Ugh, work has been perfectly vile this past week, almost non-stop busy and the creme de la creme of London's snotty upper classes on their absolute worst behavior. Sometimes I wonder how I cope without drugs until I am gently reminded that chocolate is addictive.

Anyway, to cope with all the stress, a sizeable portion of the office homosexuals decided to go for a debauched night out in old London town. Unfortunately by the time I had finished my late shift, they rest were as drunk as a straight man at a Chelsea game and had decamped to the sleaziest bar I can possibly think of, but alas I had promised to go and I couldn't possibly go back on my word.

All manner of debauched things happened, precluded by the twinky young actor we had dragged along leaving in fear of his life after being engaged in conversation by several sleazy guys who I would imagine only barely classify as human in any biology textbook. Somehow I did manage to find one attractive man in there and had a bit of a flirt, but when he told me his name was Milan I just couldn't take him seriously OR home.

What WOULD the neighbors say?

What is one to do when one finds out that the heart stoppingly attractive actor that one has had a crush on for the past day and a half is not only straight but has a girlfriend?

Yes, that is correct. You sit down with a spoon and a large jar of nutella chocolate spread and fatten your way to happiness again.

I had an awful nightmare last night. Something so utterly terrifying that when I woke up my heart was racing and I was repelled by what my subconscious had dredged up. No, it was NOT a threesome with Cruise and Snooze, but a frightfully realistic dream in which I had been entered to take part in the London Marathon.

Now, as anyone who knows me is aware, the very idea of running anywhere at all is complete anathema to me. I don't even run for the bus or train, after all, that
is what an iPod was invented for surely? Filling those gaps waiting for people/things.

I won't even run after pretty boys, any energy relating to attractive people should, in my opinion, be saved for the bedroom. I didn't spend 5 years in charm school and 4 working with wild Canadian trappers and hunters just to CHASE men. No, I want to sit back with a whisky and ginger and wait for them to come to me!

Anyway, luckily despite the disturbing start, my subconscious obviously decided to spare me too much misery and after beginning the race I soon veered off with a jogger in obscenely short shorts and went for a meal in a cozy little restaurant hidden down a back alley. We then rejoined the race about 10 minutes before the finish line and no-one was any the wiser that we had cheated (At the race AND on his boyfriend).

So, all's well that ends well...

I need a strong alcoholic drink, some chamomile tea with a Valerian root chaser and a relaxing massage from a hot Swedish hunk. Yes, you guessed it, my mother has finally returned home. As always it was lovely spending some quality time with the old maternal menace, but by all the gay gods it's good to have the house back to myself.

I imagine having your mother down for the weekend is rather like having a new maid start (I can only imagine) You tidy up before hand so things do not looks so bad, but somehow they manage to find things that need decontaminating anyway. No matter how hard you try to distract them, they always seem to veer towards that drawer in your room that 'rattles and clanks' and must not be opened by ANYONE except yourself or some guy you are dating that sex has become a little stale with and finally everything needs to be nailed down before it disappears into their handbags!

Hmm you guys must remind me to tell you the story behind the drawer that rattles and clanks sometime. It involves a primary school teacher with an unfeasible large penis!

Aaaaaaand with that, all thoughts of my mothers visit have cleared from my head. Now, do I still have his number I wonder?

My lovely mother has decided to grace me with her presence this weekend so updates may not be forthcoming until Monday where you can expect a stream of relief flowing from me to my keyboard and through to you guys!

I know that on Saturday she intends to shop for me. This is lovely and I always like getting new things, especially when someone else pays for them. But what it inevitably consists of is me spotting something I LOVE in the first shop we go into and Mother then dragging me into 20 other shops, just in case we find something else. I also have to try every single thing on, even if I know I don't like it "Just in case, just so I can see what it looks like"

The funny thing is, when she buys for herself, she just grabs it off the rail and heads straight to the checkout!

No, I love her to bits, but for some reason it is always stressful when a parent comes to visit. Not only does Gaymosexual Towers have to be tidy, it has to be 'Mother Tidy' a state which far exceeds any other mortals expectations of cleanliness, even that required in a hospital theatre!

Wish me luck people.....and lets hope that I come out of this with as few emotional scars and as many new clothes as possible!

I have decided I have had enough of dating now. That's it. No more, ever! Instead I shall embrace my new web-geek, blog savvy tendencies and from henceforth when I meet a new guy and see him more than once it shall be known as "BETA testing a new boyfriend"

Yes! It is perfect for me. If things go wrong and I screw up, it doesn't matter, it's in beta. If I find someone I like more, its upgrading to a better server. When I zone out and stop listening to him blather on about American idol, I am just activating the spam filter. Oh, and when he proves to be atrocious in bed and I throw him out at 3am I am simply performing a system purge.

Sometimes I love technology, it helps me justify my "Flight or flight faster" syndrome when it comes to relationships.

Well, it appears that Cruise and Snooze have finally managed to drop their sprog at last, how long has she been pregnant for? It seems like several years to me....

I feel for the child really, not only does it have put up with two terminally dull lunatics as parents, but it is some kind of weird catholic/scientologist halfbreed? I mean how much more screwed up can the poor tyke get? Not only does it have to contend with 'Catholic Guilt' but now it has to be brought up thinking it is a remnant of a million year old soul that was blown up in a volcano by a nuke by space aliens. Ah well, at least it will be pretty.

Oops, I forgot to do a proper Easter Post, so in common with many of the blogs I read over the weekend, with pithy Christian images of an empty cave on them, I decided to appropriate the most common phrase and turn it into something more suitable for this blog...

HE IS RISEN!

How IS a boy to spend a lonely bank holiday weekend when his current source of fun is in a completely different country? Go clubbing with his friends? Shop until his credit card screams to stop? Take a fabulous mini-break somewhere exotic and warm? OR stay home with a big bag of pringles and watch the new Dr Who on tv.

Yes, you guessed it, the latter option was the one I went with. Well really, I know Dr Who is the new national gay pastime, but who can resist the charms of that sexy devil David Ten-Inch and ex pop nymphet Billie Piper? Not me, that's for sure.

I was planning on spending time with Housemate no 1 for her amazing lesbionic birthday, but she decided to stay at her girlfriends instead whilst housemate 2 dutifully visited their mother and housemate 3 was working and then drinking with the indie gays in New SoHo (Vauxhall). I felt a little like Scarlett O'Hara rattling round Gaymosexual Towers all on my own, that was until next doors cat came in for some company like she often does, only to be followed by their other cat, a small black timid thing we call Gobelina. Suddenly I flash forward 20 years and I am sat in a small house with an immaculate garden and stacks of books holding everything up. Yes, I am destined to be that mythic Crazy Cat Lady. Only male. I must take steps to prevent this straight away, right after Alias.............

Well, it's my mothers birthday today and she has been out for a glass of wine and some food with her cronies at lunchtime. Inevitably this meant that every time I tried to call her when she got back, she was on the phone to said cronies dissecting every word of their conversations from said lunch not half an hour past.

Of course, when I finally did get through she took great joy in reading out all the cards that she had received and then told me that the card I got her was not flowery enough and it could have done with a nice poem in it. It seems her usual OGOWD (ONE glass of wine dear) only emphasizes her innate loving advice tendencies.

She recently had a hip replaced and had to leave her last job as it involved lifting and carrying old people (She was a home help, not a body snatcher) and was retired due to disability. Only now, because the hip has healed enough to allow movement that has all been stopped and she has been told to return to work in some for or another for the one year before she officially retires. Naturally she cannot return to the job she has done for the last 15 years, so she has set her heart on working for Marks and Spencers, the promised land for all ladies of a certain age.

I wish her well indeed and hope for a discount on my weekly shopping!

Isn't it wonderful to do absolutely nothing at all? Somehow I have managed to blag 5 weekends off in a row and plan to do as little as possible in that time. Oh, life on the pulse can be SO demanding.

Hot Irish Doctor is off back to Ireland next weekend, so I wont get to see him again for even longer than planned... Ah well, ces't la vie. I shall have to find someone else to entertain me in the meantime. Do you think Freddie Ljungberg has a game this weekend?

At least the new Dr Who starts on Saturday so at least I get to perv over the delightful David Tennant again, someone I am reliably informed has been nicknamed "David Ten-Inch" for obscure reasons.



Excuse me, I need to go for a cold shower now....

Hmmm boys are like crabs, you find one lurking in the pubic region of your social life and suddenly there are hundreds of the blighters all wanting to bite and suck you. It really is a hardship I tell you.

Currently my list of interested parties includes The Doctor (no 1 of course, but with the sad side effect of living 100 miles away and working 70 hrs a week), The Actor, 2 Students (scruffy, cute, over eager but OH so enthusiastic in the sack) and the attractive couple in their 30's that like to play together (not my scene really, I like to try and hang on to at least a little class)

Now, don't get me wrong I AM boasting about this, but only because I have been going through such a dry patch this past year and I REFUSE to believe it has anything to do with me not leaving the house and just playing on my xbox 360 for 12 months. I know I am aging well, rather like 80's music, but I do seem to get more interest the older I get. Is this a trend that others find too? Is it just that I am getting more comfortable in my skin and other people can sense this?