Most of my life seems to be spent learning lines, instantly forgetting them, and getting drunkenly undignified with young political activists. Which may account for the forgetting.
Last night (Friday) was spent making desperately polite conversation to distract Stacy from the glaring fact that her boyfriend was at home with his other girlfriend, plus trying to make Lee S feel less miserable without ever finding out exactly why he was feeling like that, and watching Craig C chat up and completely fail to get off with at least four teenage girls with voices that could cut glass.
That and drinking every spirit we could think of mixed with coca-cola. Every one except Barcardi, which apparantly we're boycotting because of their anti-trade union policies. Of course, Coca-Cola have had several trade union leaders murdered in Colombia, but we need something brown and bubbly to dilute our spirits.
Kapitano's comparison of household bleaches:
Spar Bleach (37p) - Cheap, thin, watery, completely useless. Barely lightens denim when used neat, seemingly no effect at at all when diluted 1:1. Maybe this is the kind you're supposed to leave in the bucket for three days, instead of the kind that works before your eyes.
Tesco Bleach (67p) - Not tried yet.
Co-op Bleach (99p) - Produces moderate lightening when diluted 1:1, but for those splotches of fuck-off white that glow under UV light, has to be unwatered.
Domestos (£1.49) - With a name like a Greek film star, and an advert featuring the cutest little singing bacterium, it's surprisingly weak. It seems to remove about half as much colouring as the co-op stuff, even when undiluted, - though the upside is that I've discovered two-tone bleaching.
This evening (Saturday) was spent in the now usual way - dinner with Simon M while watching the latest Dr Who episode. After last week's abysmal experiment in self-parody, this week was just plain mediocre. Low budget, annoying attempts at humour, glaring plot holes, and the kind of cloying mawkishness that makes you want to hurt the scriptwriter quite a lot with a household implement. I'm beginning to think Dr Who has jumped the proverbial shark already, which is not a good sign.
We went out to consume alchohol and perve over blameless young men in the Boulevard, which was running a theme night on cowboys and indians. Rednex and Village People on the speakers, Brokeback Mountain on the screens, and a lot of men in stetsons on the dancefloor. The three nuns chugging beer were a little incongruous - though not as incongruous as the fact that they were female - I haven't been in a pub with female nuns since theological college a decade ago.
I promised Simon I wouldn't stop at a cruising spot on my way home. But...well...I did it anyway. One of the five gentlemen standing around waiting for sexual inspiraion to strike was an inexperienced and nervous fellow who committed the cruising faux pas of trying to break his nervousness with conversational openers.
He was a nice guy, I liked him - intelligent but vulnurable. We did have sex, and it was good, but marred by a pushy and sarcastic older man who invited himself to join in. The nice fellow orgasmed in my mouth - he said he wanted me to have his "virginity", which I'm not sure how to interpret.
I asked him for his Squirt username, so we could maybe get in contact and do it again in more salubrious surroundings. I gave him the opportunity to lie, in case he didn't want to meet again, and I was pretty sure he'd done so. But it turns out he was telling the truth, so maybe we'll have some more fun together soon, if he's up for it.
No more drinking or debauchery from now till the play is performed and out of the way. I need to rehearse, so I need plenty of time and a clear head.
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Cruising faux pas? I hadn't stopped to ponder that there might be etiquette involved. Perhaps a posting dedicated to this topic is in order.
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