leaving London, Deborah just got back from Italy and Cicley was visiting from the States so I had plenty of reasons to loosen my purse strings and head into town.

Went in on Thursday and spent the evening getting stoned with Deborah.  The highlight of which was discussing her psychic powers (of which she is sure and I am nothing but sceptical) which culminated in her telling me she could hear voices.  I think hearing voices is a much better summary of Deborah's mental state than any notions of soothsaying.  Friday I bummed around London in the sunshine reading my book (Stone's Fall by Iain Pears ... its ok) and waiting to meet up with Bean so we could head to Susannah's leaving party.  Ended up in a pub in East Putney drinking berry mojitos in blazing sunshine.  The party was really fun, mostly because I drank in excess of half a bottle of vodka, and I was glad to find out that Susannah was only going as far as York - not back to San Francisco like I was expecting.  Meet some great people too including a barrister who offered to pass my CV around a bit so hopefully that will lead somewhere.

Stayed at Bean's flat on Friday night ready for the arrival of Cicely the following morning.  Woke up with a stinking hangover and practically ran to the nearby Asian supermarket for ramen and gyoza.  Started to feel a bit more human in time for Cicley's arrival and we all spent the rest of the day drinking wine at Borough Market on another gloriously sunny day.  In the evening we all went for Vietnamese food on the Kingsland Road:

Then went on to the Book Store.  New club which plays Electro Swing music ... think Big Band with a dance beat.  Had a really good time and was extremely amused by Brittany who had one or two tequila shots too many:

Sunday meant another hangover, another emergency dose of gyoza and another sunny day.  In spite of my intention to spend the day lying on a sofa and groaning I was tempted down to Balham to see Clare's new house, which she moved into on Friday and spent the day having beers and barbeque in the back garden:

Most importantly I got to spend time with Wilbur:

Excuse me while I explode from a cuteness overload.

Hmmmmm

Maybe those asylum seekers are better off where they are since at least one of the national papers here is openly homophobic.  Seems senseless to be offended by the Daily Express since its such a moronic publication but I can't help but be upset that it must represent a significant portion of the British public.

Hurrah!

http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk/2010/jul/07/gay-asylum-seekers-rights-deportation

I couldn't be any happier about this.  I urge you to spend a few short minutes googling the shit that happens to people in Iran who are accused of being gays.  Its horrifying.  I like to think of England now as a big gay goose snuggling all its little gay chicks under protective wings (made of crumpets and tea obv.).  I wish I could get a job as a one man welcome wagon at Heathrow for the persecuted homos fleeing here.  I'd welcome them with a G&T, a picture of the Queen and a queue jump ticket for Heaven.  Its all you need really.

What's that sound? It's a barrel being scraped

An Escort (seen above) on Gaydar sent me a message saying hello and I sent one back being all 'you're wasting your time, I'm completely broke'.  He wrote back saying 'ummm, I was just saying hi' and now I feel guilty.  Shamed by an escort!!!! Its a whole new low in my life.