A trouser-rippingly good yarn...

Once upon a time there was a poor little gay boy (PLGB). Aged 30 and getting not-so-little due to a diet of chocolate and city smog he continued his life of drudgery and dourness, in turn scaring off potential suitors from promised meetings and spending far too much time alone in Starbucks. He trotted through the weeks, glimmers of hope coming in moments of humour with work colleaguesaand going running in hidden oases of beauty in one of London's more drab quarters.

But then came the weekend.

Last Friday was a good start as PLGB met his friend Adam, and they wandered the streets of London, eventually stopping for sustenance at PLGB's favourite Turkish restaurant before going onto to watch the innovative film, "Marie Antoinette" (the world's first coffee-table film). Mesmerised by the prettiness and beauty of everything in sight, and confused by the lack of dialogue, both were distracted from the lack of anything happening and the general not-very-good-ness of the film. So much so that, at the end, both felt unable to declare whether or not it was good.

And on Saturday, PGLB was off to Lizzy's 30th birthday bash, accompanied by Miss Megan. The path was treacherous as, in their finest finery, PLGB and Miss Megan walked the dangerous roads of Camberwell, ignoring the screaming harpies, the clawed ladies and the clumps of weave in the air and on the pavement.

The party was rather marvellous, and PLGB and Miss Megan drank all they set their eyes on, much to the amusement of Mr Kofi and numerous other friends. Lizzy had only beautiful friends it seems, unless of course she forgot to invite the ugly ones. And then, just past midnight, tragedy struck!

While dancing up a storm PLGB felt something give. And it was something bad. Something that to a normal person could only cause embarrassment. PLGB's jeans ripped right down the seam of his bottom. Oh dear. What could he do? Why, have a drink, show a few people and dance until the party ends of course. And what a messy end as people staggered onto the street, into cabs and buses, and for Miss Megan, Lizzy, Emma and PLGB it was into the chippy. Then the newsagents down the road. Then a bus and a bar and some walking and finally at Lizzy and Matt's, by which time PLGB's jeans were ripped to the knee. More drinking and dancing was in order, and by 4:30am the party was over.

Emma, Miss Megan and PLGB left at 9 the next morning to make their way home. Except for PLGB it went a bit wrong. On changing from the train to the Underground he wandered into a throng of people at the opening of the UK's centre for Scientology, and upon hearing the man behind him shout something to his friend he turned around to see a camcorder pointed directly at the ripped jean area. PLGB will no doubt be soon making a European debut on candid camera. Well, with things going that wrong PLGB gave up and wandered the streets of London to his connecting train before finally arriving home. For him, the week since has been quiet- work, more sushi and running. But tomorrow he goes north of the border to meet old friends and adversaries. What could happen?

  
Lizzy, the best host in Camberwell, Herne Hill and probably Brixton too.

  
Spot the arse. PLGB exposes things no-one should see.

  
3 go wild at the chippy.

  
Scientologists crowd to see PLGB's bumcheek.

Hallelujah! Hallelujah! etc...

 

At last! Gobou! Burdock! Having stumbled across actual real-life, growing burdock by the canal in Mile End while on a lunchtime run, now I find it frozen and ready prepared in the Japan Centre. For this alone, Wednesday was a marvellous day.

  

And on Saturday I was cooking up a storm in the kitchen- kinpira gobou (burdock and carrot with mirin, sake, soy sauce and sugar) and hijiki (hijiki seaweed with carrot, soya beans, soy sauce, mirin and sake). Yum. Happiness is mine.

Some pictures from Manchester.

 

Sunny weather greeted me in Manchester and made the grimey canal look pretty, reflecting one of the few remaining non-renovated warehouses in the city centre. 

 

The town hall really is a gem, only blighted by the council tax office being inside. Boo hiss etc...

 

The first signs of autumn come to St. Peter's Square.

 

The oldest pub in the city which survived 2 World Wars and the IRA stands next to the Cathedral shop, facing the modernity of Selfridges' glassy exterior.

  

Pacman and his adversaries make random appearances on streetsigns in Manchester. I imagine a few late night clubbers have swallowed one or two yellow pills and been alarmed at these signs...

 

Fuschia in St Anne's Square oversaw the last day of the Manchester Food Festival. 

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Phoenix club.

If I was a 7 year old with exemplary spelling, this is how I would write about last weekend:

On thursday I left work. I walked to the train station. At the station I saw Toyah Battersby off Coronation Street. She's pretty. I went to Manchester to see my friends. When I got off the train I went to Charlotte's house. We talked and ate food and went to bed. On Friday I walked round town and went to Sara's house and Emma's house and Lisa's house. We did talking and watching telly and eating. It was good. On saturday me and Sara went to the War Museum. It woz brilliant. Just chillin'. And then we went to the pub. I drank a lot. A woman with fat legs sang songs and talked dirty. It was funny. On Sunday I went to a art museum and then I did go home. The end.

But that would only tell you half the story. Charlotte and I had a marvellous time catching up and discussing whether it would be worth getting drunk and running over particular shared enemies before the government enforces sentences of longer than 4 weeks for drink-driving killers. Charlotte wasn't as keen as I. We drank wine and ate toffee cake and discussed the joys of working for the NHS as mental health nurses (conversation lasted approximately 2 seconds- Charlotte: "wasn't it great?", me: "no." Charlotte: "Yeah, you're right").

Friday's traipse around town revealed to me how much a city can change in 9 months as Manchester's tallest building had been completed (it is UUUUUGLY!) and how certain no-go areas had become places where couples went for walks. And the Arndale centre has grown a beautiful new back.

Scheduling problems meant I couldn't see Susan and Lindsay, instead spending a lovely evening with Sara, Lisa and Emma, and seeing Emma's giant 2-year old, a starlingly blonde and cute boy.

Saturday held many delights, one of which was the Imperial War Museum of the North, an extremely well thought out museum, filled with activities, interactive displays and a huge amount of realia. Sara and I left at about 3pm after which came the day's only disappointment. Someone had obviously medicated the feral women who made my last trip to Salford Precinct so memorable. The brief trip passed unremarkably, though we did buy cheese and onion pasties on the way out- my first for many years. Mmm...

The evening was rather surreal. One of Sara's cousins was heading back to Australia having come back for a holiday, so lots of friends and family were meeting in a local pub before heading into town for a last night out. Now, Salford has quite a reputation for being a bit rough, and lots of local pubs had closed down due to trouble, but at this one the doors were kept locked to keep out troublemakers and the atmosphere inside was great. The customers ranged from young to very, very old and everyone was having a good time. Although until it filled up it did seem a bit like the Phoenix Club with tables of pensioners staring over their pints into space. This changed when the entertainment came on. A man was cased in on stage by 3 keyboards and some MDF and a woman (I say a woman, when the legs are that thick I automatically look for an Adam's apple) who appeared to have glued the tails of three horses to her head started belting out a random mix of tunes. After a couple of numbers she started dragging up the punters to sing. The singers, all actually fantastic singers and in their best showman's outfits, appeared to be knocking on heaven's door. All except for the sole young lad who had a great voice but looked like he didn't know which door to knock on. Through all this we were all getting a little bit more trolleyed (except for a pregnant Sara), and I enjoyed singing along to the entertainment with Janice's mate Lynne and meeting Sara's hilarious Uncle Albert...

On Sunday we had a slow morning and Sara drove me into town where I finally made it to the art gallery on Moseley street (I've been meaning to go there since, ooh, October 1995), enjoyed sushi at the Manchester food festival and then took the train home. Edinburgh will have to work hard to compete in eight days time!

When work conversations go wrong...

One minute you're talking about the perils of living in Golders Green and the next minute the topic of a near-missed road accident becomes far more traumatising when the words "Vanessa Feltz" and "gash" become associated in the most unfortunate of ways.

Dilemma!

Don't worry, I am not getting all moony eyed over some guy in a baseball cap with a plaster on his cheek and Patti LaBelle is not going to turn up anywhere on this weblog. My dilemmas are my own, and they are many: where does it all go from here? What does the future hold? What should I devote my life to?

These are all clearly important, but there is one more important question looming.

Should I change the name of this weblog?

Clearly I am no longer in Japan, but I do intend to return. But I don't have any idea when or how. So I'm not in Japan. But I still get it wrong quite often. So what to do?

Answers in a comment box below please!

A social whirl

Is not how I'd describe life right about now. I seem to have withdrawn into a bizarro-world where I am obsessed with Japanese vegetables, searching for (but never finding) suitable presents for people, chocolate and running. Actually I'm trying to replace the chocolate obsession with a running obsession, but presently I'm managing to run 2 or 3 times a week and eat far too much of the brown stuff. Oh well...


Lyn suggested we do something different, and after failing to find a wheelchair accessible karaoke salon we had a better idea. Lyn found nurlesque listings in Time Out, and after going through the options the only one that really appealed was the trannies. And after 2 and half bottles of wine they had even more appeal. It certainly made an impact on me, partly due to the social commentary that ran through each performance. The key themes were: body dysmorphia (clearly everyone was anorexic as they had no boobs); unfit mothers (a pregnant Britney-alike comes on stage munching McDonalds and drinking Coke before "giving birth" to four dolls- complete with sack of amniotic fluid- who she then smashes to smithereens over a school desk); and racial tolerance (a blonde Greek lady threw paper plates and invited the audience- i.e. me- to dance on stage to Zorba's dance). On second thoughts, perhaps it was just a load of blokes in women's outfits doing hilarious performances. 

This is Stratford bus station. I was only brave enough to whip my camera out here because it was 2am. And I was extremely drunk. 

I finally started work on Monday, which in itself was good, but it had the knock-on effect of killing my burgeoning social-life. Instead I spent time wandering the streets to find presents to post to Japan. And admiring the AirFrance signpost in Piccadilly. At least I think it's for AirFrance. I hope so... 

Friday was the start of my weekend, although thanks to the torrential rain I spent the morning wishing I'd gone to work. With my Japanese-food finding plans in ruins I decided to drag the parents up London for a meal and a wander. Turkish food was followed by a trip to a Ukrainian church, the Queen's tea shop, Marble arch (to see a pigeon-crazed loon seemingly feeding 500 loaves to the pigeons), Marks and Spencer's and then a coffee at Starbucks. This gave us enough energy to have horribly know-all discussions about our surroundings as we sat on a bus to Liverpool street station- "well, this building blah, blah blah..." 

There are some places in London where you feel you could be in one of numerous places around the world. Usually these places are road-crossing subways. This is another- Canary Wharf as seen from Limehouse. Even though it was a Saturday evening the lights were on and it brought to mind Manhattan, Tokyo and Sydney. If I'd been to any other huge cities it would no doubt have brought them to mind too. It was only whilst running in my lunch hour on Wednesday that I was introduced to this view (which is also stunning in the daytime), and having become obsessed with taking photos I decided to take a few before meeting Megan to watch "Children Of Men". Lord, was that a depressing film.