A new forgettable boyband has a homo onboard. Well, one that's slightly more honest about it.
"According to the Daily Mirror, hunky Andrew Kinlochan decided to come out in gay magazine Attitude but claimed his friends and family were already aware of his sexuality.
"My family are very happy with my decision and support me fully."
Female fans of the band, which is made up of losers from Popstars: The Rivals, need not worry though. They can still hanker after the other heartthrobs, Chris Park, Peter Smith, Nikk Major and Mikey Green."
It's Okay 10 year old girls - you can still fantasise about kissing the other boys. Good grief. And who says hanker anymore?
"For the last time - why won't you sleep with me?"
I am in a suit in preparation for the j.o.b. interview after work. I've borrowed Will's clip clop shoes. Feel poised.
No word from any of the Scoobies since Saturday. I snubbed a birthday celebration because I wanted to meet Will instead and I think I’ve been black listed. I left a message for Kate last night, real breezy “hi, give me a call back, lets meet up soon” – and not a word yet. She’s a good litmus test. If she won’t return my calls then everyone else must HATE me. Oh well, putting in a no show is better than sitting them all down and explaining “You guys haven’t been as relevant to my life since I got back from Ibiza and meeting Will has only clarified that I want something more stimulating in the people I have around me. You are fantastic club kids but apart from dance floors and disco what is it that really bonds us?” and handing out a questionnaire or something.
What a great day I’ve had. It didn’t start out so fantastic. Yesterday my friend Mike who is a web developer gave me a call to say the place he was working at (snazzy media company in Regents Street) were looking for a Web Editor and he’d casually brought up my name. Before you could say “Up all night writing my CV” I was well, up all night… Anyways, I had a late night but managed to send the CV off this morning. Then not so long ago I received this, my favourite of all correspondence, we-like-you-mail…
Thanks for sending this over, it would be great if you could come in and see us and talk us through some of your work. Would this be possible? Happy to do lunchtime or after work if it is tricky for you in work hours.
No, really, thank you Sophie.
At lunch I had a long fast swim. Swimming is the only form of exercise that I can do for over an hour without getting bored. This lunchtime I went into a strange trance, completely losing track of how many lengths I’d swum and wandering across the lanes to the consternation of the housewives on either side of me. OK they could have been career women but they swam like housewives.
And then I got another email from Will. OK. This is it. I love him. I really do. He’s wonderful, maybe the smartest, funniest, sexiest person I have ever met (and I’ve met a few). I’ve been telling him all this for ages now but I thought it was time I informed you Gentle Reader. I’m in love with Will and it’s the best feeling in the world. Love, love, love, love, love.
now every morning I walk past the Abbey Road Studios and over that
zebra crossing. Yesterday there were four Japanese boys risking death to take a photo on it. There is graffiti all over the white wall outside the studio as if the Beatles broke up yesterday. I’m going to write down some of the messages and put them on here.
Well I’m all moved. Goodbye Clapham Junction, hello North London!
I’ve acquired a new TV, computer, video, duvet and iron in the process (Toby & Piers’ left goods) considerably bulking up my belongings. I don’t think Len was quite prepared for the sheer volume of stuff when he said I could stay. Oh well, you can almost
see the TV and the boxes don’t completely
obscure the light in the lounge.
I forgot to mention that Will rang yesterday. He is really missing me. Rock! Apparently some random Canadians asked him or a threesome (need I remind you, Gentle Reader, that homosexuality is an offence in Malaysia punishable by flogging…) which he dutifully turned down, oh, and he has sun burn. I told him to buy some aloe vera and not to talk to strange men unless he wanted a sound thrashing. He’s back tomorrow night and I’m meeting him at the airport. What? Don’t look at me like that.
p.s. I hurt my back last night. I’m sure I was lifting with my knees.
Happy birthday to my Mother Sally and my sister Ellie! I would come round and get you both drunk to celebrate but you're so damn far away... I love you lots!
At Kate’s birthday drinks I had that troubled feeling reminiscent of the time I left Drama School a year early. I think I am expecting more of my friends than they can provide. Kate was wonderful though, she hadn’t been looking forward to her birthday since it’s her first without her brother Steve. I left very early because I had to wash the kitchen floor for the big move. Well, I was supposed to. I arrived home, watched “Wife Swap” on the telly and turned in early instead.
Received this from Uncle Traveling Will >
“It's 11am here - 4am in London - just been for a run on the beach as the sun was coming up over the misty Malay rainforest. Was mind-blowing. Won't give too much away about what I've been up to, though the words "monkeys", "in" and "my bedroom" should give you a hint.
Going to the Datai now - high tidal area, mainly used for growing rice, and accessible only by boat. Houses on stilts. That kinda deal.
Flying to Penang tomorrow, then Kuala Lumpur on Friday and then home Saturday. Sitting next to Lorraine Kelly on way back!
Anyway, gotta run, the jungle is calling. As is my new Malay wife. And four children. Bless them.”
I’m going for a swim at lunchtime at the gym. Viva Aqua Drew!
Saturday Night >
we go to Escape bar in Soho. I have a fun time with Will but feel disappointed by a few of the Scooby’s who, though not rude, are not on best behaviour. I understand I’m very tough on my friends but even after I rationalised my feelings I still felt let down.
we were in serious young couple in love
mode with a slumberous Sunday morning before Will jetted off for a week of Asian Sun. We walked to a Market, bought some food for lunch, I cooked, he packed, small birds landed on the windowsill and deer nuzzled the window pane watching us go about our happiness. My emotions swung the other way on the tube ride home because a train had derailed. Apart from the spook factor (I take that line almost every day, it coulda been me!) it means I have the hell ride to work each morning; train, tube, bus, tube x 2. I pay £23 a week on travel in London (that’s almost NZ $250 a month!) I think I might write another letter to my local MP.
Have another cold. That will teach me for kissing boys. In the afternoon I had my last interview with Spokesmodels, the agency I’ve joined for “Gorgeous, intelligent and educated people” – basically modelling with brains. Not sure what that really entails yet but it’s done marvels for my ego. Then I went home and put everything I own into cardboard boxes.
am annoying the universe with my cough. Its Kate’s birthday tonight and I think I might have to flake. In other news, I’m devising a cunning new idea – an online puzzle where you have to solve some sort of mystery based on clues available at certain websites – a sort of Cyber Cluedo. You heard it here first.
I don't know where to start.
Friday night Lizzie and I called on a man in a glass box. Before we arrived we took a detour at one of my favourite places in London - the Tate Modern. A new artist had just finished installing a giant sun in the cavernous gut of the gallery. On the ceiling (three floors high) was an enormous mirror. I had vertigo when I looked up. It felt like I was about to fall onto myself. I remembered when I was 16 with some friends, lying in a huge field and looking at the stars, I imaged we were upside down and about to drop into the Universe. I was nearly sick.
As Lizzie and I walked further into to the room we could see that people were lying on the floor nearer the sun. The atmosphere bordered on devotional. It was wonderful, the strange yellow light bleaching all colours from our clothes and skin. We lay on the floor and I built up enough courage to look at the ceiling again.
David Blaine on the other hand was no shining star. He didn't even get out of his duvet. There were thousands of scary 15-year-old kids riding bikes and yelling at each other. A fenced off inner sanctum under the box was apparently for the dedicated fans and they had to wait round for days to get in there. Lizzie distracted a family while I stole her a poster that said "Good luck from Ireland." I had to run after that. It had been a long week and two trips to the gym had tired me out but I'd planned to see Will and where there's a Will...
I was late. We went to the Shadow Lounge but I was too tired to really enjoy it. I did a quick audit of the room and no one was even in the same league as Will.
On Saturday morning I left him to get on with packing for Malaysia (he's currently on a six day working holiday there) and I checked out a room in Marylebone. There was no lounge and the bedroom was a bit small (not that I could afford anything bigger in this part of town) so I will keep looking.
Afterwards I joined the Scooby's for a pint before heading back home to Piers' proper leaving do. It's been two and a half years of cohabitation and now he's going to Perth with his lovely new girlfriend. I'll miss the little guy.
To be continued.
I went to the Holmes Place gym last night. Ladies & Gentlemen, it was a dream! For the first time in my life I didn’t want to leave. My previous gym was what you might call in the business “severely lacking in frills.” We’re talking surly personal trainers, fights for running machines and serious overcrowding. Holmes Place gives you towels! Clean ones! I’ve not felt so pampered since I received that free shampoo sample in the mail. They have a pool, the newest working out machine thingys, non malicious staff and expensive smelling body wash. I drew the line at the body lotion though. There’s being pampered and then there’s just plain sucking up.
Will’s coming over tonight. Hooray!
And finally a word of warning word from my sister -
“Never get pregnant Drew it is the worst ever! I am so uncomfortable and never sleep! It is really hard core!”
I haven’t heard from my sister Amber in ages. It’s hard having so many siblings so far away. My shepherding instinct can never be repressed.
Will and I have been playing a game. No not that type of game. Well, yes, um, actually we did
play that game too (Lust - 1, Patience - 0). Anyway, I spent all day thinking of witty answers and it left me no time to write a blog entry so I thought I'd just whack the results on here instead. Two birds, baby, two birds!
"So cut to me. I'm bored. I propose a new game called Top 10... I'm starting with Top 10... Scary Things. You have to do Top 10... Things To Do On A Saturday. And think of the next one for me."
Top 10... Scary Things
1) sea monsters - especially ones that talk
2) second class stamps
3) feathers that smell of blood
4) wide gaps in between stairs
5) uncovering doll parts buried in the garden
6) black cattle with mad eyes
7) false teeth
8) performing midgets
9) roadsweeping machines on a rainy day
10) safety matches
Top 10... Things To Do On A Saturday
1) Get up at 6.am and watch Fraggle Rock, wrapped up in your duvet. If that's not on (or you're no longer 7 years old) - sleep in.
2) Wake up, think it's a weekday, and get a lovely warm rush when you realise it's not.
4) Wank. Twice.
5) Eat toast with someone you really like.
6) Use up all the hot water in the shower.
7) Buy a newspaper and some pasta with pine nuts from Marks & Sparks.
8) Spend the day playing with your new puppy.
9) Meet friends for brunch and decide which character from Sex & the City you each are.
10) Remind yourself what you really want in life.
Get a load of the cuteness of us! If you can feel your breakfast/lunch/dinner coming up from all this excessive saccharinity then I suggest you have a look at grouphug
. This is what the Internet was created for.
#43 Twister Duvet Cover
This morning I woke up in Will’s bed with him stroking the back of my neck. He made us both breakfast and afterwards we walked to the Tube chatting about when we were going to see each other next. I was half an hour late for work but I really, really didn’t care. Gentle Reader, we are entering into a new era. I’d like to call it - The Time of Will
Fact > There is gratuitous lovedupness in the following blog entry.
Let me take you back to the beginning of the weekend…
I left work half an hour early to race to Leicester Square & catch the early evening showing of Finding Nemo
with Will. By this stage my gym-workout-body-ache had started to grow worse, with a dull throbbing pain throughout my left arm and chest. I guess I really should have taken it easier on the weights. The film was very sweet but I was in pain and although I was still trying to be all third datey with Will I had to breezily run to buy some pain killers. We then called in to welcome back my friend Ef (who’d just returned from a year in Australia) and I washed down two nurofen with a strawberry daiquiri. Half an hour later, and feeling much more floaty, I casually dropped into conversation that I wouldn’t be averse to Will staying for breakfast (I know, I know...) On the way to the next bar he explained that he’d prefer to wait a while before any breakfast was had. Maybe another two weeks or so?
To begin with I felt a bit jilted. It’s hard not to take this sort of thing personally but we talked it out and the crux of the matter was that we liked each other and he didn’t want to rush into the breakfast bit. The escapade even earned the man some respect. I only wish I’d taken the high moral ground first!
Fact > my sister Holly will be giving birth in 5 ½ weeks.
So I woke up by myself in my own bed Saturday morning but with everyone out of the house it gave me some blissful “me” time. I’ve found some short writing pieces that I finished almost two years ago in an old journal so I typed them up and generally pottered round the house. My chest and arm were still throbbing so I was a bit loopy on pain killers again.
At 8pm I arrived at Sam’s house for a Scooby Dinner™ where the big surprise was that Diana had come back from Barcelona for the weekend to hear Kate’s DJ debut at Orange (a very trendy after-hours club in Vauxhall) on Monday morning. Diana was on great form and regaled us with glamorous stories about what a single blonde girl gets up to in Spain. It was also my introduction to Happy Tree Friends
, a new twisted cartoon that Sam had bought on DVD. The boys loved it, the girls squealed “turn it off, turn it off!”
Will had invited me to a new night called Element
so Kate, Jo & I left the dinner to travel the short journey to the Coliseum. As luck would have it we knew the promoter and doorman of the club so I was able to get Will in free and earned some serious “cool” points. The club was pretty much an earlier version of the infamous after-hour parties at the same venue and the crowd was similar too - sleek clubbing machines. Will earned points for being a great dancer and getting the thumbs up from Kate. We danced, we snogged, we danced some more and suddenly it was 5am and time to go home.
Fact > Will has already started making his Christmas gifts.
Jo, Will & I went back to mine. We watched videos, dozed and I made a concerted effort not to have "breakfast". It was such a nice day. There was nothing to it but I realised how cool Will is. When you meet someone you’re continually ticking off a list in your mind (yes, yes, no, no, yes, no) and for the first time in such a long while there were no nos. And I don’t think I have to tell you what that means.
With KILL BILL out today I’ve had a Tarantino flashback about my Mum. She suggested we see “Pulp Fiction” at the Embassy cinema in Wanganui, New Zealand when I was 14 (which was pretty cool because I couldn’t have seen it by myself) and we both cracked up for about 10 minutes in the scene where the guy stabs the injection of adrenalin in Uma’s chest. Basically no one else in the cinema found it funny and that made us laugh even harder.
I returned to my gym last night, the first time since I left for Ibiza in May, after forking out a £15 “reconnection fee” and reacquainting myself with the “equipment”. It felt very take charge. I thought I was going easy on myself but my body feels mangled today. And the irony is that I’ve just this minute been given a free membership to the local Holmes gym from my work. Maybe Lady Money Luck, she is a changin’?
Had a conversation with my flatmate Andrew last night after watching Stephen Fry’s new BBC game show "QI" that it would be "cool" to "know him" and just drop by and eat stuff out of his fridge. I'm sure he wouldn't mind and would say in a distracted but kindly way "No go on, help yourself" and then quote Eleanor Roosevelt or something.
I’m seeing Finding Nemo
tonight with Will. I mean he quotes James Joyce ("When I makes tea, I makes tea. And when I makes water I makes water"). Swoon.
And it’s decided. No more Nova. It was fun but I don’t want to have to start up that engine again. The truth is it wasn’t as successful as I’d hoped. I’m glad I tried it but I’m also not going to flog a dead horse (oh the imagery!). Plus I have other projects…
It was when we were all squished, standing outside the ticket barrier at Victoria Station, waiting to go down to the Tube, performing our daily rush hour ritual, 8.32am, our personal space all shot to hell with strangers nuzzled against us from all sides, the way forward blocked and no way back, taking those pointless little steps forward, trying not to stumble or stand on the backs of other people's feet, protecting our genitals with the Metro newspaper; that a woman said in a brave clear voice "21st Century my arse!"
Date good. You know you like someone when they mention they’re going away for a week soon and you feel a bit put out. Today we’ve been sending each other emails written in the style of Jane Austen. He’s coming over on Friday night to watch Sex & the City. Oh yes, we’re having a gay old time.
I’m having Kate’s boyf Tom, Scoobys Trin & Charlie & an old flame Len over for dinner - to eat pasta out of blue plastic bowls on their laps. It’s a bit cheeky really; I’m going to take Len up on his offer to stay with him when I move out the 24th and so I’m feeding him to soften the blow. And I’m hoping Charlie will move me there in her car. But I will try and make my most delicious pasta as recompense.
Just recieved this email from Karen,
Today I voted for Arnold Schwarzenegger to be the next governor of California.
Gah I have no money! I've just been paid and, and, well, I just don't know how I'm supposed to buy food and
pay rent. Maybe I need to write a letter to my local MP?
Dear [Local MP],
I seem to have little money after being paid my monthly wage. I would like to lay a complaint and query whether there is a benefit for persons of my situation.
Please do not hesitate in contacting me. If I miss your call I may not be able to ring back straight away since I am on a "pay as you go" mobile telephone scheme and can't find anywhere that sells £10 top up cards.
It’s been a strange few days. I’ve had a serious case of the “blahs”. It can be summed up in a line from the new film Bright Young Things
. Dan Aykroyd, playing a newspaper editor, berates a young British socialite…
“Son, are you going to be a Butterfly or a Bee?”
Cut to young British socialite looking puzzled.
“Do you want to fly around and look pretty all the time or do you want to make some honey?”
Friday night I hauled my hangover to Brixton to one of those generic modern noodle places for Lizzie’s birthday. My brain was mush but luckily a couple of Asahi beers got me chatting and Lizzie had hired the room upstairs so we were able to customize the event with Paul Van Dyke’s new album and lots of lounging around on cushions. Rachael (chick mag sub ed) was there and we giggled about my impending blind date with her co-worker Will Stokes the following night.
I was barely out of bed the next morning when we had a troupe of Girl Guides turn up to look at the house. We have to move out in two weeks and so the landlord is letting people view the property. Except he didn’t turn up (or ring to warn us) which meant Brown Owl and Co marched free range round our pad, pausing every so often to ask “does this come with the house?” I’m uncharitable in these situations but it’s high on my pet peeves list (along with Debbie Harry & saying “gays”)
Later I bought a second hand copy of The Hours from the Kidney Foundation Charity Shop for 80p. I know, racy.
Blind date. The word imbues both bad sitcom scenarios and Sex & the City sophistication. Or that’s what I decided sitting on a brown leather couch in a trendy gay pub huddled over a warm pint waiting for mine to turn up. Luckily Will was very cute and funny. Really cute and really funny. And we agreed to meet again (tomorrow night). It’s strange though because sitting here now I have no recollection what he looks like. None.
The boys (the ones I live with) were having a going away do at Abigail’s Party in Soho (full marks for cool venue name) so I said goodnight to Master Stokes and ran along the streets, drunk with blind date success and warm beer. Then there was dancing and a night bus home.
Sunday was one of those strange days that start well enough but ends with a frustrating whimper. I think I need to play more sport.
I’m a wee bit hung-over today. Trekked into town at 11pm last night (after downing a bottle of red) to hear Kate play at the Freedom bar. She was wicked. And I’m not just saying that because I gushed about her in my previous blog log. The girls got style. Danced like a man who didn’t have to get up and commute to work, crushed between a man in a suit and another man in a suit, at eight the next morning. Tom (Kate’s boyfriend) was in good spirits and the cute barman with the permanent pout was there, pouting away, bless his heart. How long it’s been since someone’s seen me naked (sigh).
And here's a picture. It's pretentious but marginally better than the sepia toned one where I’m cradling a small baby.
An Occasional Series
I first met Kate when she was sporting a pixie haircut and was playing Romeo in a lesbianesque production I never ended up seeing. Our friendship started innocently enough - we’d meet for lunch when I was working in Noho (north of Soho) and talk & eat. She is a slow thoughtful eater and I gulp my food down but other than that we had lots in common. As in most good friendships I don’t know quite when we became close. We started texting a bit (she has impeccable beginner friendship etiquette) and since she was a Scooby I’d see her every weekend. We both resented being pigeonholed; I was no more her fag, than she my hag - but we were pretty stereotypical when it came to being best friends.
I guess our defining moment together (and a tale we’ll reel off with any provocation) is the night we both took acid. I won’t bore you with all the trippy details but as it says on the label it we ran round barefoot like mad elves. It was a profoundly intense few hours.
Kate loves disco & funky house, DJing, reading newspapers out loud and she giggles like a schoolgirl whenever I tell her “I’m feeling a little queer”.
A few months ago Kate became my boss. She was given the venerable task of running Carwash in Ibiza for the summer and of course she chose fellow Scoobies - Lorna, Jo & Karen (and me, and me!) to be on her team. We had an uphill battle from the start but when you’re on what seems like an extended holiday with friends you feel untouchable. After two months life caught up with us. Kate had to leave the island after she found out her brother had died tragically. Since then it’s been tough for obvious reasons. I see less of her now – she works evenings and Tom, the young man she met in Ibiza, has become her boyfriend and they’ve fallen in love. Even though we make plenty of time for each other, every now and then I really miss her.
Well the deed is done. Complete strangers spent their hard earned cash to dance in a dimly lit room all because of me. I should be ecstatic, it was a great night; almost everyone I invited came (a Herculean feat in London where everyone is so fickle), the room was busier than I’d ever seen it and Kate and Andrew (Scooby and flat mate respectively) made me oh so proud with their erudite music playing. But it wasn’t Studio 54. I’ve got to realise that clubs take time to grow and evolve and that I’m just being unrealistic. I think I’m suffering from a similar malaise that used to affect me after finishing a run of a play - PPD (post performance depression). And don’t start sending me pictures of starving African children. I realise I’m being a bit spoilt. But give me a few days to get some perspective. Alright?