Friday, 26 October 2007

Ex Citation.

As I seem do be doing an awful lot, of late, I popped over to Ramsgate on Monday for a drink or two in that madhouse, otherwise known as The Artillery Arms. And, as also happens an awful lot, I wasn't let down on the entertainment front.
Walking into the place, I was confronted by an ex-boyfriend of mine, from several years back, now gone 'straight' (though he's seeing a hairdresser these days, so there's probably still a little curvature to his sexuality) and spent the evening with him, catching up on old times.
Now he always used to be a bit odd, but he seems to have developed that trait to the point where 'men in white coats' should be starting to show a keen interest.
While standing outside with him, smoking a cigarette and shooting the breeze, the police screeched to a halt at the house across the road (not an uncommon sight, I'm led to believe), and continued to interrogate one of the occupants. As if not entertaining enough in itself, my ex started poking his nose in (and he does have an extraordinarily large one of those. Shame the proportions couldn't have landed a few feet further south) to the point where he was pissing the rozzers off, big time!
Well, it didn't take too long before the whole thing started to get quite embarrassing, so I shuffled back inside, shortly followed by the ex who'd suddenly lost his brave, now that he was all alone.
Still quite aghast and not really sure how to deal with his sudden, childish outburst, one of the coppers came into the pub and gave him the sort of dressing-down that you'd expect a livid parent to give a five-year-old child. I'm sure his nose shrunk a little bit in the proccess. His ego and bravado certainly did.

Now I know that you'd have to have been there to really appreciate the moment but it was, by far and away, one of the funniest things I'd seen for a very long time!

Hats off to Thanet police for not taking any shit. And I never thought I'd hear myself say that!

Tuesday, 9 October 2007

Electric Planes On The Table At Manston.

While I'm all for new, modern and fangled appliances, I'm not so sure that there's any place for them in carpentry, at all.
Though I'm not, as such, a carpenter myself, I do come from a long line of them, dating back some 2000 years, originating in The Middle East.
So, upon recieving the exciting news that they were refurbishing the 'Restaurant At The End Of The Runway' at KLMIA (eww, sounds like one of those STDs), I thought I'd pop along and see if any of the burly builders needed tips from me.
Well, with all the complaints about noisy planes that Manston have been recieving of late, you'd really think that they wouldn't want to add to it by employing chippies that had never heard of elbow grease.

They're making a rod (probably on a lathe) for their own back, if you ask me!

Monday, 8 October 2007


Many apologies to Vernon Glodatiada, who's home town got missed from my list.
I really didn't want to make a big thing of the fact the both Ra, msg, ate and Bro-ad stairs have their sewage outfalls located here, but hey, as anyone who rents one of their beach huts will attest, the 'blind salmon' make for some astonishing silhouettes at sunset.

Friday, 5 October 2007


Moving to the north of the Isle, it is necessary, of course, for any island to have a special place for those that it deems to be wankers. Well, the name speaks for itself, doesn't it?

Unfortunately, due to population increases and immigration from the mainland (not just our own), there has been an over-spill into Margate, with the Palm Bay side being more heavily affected.

If it comes any closer (there have already been numerous sightings in and over Westgate), I may have to move!


Similarly, a neighbouring town has its name derived from the huge amount of PC promotion of stair-lifts that didn't appear to be exclusively for 'white folk'.

It's worth noting that this has been countered, somewhat, by the later advent of a celebration known as 'folk week'.

Surprising how many people misinterpret this as something else, entirely!


Here's a little known 'solid fact' that I'd imagine you Southern softies of our fair-isle were hitherto unaware of!
How your Heras girdled, unemployment blighted town got it's name.

Having had, for many years now, access to a tome of such import and magnitude, bearing, as it does, information that, were it to fall into the wrong hands (ie the council or the police), it would surely spell our doom, I feel it safe(ish) to reveal this small snippet of knowledge without too much fear of recriminative harm being done.

It seems that, in days of yore, the southern underbelly of Thanet (nee Thor's Nut, though it's unclear as to which one they refer) was a popular holiday venue for the Gods, in a time when they thought it safe to roam the Earth without fear of being run over by some spotty oik in a clapped-out Vauxhall Nova that could (and invariably would), inexplicably defying natural, physical laws, reach speeds of almost 70 MPH. And during this period, one such God, an Egyptian fella who looks after the Sun for us, would visit frequently, soley on the strength of, as He described it, our wonderful interpretation of Chinese take-away food!

The rest, I think, you can work out for yourselves.

Friday, 28 September 2007

Candida CAMRA.

Following the enormous success of our inaugral beer festival, here in Birchington on 14th April, I figured that we'd gained enough experience to be able to help that 'Thanet CAMRA lot' to see where they went wrong with theirs, the week previously.

That's just the kind of helpful soul that I am!

So, after a bit of research and a bit of 'being fobbed off', I finally managed to get hold of the chap that calls all the shots, as far as their beer festival is concerned.
My kind offer of help, by pointing out some of the things that were missing from their festival, such as karaoke, cribbage and the sale of home-made, iced buns, was met with an extraordinary tirade of abuse. And very shortly into this assault, it dawned on me that my protagonist was none other than 'Father Ted' from oop North. The nice chap that necessitated intervention by the police, at our festival.

What ever happened to the beardy weirdy, pipe smoking, chunky knit jumpered, beer pacifist CAMRA stereotype of yesteryear?

Thursday, 20 September 2007

The Sultan Of Saltaire.

It's my dream to, one day, have visited the Gay Capital of every County in England. So, with that thought niggling in my mind, I decided to take Clarence, AKA 'Love' (pronounced 'Loöv'), a good chum of mine, up on his offer of a visit to his home in Bradford.
What a beautiful place he lives in!
He's actually in Saltaire, a NW suburb of Bradford (pronounced 'Bratfart'), and that place is just bumfun central.
Seriously, here's what saturday night looks like from Clarence's balcony., looking back into his flat, that is!

Gosh, if the standard of living were acceptable to a normal human being and the indiginous populace weren't so 'pig ignorant', I think I'd like to go and live there.

Friday, 14 September 2007

Lost Boys.

Unfortunately for myself (and probably everyone else), I have the hardest time blogging unless I'm either drunk or hungover. It just doesn't work for me, otherwise!
So, after being invited to friends' last night and drinking a couple of bottles of wine, a few G&Ts and some grappa, I find myself fit-to-blog for the first time since fags were banned from pubs.
I must say I think it's pretty unfair that the government has been allowed to target homosexuals in this way but, when you think about it, this sort of thing has gone on since time immoral, hasn't it!

Who will be next, I wonder? One would hope that it'll be taxi drivers being banned from the road or old people being barred from post offices but, thinking about it, that'd be far too sensible a thing to do!

Nope, I've a feeling it's going to be trannies being ejected from church. Who would take communion, then?

Monday, 16 July 2007

Ashes To Ashes.

Having lived for months in dread and horror at the prospect of not being allowed to smoke in the pub any more, I now feel quite the fool and am getting the idea that this ban is actually the 'breath of fresh air' that the pub trade has needed for some time, now!
So long as the weather holds out, that is.
Last night reminded me of The Queen's Silver Jubilee, with people spilling out onto the street and mixing with all and sundry that happened by. And, as expected, quite a few of the non-smokers were out there too, their only other choice being to be stuck inside with the bores and cowards that simply don't have the gumption to enjoy a fag (I could show them a few things there)!

I think I may go shopping for my winter coat now, before all the nice ones get snapped up. I've a feeling that coat manufacturers are going to have a bumper year, this year.

Jobs for unwanted barstaff?

Saturday, 14 July 2007

A Month In Crinkley Bottom.

Has it really been a whole month since my last post? I was going to say 'entry', but that certainly wouldn't be true! Mind you, 'post' would be a bit of a grey area (more about that, shortly) too, coming to think of it.
Any-old-road, I met this, erm, older gentleman from London, last month, and have spent a little time at his place, in his company and that of a few of his stockbroker friends.
Quite an eye-opener, if you'll pardon the pun.
It simply hadn't ever occured to me that people in 'high stress' jobs would, naturally, make very interesting bed companions. Well, involuntary twitching of the sphincter need not neccesarily be a handicap in all walks of life.
And I must confess my surprise at discovering that he was 74 years old. I thought he was in his 80's, going by his appalling state of decay!
Still, he had a few beans to chuck around and I've been curious about that kind of lifestyle since hearing Eastcliff Richard constantly gloating and banging on about it, so I thought I'd give it a whirl.
Rather enjoyed it, I must say!
Though I have put on two stone in weight and developed an aversion to dried prunes, on the strength that they remind me of the poor old fella's somewhat knarly pair of knackers.

The things we'll do for money, eh?

Tuesday, 12 June 2007

Compromised Principals Syndrome (CPS).

Refreshing to see that even the World of Blog is not immune from our ever growing (out of control, like a cancer and so on...) litigation culture, with threats of legal action being bandied about like seagull poo, at the moment.
And people seem so proud that they currently have this weapon of ultimate defence/attack at their disposal. They also seem quite proud that the house they bought in 1995 for £50,000 is now worth over £200,000.
Because the same people that instigated all of this (solicitors, estate agents, building societies, government), stand to make heaps of cash out of it, so it's been 'sold' to us as the way forward?
Surely not, you say!
Well I, for one, don't believe that it has as much to do with improving my quality of life, as theirs.

And besides, what use would a World, where everyone has had their arses sued off, be to me?!

Sunday, 10 June 2007

Raiding Party.

Not normally one for turning up anywhere, uninvited (except, maybe, ECR's blog, but I don't think he minds as much as he makes out), I found myself tagging along with a handfull of revellers to a party they were going to, in Ramsgate, last night.
I thought I'd inadvertently stumbled across Narnia, when I got there.
As it turned out, it was a fancy dress party with a 1940's theme.
I've been to a few of those, in Birchington, but they call them Nostalgia Parties, here.
Anyway, to cut a short story, long, I met this lovely young stud called Jamie who was wearing the most stunning hat, and I think I may be in love!
I also met, oddly enough, a collection of some of the tallest people I'd ever seen in one place.

I think I may also still be a bit pissed!

That Ramsgate, it seems, is quite a fun place to be and I really think it's time to haul my cute ass over to visit some of their estate agents.

Saturday, 9 June 2007

Going Under Cover!

What with all this publicity that I've been getting of late, winning an award in a semi-national paper (some of them get recycled in Bradford) and being sued for libel by Canadian lawyers, I think I may have to disguise myself a little better, as I don't think that sunglasses will cut it now that the heat is on.
So, let's hope that this does the trick!

Up To My Balls In A Dyke.

As happens, from time to time, this week saw me going on a huge bender (not for the first time, though I'm not condoning obesity) and ending up lodged in a muddy crevice (no stranger to that, either).
One of those things that starts off gently enough, as a couple of drinks with a few friends, and then goes on and on and on. And as we all know, I'm sure, it's going to end up with someone looking pretty stupid (usually me) but the booze kinda negates the worry of that.
And I know it may seem like 'closing the door after the horse has bolted' but I think I'll be shunting off to our local fishing tackle shop today, to invest in a pair of waders, should I decide to shortcut through the countryside, pissed, on future occasions. They could come in useful for some of the messier encounters with 'friends', that also happen from time to time, to boot (pun intended)!

Right, where's that bloody Alka Selzer?

Wednesday, 6 June 2007

Stumped Bailes!

As a few of you have astutely pointed out, there is a possibility that I may be related to another blogger who lives quite close to me. In fact, were any of you to take the trouble of venturing over to this side of the island, you may even discover that the plot is a tad thicker than that!
Ashamed as I am to admit it, inbreeding has been quietly prevalent in these parts for many years.
Anyone that has any doubts about that need only pop up here, after the pubs chuck out, to witness The Half-Brother Army kicking the crap out of everything and the bemused yelps of disappointment when tin, scrumpy cider and other precious things are not given forth in response.
So it came as no surprise to me when The Andrex Times completely overlooked this, as it's my firm belief that their entire staff is similarly blighted and, therefore, unable to spot that anything may be amiss.

I can't help thinking that if everyone were a bit more like me, we could prevent this horror from being passed on to the next generation!

Am I Nick Dorman?

I've been asked that before, some time ago, and now, what with all this nonsense in The Times that stinks to high Heaven of nepotism, I find myself asking that same question OF myself!
Ever the optimist, though, I could console myself with killing two birds with one stone and and 'go fuck myself', were it true, which I'm pretty sure it isn't... er, I hope!
Anyway, I must fly. The self-publication machine waits for no man!

Crap!!! I hope that doesn't mean that I'm Simon Moores, too!

Tuesday, 5 June 2007

Under The Doctor!

Leafing through one of The Adscene Groups' lesser publications (such a shame that they don't offer alternatives) today, I was a little surprised to find my face splashed across the front of it! Well, the front of page 9, anyway. There was I, squeezed underneath one of our prettier, fellow Northcoasters who was, in turn, sqeezed in under that dishy schollboy from the edge of teh known World, Ramsgate.

I could think of worse places to be!

If I'm to be ripped apart by the good doctor, I'd much rather be underneath him when he does it. I certainly wouldn't want to be ripped apart by his rapier wit, a sad fate which befell ECR, only last year!

Sunday, 27 May 2007

Band Stand-up.

Crikey, you Ramsgatonians certainly know how to throw a party! There were more people on the platform at Birchington train station. I should have stayed there and saved myself £2-40. I would, however, have missed the wonderful Cajun band which made the trip worthwhile. Well, that and the white Rastafarian wearing a high-vis waistcoat. Got a good giggle out of that!
Er... was he meant to be part of the entertainment, because he did seem to be trying, in vain, to look serious and important?
It was all a bit too much for me, so I packed up and strode off to The Artillery Arms to see if I could pull a corker. I'd like to think that, even though I didn't manage that, I had more success than the poor girlie behind the bar, attempting to pull a pint!

Saturday, 26 May 2007

Not A Fit Mother.

Oh dear! I had my sister on the phone, last night, in floods of tears because Social Services had taken her baby away, their reason being that she was not a fit mother.
The main reasons for her distress being A) It's difficult to keep your figure after having a baby, B) She'd seen loads of mothers who were much fatter than her, so why was she being picked on? And C) Surely there were much better crater.. critore.. er, reasons for taking a baby away from it's mother.
While I have every sympathy for the poor thing, I am starting to wonder if she may have been adopted.

Or maybe I was!

Thursday, 24 May 2007

Men Questioned Over Sheep In Car.

>>Three men have been arrested after police found two sheep in the back of a car in Herne Bay, Kent.
The three local suspects, aged between 18 and 22, are being questioned on suspicion of theft.
While dealing with the incident in Canterbury Road, police then noticed a car driving erratically.
When the car was stopped, 10 boxes of stationery were found in the back. Two men were arrested in connection with theft and driving offences.<<

As reported on BBC news page.

Call me lazy if you like but you just can't make up stuff like that!
Do you think that the stationary was for ransom notes?
Besides, it looks to be a hot one today and I'd like to save my energy for a hot date tonight.
No doubt, however it goes, I'll fill you in once I have been!

Tuesday, 22 May 2007

Greg Hairy Arse.

Strolling along Margate seafront last night, I bumped into an old Polish friend of mine called Greg. Greg is a really, really lovely bloke but has this problem of being overly hirsute, in fact, I'd say he's the hairiest person I've ever met but also one of the friendliest and fun-loving. He reminds me, in many ways, of Bigfoot from that wonderful film, Bigfoot And The Hendersons.
After chatting for a while and establishing that we were both at a loose end, Greg suggested that we go back to his for coffee and, er, biscuit. Never one to scoff at a kind offer like that, I escorted him onto the premisis.
As smashing a bloke as Greg is, he does get some funny ideas in his head from time to time, the lastest of which was to have his chest waxed.
Well honestly, you should have seen it. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry! He looked like someone had dropped an albino camel into a gorse bush.
"It's lovely!" I told him. "How long do you think it'll take to grow back?"

The coffee was lovely but I declined the biscuit on the grounds that it would be almost impossible to enjoy it while I was laughing like a drain.

Saturday, 19 May 2007

Knob Of Butter.

It's very comforting, I'd suppose, living in a town where most people are quite predictable, which is one of the reasons that I like to pop over to Ramsgate from time to time, to break up the monotony of that comfort.
In all my travels, I don't think I've ever come across another place quite like it for the underlying, nay found-a-mental, madness of the populace!
Not that I'm complaining, though. Far from it!
Anyhow, while letting my new hair-do down in Churchills last night, I was accosted by a rather scruffily suited (and a bit smelly) older gent, brandishing a saxaphone and completely mullering Gerry Rafferty's Baker Street, until the stocky looking barmaid, that I thought (and I'm still not entirely convinced otherwise) was a fella, told him to desist before she mistook his sax for an endoscope.
Feeling a bit sorry for the poor chappie, because he did seem a bit depressed, I engaged him in conversation and, to cut a long story short, escorted him home.
As it turns out, it wasn't just a smile that he had problems raising and, try as I might, there seemed to be no rectifying the matter. Mind you, as his flat looked and smelled like he'd used the whole thing, at some point, to prepare a village sized spaghetti bolognese, I was experiencing a few problems, myself.
"It's the vallium," he opined "been giving me problems for years."
"Perhaps you should stop taking it, then." I suggested.
"Oh no," he replied "I really can't cope if I stop."
"This is coping, then, is it?" I enquired, giving him a gentle flick on the flap of tubular skin hanging from his groin.
"I know," was his retort "it's a bummer, isn't it?"

Er, well no, actually!

Thursday, 17 May 2007

Frocking Hell.

Getting undressed in a bit of a hurry, last night, after pulling this really scrummy hunk outside Sommerfield, I almost lost my will to live.
Wearing one of my prettier dresses, pink and grey with a very tight pencil skirt to it, I threw caution to the wind and attempted to remove the thing in one swift motion, up over my body and head, the elasticated hem grabbing hold of 'Roger Bannister Rail' in it's rocket-like launch skywards.
With a tear in two of my eyes and a tear in the other, I ended up heading off towards QEQM for damage assessment and hopefully repair.
Much as I like the nurses there, though, they sometimes jump to conclusions without even a hint of background research and, as I was advised by a Florence that I'd encountered before, "If you're not careful Justin, you're going to break that Hoover."


Had she asked first, I could have told her that it hasn't worked for months.

Monday, 14 May 2007

Spot The Dog.

Not having much to do last night and feeling a little bored, I thought I'd indulge myself in one of my favourite pastimes of dogging.
So, box of Kleenex in hand, I headed off to Birchington's Gayza Strip, The Minnis, for a bit of voyeuristic fun.
Would you Adam and Eve it, for the first time that I can recall there was noone there, not a sausage! (pardon the pun)
So, after trekking over to Westgate and another little dogging niche behind The Nottingham Castle, I was disappointed again!
Right, I thought, let's haul ass over to Ramsgate for, perhaps, The Island's premier dog den, Augusta Road.
Not a flipping bean!
Starting to get a little frustrated, I toyed with the idea of Margate but, fortunately, managed to come to my senses and nicked off to The Artillery Arms for a Malibu and coke instead.
Imagine my surprise, when I walked through the door, to find about a dozen of my regular spyees ensconced about the place, taking it in turns to go in pairs to the toilet!
Well really, what good is that to me?

I may have to pop along there with my 25mm spade drill and sort this problem out!

Saturday, 12 May 2007

New Look For Summer.

As is the wont of anyone that is proud to be gay, I like to have a bit of an image change from time to time, so, for the summer, I thought smart/casual with a hint of pink would suit me down to the ground. I must confess that the shell-suit thing was getting a bit tired so, one make-over later, and who wouldn't want to entice me into their bed, eh?
Well, there was this sweet chap in The Powell Arms last night that wouldn't, though I'm quite sure he'll come round after a bit of counseling.

Monday, 7 May 2007

Smart Dope!

I see that those decidedly decisive and divisive Dutch denizens of dope disection have finally managed to extract gene pairs from a marijuana cell and modify them to produce THCs that target specific areas of the brain, giving smokers the opportunity to choose the type of 'high'* that they experience, if this week's New Scientist Gardeners' Weekly is to be believed.
Not being a drug user, apart from the odd 'corned beef injection' (and whenever some twat spikes my drink), myself, this information is of little use. But it's interesting to note that one of their first considerations for its possible use, would be to enhance the way that people work!

I'd like to see how that pans out!

*As marijuana is a sedative, 'high' would be a bit of a misnomer, but 'low' has such a gloomy ring to it.

Sunday, 6 May 2007

Blogged Up Doze.

With, perhaps, the most important event in Birchington's social calendar looming, I had to come down with a rotten, stinking cold and miss the whole flipping thing!
Yes, that's right, I missed bingo night at The Centre (last Friday) and am more than a little peeved!
No wolf-whistles when the caller whipped 'legs eleven' out of his bag or 'two little ducks' for me. 'Clickety click, sixty six' was denied me, as was the looks on the old folks' faces when the caller pulled out sixty two and some wag shouted 'clickety duck'.

Instead, I was ensconsed in my pit with nothing but a box of tissues and a bottle of Lucozade as my companions, though I must confess that that does happen, from time to time, whether I have a cold or not.

Ah well, looking on the bright side, that level of excitement would, no doubt, have shortened my life, somewhat and there's always next year, I suppose.

Thursday, 26 April 2007

Bruced And Battered.

With my little sojourns to Ramsgate becoming increasingly more regular of late, last night found me sampling some delightful curry in The Artillery Arms (deffo a gay pub, if ever there was).
Though the pub seems to be replete with cranks, the atmosphere was great and everyone seemed to be having a great time until their King of Crankiness, someone that I could only liken to a cross between Ozzy Osbourne (vagueness) and Kieth Richard's granddad (looks), called Bruce, turned up. At which time, people started leaving in droves!
Puzzled over this, I thought I'd engage the guy in conversation (not difficult, as there was soon just the two of us left). Not normally being one to regret things, I think I'll make an exception in this arsehole's case. Never, ever, in my life have I heard so much drivel from one person in such a short space of time! Also, not being inclined towards rudeness, normally, I found myself, five minutes into the conversation, requesting of him that he 'fuck off and die'.
Needless to say, he did neither, so I found myself leaving half a glass of spritzer and the pub behind.

Such a shame!

Do they have any more like him, going in there?

Tuesday, 24 April 2007

Decaying Orbit.

One of the more noble things about us Birchintonians is, I think, our willingness to accept strangers into our midst. In particular, those strangers that are prepared to offer education, entertainment or both.
One such person, a rather planet shaped fella, arrived, very drunk, in Christies Wine Bar last night to give us a practical demonstration of The Law Of Conservation Of Angular Momentum.
Upon staggering into the place and swaying around for a bit, until he'd located the bar, he decided to use the gravitational field of one of the larger waitresses to accelerate himself and then 'slingshot' towards the lager pumps. A great idea, in principal, however, small errors were made in his calculations which caused him to skim her atmosphere, resulting in a spectacular nose-dive into her moutainous regions. The resulting Tsunami, eminating from the tray of drinks that the poor lass was carrying, took the Brylcream off of a bunch of ageing 'suits' at a nearby table, the tray, itself, knocking the optic off the Malibu bottle behind the bar.

I can't help thinking that, had they used practical demonstrations like that at school, instead of a tennis ball on a bit of string, I may have payed more attention and actually learned something useful!

Friday, 20 April 2007

Snappy Toff.

Much as I love the style of that 'state of Ramsgate bemoaning' Eastcliff Richard, he is cheesing us off a bit, here in Birchington, by constantly having a pop at our First Lady.
I should point out that, despite being only a few miles apart, Birchington and Ramsgate are two very different towns that cater for two very different types of people and there are very few aspects of either that would bear comparison.
It should be borne in mind that the vast majority of people who choose to live in Birchington have either come here to die or smash up phone boxes, NOT to make sandcastles or stare wistfully at gleaming boats in the harbour that they could never afford, whilst sipping lattes that they can only just afford.
I would suggest, before making too many more judgements, that ECR spends a little time living here (you can stay at mine, if you want babe) to get a bit of a feel for what our future President has to contend with.
After a month or so of being surrounded by death and destruction, I'm sure you'll have things a little more 'in perspective' and realise just what a difficult job the good doctor has undertaken.

Birchington is a town replete with undertakers and I wonder, sometimes, if people don't really appreciate that fact!

Wednesday, 18 April 2007

Cop Elation.

Buzzing Birchington Beer Festival would've made a better title but, thanks to a few yobs from Ramsgate that just didn't know when to stop with the cider, in the end we had to call the police to calm things down!
You can imagine, I'm sure, that noone was surprised when the police arrived and knew all of these trouble makers by name. What did come as a bit of a shock was when they started congratulating them for the lovely time that they'd had at The Winter Gardens last weekend and enquiring if they were going to organise a Beer Festival there next Easter.

Well really!!

I'm sure I've seen one of them before, a big surly fella, quite obviously from Yorkshire, that looked a little like Father Ted, playing-up in Churchills in Ramsgate. When I pointed out that his behaviour was a little unbecoming of a man in his position, the string of expletives that he poured in my direction was really quite startling. And besides, I rather think that 'you ar*e f*cking, c*nt' may be somewhat of an oxymoron, just in case he's reading this and is now sober enough to learn something.

Honestly, is Ramsgate really the paradise that Eastcliff Richard makes it out to be?

Saturday, 14 April 2007

Faulty Dours.

In the imortal words of our Lord and saviour, John Cleese, "Don't Mention The War. I did, but I think I got away with it."

Never one to take good advice, I think I'll have a stab at it, anyway.

With all this gorgeous sunshine that we've been having of late, a good portion of the blogging community is starting to show signs of mild sunstroke. However, and at the risk of sounding contradictory of myself, I think that those same bloggers need to get out more.

Bearing that in mind, and risking another pounding from scary Rotarian (swivel on this) Dave for mentioning it, Birchington is (finally) laying on an event, all of it's very own, this afternoon and I'd like to invite all and sundry to join me and my fellow 'gay capital' dwellers for a beer or two and, perhaps, a bit of an infantile giggle instead of the usual infantile rant.

And so as not to appear mean, I'll spend the bus fare that I'll be saving (about bloody time!) on a beer for the first person to approach me and declare "ooh Justin, I want want you're offering in ME!".

Can't say fairer than that, can I?

Wednesday, 11 April 2007

Traction Or Retraction?

That was the choice offered to me in Christies Wine Bar last night by Rotarian Dave, the fella who's organizing our beer festival on Saturday.
Actually, I thought he was being a bit rough and feel that there was absolutely no need to drag me around the place by my throat but he made his point, albeit at the expense of a crack in the perspex cover of the jukebox and a nasty little lump on the back of my head.
I think I'll keep out of the campaigning business from now on.
So, Dave has gently requested that I correct one or two slight errors in my earlier presentation and point out that there are, in fact, a dozen beers on offer, some cider and that none of it is going to be 'almost frozen'.
I've also been asked, if I have any respect for my other testicle, to mention that it's all about fund raising for charity.

There, that done, would whoever has the key to these handcuffs care to come round and remove them from my ankle and my wrist. I had an absolutely miserable time in the bathroom this morning and a couple of experiences that I really don't care to go into to too much detail about, or repeat!

Monday, 9 April 2007

The Real Real Ale Festival.

Not being too impressed with those pipe smoking, chunky cardigan wearing, pot bellied, beer pedants at Thanet CAMRA, we've decided, among us suit wearing, secret handshaking, fill the coffee table with car keys, upper echelon Birchington Rotarians to 'up' our order for this weekend's beer festival and I'm proud to announce that we'll now be offering a selection of over 3,500 different ales, around 600 different ciders, John Smith's Extra Smooth AND Hürlimann Lager!
That ought to show 'em!
The vicar is getting a little worried now, as this will mean extending the event into the church and his house (we'll be booking him into a room over The Pewter Pot for the weekend) but, as we've assured him, it'll put us on the map and hopefully stand us in good stead for getting the theme park and casino that he's dreamt about for the last thirty years. Yes, we know that people will most likely be using the gravestones for support while they syphon off all that excess beer but it can be cleaned up, so don't fret vicky boy.
ALSO (and this is the biggie and the reason that I've been too busy to blog for the last week), every beer is going to be cooled to about 1 degree. We'll be having a team of experts from Churchill's Tavern in Ramsgate to come and help us out with that!

Eat your heart out CAMRA, this is going to net us millions!!!

Wednesday, 28 March 2007

The Thick End Of The Wedge.

Finding myself at a bit of a loose end, yesterday afternoon, I thought I'd go and visit one of my old stomping grounds, The Earl St. Vincent in King Street, at the arse end of Ramsgate's Eastcliff, as it were.
Nice atmos. in there, these days, albeit not as gay as I remember but the fun-loving spirit of the establishment still survives, er, sort of.
A few chaps at the end of the bar were debating the mystery of the identity of the, as yet unamed, fourth Telly Tubby, a debate that very soon encompassed the whole pub!
I could have nipped it in the bud, maybe, by pointing out that it was, in fact, Tinky Winky who was missing from their list but who the hell, in their right mind, is going to admit to knowing that?
Eventually someone did.
Praise be, I thought and let that be the end of it.
So, half an hour later, the recounting of tales of Telly Tubby derring do crossed the line into actual re-enactments of scenes from the programme, with grown men bouncing around the pub making ridiculous noises to the delight of other patrons and I figured it was time to leave.

I must confess to not being so sure about moving to Ramsgate any more. I'm also not so sure that all the sunshine there is doing anyone much good.

Monday, 26 March 2007

Dogging A Fled Horse.

Walking along The Minnis and enjoying the last of the glorious sunshine, last night (was it just me or did the sun seem to hang around for a bit longer yesterday), I noticed a car along the end of the promenade with it's windows steamed up and the whole thing rocking like there was an earthquake.
Ever curious, I thought I'd sneak up and give it a little closer inspection.
Imagine my surprise to see some young fella's face pressed up against the window, contorted with pain and distress and seemingly mouthing the word 'help', over and over.
Imagine my even greater surprise when this lad manages to roll the window down and, there behind him, thrusting for all his worth, is none other than my old proctagonist, Horse.
Not quite sure what to say, I decided to tackle him over the fifty quid that went missing from my flat at roughly the same time that he did!
"Oh, yes, sorry about that Jasey-baby. Here," He said, reaching down into wincing boy's pocket and removing his wallet. "take it out of this."

Obviously some people are not happy unless they're ripping the arse out of someone!

Sunday, 25 March 2007

Back From The Dead.

Ah well, while we're at it.

Difficult to believe that Graham Chapman wasn't the son of God, isn't it?
And just like Arnie, what a lovely set of thighs! I believe he put his to much better use, though.

Easter Funny.

With Easter almost upon us, I thought it high time to start getting into the spirit of the season! My God, hasn't that Arnie got some lovely thighs!!!

Saturday, 24 March 2007

Let's Put The Queer Back Into Beer.

I don't know about the rest of you but I'm getting pretty sick of, everywhere I turn at the moment, having this flipping Easter beer festival forced down my throat!
Blah, blah, beer festival this, blah, blah, beer festival that and blah, blah, beer festival what-bloody-ever.
Not being one to take that sort of thing laying down (though I don't mind it on the chin from time to time), me and my fellow Rotarians here in The Gay Capital of Thanet are going to stage one of our very own, the weekend after the 'warm-up' beer festival in Margate (Of all places. Honestly!) and it's going to be the mother, father, son and daughter of all festivals!!!
With almost 20 beers on offer, including one national award winner which has something to do with pigs, I'm told, and live music from local rock/ragtime/ballroom/skiffle band Rabid Hearse Bait, we're just about guaranteed to make the North West of the Isle rock! One of our lads from the sub-aqua club is going to have a stab at detonating the WW2 munitions ship, USS Richard Montgomery, which sank in The Thames/Medway Estuary during the 'big one', so that should help a bit.

This 'monster' event is going to be held in our palatial Church House on Saturday 14th and Sunday 15th of April and, as I say, promises to be the festival-to-end-all-festivals with an expected attendance of well over 50 people (over the two days of the event(including staff))!

For further information, please follow the link to our very own Civic Information site which, I'm assured, will be updated very soon to include more than 'just one line, hidden in January's Council meeting minutes'.

Looking forward to seeing you all there!

Disclaimer - Dear MI5/FBI, if it hadn't occured already, and before you come kicking my door down, I really was only joking about blowing The USS Richard Montgomery up, fully realising how ludicrously stupid and dangerous that would be (though, to be honest, Whitstable looks like it could do with a wash), especially in these times where at least 4 out of every 5 people is a terrorist, apparently.
Ease up on the weed, fellas!

Friday, 23 March 2007

Cock Problems.

Having suffered a drippy cock for a little while now, I decided to bite the bullet and call in a plumber to rectumfy the damned thing.
Often a daunting task, not just the worry that an awful lot of money is about to disappear but also the fact that they're reliably unreliable and an odd breed of human, I forged ahead in the futile hope that I would locate and procure Birchington's finest.
Well, apart from the fact that he was about 100lbs overweight (not so practical for someone that often has to squeeze behind cupboards), he seemed competent and very enthusiastic. And when I outlined the problem with my cock, he almost 'whooped' and did a back-flip!
"Can you fix it, dearie?" I asked him.
"Probably just need to tighten your nuts for you a little bit, darlin'" he replied, "and your cock will be just fine."
I had a feeling, before he'd even arrived, that this was going to be a bit of a carry-on. I hadn't imagined, even for a second, that it was going to be a bit of a carry-on film, mind you.
"I'll leave you to it, then." I offered, not really wanting to perpetuate this type of innuendo with someone large enough to be my entire family.

So, half an hour later he emerged, sweating, panting, sucking air through his teeth and declaring that someone had made a right balls-up of my cock (ooh, matron!) and that all the pipework before and after it would have to be replaced. Possibly my boiler and toilet cistern too! Luckily, my bath appeared to have escaped relatively unscathed but it was, perhaps, too early to say for sure, however, he was pretty certain that my kitchen sink would be ok so long as I didn't fill it right up to the top for a while. "Oh, and someone has plumbed all your rads in back to front." he also opined.
"Would you mind if I got a second opinion?" I asked him.
"Sure," he replied, "I think your sofa's rubbish too!"


Saturday, 17 March 2007

Joe Hoovers Witless.

As I now find myself considering a move to the sunnier side of the Isle, I thought I'd saunter on over there last night in an attempt to acclimatise myself.
My word, there ARE some great pubs in Ramsgate, aren't there!
I think my favourite, though, would have to be Churchills, being one of those 'closet' gay pubs that you come across from time to time. And some of the characters that you'll find there are quite remarkable! I found myself chatting to a chap called Joe for a while, a rather loud and brash individual that fancies himself as a bit of a ladies man, who took great delight in recounting the tale of an ex-girlfriend who used to hoover his flat in the nude while he followed her around, crevice tool in hand, making things (well, thing, anyway) hard for her. Personally, I couldn't see the turn on but, not wishing to knock anything until I've tried it, I'll have a little stab at getting Dr. Sam to help out with a reenactment before I poo poo the idea.
He then went on to describe his experience, in far too much detail, of a hugely endowed black woman that he'd met in America, who allowed him and his friend to perform an amateur mammogram on her, for a dollar each.
At this point I was starting to feel a little queasy, so made my excuses and went off in a vain attempt to find someone a little less eccentric to talk to.

What a pub!

I think I may have to trundle along there again, tonight.

Friday, 16 March 2007

The Pewter Twot.

Bearing in mind some of the terrible things that nurses must see, it's no surprise, perhaps, that they would have to develop quite an evil sense of humour in order to cope with it all.
When Ms Nightingale recommended The Pewter Pot to me, for a thumping good night out, I think she must have been aware of their somewhat bizarre initiation ceremony for new customers, insofar as their belief that they need to be thumped by just about everyone in the pub, at least once.
Luckily, I went there on a quiet night!
Even luckier, I suppose, that the landlady, a rather plump and gawdy woman in her fifties that likes to dress like a twelve-year-old St. Trinians student, refrains from such behaviour herself, preferring to save that kind of thing for hospitalizing armed criminals on the odd occasion that they may wish to drop in!
I even noticed customers from The Powell Arms breaking into a little trot as they came past the window.

I'm seriously thinking about moving to Ramsgate's Eastcliff. Having visited a few times, I get the strong impression that it hosts a huge, gay populace. And if any of you ever get invited to that old sea dog Eastcliff Richard's CTM (as I did, a couple of weeks ago), I'd strongly recommend a slice of his Navy cake.

It's moist, nutty and a bit special!

Tuesday, 13 March 2007

A Nurse.

I must say that it's nice to have the use of my hands back again. I've had plenty to say over the last couple of weeks but, after an unfortunate felching accident (must make note that using a match to try and locate hiding Hammy the hamster is NOT a good idea), I've been unable to bash anything out at all!
Still, the nurse that came round every day to change my dressings was a good sport and even helped out with putting mascara on my eyebrow stubble for when the well-wishers popped over.
She also turned out to be an absolute goldmine of information about the local scene here in Birchingstone and strongly recommended that I visit The Pewter Pot, on The Square, for a thumping good evening out.
D'ya know, now that the dressings are off for good, I may just amble up there tonight and see what all the fuss is about, if I make it past The Powell Arms in one piece, that is!

Friday, 2 March 2007

Anal Ysis.

I do have some very clever friends but, by a long chalk, my close chum Smartie has to be one of the cleverest.
Believe it or not, he can name any sweet that you'd care to come up with, just by having it inserted into his rectum! A talent that gets him invited to all the best parties.
Not long after I'd met him, and having gone through most of my sweetie tin without getting one of them wrong, I thought I'd fix his game by sneakily inserting my 'instrument of love' into him.
"Hah," I thought "pick the bone out of that one!"
After a moment of deliberation he declared "mmmm, that's a Treet!"

Well I'll be blowed (with a bit of luck)!!!

Tuesday, 27 February 2007

Enough To Test The Patients Of All Saints!

Chatting to my good chum, Lawrence of Eastbourne, on the phone last night, he was telling me , with a note of disgust in his voice, that Eastbourne council had recently granted permission to Berkeley Homes to convert their old and much loved All Saints Hospital into 53 sympathetic apartments.
I'm not quite sure what a 'sympathetic apartment' is (maybe they're going to keep a nurse on for each flat?) but it all sounded spookily familiar to our recent Sea Bathing project (I wonder if that was done sypathetically and they've kept a pigeon on for each flat?).
"Not to worry," I told him, after pointing out the coincidence "they're having a beer festival just up the road at The Winter Gardens in Margate soon, so I may pop along for that and have a stab at blotting the whole sorry business out for a while."
Well, it's not nice to keep shutting hospitals down, especially as virulent plague seems to be becoming increasingly more rife, these days.
Actually, on reflection, closing hospitals could alleviate that, somewhat.
But I'm straying from the point, which was, as it turns out, so Lawrence informs me, that Eastbourne also has a beer festival of their own in their Winter Gardens.

Now then, what gives here?
Is Eastbourne modelling itself on Margate?
If so, I really think that someone ought to point out the error of their ways before it's too late and we end up with half the Country being set on fire!

Saturday, 24 February 2007

Flying Visit.

Dr. 'Sam' popped round to see me last night, for the first time in absolutely ages!
I know he's a busy boy, what with all of his business, leisure and marital pursuits, but I'm afraid I was a little huffy with him all the same. Well really, I have needs and feelings too, y'know. Also, I'm not able to go around to his place (wife and kids and all that) and after a close call with his wife and his mobile phone, I can't even text him anymore.
So, panting and drained, we drew up a plan to arrange further meetings via his blogsite (which will also remain unnamed), using coded keywords to discuss venues and times.
As he couldn't stay long because he had some important research to complete, regarding The Theatre Royal in Margate, I'm afraid it was all a bit add-hoc. Anyway, and without giving the game away by going into too much detail, whenever he uses the phrase 'in my opinion', it means he's up for a bit of 'how's your mother'.

I get the feeling we'll be meating quite a lot, from now on!

Friday, 23 February 2007

All Around Me Are Familiar Faeces...

...worn out pleases, worn out faeces.

So much for my holiday in Weymouth, I may just as well have gone to Margate!
Portland Bill, with it's ships of war and bloody great big prison, somehow managed to come across as a touch more cheerful than Weymouth's main seafront.
Maybe an idea for Margate, eh?
Forget about all that arty, farty Turner Centre nonsense or once-a-month fish market (what bloody good is that to anyone?). Let's get a prison erected there and bring in some drab and dreary looking boats with guns on them, rather than the drab and dreary looking ones that are already there without guns on them.
I'd suppose, with a bit of deft dredging, that we could even have Portland Bill's treacherous 'five tides crossing' just off the harbour arm and put on 'chav dunking shows' at the weekends. I still haven't forgiven them for what they did to my lovely coat, yet and perhaps I never will!
And for the icing on the cake, the town could be renamed Margate Jimmy.

I think that would put things in perspective, nicely!

ps. While on the subject of arty, farty nonsense, a Southside friend of mine tips me off that they're holding some kind of wake at the now defunct IOTA gallery there, this weekend. Is there any truth to that? I certainly wouldn't mind popping over for that, if only for the opportunity to say "Well, I suppose it's back to the drawing board, then!".

pps. I must be particularly bored this morning to have come across A WAKE FOR GALLERY IOTA, authored by none other than IOTA's Autistic Dictator (strange title), which I hope may be of some use to anyone who is even more bored than I.

ppss. Just thought I'd add that to reflect my feelings on nazism.

Thursday, 8 February 2007

Pan European.

While I'm on the subject of 'things, toilety in nature', I should pass comment on a toilet that my friend Nörbert recently had imported from his mother Fatherland. I certainly won't be passing anything else on it!
Being a voracious carnivore (and, of course, German), Nörbert has a few concerns regarding tape-worm and the such-like, so, in order to keep check on movements in his movements, he now has a toilet with a shelf built into it, so he can prod his poo about with a pencil before feeding the little fishies in the sea.
In his own words, he declares "I, for zis food, am paying wery güt monies and should be liking to eaten it for myselves!"
I was thinking about taking a short break with him at his parents house in Ratingen, a charming little town that was never in a big rush to rebuild after the war, but now I'm not so sure.

The last thing that I want is to gain the reputation of being a shit-stabber!

Tuesday, 6 February 2007

Side Issue.

I don't know, exactly, how it works for you guys that are under the impression that you're straight, but whenever I'm in a public urinal, I do like to have a little peek at the equipment being used next-door. Just out of curiosity, you understand!
Just as well that I did, last night, in the Sea View's toilet. The chappie parked next to me had an impressive array of jewellery adorning his manhood and, when he started to 'go', the thing went off like a garden sprinkler, an effect akin to hitting the bottom of the drop on a log flume! I just about managed to jump out of the way in time.
He also had a pair of light, beige trousers on which, by the time he'd done, looked very similar to fake leopard skin.

I scrubbed him off my list straight away as, perhaps, a bit too much of a liability!

Tuesday, 30 January 2007

B.I.B.L.E. Basher.

Met up with an old, old friend last night, Basher, who I haven't seen for absolutely ages! He's a lovely fella, tall, dark, handsome (unusual for someone in his line of work), witty, astonishingly clever and, rather unfortunately (for me), as straight as anyone could possibly be.
But he always has a story to tell and what he told me last night scared the Hell out of me!
Basher works in a laboratory, for an organization called the British Institute of Bio-Lateral Engineering (B.I.B.L.E.), where, it seems, they've been harbouring a dark secret for many years, now.
Quite some time ago, they discovered the existence of a chemical so lethal and in such abundance on our planet that they had little choice but to keep quiet about it, to avoid the mass panic and hysteria that would ensue awareness of it. In the meantime, he and his team have had to watch on, impotently, while people have died in their thousands as a direct, or indirect, result of contact with this chemical. He told me about this last night, I believe, just to get it off his chest but, I'm sorry Basher, I think people have the right to know, especially as particularly strong concentrations of it can be found right here, around Thanet!

It's called di-hydrogen monoxide and here's a few examples of what it's capable of.

1. It causes almost immediate death by inhalation.

2. In it's gaseous state, it will cause severe burns to living tissue.

3. In larger quantities (which, apparently, is not uncommon) it has been responsible for the majority of environmental degradation, throughout Earth's history.

4. On a few occasions in the past, when one or two other freak conditions coincide, this chemical has wiped out entire civilisations in a matter of minutes.

5. Even in it's frozen state, it is still not safe and has caused countless deaths, throughout Human history.

After a small, practical demonstration, I could clearly see that Basher was neither lying nor exaggerating about any of this!

Scary stuff, eh?

ps. If anyone owns, or knows someone that owns, a hamster that has just given birth to a litter, could they let me know please, as I now need a new one! Thanks.

Monday, 29 January 2007


Well, no wonder that the stocky fella, called Andrew (I thought), behind the bar in Churchills, seemed to display a slight femininity about himself!
Thinking that he was, quite obviously, one of the tribe, I made my play for him, only to discover that he's actually a woman!

How embarrasing!!!

And I have a sneaking suspicion that the 'friends' who were there with me, had cottoned on to that fact a while before I did. Very funny, indeed!

I think I'll just stick to Birchington from now on, where men are men, women are women and the only thing that you're likely to find in-between them would be the occasional condom.

Thursday, 25 January 2007

Flying South.

Quite apart from being a popular euphemism for someone suffering from 'Pele's disease' (no, not the ability to play astonishingly good football (oxymoron?)), it can also mean taking off for sunnier climes, which, after having my coat ruined by an, apparently, educated thug, I fully intend to do!
Unfortunately, with limited funds, I find myself unable to jet off much further than Ramsgate for the weekend. Still, I wouldn't mind another stab at Burly Wolfman, behind the bar in Churchills, as I'm convinced that he's right up for it!

So, if any of you lovely bloggers fancy meeting up there, over the weekend, I'll be the good-looking fella propping up the bar, not wearing a beautiful, silk sheen, brilliant white, knee length coat with fluffy pink collar and cuffs.

Wednesday, 24 January 2007

Birching 'Em.

There's not much that I find more satisfying than my after dinner walk with Wooley Woofer, my faithful companion and girl's best friend. Doing that in Birchington, of late, has become a bit of a nightmare, though.
Do all the 'chavs' in Thanet congregate here or has this town, somehow, managed to spawn the créme de la créme of them? While the police are cowering on the other side of the Isle, in Dumpton Gap, waiting to pounce on any five-year-old that picks up a lump of chalk to practice writing their name with, these errant youths are running amok here!
Having learned to ignore the odd strange noise that, on occasion, follows one around the center of town at night, I was most distressed to discover, upon returning home last night, that my favourite coat had been vandalised. Some bored (boring?) idiot had sprayed the word 'WUG' on the back of it with yellow line marking paint. Thinking I may find some measure of solice in my old mate, The Cambridge Online Dictionary, it seems that they're as clueless as I to the meaning of this strange word. The nearest I could come to making sense of it, and I hasten to add that this is pure guess-work, is that it might be the sound emitted by one of these 'pillocks of the community', were they to be stripped naked and thrashed with a piece of birch, in the middle of town, on a Saturday afternoon, for the viewing pleasure of an intimidated Township.

Dream on, eh!

Tuesday, 23 January 2007


Call me thick, if you like, but sometimes I just don't get jokes. So when my dear chum Bob came round last night, chuffed to bits and giggling like a looney about having had a 'B' tatooed on each bum cheek, I really couldn't see what all the fuss was about!
"It spells my name when I bend over." He said, demonstrating to no avail.
"Well I'm sorry," I replied "but who spells their name with an asterisk?"
Much as I hate to have to correct someone's spelling but I felt obliged to step in and make an 'O' of the offending symbol.
"There, that's better!" I opined, panting slightly.

Though I still think that SH*T might have worked better, especially after a bit of fun when his rear end would bear the legend 'SHOT'!

Monday, 22 January 2007

Tight Arse!

Ordinarily, a sought after quality in a date, however, it pays to be careful what you wish for, sometimes. Thinking that I was making some headway with a gorgeous young chap in The Punch and Judy, last night, alarm bells started ringing with his reluctance to put his hand in his pocket and buy a drink. After numerous and progressively less subtle hints, I decided to ask him directly what his game was and was furnished with the reply "I'm buggered if I'm going to line Frank Thorley's pockets for him!"

Oh dear!

His loss, really. Had he done so, he may well have been!

Friday, 19 January 2007

Digital Doctor Has Finger On Pulses.

Having had one or two problems, of late, with my 'raison d'être', I decided to call upon the wisdom of my online Birchington chum, Dr 'Samuel' (proctologist extraordinaire), to see if he could help.
After a swift, but delicate, examination, he opined that my problem may stem from a combination of Thanet life and a diet far too rich in lentils and chick-peas, recommending that I ease up on both (but not until he'd left, of course!).
I can't honestly say that I'm too happy about that but if it's going to save all the embarrassment (and mess) that I've been experiencing recently, well, hey-ho, I'll give it a go.

He's such a good man, the Doc, and a wonderful lover (if a bit brutal at times) that it really does escape me as to why he has so few friends!

Tuesday, 16 January 2007

Never Put A Whore's Gift In Your Mouth!

I must say that I'm a bit cheesed off at the moment and I wish that I could stop giggling like a little girl, so that I can take 'being cheesed off' a bit more seriously!
My friend Mary Anna, part time whore/drug dealer/dodgy cook, made some cookies for me earlier today and they've, quite unexpectedly, gone straight to my head.
She knows that the only drug I like to be injected with is life (and preferably organically, by the male of the species), so I think we may have to have words!
In the meantime, though, I think all this giggling is attracting some unwanted attention from the police, so to be on the safe side I'm going to pop off now and flush the rest of those cookies down the toilet before torching my kitchen to get rid of all the crumbs.

Better safe than sorry!

Tuesday, 2 January 2007

New Years Revolution.

Ordinarily, I struggle a bit to find something worth resolving enough that I'll actually stick to my guns with it.
But the answer is, and always has been, I'd suppose, that I ought to devote as much of my time as possible encouraging people to stop living in denial about their bisexual natures.

Well, I'm convinced that everyone has one, to one degree or another.

The Roman Empire, some 2000 years ago, enjoyed a much more enlightened culture than anything that exists today (that we get to hear about, that is), embracing the cultures that they 'conquered' and incorporating them into their own, rather than destroying and replacing them. And, of course, seeking sexual comfort with little regard to the sex of their partners.

The church, in their effort to control the masses in their own 'puritanical' way, have put paid to all that and left us scared shitless of Divine Retribution, should we explore our own desires rather than their/our faith!

And there's some irony there, too, as I'm sure many a Roman Catholic choirboy will attest.

Do we really need someone dictating bedroom rules to us?

I'm inclined to think not, personally!