is it worth it? it’s tough to reason objectively when you feel absolutely wretched on a bleak rainy tuesday. what goes up, must come down…
running around .popstarz on friday like freaks, with flatmate mitch and flatmate neil [whose birthday it was], letting mad :crazy: schoolteachers buy round after round of tequila and sambuca. anyone over the age of 16 knows not to mix their drinks, not to do rounds of shots. what about the children?! i never listened to my teachers then, and i have no idea why i listen to teachers now.
spent over an hour at the bus stop with a variety of freaks, watching the sun come up over grotty kings cross. i tried in vain to clarify to this cute lad named john that i wasn’t hitting on him earlier, but rather i was trying to connect him with the birthday boy. why do i bother with these morons? time to resume my celibacy.
walking around covent gardent with atif and kerrieann on saturday, we spotted no less than 5 people wearing the same yellow-and-blue-striped shirt as me. mark my words—i’m never shopping at topshop again.
raspberry mojitos at detroit, lonely sugardaddies and pools of vomit at bar aquada, cruisy madness at retro bar with marky, andrew and their dates, and then faux fabulousness at .heaven. when unemployed 27yo moi is the oldest and classiest person in the vip room, then i think london’s gay mafia heirarchy needs a reboot. it was fun to watch atif toy with the toy boys.
as the sun came up sunday morning, we were sat outside one of the italian cafés in soho. me nursing a hot sweet white coffee/boy. as the sun came up, it was as if i were watching dawn of the dead. the fun/cool/interesting peeps i was sat outside with slowly transformed into hideously disfigured zombies as the sun illuminated their noggins. i fled before they could eat my brain.
an hour or two of sleep, then up with mitch and .gregiño and marcos to head down to atif and kerrieann’s place for their kitchenwarming party. although it was nary 11am, the boys were in true form, collapsing on the tube platforms, singing gospel songs on the tube, generally being loud obnoxous freaks. i love my mates.
en route to secret sundaze, a big sunday afternoon outdoor party with food apparently and good vibes and a mixed crowd we were promised, we were dancing around the train platform, swilling whiskey and generally acting adolescent. .greg laughs, wouldn’t it be funny if i fell on the tracks?! and then jokingly walks up to the edge of the platform.
and then falls onto the tracks.
everyone freaks out, ladies scream, men faint. thank god no train came. we hoist him up and see that .greg’s even whiter than usual. damned funny in retrospect, but we were worried [honestly! fer real!] at the time. nasty fall, though… normally his ass doesn’t get bruised till much later in the evening.
secret sundaze had a ginormous queue, and, well, we don’t really ~`do queues’~, so off to soho, g-a-y bar specificially, which is everyone’s favorite vomitorium.
we got tired reeeeeeeeeal quick of the watered-down drinks made from generic ingredients, so down to clapham for a refuelling stop at the two sewers, then onto kazbah to ensure we’ve all completely overstepped our limits.
the sun starts to set, we’ve been drinking at some 9 different venues, and we decide to start having a highly intellectual, very even-keeled, certainly not exaggerated, erm, debate. we get into a huge row for maybe 5 minutes, with all 6 of us somehow taking different sides to the argument.
most of clapham has heard or seen our lively debate at this point, so we hitchhike up rouge, a very glamorous, very fabulous, very swank club now hosting a funked-up sunday evening night for the gay boys. 10pm till 6am, i’ll never get those hours of my life back again, will i?
