Bangers! Whatcha got for me?

In just over a week I will have landed in Bangers! No better place to spend your 39^th Birthday than Bangkok.

I’m fleeing the city for the big day cause there ain’t much to celebrate at 39. That’s not because I’m unhappy or anything, but with the huge celebration of my 40^th fast approaching, anything this year pales in comparison. I want to save all my party-fever for next year’s extravaganza. Oh its gonna be massive. 4-0 deserves nothing less.

So for this year I’m sneaking off to Bangers for a lazy 6 days of shopping, eating and drinking just to be completely self-indulgent. Have booked into a fabulous hotel, the Lebua Tower Club. You may recognise it from The Hangover 2 cause that’s where it’s set. I am going to be SOOOOO South-East Asian glamorous!

Lebua Sky Bar

But I need your help. I have only ever spent 24 hours in Bangers so I’m not really sure to do with my time there. I need your tips and recommendations. Like I said, I want to be completely self-indulgent, so here are the kind of places I’m looking for…

* Fabulous, gorgeous day spas

* Beautiful restaurants

* Shopping centres that sell everything you could possibly want to buy

* Bars that are crammed full of gorgeous people

* Nightclubs that make me look pretty

Now having said that, there are also things that I am NOT looking for…

* Any act that involves a ping-pong ball

* Any bar where you slip someone money for anything other than a drink

* I do not want to have “now is that a man or a woman?” go through my mind

Flood me with your hot tips and recommendations. I’m up for anything as long as it is a little extravagant or too much fun to handle.

Would love to hear what you think!

Thanks all, appreciate your help.

xoxoxo

I've got nothing today except the shits! Why?

I'm getting pretty organised with this blogging thing now and I've even been known to put some thought and planning into it. I was planning on an insightful, witty piece for today on the weird things about being single but yesterday left me very sad, tense and with the shits. Here are the reasons why...

I spent six and a half hours on the road in yesterday's weather which I think would make anyone anxious. All drivers were so tense you could feel it. It was an open road drive on a freeway and I guarantee you there was not one car speeding. You just felt on edge the whole time. It was so exhausting. 

Then in the final stages I passed by the horrific accident northbound on the F3. You knew immediately that there must have been lives lost. It was an incredibly sad sight, and just so eery. Emergency services were everywhere and they were still working on one of the cars. Heard on the radio moments later they were still trying to rescue passengers. Your heart broke for those involved. One fatality, two rushed to hospital. Devastating. 

As horrific as that accident was, I believe there would have been many more except everyone on the road was being so careful and cautious yesterday. THANK YOU FELLOW DRIVERS! I feel very reassured that when it gets tough most drivers forget about time, rushing and whatever else is going on in their lives and just focus on safety. Prevented many more accidents I'm sure - and saved lives!

The thing that gave me the shits yesterday, and it is incredibly superficial and silly in the grand scheme of things, was that after my dramatic drunken injuries on Saturday night I am a physical mess. Can't believe I'm 38 and still falling over. Not sure which to blame more, the slipping or the intoxication, leaning towards the intoxication. Old enough to know better that’s for goddamn sure!

So now I am limping around with a sore knee and corked thigh with a giant scab on my forehead. I'm going to have to wear a hat to work cause I can't do my hair and no one should have to look at it. Yes, yes it’s a completely superficial wound which will be gone in a few days, but its still gives me the shits I have it at all. But in comparison to other events of yesterday it is ridiculous to even bring it up.

Sadness for the life lost, tense from the driving and shitty at my own stupidity means not the post I'd planned today. 

Sending deepest sympathies to the family and friends of the driver who lost his life. So unbelievably tragic.

Mid-Life Crisis hits early!

You may find what I'm about to say shocking and disturbing.

I’ve got a horrible, horrible feeling that I am in the early stages of a mid-life crisis. I don’t want to prematurely inflame the situation but I really get the sense I am only a few years off the stereotypically tragic midlife crisis with all the clichéd trappings.

Now we’ve all mocked and laughed at celebs who’ve so obviously gone through it, and we’ve whispered and gossiped about our friend’s dads and workmates who go all MLC. I’ve enjoyed this as much as anyone. But now I think I get it, I understand it, and this is not something to be laughed at. It is a deep-seeded, psychological issue that I can’t seem to control.

Classic MLC

Let me take you through a few of the early warning signs that I am currently experiencing…

Now that I’ve grown my hair into a quiff that resembles Andrew McCarthy in the 80’s I am desperate to get some frosted tips! I would just kill for some beautiful honey highlights. Even if it was just through my newly acquired floppy fringe. Now I know that a man of a certain age should never ever get foils, but that doesn’t change the fact that I really, really want to.

Fabio I adore your frosted tips.

I’ve started dancing again! I actually believe I’m a real groover on the dance floor – I’ve got my mojo back. I haven’t danced, like in a nightclub, for years and of late I am literally pushing people off the podium. Just this weekend I was whipping out some of my very best moves. The harsh reality is they look more like a Young Talent Time performance than booty shakin’ the young folk are bustin’ out. I think at one point I even did a grapevine. The moment I do the ‘wave’ I will be kicked out for sure. My MLC has made me think I am a young hip, cool kid who can boogie-woogie.

Disco dancing like its YTT at The Beat

Speaking of going out… I am playing in bars and clubs like I am 19 again. And what I mean by that is that I have been going to bars that serve drinks in plastic cups rather than a gorgeous crystal martini glasses. Their fridges are stacked with Bacardi Breezers and not boutique beers. This is just goddamn inappropriate for a man of my age. And the fundamental difference is that when I was a young fella I used to laugh at the seedy old men standing at the bar with their floppy, frosted tipped fringes  - now I am that man! It kills me to think that now I am being laughed at, especially without even delivering a pithy one-liner.

My next car will be a convertible, I guarantee you that. I have never been a car person, ever! I only just learnt how to put oil in the one I have. But I am completed fixated on having a convertible by my 40^th. And I have no idea why. I just really, really want one. A BMW 1 series, Audi A3 or a Volkswagen Eos (in that order, depending on budget). I reckon I’d even be one of those losers who drives across the Harbour Bridge on an overcast winter’s day with the top down wearing Ferrari aviator shades. You know exactly the man I am talking about. Wonder who will finance me? Is there a fund somewhere for MLC men that I can access???

I love you!

I’m loving my personal trainer. Now I could try and kid myself and say that I am getting up at sparrow’s fart a couple of mornings a week so that I can stay fit and healthy and live a better life. NO WAY!!! This would be a blatant lie. I do it because I am incredibly vain and have a massive ego. I wanna be thin and have muscles, a body that looks good in swimmers and shirtless on a podium (such an MLC thing to say!). I want a body that is more Olympic swimmer than marshmallow man. Progress is slow on this front, primarily because of the aforementioned bar-hopping.

I’ve realised that in my mad frenzy to furnish Man Pit with butch, masculine furniture that I’ve actually gone quite porn star. I’ve got a black leather arm chair at its very heart. Now that would never have been part of my décor before my early on-set MLC. I have lots of heavy dark wood furniture with silver accessories. I also have a giant mirror above my bed. There was a practical reason for this – it’s this huge gold ornate mirror that is too heavy to hang but sits beautiful on the ledge behind my bed. But now I am wondering if it was my subliminal MLC that lead me to placing it there. Man Pit has the strong hint of ‘aging porn star’.

And finally, and this will be no surprise to anyone who knows me, I dress far too young for my age. Skinny jeans with a baggy arse do not work on portly middle-aged men with a saggy arse. Low cut V t’shirts exposing grey chest hair should be binned. Purple accessories, such as shoes and watches, are far to try-hard on a 38yo, especially when worn in combination. Hair bands look good on funky 22yo’s, not semi-professionals. St. Murphy, do not buy clothes from the Zara Youth collection! My MLC is preventing me from realising I can not buy the same clothes I did when I was 24, and that at some stage I need to ‘mature’ my wardrobe.

Hot on him, not so good on me...

Yes, yes, I admit, you’ve caught me on a bad day. While I do not 100% believe it is in fact a mid-life crisis I am going through, I was more than slightly alarmed when I started thinking about this list. It actually started to make me think there is more truth in it than I originally thought. I am on high alert now for further signs. If I start dating a 21 year old or buy tickets to a Short Stack concert you all have permission to slap me. If you see me wearing gold jewellery, especially an earring, or I ask you to come with me to Home Nightclub you can cull me without question.

Let me assure though I will do my very best not to become a clichéd MLC. I want you laughing at my witty story-telling not my frosted tips.

Three Little Nuggets!

I swear my watch just jumped forward six days! If I didn’t know better I'd say I've been cast in a bad sci-fi movie about time travel (I got the role over Eric Bana). Since drinks with Mummy-Bloggers it feels like 6 days got crammed into 24hours. 99% of my life I’m sitting on the couch, eating pizza and wondering why I don’t have a life; then for 1% it’s a crazy, psycho blur. I’ve used up double my year’s quota of activity just in the last week.

But for the sake of my beloved blog I’m trolling out three stories from the last week that ring clear in my head. All for different reasons. St. Murphy has become bizarrely like a diary for me, which was never my intention, I had hoped to be more interesting than that. It appears I’m too self-centred to write about anything but myself (Shock! Horror!.. St. Murphy you’re not self-centred).

Story 1 – Royal Wedding

Hello Boys!

I would never in my wildest dreams have predicted that I would be so transfixed by this fairytale. I fell hook, line and sinker during Ten’s appalling telemovie which had me on the edge of my seat. Then from the moment my beloved Kate stepped out of the hotel I was in tears. No joke! Miss Cal will vouch for me, she was on the couch beside me. We were literally in a trance the whole ceremony. It was truly spectacular and amazingly beautiful. Maybe there is a romantic deep inside me after all.

A-Dorable!

So many highlights! The trees, the music, the dress, David Beckham, my new best-friend Pippa. The 6 priests, the hats, the carriages, the crowds swarming towards Buckingham Palace. It was 5 hours of heaven! The absolute highlight on my little couch was during the national anthem when Miss Call, who is normally super-intelligent, turned to me and said “Why isn’t the Queen singing?” To her credit she realised her error immediately and we were hysterical! SHE IS THE QUEEN, ITS ABOUT HER! My only non-pure, un-romantic thought during the whole thing was about the James Middleton / Prince Harry sandwhich that I am sure is on the menu.

My fav Archbishop cause his eyebrows are bigger than mine!

Story 2 – So grown-up and brave!

Was south of the border in Melbourne on a work trip over the weekend. Had a lovely cocktail party, a gorgeous dinner, then a quick disco nap – as you do on a Saturday night. You know how it is when you are newly single and determined to be a part of everything? I know this will ring bells with some of you. I wanted to go out and dance on a podium waving my arms in the air like I just don’t care! My hurdle – I couldn’t find anyone who would go out with me. Was feeling rather sad and lonely, fat and ugly, who know one wanted to play with – then I had a very Oprah moment and forcibly made myself pretty and went out to the Greyhound... ON MY OWN. So grown-up and brave.

Reno'd Greyhound. It did fill up. (haha file pic)

Now I can’t remember doing this since 1996 when I first moved to Sydney. Difference then was I was young, thin, had big gorgeous hair and didn’t get tired if I lifted my arms above my shoulders. I distinctly remember I had no problem making friends. Oh how times have changed. I spent nearly all night standing sadly in a corner sucking on double-vodka’s and B&H Fine. I forgot the key element of going out on your own – you have to be prepared to approach and start conversation. And no way am I doing that! As I’ve been saying for years, I’m not good with new people. Too old to make new friends. Luckily I had the young-gay-Melbourne’s obsession with hair-product to keep me entertained. So much hair-product it was both hilarious and disturbing. Please note boys; if you are not a model do not get a model-like haircut, and if it takes more than 3 minutes to do you hair than the cut is not working for you. Thank god I am now back in Sydney where I do not have to go out by myself and the gays respect their hair.

Story 3 – Hang-over cure fail.

Had a work party on Sunday night which is my ABSOLUTE FAVOURITE night of the year. It is the one and only night of the year I wear a tie – even bought a new one. Now you may have heard me brag here before that over the years I have mastered the hang-over cure. Being interstate I didn’t have all the ingredients so I woke up (late) on Monday with one of the most debilitating hang-overs ever. Speaking was a huge issue, brain-function was the equivalent of an NRL forward. I stumbled into work looking like the grim-reaper. I don’t even think my shoes and belt were the same colour leather.

New tie - so proud!

To cut to the chase on tedious tale, I am writing this to extend my sincere thanks to Qantas. More specifically, Qantas Club! I bailed for the airport early after even the polite receptionist said I looked like shit and then slept in the cab the whole way. Qantas couldn’t bring my flight forward – damn to hell that discount ticket – so I turned a lounge at QC into a make-believe bed, curled up cuddling what was left of my dignity, and slept for over an hour! Doesn’t matter what you pay for QC cause there is always one day a year you would give your life for a membership. Monday was that day. Thank you also to the check-in guy (who earlier I despised) who had the good sense to keep the seat beside me free on the plane. My breath was horrific and there would have been complaints. Moral to the story, I want to have my 40th at Qantas Club.

My beloved Qantas Club

So just three little nuggets (tried for gold, more likely shit) that in a nutshell sum up the last 6 days. The emotional highs of the Royal Wedding  and Sunday night down to the crassness of passing out in Qantas Club. Talk about highs and lows – I’m practically Lindsay Lohan.

Clinging to the Dream: Photos from my youth

So I lost the good part of half a day while I was at home in Griffith going through old family photo albums. It’s addictive, once you start you can’t stop. Everyone in my family, especially me, LOVES a photo. Every stage of my life is very well documented.

Now this is the most self-indulgent, self-absorbed post I’ve ever done. And that’s saying something! Every time I got all excited about a photo I took a shot of it on my iPhone. The result is this post.

Now there are two quite obvious themes to these photos.

A)   Camp, cute, funny shots from my Youth that would sit well on Born This Way, and…

B)   Shots that clearly show and prove that many years ago I used to be much much thinner and FIT! 

Please enjoy my little egotistical trip down memory lane!

Pageboy at Auntie Cheryl and Uncle John's wedding

Auntie Cheryl is the best aunty in the world and I love love love her dearly. Just wanted to get that in there.

Got excited over this one cause this year I am back in contact with two guys from this shot, one after 20 years and the other after 25. All thanks to Facebook.

Yr 7 School photo - start of monobrow and huge front gap

Yr 10 Social Committee Slave Day (have talked about this one before) - Brilliant time of life!

Yr 10 Formal, and no its not fancy dress. That shirt is Jade. Protecting the identity of partner here.  

Such an unbelievable poser! But can not tell you how much I  love that I used to be this thin!

Bro and I at his 18th. Note the floral shirts and motorbike on the cake.

This one, I got so excited about what my stomach looked like 20yrs ago that I nearly passed out.

CLINGING TO THE MEMORIES!!!!!

Now as much as I am addicted to B&H, Absolut and Foxtel today, I used to be just as addicted to exercise - I've literally become the polar opposite of my youth. These photos will come as a great shock to those of you who know me now. Please note the ponytail (it was the early 90's)!!!

Now these shots are to make my old mate Snuddo and I feel better about ourselves. Now that we are men of a certain age we can only dream of our athletic youth and defined shoulders.

Now just to end... I've talked before about how I'm such a hoarder. Well I've got boxes of 'memorabilia' still in the shed at Mumsy's house. Trolling through them I found these... My favourite swimmers from 1984! LA Olympic themed "Where there's a Will there's a way!" Or am I the only one who remembers that slogan?

Ahhhh... such memories. Sorry to drag you along with me. I did warn you upfront it was gonna be self-indulgent! Other reason, besides my ego, is I got a bit nervous putting shots up of other people who may not like it. Damn I'm considerate. So it's all about me

I'm clinging to the dream as much as those Willy swimmers clung to me!

I love a Double Cheeseburger so I got myself a Trainer

I have been an annoying whinger over the past few months about stacking on weight and feeling gross. It hasn’t been the easiest of times (whinging again!) so my logic has been why deprive myself of the things that make me happy – Double Cheeseburger Meal Deals, oven pizza, pie and chips, a red duck curry, a light snack of chocolate chip cookies. Why are all my favourite things also on the Biggest Loser hit list? Its not so much comfort eating as lack of self-control, and I love the taste of calories!

I love a double cheeseburger!

It's time to turn this fat-train around and do something about my bad habits – I haven’t given up the dream that skinny-jeans are for me even though I’m 5 years and 15cm’s past the used-by date. Don’t even get me started on my desire to still wear a midriff. Through my new, very friendly local gym they hooked me up with a personal trainer. I based the selection purely on looks. If a hot man can’t motivate me then nothing will. Booked in with Trainer for twice a week for the next 3 months as surely I can make myself feel better in that time.

Yesterday was my first session at 6am, an ungodly hour, but I am much better in the morning than I am at any time past 11am. I knew this first session was gonna knock me about so I went to bed at 9pm, only to wake at 3am as bright as a button. Ended up getting in a good two hours of housework and pfaffing before heading off in my matching Adidas ensemble to meet Trainer.

even my bag!

So first thing we do is jump on the scales! I’ve just said to Trainer “This is the heaviest I’ve ever been in my life” when the scales proved me WRONG! I’m actually 4kgs lighter than just last year. Go figure! Turns out I was much heavier when I was lounging poolside in Fiji with exBoyfriend last July. How’s that for the mind playing tricks; classic comfort factor when in a relationship, self-doubt when out of it. When I was happy and having fun my weight was so not an issue, for godsake I remember posing for photos in my man-kini’s. The moment things weren’t hunky-dorey suddenly my weight becomes an issue in my head. And I’m sure being single & near-40 has also made me extra paranoid about my complete lack of muscle tone. Big lesson learnt about mind over matter for me yesterday and that was even before I had lifted a single weight. So I’m making a very public apology to everyone I’ve complained to of late, turns out I was being a bit of a drama-queen.

So back to Trainer. I was all ready to be able write a scathing review of my first session, of the trauma it caused me and the grief I feel. But I have to say… I ABSOLUTELY LOVED EVERY SECOND OF IT! I admit I did have a swagger in my step after getting off the scales that was slowly diminished during the session but I had a ball, thrived. It felt real good to be working out, even if I was only lifting baby weights (I’m sure I saw some sniggers from nearby muscle-mary’s). Granted, I slowly started to get shaky over the hour and by the end couldn’t string a sentence together but god it felt good.

Only a matter of weeks now....

I walked around all day thinking it was only a matter of time before someone commented on my dramatic weightloss or new muscles. Hopefully Trainer has now kick-started something real good. After months of a shocking diet, near drowning in Absolut and a B&H permanently between my fingers, yesterday took a whole different path. It was a gluten and carb free day, and the only nicotine I had was through a patch. Talk about mind over matter! Next thing you know I’ll have the body of an Olympic swimmer I’ve always dreamed of.

Its like looking in a mirror

Jeez I hope my notoriously short attention span lifts its game as well!

Mmmmmm…. Cadbury Dairy Milk.

Two very important Life Lessons!

Life Lesson No. 1

You may recall that I've bucked ‘the break-up’ trend and stacked on the weight rather than shed it after becoming a single man. No one likes a fat homo, especially other homo’s, so I’ve joined my new local gym. I heard that they have equipment that if you stand on them you lose weight. And this place seems so much friendlier than my old gym that I donated too, which was the gayest gym in the world. I felt like I needed to do my hair before, during and immediately after a workout. My new gym is a little more, shall I politely say, down-to-earth.

Life Lessons from St. Murphy

I went for the first time yesterday and it was an all-round horrifying experience. First off it was very early morning so the synapses were hardly firing. Had trouble in the changerooms working out the locker situation, had to go and ask the lovely/cute receptionist the protocol. It seems I need to bring my own lock. So I finally get to the X-trainer and I 100% guarantee you it’s the biggest machine I’ve ever seen. I’d been on them before but not this big. Twice I dropped my iPod, keys and stuff while trying to mount that sucker. So embarrassing. I could feel eyes all on me thinking ‘how unco’.

Its quite lovely in photos

Keeping in mind I’m 38 not 105, I thought I’d be able to bash out a 30min workout. At the 7 min mark I knew I was in trouble, by 12 mins I was gasping for my last breathe and the controls – dragged that down to 20mins. By the time I’d finished I was a mess – mentally and physically. What has happened to me? When did I become an old man??? Somewhere between Absolut, Benson &Hedges and Pizza Hut Delivery I’d lost my fitness.

So ashamed that’s all I could do I thought 15mins on the treadmill would redeem me somewhat. What the hell was I thinking? At 3mins I reduced that to 10mins but by the 8 min mark I realized my health was in danger and I desperately, achingly need to be seated on a toilet STAT!. I pushed through to the end and than ran. The grief and mortification I felt when I realized that the toilet, with gaps above and below the door, was right on the edge of the changeroom was overwhelming. Lets just say I ain’t making any new friends at the gym anytime soon.

It was such a horrific experience that I know, without a doubt, that I need to go everyday! Otherwise I will be dead or a Sumo within 2 years.

Life Lesson No. 1 – Gyms are embarrassing and horrific places, but sadly if you don’t go you become a fat homo.

Me in 2 years unless I go to Gym!

Life Lesson No. 2

I’ve never been very good in the kitchen; I have no interest, no skill, no flair for the culinary. Had been very lucky that last few years to have someone who enjoyed cooking and prepared most of my evening meals. Now at Man Pit I am my own Shopper/Chef so I thought I’d give a simple steak and steamed veg a crack - I mean really, how hard can it be.

First obstacle, the George Foreman steamer that was a Xmas gift has no life left in it. Foreman himself went 16 rounds, not this steamer unfortunately. So within 2 mins I was down to just the steak (don’t even own a saucepan or microwave which says a lot about how I cook). I whip out my brand spanking new Jamie Oliver Tefal frypan, so shiney and pretty, and off I go. In hindsight, I think my mistake was not turning on the exaust fan cause within 2 mins the fire alarm was BLARING through my shoebox apartment. I’m waving tea towels, I’m unscrewing the fire alarm, I am depseratley trying to find a switch on a wall somewhere. Nothing would shut that thing down.

Little bastard!

Than to my horror my neighbour’s started buzzing through the intercom – THE ALARM GOES THROUGH THE WHOLE BUILDING!!! Holy hell, I hadn’t even met them yet! I scrambled downstairs in my comfy pants and headband where my new favourite neighbour and the owner of the business downstairs are franticly trying to disarm the alarm before the fire brigade get there. MORTIFIED!!! You need a science degree to do this, and only with their help and guidance, the alarm was turned off. I ate the steak half raw rather than try to cook that cow anymore.

Life Lesson No. 2 – Never, ever cook for yourself. Always order take-away or eat out. Do not endanger the lives of others by turning on a hotplate.

And you just know that the firemen saving me from my steak would NOT have looked like this!

The Rules of Man Pit

Now I’ve affectionately named my new pad the Man Pit. It's stuck, I love it, I’m gonna keep using it. The reason I’m calling it the Man Pit is that I’ve set about decorating it so that it is age-appropriate and hopefully suggests I’ve got my shit together. I’m not a 26 year old tv publicist anymore (…hang on???), rather a man of a certain age who knows what he’s about. And I wanted it to be more butch, Masters student rather than my usual 14yo schoolgirl routine.

So that I maintain this new persona for me and my pad I’ve had to lay down some ground rules. They are mostly for myself but some are appropriate for my friends and family who’ll visit me here. Now that I’m being a big brave boy and standing on my own two feet I think rules are important. Also, living with a partner is all about compromise, which is a beautiful thing when you're in love. Now that I’m on my own I’m loving putting my own big stamp on everything! Here are the Rules!

The couch is for watching television. The Man Chair is for the reading of books and looking intellectual.

Clinique Mens products only for the skin. A man of a certain age needs to take care, only a few good years left in me before the necessary facelift.

No vegetarians allowed! I eat red meat in two out of three meals a day. I’m a country gay bogan and loves me some red meat.

Tracksuit or ‘comfy’ pants are only allowed on recovery days, and definitely never in front of guests. A recovery day is the distinguished way of saying ‘hungover stuck on the couch holding your head in pain’.

Cigerettes to be smoked on the balcony. Only cigars can be smoked inside and even then only when sitting in the Man Chair (btw, never had a cigar in my life but feel I need one in this chair).

If the freezer is full and room needs to be made than you take out the BirdsEye frozen peas, NEVER the vodka.

No scales allowed. The mirror and my skinny jeans are enough to tell me I am expanding like a Sumo wrestler.

Clean as you go! My natural tendency is to live like a Uni student, not gonna happen at Man Pit.

Only crime shows – all Law & Orders, Criminal Minds, NCIS Los Angeles, etc – can be recorded on the Foxtel IQ. Nothing from the MTV channel will be recorded. EVER!

Please note L&O on the big screen

There is a colour palette that must be adhered too – silver, blue, black, brown and white. Unless of course its one of my themed weeks -  Xmas, Mardi Gras, my birthday and Sleaze Ball.

No burning your dinner. Having your bed so close to the kitchen makes your sheets smell like steak.

There is a loose shelf-ordering system for the bookcase – gay lit, crime and classics, favourites and texts. Books make you look smart, they make up for my wardrobe.

Accessories have their own drawers in the wardrobe. Scarves, hats, sunglasses, redundant sports gear all have their own drawer.

Remote controls left on coffee table at all times. Simple really. Nothing worse than having to walk 3metres to pick up the remote.





Only white crockery. Not sure why this is a rule but it looks better on the exposed shelves. Cleanliness is next to godliness.

Over & out.

To be advised: I need something for the walls that suggests I know something about art. Even happy for a splash of colour. If anyone has any advice it will be happily taken.

In good news: I got my mojo back this week! After two months of being weird and intolerable, yesterday I felt like my old self again for the first time. Phew!

Welcome to The Man Pit

So I’m calling my new pad “The Man Pit”! Not sure why, cause there ain’t a whole lot that’s manly about me, but I like the name and I’m sticking with it. And it’s not like there are any other men here, just me. But I’ve been buying lots of furniture and other homely things and I just keep reminding myself… Man Pit, Man Pit, Man Pit. I want to look and feel like an adult man rather than the 14yo schoolgirl I am in most other respects.

As a result there’s lots of dark, heavy wood and muted tones. I even just bought a black leather armchair – now that’s BUTCH! I reckon I could even smoke a cigar sitting in that thing. Played it safe and got simple white coffee tables and crockery. The pieced-de-resistance is a retro blue couch that looks like its straight from the set of Mad Men. Got a silver manly lamp as well As long as no one looks closely at the CD collection or bookshelf I could even pass as a near-40, urban professional with some level of taste. Until I open my mouth that is.

Where I have gone horribly wrong with The Man Pit theme is the boudoir. I’ve always had a hankering for a four-poster wrought-iron bed. So I got myself one. And its SHINEY! How cool is that. Would like great in a modern take on an old-style B&B. Very soft and romantic, and very girly. Also got some heavy gold and blood red floral linen. And just to completely make it look like the set of Burlesque I have a giant ornate gold mirror above the bed. Oh well, at leats I’ll be happy in there. As would Cher.

The most brilliant thing, Foxtel turned around their installation in a DAY! Only one night with out Foxtel, thank god and thank you Foxtel.

Next on the shopping hit list are some deck chairs. I have a disproportionately big balcony that gets some beautiful afternoon sun so I want to be able to lounge out there and have the houseboy serve cocktails. Also need some art but I don’t really know what that means. I need something on the walls but me buying art is like Paris Hilton buying a chastity belt – pointless, no idea! I might just put some Madonna posters up in the Man Pit. Or a Young Talent Time poster, that’d be cool!

The Man Pit is coming together very nicely! I’m thinking I will be very happy here.

** Sorry no pics as I’m still waiting on some furniture, will take some for a post I’m planning “The Rules of Man Pit”.

London ramblings, it gets even weirder! + Undie Crisis of 2011

More ramblings from London, don’t say I didn’t warn you…

And typing at a frantic speed cause I’m very busy and important in London.

Let me kick start with the Good News I have on solving two of my biggest problems since I’ve been here – coffee and undies.

Lets start with the Undies Crisis of 2011 and the complete lack of common sense among British Men. I desperately need more undies but it is boxers and trunks only in the UK. Mountains of them. But nothing, absolutely nothing, in a brief. Check out this rack at UniQlo and all trunks… How is the modern man to feel sexy in a grey flannel trunk???

BORING!!!!

Tried all the cool-kids stores today and so disappointing. You can get a brief but only with a cartoon character on your doodle. And as a man of a certain age this is incredibly inappropriate and sure to be laughed at in the Fitness First changerooms.

In a last ditch attempt before I have to recycle I went to Marks & Spencer. Not only did they have a wide selection of (distinctly un-designer) briefs but they were also ON SALE! K-ching, K-ching –put that one in the savings register. Two pair of undies for 9pound and 3 pairs of socks for 3pound. Couldn’t be happier. Bar-jain! I’d model them for you but decency prevails.

My purchases.

If you read yesterdays post you will know that I firmly believe the coffee situation in London is dire. I still haven’t made it to everyone’s hot tip of Flat White in Soho, hopefully before I head home. But I did discover a passable drop at this little hole in the wall near Head Office. And served by some delightful Turkish ladies, an all-round very pleasant start to the day. Its still no Oven in St Leonards but it will suffice for the next 3 days.

Now for some schizo ramblings…

At the noodle bar where I bought lunch they had Deep Fried Carrot Cake on the menu. Even for me, who as a general rule eats anything fried, I couldn’t bring myself to try it. Surely cake is not meant to be crispy around the edges or moist with oil.

They still have Pizza Hut restaurants here that are dine-in with all-you-can-eat salad bars! God I loved the early 90’s. Back when I never had to think about my weight and could eat till I vomited at a Pizza Hut restaurant.

Thank god for Diet Coke. No explanation required.

Last night I strangely found myself watching both Neighbours and Home & Away. Now of course I am a very regular viewer of Australia’s most successful drama ever, Neighbours, but never in my life do I think I’ve watched both on the same night. Do you think after just 4 days I’m homesick?

Last night, in a moment of terrible weakness, I Tweeted my absolute new favourite and soon-to-be boyfriend Matt Johnson from Channel 5 that I love and adore him. He hasn’t replied. Go figure. Mustn't like Aussies.

Love you Matty-watty!

Finally, the search continues for Will and Kate but with no luck at all. They are proving very elusive. No closer to getting my hands on my wedding invitation that the Palace forgot to send.

I went to some ridiculously cool and fabulous hotel bar for a drink with some gorgeous TV Types thinking W&K would surely be there too. I don’t think they were, problem was it was so dimly lit I could hardly read the cocktail menu let alone see who was at the next table. By contrast the foyer was all flouro lighting and full of child-like wannabe models. I fled after only two apple martini’s.

Tired of pushing through the heaving crowds (this is not really Spring people!) on the way home I took refuge in a gay karaoke bar. Oh dear. Place proved not all gay men have style. Never again. Insanely bad singing and no W&K.

They are never in Boots and I check at least twice a day. That store is amazing for the width and breadth of their products. I love a quick remedy for anything and will pop a pill at a moments notice so the flaky UK medical standards are perfect fit for me. No grilling by the parmacist here when you want a stack of codeine. Will and Kate obvisouly don’t feel the same way.

Ground Floor of Boots Heaven

So that’s it, over and out for another day in London-town. Ten-4 Big Daddy, Keep on Truckin’. St. Murphy needs to have a drink for St Patrick’s Day.

Speaking of St Patricks Day… Happy Birthday Dad! Love you, miss you. Of course I’ll have a drink for you too.