[& garry...]

2012-02-12T07:55:00.001Z

I should have gone to a gig in London last night but I didn't. It was just too cold - I couldn't face the thought of a midnight train full of drunken people then a walk home in the cold. It was widely reported to have been -13.5 degrees yesterday morning. It certainly felt cold, but I think once you get beyond a certain point it's hard to tell the difference. Everything felt crisp, and it was almost like you could feel the air as you breathed it. So I spent the evening at home instead, burning logs and catching up with some TV. By 9pm I was bored and went to bed. I hate this stupid weather and the sooner it goes away the better.

I should have been going to see Babybird, in a tiny theatre off Leicester Square. He's always excellent so I was disappointed about missing it, but he is also often a bit of a grumpy twat so part of me didn't mind. However, it was strongly rumoured to be his last ever gig as Babybird, and if that's true then I'm really sad as their songs are magnificent and he does them so well live. And of course he's friends with Johnny Depp so there's always the hope that he might turn up and play guitar. If he did I'll kick myself. Anyway, here's a song I didn't get to hear live:

Culture miles: 0 :-(

2012-02-11T18:37:00.001Z

Everything is back where it belongs in the living room: the painting is back on the wall, and the Scottie dog is standing guard by the fire. It turned out well didn't it? I wonder if the painting might make the whole thing a bit top-heavy but there's nowhere else for it to go so it will have to stay there.

I had a few teething problems with it but that was more to do with my expectations than the fire itself. My only problem now is kindling: I have the wood, I have a lovely new axe - what I don't have is the ability to chop wood. I think I'm just terrified of losing a finger, but lets blame the wood instead.

One question remains: why the hell didn't I do this years ago??

2012-02-10T20:10:00.001Z

The first single I ever bought was Voulez-vous by ABBA which was a double a-side with Angel Eyes. According to Wikipedia it came out in July 1979. I bought it in HMV in Nottingham, when we were visiting an aunt and uncle who lived in the city. It didn't even come in a picture sleeve, just an orange paper thing which matched the label of the record. Great songs!

But I was never much of a singles buyer, I preferred to hang on and get the album - on cassette rather than LP - as they were better value. But then in the mid-80s I discovered 12" singles and I was hooked! I wasn't so interested in the extended version of the song they used to put on them - it was the 80s after all and dance hadn't been properly invented - but I loved the extra songs they put on the b-side. Strange little things that would have never made it onto an album, odd, experimental things. Depeche Mode were particularly good at it for a while. I had hundreds of 12" single, mostly bought for a pound each from the local record store, where I'd head every lunch time just in case something I liked had been reduced.

Then the CD single came along. The first one I had was Pet Shop Boys' So Hard, which was given to me by my first boyfriend, although I didn't appreciate the innuendo until many years later. For a while CD single were just 12" singles on CD, but record companies fiddled with formats and eventually you could get three different CDs for each single. It was madness, but I bought them all! Before my big clear out I had over a thousand of them, all played to death when I bought them then filed alphabetically until a dull Sunday afternoon when I'd dig out some old stuff and have a little dance round the living room.

But times change and I stopped buying CD singles. Albums became so cheap - £8.99 for something new with maybe 17 songs on them - that it seemed silly to pay £3.99 for some remixes. Of course there were a few people whose singles I had to buy: Morrissey and Pet Shop Boys. Morrissey did a compilation of his b-sides a few years ago so the only singles left in my cupboard were Pet Shop Boys' ones. This week they released a compilation of their b-sides.

[Don't put your CDs on a hob like I did, you might have left the heat on and melt them.]

So now the big pile on the left can be replaced by the small box on the right. Of course I could have replaced it with an mp3 file, which takes up no physical space, but I still love albums on CDs. The singles will go to the charity shop or for sale on Amazon, and when they release their next single (hopefully in the autumn) I'll buy it digitally.

Goodbye singles, you've been a complete and utter joy!

2012-02-09T22:55:00.001Z

It started snowing here again at teatime but I'm so sick of the stupid snow, and so sick of being trapped indoors, that I kept to my original plan of going out. I went to see My Week with Marilyn, which turned out to be the perfect film for such a miserable evening.

It's the true story of how a third assistant director ended up having a very romantic week with Marilyn Monroe whilst she was in England making a film with Laurence Olivier. She's only just married Arthur Miller and already their marriage isn't working out, and at the same time she finds herself making a film she doesn't really understand or like (The Prince & the Showgirl). Meanwhile Olivier, who is directing the film as well as starring in it, doesn't understand her at all and just gets cross with her lateness, which only intimidates her further. So she seeks solace with the third assistant director whilst Miller goes back to the US to see his children. If it sounds like she just had an affair with some nobody on the film set then that really does it a disservice. It's actually really sweet: she trusts him and he helps make her life more bearable, but in return she breaks his heart.

This kind of thing lives or dies by the quality of the acting so thank God Michelle Williams is simply amazing as Monroe. It's not just about the hair and the voice, she seems to capture her whole physicality and is totally believable. Kenneth Branagh plays Olivier and is a bit trickier - his accent seems to meander a bit, and I couldn't work out if that was because Olivier was staying in character off set, or if he just wasn't doing it very well. Judi Dench plays Dame Sybil Thorndyke and almost upstages everyone! The rest of the cast is made up of people yo'll recognise and go, "ooh it's him/her!" Great film.

Culture miles: 38

2012-02-06T19:50:00.001Z

Yesterday morning I woke up to this:

That's right, the promised snow finally turned up, and there was an impressive amount of it too! Too much to go anywhere so I settled down for a day at home, although not before I made this:

Well you have to don't you, especially when the snow was so damn good I was able to roll a small ball into a big ball just by pushing it round the garden. That's never happened before.

But now the working week has begun it's time for life to return to normal, so it would be quite nice if it melted and things warmed up a bit!

2012-02-05T08:18:00.000Z

I've just finished reading the new novel by Edmund White, which, thanks to the local library, I got to read as soon as it came out without having to pay for an expensive hardback. Yesterday was National Libraries Day - I love my local library and God help anyone who tries to take it away from me.

Anyway, the book was about a gay man - the Jack of the title - and his love for his straight friend Will - the friend of the title. They meet in New York in the 60s when they work for the same magazine, and become good friends. Then Jack introduces Will to the woman who he eventually marries. They lose touch a bit once Will moves to the suburbs and has kids but then Jack goes out to dinner with them, taking with him a woman who becomes Will's mistress. It all gets a bit messy with Will basically having a mid-life crisis and by the early 80s he has moved into Will's spare room and is sleeping around whilst his wife looks after the kids in the country. But then AIDS arrives and it terrifies him into returning to his wife, who will only take him back if he promises to stop seeing Jack, who she clearly feels is to blame for the whole fiasco. Meanwhile Jack, who has been something of a slag, never sleeping with the same man more than three times, although he can never possibly have hoped to settle down with Will, also finally settles down.

It's a potentially interesting, if slightly obvious, idea for a book: can a gay and straight man be friends, or does the gay man always fancy the straight man? Or does the straight man fear that the gay man fancies him? (Yes, it's basically the gay When Harry met Sally...). From my own experience I'd say it was a stupid question and that it's not all about sex - if you're only capable of thinking of other people in a sexual way then you're mental. And I would suspect that straight men aren't frightened by the gay thing any more (and I've met plenty of married men who have positively embraced the idea...). So I guess that's why he's set it in the past, because it would be redundant now. And I also think he does tend to live in the past a bit, and his novels are so autobiographical he's bound to rehash the bits he thought were best.

Somehow it didn't quite work for me. I quite liked the Jack character although in my head I turned him into Don Draper from Mad Men. I didn't really believe that a man who is supposedly so smart and sociable would lust after quite a dull straight man for years after he's been rebuffed. And too much is made of the fact that Jack has a big cock. If I wanted to read that kind of talk I've got the internet for it (or indiscreet friends),.It just doesn't add anything to the story and seems a bit childish. Will on the other hand seems spoilt and self-indulgent, in need of a good slap, and quite why so many people fall in love with him is a mystery to me.

As with all his books it's beautifully written. His sense of place is spot on, you can easily visualise the New York he is talking about and all the places he mentions. And yet somehow it just doesn't quite hit the spot.

I've also finally given up on the book of popular anthropology that has proved so hard to get into and has buggered up my reading the year. The library won't renew it again and I'm not interested enough in finishing it to keep it and get a fine.

When I was at the Alan Hollinghurst reading in Norwich before Christmas they gave out a flyer for some literary events in the spring, one of which was a man talking about his book The Science of Love and Betrayal - I love the idea that the insane feeling you get about people can be explained, and therefore tamed. Then I noticed he'd written another book which seemed interesting so I ordered it from the library. Well it turns out it is interesting, but perhaps it would be more interesting as a magazine article. He has a way of explaining complicated stuff that makes it seem really obvious, so obvious in fact that you wonder why it needed explaining at all. Or perhaps science isn't really my thing...

2012-02-04T18:50:00.004Z

This is what I've been doing today.

I braved the cold and went to the gym:

I painted the chimney breast:

(It's just a white undercoat - the bit where the fire is will be painted light grey, the chimney breast will be silver - but that's a job for tomorrow.)

I turned logs into sticks (but not many):

(And discovered in the process that an axe is a really tricky thing to use. Which must be a relief to my more useless colleagues.)

I baked a cake:

(But it refused to rise - what is it with me and thin Victoria sponge??)

And now I'm all tucked up in the warm hoping it won't snow.

2012-02-01T18:46:00.001Z

I went to the cinema last, to see The Descendants, my second George Clooney film in a week. It really is impossible to say no to George, especially when he's Oscar nominated.

In this film he plays a man whose wife is in a coma after an accident in a speedboat. He's usually too busy being a lawyer to be much of a parent to his two daughters so he has to step up and look after them, whilst also trying to sort out the sale of a huge piece of land belonging to his family. But his wife will not recover so they have to switch the machines off that are making her breathe, and at the same time he finds out she'd been having an affair and was thinking of divorcing him. So he goes off in search of the other man, dragging his daughters along on an unlikely road trip that ultimately brings them closer together.

It might be nominated for five Oscars but somehow it didn't work for me. There's quite a lot of explanatory voice-over at the beginning which I don't like: don't tell me, show me! And it is very downbeat from the beginning, which I can cope with but it just makes it feel a bit hard work. And whilst it's set in Hawaii they show very little of the beauty, deliberately - the voice-over explains that bad things still happen in paradise. Fair point, but the drabness isn't very watchable. George is good as always but he's forced to wear some very naff shirts. And I do think the plot was overly complicated: the whole thing about the sale of the family's land didn't really add anything to the story. Or perhaps I just missed the point? I don't think I was the only one as it was a very fidgety audience. I'll be quite shocked if it wins any Oscars but you never can tell with these things.

Culture miles: 22

Rather impressively I saw eight films in January! Thank God I did because otherwise the month would have been a cultural desert and much duller. I very much doubt I'll be able to keep that pace up but we'll see. As for January, it went quite quickly. I replaced my annual new year depression with moments of complete madness, so that made a nice change. Now I'd just like the year to settle down a bit. And get warmer.

2012-01-29T22:13:00.000Z

I'm just back from the cinema where I saw a French film called Romantics Anonymous. It was a romantic comedy about chocolate which could have been potentially too twee for words so I'd not read much about it on purpose and didn't have particularly high expectations of it. So what a surprise when it made me cry!

It's about a woman who is a fabulous chocolate maker but who is too shy to tell anybody. She attends a weekly support group called Romantics Anonymous for people who are 'emotional' (I don't think it translates very well), where she tries desperately to overcome her fear of everything. She goes for an interview at a chocolate factory run by a man who loves women but who is absolutely terrified of them. Each day he goes to see a psychiatrist to help him overcome his fear of women, and each day he gets an exercise to carry out. One exercise is to invite someone out to dinner so he asks the woman.

They get on really well and an unlikely romance blossoms, whilst at the same time she secretly creates new chocolate for the firm that could potentially save it. Eventually they sleep together then afterwards she talks about marriage and kids - don't judge her, we've all done it! - and he gets scared and runs away. But he comes back, only to find she's run away. He goes back to his psychiatrist and tells him perhaps it's ok, because he was so frightened of love and relationships that perhaps it's better not to begin one. Meanwhile she goes back to her support group and tells them it's better they didn't fall in love as they'd only grow tired of each other and slowly despise each other. Obviously it all ends happily ever after.

It's an unexpectedly charming little film. All the characters are nicely quirky, but not so much as to be irritating. The woman has a habit of singing Confidence in Me from The Sound of Music to herself to raise her spirits, and at one point the man sings a Russian song to her (although it sounded more like Jacques Brel to me). It looks great, and all the business with chocolate really helps. It's all really rather lovely, and at only 78 minutes it's the perfect length. What surprised me was how much of a chord it struck with me. It goes over a lot of stuff that I've been feeling lately - hearing it come out of someone else's mouth was both reassuring and made me realise how ridiculous I was being. Hence the tears.

Culture miles: 38

2012-01-27T20:24:00.001Z

Wood-burning stove installation - day 3

The stove is in!

But it's a bit heard to see against the cement backdrop so here's a close-up:

And here, several hours later, were some flames:

It looks fantastic and really fits into the space nicely. I will look even better once everything has been painted: the chimney breast will be silver again and the bit inside the fire will be pale grey, which should show off the fire more. And despite all my moaning about him the man who installed it did a really good job, and left me with tons of paperwork (instructions, guarantees, suppliers of wood and coal), and made sure I understood how it worked before he left.

I think he might have made it look a bit too simple though because after two hours all I've managed to burn is firelighters, kindling and bits of the Guardian. The logs are glowing slightly but they're refusing to burst into flames. But something must be going on as the stove is hot. I just imagined there would be lots more flames. Turns out it's actually a lot harder to set fire to stuff than I imagined, which makes me wonder why I've been so worried that the house might spontaneously catch fire!

Anyway, tomorrow is another day: I'll clear out the mess I've made, make a big pile of paper and kindling, and resist the urge to add the logs until I've got some roaring flames going. I'll get it working before the weekend is over I promise!

2012-01-26T22:36:00.002Z

If I promised to do something then repeatedly cancelled at the last minute, with only the flimsiest of excuses, a perfunctory apology and no concern for the inconvenience it caused other people you'd think I was a bit of a c*nt. But if I was a parent and I did that "because of my kids" I'd be able to get away with it and get sympathy too. Why do we let people with kids get away with this crap?

Why the rant? Because the wood-burner man didn't show up today - one of his kids is sick, his wife needed to go to a meeting and they couldn't arrange alternative childcare. Fair enough and yet at the same time not really my problem! It's no way to run a business is it, especially in these recessionary times, but more than that it's no way to treat somebody. It's selfish, and whilst he apologised it made no difference - he was going to do exactly what he wanted to do whether I liked it or not.

It's not just him either - people at work come and go as they please if they need to do stuff for their kids, even "working from home" if necessary (although we all know that means doing no work at all) and we have to put up with it. Then people make it worse by asking how the kid is the next day and being all sympathetic. I wouldn't mind a day at home watching Come Dine with Me whilst a kid sleeps off a cold, and added sympathy wouldn't go a miss either!

Over the years I've lost count of how many times I've been fucked about "because of my kids". So parent types, do us all a favour, think more carefully before you cancel stuff - I've got a life too, and just because it doesn't include kids doesn't mean it's any less important than yours! (And if anyone reads that and thinks, "you haven't got kids so you don't understand" then I'd prefer it if you never came back, thanks.)

This evening I've been to see The Ides of March. Look how good that poster is - this film was never going to be shit. And indeed it was not. I loved it!

It's about a young man (Ryan Gosling) who works on the campaign for a governor (George Clooney) as he attempts to become the Democratic Presidential candidate. It's hard to say much more than that without giving stuff away, and it would be a shame to do that if you haven't seen it. It's the usual political intrigue - if you've ever seen The West Wing you'll know the kind of thing to expect, but at the same time it isn't predictable at all.

George Clooney directs as well as acting in it and having a hand in the screenplay. Is it not enough that he's the most handsome, charismatic man in the world without being so bloody talented as well?? He attracts some great actors: Ryan Gosling is everywhere at the moment and quite rightly too, he's excellent; Philip Seymour Hoffman and Paul Giametti play opposing campaigners (and of course are excellent); and Marisa Tomei - whatever happened to her?? - is great as a journalist. The whole thing is just really well acted and totally believable.

It looks great too; it's well written; and at 96 minutes it's the perfect length and pace for this kind of thing. Nobody does politics on film like the Americans, probably because nobody does politics quite like they do. Fab film!

2012-01-25T17:35:00.002Z

Wood-burning stove installation - day 2

I've been plastered:

That's the smooth chimney breast I've been dreaming of! Although it has to be said that getting there has proved more frustrating than I imagined. I was at home this morning putting off going into work when a car pulled up next to mine in the driveway. As we have shared parking strange cars are always of interest (or perhaps I'm just nosey) so I sat and watched as a car door opened right into the side of my car. That always gets me in a good mood. Then a middle-aged man strolled up my garden path. I greeted him rather unfriendly with, "can I help you?" Turns out he was here to do the plastering. Nobody had told me to expect a plasterer, but luckily the wood-burner man had given him my house key! Now I didn't mind the wood-burner man having the key - I'd met him and trusted him, and could always refuse to pay him if I wasn't happy about something, but a random stranger? Not so happy about that.

I popped home at lunchtime and he was nearly finished. There had been no sign of the wood-burner man - apparently he as off looking for a chimney lining. I hope it was for me. He's supposed to be finished tomorrow. He's got to get on the roof and lower a flue down the chimney, then put a cap on the chimney - God knows how, think they might need scaffolding. Then he's got to fit the fire, connect it up, put a plate over the chimney opening in the fireplace and then test it all. I suspect he won't get done. The frustrating thing is that he's one of the good tradesmen: he knows what he's doing and comes highly recommended, and yet still he has the air of a cowboy about him.

I'm finding the disruption tricky to cope with. Half the living room is squeezed into my bedroom. Everything in the living room has a thin film of dust over it, and the dust seems to hang in the air so when I breathe in I can taste it. I'm hiding in bed to type this as I can't look at the piles of stuff covered in plastic sheeting. God knows how my sister managed when she spent 18 months building her extension, it would have driven me mental!

Back in the real world I've been trying to catch up with my reading. This is the second novel I've read by this author (and actually only the second thing she's written), and I enjoyed it - she gets better with each book, and sooner or later she's going to manage something truly excellent.

This is about a man who reads the local news on TV. He's in his fifties, he's dealing with the accidental death of a former colleague (which he suspects might not be so accidental), his mother is in an old people's home and is being difficult, and the local council are pulling down the buildings that his late father, who was an architect, designed.

It could potentially be quite dull but I really like the way she writes. It's set in the Midlands - I'm assuming Birmingham but it's not really named - and she gets a real sense of place, that feeling of not quite country, not quite urban, where life is just like another B&Q car park on a Sunday afternoon. It also helps that I really like local news, where stories of no importance can make the headlines just because they're local, and where they can find the most tenuous connections to major news events just to give it some local relevance. Look East is my guilty pleasure, Susie & Stewart are news-reading Gods! Anyway, it's a nice read, nothing startlingly exciting happens but it's very likeable.

2012-01-24T18:04:00.001Z

Wood-burning stove installation - day 1

When I left the house this morning I had a fireplace:

Now not so much:

I'm liking the size of the opening and think it will look great once the fire is in place but I'm hiding upstairs trying to avoid looking at it because all I keep thinking is, "is that all they've done??" It doesn't look quite enough for two men after a whole day. Admittedly they made no mess at all so I suspect they've spent half the day hoovering and dusting. I was just expecting to see some plastering done.

They're supposed to be finished on Thursday and I hope they will be, I don't want the upheaval to extend into the weekend. I'm still not entirely sure how they're going to get onto the roof to get the flue down the chimney but that's their problem not mine.

2012-01-22T08:00:00.001Z

My sister bought a new puppy last weekend:

His name is Olly, although she assures me he's not named after Olly Murs. He's nine weeks old and is the cutest thing! He's tiny and I wanted to keep him. I think I'll be seeing a lot more of my sister in the near future.

(That's Mum's house by the way.)

2012-01-21T08:00:00.000Z

My reading hasn't gotten off to a great start this year. It didn't help that I started reading a book of popular anthropology which manages to state the obvious in a really complicated way, so I've got a bit bogged down in it. Which is where David Niven came in.

I'd made the mistake of telling Ema I didn't like A Matter of Life & Death (and compounded it by also dismissing The Red Shoes - Black Swan for the 1940s anyone?). Once she'd finished tutting at me she told me that I must read David Niven's books. She's not to be argued with so I came home and ordered one.

This is not so much about him but more about the people he met during his career in Hollywood. There's chapters about Humphrey Bogart, Errol Flynn, Clark Gable - all the Hollywood greats of the period. There are lots of tales which take place on boats, lots of glamorous parties and plenty of name-dropping. I'm sure when it was written - 1975 - it was all very exciting but nearly forty years later it all feels a bit safe and dull. He doesn't really reveal anything he shouldn't and just loves everyone. It all just feels a bit old-fashioned.

So having started David Niven book to give me some relief from another book I ended up starting another book to give me some relief from that! This was on my bookshelf already as I'd read it when it was first published but I had a nagging suspicion that it was one of those things I'd kept but maybe shouldn't have. As you might guess from its title it's early 90s Queer fiction. You remember the stuff - in your face gay, a bit angry, lots of sex. It didn't last long thankfully as gay fiction became more mainstream, and a lot more readable.

This is less a novel, more a collection of stories, all muddled together but sharing character names. According to the book jacket it's supposed to be a journal kept by a gay man living in Kansas with his boyfriend who has AIDS, but I doubt you'd realise that from reading it. Thankfully the author got better although he does appear to have disappeared now. Not a great start to my year's reading, here's hoping the next batch are better.

2012-01-20T18:56:00.001Z

Last night Trish, Janet & I went to see War Horse. I wanted to see it to find out what all the fuss was about really, but to be honest what I really wanted to see was the National Theatre production, which I'd stupidly managed to miss and now it's sold out months in advance!

It's set during WW1 and is about a horse that a farmer buys at auction just to spite his landlord. It looks like he's made a dreadful mistake and it will be no use at all on the farm but then his teenage son develops a bond with it and turns things around. Unfortunately war breaks out, and as it's the first World War and mechanisation hasn't really begun the army recruits horses at the same time as it recruits soldiers. The farmer seizes his opportunity to get his money back, and so the horses adventures in the war begin. It's not spoiling anything to tell you that it survives until the end of the war.

It's about animals, is directed by Stephen Spielberg, and the script is co-written by Richard Curtis so inevitably it's a bit sentimental. Okay, more than a bit sentimental. It's almost like two films really: the rural English and French stuff looks idyllic, and a bit unreal - something about the way it is lit and filmed makes it look fake even though clearly it isn't - whereas the war stuff is a little bit more authentic than I would have liked. It's an oddly uncomfortable mixture.

It's difficult to forget that the original book was for children - the plot is simple and more of a fairytale than a real story and I can't imagine for a moment that it's based on reality. The acting is okay although all the humans are put into the shadow by the horse. I'm assuming it was all done by a real horse not some amazing CGI trick?

I'm glad I went, just so that when I eventually see the play I can say confidently that it is better than the film.

Culture miles: 22

2012-01-17T21:16:00.001Z

A VERY GAY WEEKEND ON THE SOUTH COAST - PART TWO

Sunday

After we checked out of the hotel we went for a long walk along the front to the marina. I've always seen it in the distance and have been curious about it but it looks so far away I've never bothered to go and see it. But Andrew is fearless when it comes to walking so off we went.

Two miles later we ended up in a car boot sale on top of a multi-storey car park overlooking a big ASDA: welcome to the marina! By the time we found the boats I'd lost all interest in it so we headed to the top of the cliffs, past a notorious suicide spot - obviously the marina has that affect on people! - and back along the front to civilisation. We end up in Kemptown - the gay bit, if it is possible for one bit of Brighton to be gayer than another - where we found a coffee shop and ate more cake:

Refreshed we walked back through the shops to the station so Andrew could get his train back. The Man from Hove came to meet us there and as Andrew headed off to Wales I headed off to Hove. We went back to his flat for some lunch - a nice chunky sandwich, followed by some lounging on the sofa with papers - it's what Sunday afternoons were invented for surely. Then we went to the cinema:

We went to see The Artist. It was his idea but I was only too happy to go as there had been so much good press about it that it was a definite must-see for me. He was worried he might fall asleep during it - it has to be said that he's more sporty than arty, which is a repeat of the whole Ken situation, and knowing how that worked out only fills me with panic - but thankfully he stayed awake and it was nice to hear him giggling beside me.

The film is great, and certainly lived up to the hype. It's a black and white, silent film about a film star whose career ends abruptly when they start making talking pictures. I think it helps that the subject is so familiar, you can easily work out what is happening without too much difficulty. It's beautifully done, really sweet and there's a fantastic dog in it. The silent thing isn't a problem at all, although I did find the music at the start a little too jolly but it did settle down quite quickly. It was also good to see it where we did: the Duke of York cinema is the oldest continuously operating purpose built cinema in Britain and would have shown silent films when it first opened.

Then back to his for take away (Thai) in front of the TV, finishing just in time to enjoy Sherlock whilst holding hands and eating very good orange and almond chocolate. Hard to imagine a better way to spend the evening. Then he dropped me off at the Travelodge. I wasn't staying over as he had to be up early for work the next day. I'd not expected to stay over so wasn't disappointed, especially after such a lovely afternoon/evening.

Monday

I headed out of Brighton to Bexhill, more specifically the De La Warr Pavilion who had an Andy Warhol exhibition on. I've seen a lot of exhibitions of his stuff since he died but this one was free and was nearly on the way home so I thought I'd make the detour. I'm glad I did as although it was small they managed to include some stuff I'd not seen before, and it didn't focus on the popular stuff whilst managing to include enough of it not to be elitist. Lovely!

I didn't linger in Bexhill - if you've been you'll understand why, there's not much going on and everyone I saw seemed to be retired. Instead I got a train back to London and went to Islington to see an exhibition about Joe Orton. There's not much left to say about him really: the diaries have been published, the plays have been revived, the biography written then turned into a film and then a play, the unpublished novels published. The only thing left really was an exhibition of the 'customised' library books which landed him in jail and kick-started his career. And that's what was on display in Islington museum.

It's funny how times change: 50 years ago the local library in Islington pursued Orton and his partner Halliwell because of the damage they did to the library books and now the museum has a display of them. They're an interesting curiosity, not especially sophisticated - lots of them just have pictures of men wrestling glued to the cover - but it's more about their place in his history. One of the things they also had was a page of notes he made for possible play titles, which he'd written on a page torn from a library book - it was surprising to see his handwriting.

It seemed like a good idea to complete my day with a quick trip to the the flat he lived in, which I thought was in the middle of nowhere but it's actually only about two minutes from the station, so I went and paid pilgrimage:

There's not much to see really but it was good to go and do it.

And then I headed home. The trouble with going away and having a nice time is that it makes you discontent with your real life. That discontent began before I even left and I spent most of the journey back daydreaming about selling my house and moving to the south coast. Maybe one day I'll have the balls to do more than dream about it...

Culture miles - Film: 3 miles; Warhol: 48 miles; Orton: 4 miles.

2012-01-16T21:29:00.003Z

A VERY GAY WEEKEND ON THE SOUTH COAST - PART ONE

Friday

On Friday I had the day off work and headed to Brighton for the weekend. I was meeting Andrew but as his train was arriving a little later than mine I'd arranged to meet the stained glass man for lunch - remember him? I haven't seen him for year, since I bumped into him at a concert in London, but we've kept in touch so it was a good chance to catch up. We ended up in a pub called The Eagle, sharing a baked Camembert then having a big chunky sandwich with chips. Plus two pints of Guinness so by the time we'd finished I was pleasingly tipsy.

I checked into the hotel, the Hotel Umi on the seafront, which I'd stayed in before but which was a bit disappointing this time. Rather randomly this lyric was written over the bed:

[It's Snow Patrol, who I'm not a fan of. And it's also a rather odd thing to write above a single bed!]

Then I went in search of Andrew, who was having a shopping frenzy. I caught up with him just in time to help him buy shoes, and now I have shoe-envy as he got some great Converse trainers. After a power nap we headed out in search of food, ending up in an Italian restaurant rather oddly called Pinocchio, which was fairly straight-forward food but lovely ice cream puddings.

Then, in something of a departure for us, we went to a gay pub! I know they're hard to avoid in Brighton but Andrew and I have a history of not really going to gay places when we're together so we rather surprised ourselves. We ended up in the Camelford Arms, which I'd been into on a previous visit and had been told was the bear pub in the city. It was quite quiet so we only stayed for one pint, but it was good to do something gay in the gayest city in the country.

Saturday

We started with a hotel breakfast:

[Bizarrely it was served in a room that was done up like a theatre, but stupidly I forgot to take a picture of it!]

Then it was time for some sight-seeing: the Royal Pavilion, which has got to be one of the maddest buildings ever built. But if the outside looks fantastic it's nothing in comparison to the dining room with its dragon chandelier - it couldn't be any more over the top if it tried! And they also do good cake:

[That's Bakewell Tart, probably the best I've ever tasted although I've never been to Bakewell so there's every chance they might be better.]

Then we wandered over to the museum, which is on the other side of the Pavilion Gardens. It's a lovely little museum filled with the kind of stuff I'm interested in: Art, Design, Social history. Thankfully no fossils or general dusty old dullness.

I then spent three hours with the lovely Man from Hove whilst Andrew went and amused himself. We had coffee and caught up, then wandered round the shops before I dragged him back to the hotel so he could meet Andrew. I felt there'd been a slight awkwardness about the visit: I was in his city but not to see him - it had been booked before I first started chatting with him. And the fact that I was with Andrew could have been misconstrued. So I wanted him to see the single bed I was sleeping in and also meet Andrew, who thankfully turned up just before he left. At one point we were all in the bar chatting away and part of my brain was marvelling at how grown-up it all was whilst another part of my brain was doing this. I did also have a slight panic that they might have been getting on a little too well. Basically I was generally being mental.

The Man from Hove headed home then after power naps Andrew and I headed out for the evening, first for a stroll along the pier:

Then we headed off in search of a curry. Our first two choices were fully booked so we ended up at one just round the corner from the hotel, which was perfectly edible but nothing special - my vegetable curry seemed to comprise nothing but carrots. We walked it off by heading down the seafront to the renovated bandstand:

[Apparently you can get married in it. Just saying.]

Then we went back to the Camelford Arms, which was more packed, and had a pleasantly high beardiness quota going on. Hurrah!

To be continued...

2012-01-12T22:37:00.003Z

Tonight was cinema club and they showed The Guard. I'd deliberately avoided reading too much about it as it's a comedy and I find funny things a bit tricky and didn't want to decided I hated it before I even saw it.

It's about a policeman in a remote community in Ireland who suddenly finds himself with a murder to solve, then the FBI turn up in search of drug dealers. He ends up pairing up with the FBI agent, trying to find the drug dealers, and despite his rather cavalier attitude to the law, and his love of alcohol and prostitutes, he actually manages to do it.

At first the main character seems likes your cliched comedy Irishman - a bit dumb, very sweary, but loves his Mum. People were laughing and I got that slight uncomfortable feeling where I wasn't and the fact that other people were laughing only makes me want to laugh less. But then the character became more interesting and I really warmed to him and before I knew it I was laughing with everyone else.

It helps that it looks great too, it's really well designed and nicely stylised so it has a slight unreality and absurdity about it. And all the characters are just that little bit odd, which makes it really interesting. It has a nice feeling of melancholy about it too - I thought it had a similar feel to Submarine, which I also loved.

Culture miles: 24

2012-01-11T21:59:00.001Z

I've just been to see We need to talk about Kevin. I hated the book - really hated it, throw it across the room hatred, and yet stupidly I persevered with it in the hope that it would redeem itself. I didn't feel like it did although it must have had something going for it or else why would so many people have read it? Buggered if I know...

I'm assuming you know the story? But if you don't it's about the mother of a teenage boy, who shoots his schoolmates and goes to prison. In the book it's written as a series of letters to her husband, reminding him of things that happened in the past, whereas in the film it just skips backwards and forwards in time. As she writes the letters she's trying to rebuild her life but people won't let her - they call her names in the street, throw paint at her house - all because she raised a devil child.

I might have steered clear of the film if it hadn't starred Tilda Swinton. Frankly the woman can do no wrong. She is very good, although at one point she wears a very bad long wig which made me wince. And the film is actually a lot better than the book, although my main reservation about it remains the same: Kevin is a c*nt but in a totally over the top, unrealistic kind of way. No child could be that evil. (Spare me examples if you have them, I'm not actually interested.) There's an interesting idea at the heart of it: what happens to the parents of a child who commits murder? But in the book I felt it was weighed down by endless middle-class hand-wringing and "was it something I did??" There's a bit of it in the film but it's more implied: Kevin is often seen eating really bad food (jam sandwiches with - gasp! - white bread - clearly she is a bad mother, where's the organic artisan bread??) and he's often seen shooting things. Because of course jam sandwiches make you evil. Oh do f*ck off. It doesn't help that the character looks like he's stepped out of one of the Twilight films. Now I'm just ranting.

Perhaps I'd be more sympathetic to it if I was a parent and could see my worst fears shown on a big screen, or smugly congratulate myself that I am a good parent after all in comparison to her in the film. But I'm not and I just thought the story was unbelievable and more than a little annoying.

The film is well made though, it looks lovely, is well acted and it manages to turn a tricky book into something more coherent. But I just found it impossible to get past the shortcomings of the book.

Culture miles: 38

2012-01-10T22:04:00.001Z

Yes that's a new iPod but no I haven't been shopping - it was free! "Free??", you say. Let me explain...

Way back in 2006 I bought an iPod to take with me to New York. I was going on my own and I figured it would make me feel less alone if I had a head full of my favourite songs. I ended up buying a 2GB Nano, which seemed expensive at the time. Fast forward to last November when I got an email from Apple saying there's a possibility the battery might catch fire and to click on a link to find out how to get a replacement. Well I assumed it was just a scam to get into my iTunes account but two minutes on Google cleared that up - there really was a problem. So I sent it back and waited for the replacement, not really knowing what I was going to get.

Finally - no thanks to UPS! - it turned up today: a brand new 8GB Nano, which has a radio, some fitness nonsense (it looks like a pedometer) and 8GB of memory! Obviously it's so small I'm going to spend significant amounts of time looking for it, but apart from that it's fabulous! I was more excited than Christmas! And isn't that just the most amazing customer service? If the battery had caught fire it would have never occurred to me to send it back as it would have been so far out of warranty. Thank God someone can do customer service still.

2012-01-09T22:08:00.001Z

Last night I went to see The Iron Lady with Trish & Janet. I had mixed feelings about it before I went, and although it was better than expected I still have mixed feelings about it. (When I say "better than expected" I mean I didn't throw my shoes at the screen and flounce out in a huff.)

The film tells two stories - and really should have been two different films. The main story is set now, and imagines the life Margaret Thatcher lives: alone in her flat, suffering from dementia and struggling to get over the death of her husband, suspicious of those trying to help her, and pretty much abandoned by her son. But things keep reminding her of her past - words or objects - which trigger flashbacks which slowly build up the story of the significant moments of her career: winning the election, miners strike, poll tax riots, Falklands war, Brighton bombing, riots in Brixton, being overthrown as leader.

The flashbacks are pretty conventional, almost cliched, and it feels like ever other political drama ever made. It doesn't help that the stuff being portrayed is recent enough for most of the audience to remember quite vividly. The audience by the way was entirely middle-aged, I can't imagine why a teenager would want to see this. Having said that there's always a certain amount of pleasure to be had watching a woman boss around weak men in suits.

The contemporary stuff is more interesting but more problematic. It's a very good portrayal of a woman struggling with dementia and grief, but it's about a woman who is still alive and is still struggling with that stuff and it does beg the question did it need to be made at all? I wish they'd just made a film about someone with dementia, someone imaginary, but then of course who would have paid for that?

I don't think the whole thing works. It doesn't give any insight into the past - the flashbacks are all told from her point of view so there is no context or criticism - and the imaginary contemporary stuff only seems to encourage sympathy, which can hardly be the point can it? It just makes me wonder why the film was made at all. The director has been talking a lot about King Lear, about how someone great and powerful ends up diminished by old age, which is fair enough but why not just remake King Lear?

The best thing about it is Meryl Streep, who is just astonishing. I never liked her when she was busy doing the accents but have grown to like her in recent years as she's started to take herself less seriously, so there was a danger this would alienate me again, but it didn't. She does the old age stuff very convincingly but she is just great all the way through. I think she'll have to make room on her mantelpiece for another Oscar.

It's hard to know what else to say really. It's well made but I think the whole point of it is so fundamentally flawed that it just doesn't work.

Culture miles: 22

2012-01-08T07:04:00.001Z

I baked bread yesterday, because a new year seems to encourage this kind of madness.

Way back in 2008 I met a bloke who spent his weekends in the country near Swaffham and his weeks in Chelsea with his ex-boyfriend. We met a couple of times in my lunch break whilst he was recuperating in the country from glandular fever. Ever since then we've exchanged messaged intermittently but never met again. I always thought the ex wasn't quite as ex as he'd like people to think, which was reinforced by his occasional appearance in chat rooms looking for a 'third' for him and his 'mate' (I'm guessing 'mate' meant 'ex'.)

He was in the country over the holidays and got in touch, so we'd been exchanging chatty messages. Mostly him bemoaning the state of his love life. Last night he invited me over for a pint and a meal at his local, because he was only going to sit in front of the TV/computer on his own for the evening otherwise and so was I (I wasn't complaining about this - I had a loaf of bread to get through and some TV programs.)

I got lost on the way, which was handy as it gave me time to try and remember what his name was. Finally it came back to me: David. (It was from the year when everyone I met seemed to be called David.) He has a lovely little cottage in a small village but I didn't get to see that to start with as we headed straight down the road to his local pub. It's a bit odd - a country pub but with very contemporary decor. Nice modern English food though: I had chicken & stuffing suet pudding, which didn't quite work - the individual bits were lovely but chicken needs a pastry crust and suet needs beef. It was filling though.

Turns out that David is something of a regular and knows the staff really well, and was chatting candidly to the landlady about his love life. In quite a loud voice which I could see was making some of the other customers smirk/nervous. We gossiped our way through the meal, talking about how rubbish local men are, and along the way discovering quite a few we'd both 'enjoyed', although he'd done far better than I had and had managed to meet up with some people I thought were out of my league. It was fun although he is quite mad: he is clearly desperate to not be single and it's obviously scaring men away, and he sort of knows it but doesn't see why he can't just be honest with people when he likes them (an attitude I can sympathise with).

We skipped pudding as we were so full and walked back to his. He made tea and we talked about wood-burning stoves - he's just had one fitted by the same man who is doing mine, and thankfully only had good things to say about him so that was a relief. He's very tactile and I felt very relaxed with him, so I didn't feel uncomfortable when he laid his head in my lap. Or when he snogged me. Or when he invited me upstairs.

He wanted me to stay the night - it's his big thing, he wants a man who won't leave, who he can have breakfast with in the morning. But we'd already had quite an awkward conversation about it in the pub beforehand, about how I never sleep well in a strange bed, and how my sleep is already so messed up I just wouldn't risk it. He seemed to understand and was okay with it, so I left.

But the car wouldn't start. The engine just wouldn't turn over. It had been fine on the way over and had been running beautifully for months. Then nothing. Dead. So I phoned the AA who said they were really busy and would be out in 90 minutes. So he put the kettle on, gave me a hug and sat down to chat. I was mortified but he was very kind about it. Then the AA phoned back to say they were going to send a recovery vehicle instead just to get me home, then come out the following day (today) to sort it out. So 30 minutes later a big lorry pulls up outside his house and we got the car on the back. God knows what his neighbours thought. Or indeed what mine thought when it was unloaded at 2am, orange lights flashing. Inevitably the AA man wasn't remotely attractive but he got me home which was the main thing.

So now I've had less than four hours sleep but at least they were in my own bed so I didn't have to feel awkward about waking anybody else up. The AA are coming between 9am and 10am. I'm hoping it's just a flat battery or at worst an alternator. Anything else would be a bit of a disaster this week. Fingers crossed.

And David? Well he was fun. It would be nice to have someone local to gossip with. But I did feel slightly odd about the man from Hove as I was doing it. Not unfaithful as such, but a bit like that. I guess it just reinforced how lovely he is and how much I want to spend time with him. I don't think I'll be telling him about last night, I'm not sure it would help.

2012-01-05T19:05:00.001Z

Tonight is Twelfth Night so the decorations have been packed away for another year (it would be bad luck to leave them up any longer). The Christmas cards have been taken down and mulled over, and a mental note has been made of the people who didn't send one (they will be punished). Considering we were supposed to be having an austerity Christmas, and the fact that Kirstie Allsop has been desperately trying to persuade us that home-made = happiness, there was a disappointing amount of home-made cards this year. Don't feel guilty, I didn't feel inspired enough to make any either. So well done Sarah who came up with not one but two home-made cards!

Christmas:

(Just your average evening in Sarah & David's house!)

Birthday:

Hurrah for home-made!

2012-01-03T09:29:00.001Z

2011 - the men

I know how many there were - that's the whole point of the spreadsheet! - and I know the number is too high. I also know why the number is too high. But I'm not going to share the number with you as it will do nobody any good so instead I'm going to try a different approach. I met far too many fuckwits last year - men who promised a lot and ended up delivering nothing. So I'm going to name and shame them. (Yes, I know it's a bit rude to give up their privacy like that but in reality there's no chance of them or anybody they know reading this so I'm not really bothered.) Here's the top three:

No. 3 - the primary school teacher:

Between Christmas and New Year 2010 he spent a whole day with me in bed - chatting, snogging, eating pizza, having sex, telling me about the plans for his new kitchen - it was a lovely day. Then his messages changed quite quickly from "when can I see you next" every time we chatted to nothing at all. Admittedly he did find the whole gay thing a bit tricky because his parents had totally fucked him up about it but he'd had enough therapy to be grown-up about it. Fuckwit.

No. 2 - the man from Chatteris:

We had a proper date - tea and cake then a walk by the river in Ely, and it was lovely. Then we had three more dates, each involving food and snogging. Then he vanished off the internet claiming he had a thesis to write, which was fair enough, but then he reappeared and was spending far too much time in chatrooms for a man who had work to do. So after not hearing from him for a month I asked him what had changed. Nothing apparently. "I still like you", he said. Although obviously not enough to actually communicate with me. Fuckwit.

No. 1 - the geography teacher:

Another leftover from 2010 who reappeared via a text message that New Year's Eve, although later he would claim he was drunk and had no recollection of sending it. We met up a couple of times then he sent a rather mental text asking me just how single I was as he didn't want to get interested if I wasn't available. Then he stood me up on Valentines Day and refused to answer any messages. King of the fuckwits!

Yes I know that's all a bit spiteful and I don't necessarily feel any better for it. But I think people think I exaggerate how difficult it is to meet nice men in this area and I wanted to prove that I don't. All three of these had decent jobs (two teachers, the other worked in the NHS), all had their own homes, their own cars, and seemed like grown-ups. And yet they were still fuckwits. (And yes I know I'm the common denominator in the whole thing so perhaps it's me not them but actually for once I really do think it was them.)

On a more positive note the end of the year did see the arrival of the man from Hove, about who I don't really want to say too much in case I jinx things. He's genuinely lovely and I intend to do everything in my power to make sure that if there's a possibility of anything happening between us that I don't fuck it up. Please God don't let me fuck it up.

2012-01-02T14:59:00.000Z

It wouldn't be the end of year without some kind of end of year review, and although I'm a couple of days late now here's my best bits of 2011:

Album:

(Yes that's a signed cover. My signed cover, although unfortunately I didn't get to meet him.)

This came out in August, I put it in the car CD player and it's pretty much stayed there ever since. Even when I've taken it out to stop me driving other people crazy whistling songs from it at work it has made no difference - play The Jesus & Mary Chain in the car, whistle Will Young as soon as I get to my desk. It's that good an album! It's supposed to be more electronic than his previous work but in the end that didn't mean he'd turned into The Chemical Brothers, it was a more subtle makeover than that. It ended up being a lovely album about what it means to be gay now. How could it not be with song titles like Jealousy (better than the Pet Shop Boys song with the same name); I just want a lover ("Nothing that is complicated/I don't wanna know you"); and Outsider (the title says it all). But the best of all was Silent Valentine, a song about loving someone but knowing that being together would not be good for either person, a gay I will always love you anyone? On top of that Will turned out to be totally lovely whenever he appeared on TV, and is very good looking. He's also tackled some interesting covers that make me think he'll be around for a long time - here he is doing Bang Bang by Cher and here is doing Kate Bush's Running up the Hill (which only a brave man would tackle). I love Will!

Film:

I saw lots of good films this year, and even the bad ones weren't that bad, but the one that stayed with me - and by that I mean made me want to sob all the way home, twice - was Weekend. Finally a film with gay characters who I recognised, who did things that real people do. The fact that the two actors were nicely beardy helped but it was the ending that did me in every time. It may be so good that there is nothing left to say in gay cinema.

Book:

Not a vintage year for books but these two made me cry, which is very hard for a book to do. It's about a young man growing up gay in a gypsy community who runs away so he can live his life as he needs to, but his father sends people to hunt him down and bring him back. It's heartbreaking but by the end of it he turns out okay which is remarkably uplifting. He's fun on Twitter too.

Theatre:

I saw some very good theatre this year but the thing I loved most was Stephen Sondheim's Company - a musical about a man approaching middle-age and feeling the need to settle down. Now why would that strike a chord I wonder?

Gig:

I saw a lot of 80s band this year, almost enough to make an 80s weekender - Blancmange, Erasure, Howard Jones, Heaven 17 and Adam Ant - but thankfully I'm not ready for one of those yet. And I saw The Unthanks three times, and they were excellent each time. And Bjork in a market. And I even managed a festival. But the most momentous gig was surely Rufus Wainwright and his father Loudon sharing a stage at the Royal Opera House. It felt truly historic and yet managed to be huge fun as well.

Thing:

Unexpectedly the best thing about last year turned out to be the gym. I started going in May and have been twice a week since then. It wasn't as difficult to get myself there as I'd expected and once I incorporated it into my routine it really hasn't been a problem. Some nights I've not felt like it but I've forced myself to go and have been fine when I got there. And it's making a difference. I feel a lot better. I've lost weight. I've got some muscles. I'm really glad I started going.

So that was 2011. A good year for stuff. As well as all of the above I had lots of interesting weekends away visiting people - and hope to do the same again this year. The one thing I haven't mentioned is men. Come back tomorrow and we'll deal with them...

2012-01-01T14:32:00.001Z

(Thanks for the card Dirk!)

Another year ends, another year begins. Goodbye 2011, hello 2012!

I didn't go out to celebrate New Year's Eve, although less out of misery than lack of opportunity this year. I think I've grown out of my dislike of it and could see myself going out if the right invitation arrived, although quite what that is I have no idea.

I had a pile of snacks, chocolate, alcohol and DVDs to see me through the evening, with varying degrees of success. I was reminded of Dick Tracy a few weeks ago so I ordered it and started with that. Well it's a bit of a mess: it's far too stylised to be watchable; the acting is over the top; the plot is dreary. Frankly the best thing about it is Madonna singing, which is never a good sign is it? Somehow Warren Beatty persuaded Stephen Sondheim to write some new songs for it and let Madonna sing them. They're great songs though: here's one, here's another.

The other thing I watched was X-Men Origins: Wolverine, which I'd seen before and enjoyed. On second viewing it seemed a bit slow to get to the action but any faults are more than made up for by Hugh Jackman's delicious chest!

And once they were done I went to bed and was asleep by 10pm, although I did wake briefly at midnight when one of the neighbours started letting off fireworks, only to fall back to sleep and dream that I was George Michael now he's out of his coma whilst singing Katy Perry songs to myself. God knows what was in the dip I ate.

So today would be about resolutions. Or not. I gave up on them last year, just hoping for health and happiness, which I think I achieved. And oddly the one year I didn't resolve to get more exercise was the same year I finally managed to go to the gym, proving that if I want to do something I will, no matter what time of year it is.

So this year? Again nothing specific. I'd just like to try and do things differently, try and break out of the old routines, not always do things the same way I have done before, try a different approach. I'm specifically thinking about work, which I simply can't keep hating, but I'm also thinking about men and just being available if someone wants to love me (please God let someone love me). Come back next year and see how that turns out.

Back in the real world the year hasn't got off to the best start: my sister had to have her dog put to sleep today. She found out four weeks ago that he had cancer and there was nothing the vet could do except give him painkillers. He suddenly looked very old, so unlike the bundle of joy he had always been - every time I saw him he made me smile, from when he was a tiny little puppy to when he was a big, slightly stupid grown-up dog. He even managed to charm my mother into giving him treats and he always knew I would give him a biscuit if he looked at me with his big eyes. It's going to be really odd not having a dog in the family any more.

2011-12-31T10:21:00.001Z

I had a really nice day yesterday which makes me think that I've finally got the hang of this holiday business. Hurrah!

It might not have gone so well as it started with a trip to DIY stores so my mother could buy some wallpaper. She's been looking for wallpaper for her bedroom for at least six months, which means periodic trips to places that sell it where she decides she quite likes what they have but doesn't want to rush into buying some. Yesterday we went back to Homebase and bought the paper she liked the first time she went looking for it. She seemed to think the 20% discount made the wait worthwhile, I couldn't bring myself to think how much petrol and time had been wasted in the search. Rather ominously she tells me she'll need new curtains and a new lampshade once the paper is up. Oh God...

After that I went into King's Lynn for the afternoon. First on the agenda was lunch with a man I Twitter with, who lives in Norwich but works in Lynn. It would be fun to see more of him but it never seems to happen apart from at Christmas when he's at work and I'm not. We went to Market Bistro, where I had my birthday meal, and even without the cocktails I enjoyed the food. And it was fun to gossip about men, dogs and the locals.

Then I went to the sales. In recent years the sales have become increasingly meaningless to me - since I threw away all my 'stuff' I don't have the urge to buy more, and it's hard to get excited about clothes shopping when all the cheap trousers have a 34" waist and I haven't had one of those for about twenty years. I can count the clothes I've bought this year on one hand: shorts and t-shirt for the gym, two jumpers and perhaps a hoodie. That explains why you always see me in exactly the same thing! But going to the gym has changed my body and the way I feel about it, so I want to clothe it in nice things. And having someone fancy you helps too.

What I desperately needed was a new pair of jeans. No problem - Ben Sherman, button fly, half price - thank you Debenhams! I got so excited I bought a pair of boots to go with them:

They're very similar to a pair I tried on in Brighton the other week but less than half the prices and with a lovely lining. I'm a happy man!

Then it was time for the cinema. I met Trish, Janet & Brianne and we went to see The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. Having loved the books, then loved the films they made out of the Swedish TV series I had to see this regardless of what the critics said. Well the critics know nothing, I loved it!

If you don't know the story by now I do wonder where you've been living! It's a thriller, set in Sweden, revolving round a journalist and a hacker who becomes his researcher (the girl of the title), who are investigating the disappearance of a teenage girl, the niece of a wealthy businessman. It's a proper thriller and despite the fact that I knew what was coming I still bit five fingernails (which is quite something for a reformed nail-biter).

Inevitably there had been a lot of fuss on the internet about the casting and the director and the way it was written, but sometimes the internet is just stupid people moaning. It was directed by David Fincher, who did Seven, Fight Club and The Social Network (and the stupid Benjamin Button thing but we'll ignore that). He clearly knows what he's doing and attracts a great cast. The journalist is played by Daniel Craig, who doesn't attempt a Swedish accent but who is so ruggedly handsome I didn't care! The girl is played by someone who played a girlfriend in The Social Network, although I don't remember her at all, but I think she did just as good a job as the woman in the Swedish version. Christopher Plummer turns up as the business man, and loads of great actors turn up as his family and assorted other people. Even hammy old Steven Berkoff is great! There's a slight change to the plot but I think it just simplifies things and made no real difference. I loved it! Now, shall I treat myself to a boxset of the extended versions of the Swedish films...

Culture miles: 22

Anyway, that was my last blog for the year so now would be a good time to wish you all a good New Year's Eve - have fun wherever and however you are celebrating it! See you next year for more of the same, lots of love, Garry xx

2011-12-30T07:09:00.001Z

I spent most of yesterday with Sarah & David, who were staying with her mother for a few days. We headed towards the coast in search of lunch ending up - after getting a little lost - in the Rose & Crown at Snettisham. I've been there before and liked the food, although AA Gill (the food critic for The Times hated it and Norfolk in general). I'll join the list of people saying, "what does he know??". It's on the edge of that whole Chelsea-on-Sea part of North Norfolk so there are Range Rovers parked outside and expensively dressed people of a certain age inside. And dogs - at the table next to us was a Jack Russell and some kind of terrier, which was cute until they started barking at a big dog that someone brought in. The food was good: I had bangers & mash, because as much as I wanted mussels they're not a filling meal, and you can't go wrong with sausages. Sarah had beef bourguignon (which is a bugger to spell), and David had fish & chips. We all left feeling full.

Unfortunately whilst we'd been eating it had started to rain but we headed further up the coast anyway, to Hunstanton to see the cliffs, because Sarah didn't believe we have any. Well we do and they're rather fabulously stripy. We'd hardly begun to marvel at them when it started to hail - proper driving, spiteful hail that soaked us before we got off the beach. Sarah went to look at a dead whale that has washed up on the beach but David & I resisted the urge, finding it 'ghoulish'. By the time we got back to the car we were literally soaked to the skin so we headed back to mine.

I put the kettle on and started on the Christmas cake:

(It's nice but I was hoping for something blacker, like a wedding cake, but I'm pleased with it.)

We then dried off and carried on gossiping. A bottle of sherry was opened and we gossiped some more, until it was dark and time for Sarah & David to head back. Lovely to see you both as always! xxx

2011-12-29T08:47:00.000Z

There's a story in our family about how I was named. I was going to be called Craig Alan (or more likely Allan as that's a more Scottish spelling) but at the last minute Dad decided he didn't like it and I ended up being called Garry Martin. The Garry bit is quite Scottish - there's a loch, glen and river - but the Martin is more interesting.

When I was born Mum & Dad were staying with friends in Northumberland - I'm a Geordie! - and the house they were staying in once belonged to a painter called Martin. I always imagined he was just an amateur, someone who painted watercolours at the weekend, so it never occurred to me to find out any more about him.

Then a few years ago I went to Newcastle to see Pet Shop Boys doing their Battleship Potemkin show in a shipyard and I decided that whilst I was there I'd go and explore where I was born. I went to Hexham, hoping to see the hospital I was born in, but it had been knocked down. I had better luck in Haydon Bridge, the village Mum & Dad had been staying in. I found the cottage - Mum said it overlooked a caravan park, and it did. And outside it was a plaque saying it used to be the home of John Martin. I came home and looked him up online and the first thing I found was this:

So not a watercolourist then. And the picture is called Satan in Council. Heavens!

But I'd still not seen any of his work for real so I was excited when Tate Britain put on a show of his work - the first time a significant amount of it had been gathered together in thirty years. I hadn't had time to go, and it closes in a couple of weeks, so I decided to pop up to London to see it yesterday afternoon.

Rather fabulously the exhibition is called Apocalypse, which actually turns out to be accurate as the paintings are all of death and disaster, inspired by bible stories and ancient myths. The Satan picture comes from a set of illustrations of Paradise Lost. It's a mixture of large, dramatic paintings and also smaller versions of the same thing as he often copied and repeated his work, plus lots of black and white prints which he published himself.

It's interesting that although the work was incredibly popular with the public - some of the paintings went on a tour of the country and even got as far as New York - the critics pretty much hated his style of painting and were just rude about it, so after he died his work more or less vanished. It is an odd style of painting - I can't think of anyone else who does such enormous imaginary landscapes and so much death and destruction. It reminds me of disaster movies or Lord of the Rings.

His final three big paintings are displayed in one room, and as they were originally painted as entertainment they have filled the room with sounds - accounts of what it was like to see them when they were first displayed, critics reactions, public reactions - and they light up the paintings in really interesting ways so they almost seem animated. At first it feels a bit gimmicky but the paintings are so strange anyway it actually worked.

Interestingly when his career started to decline he turned his mind to improving the sewers and transport system in London, although nobody took him seriously and his plans never became reality. And his brother was mad and set fire to York Minster. It was all very interesting and I had to stop myself from going up to complete strangers and saying, "I'm named after him!" And it was nice to get out of the house too - this holiday is already feeling rather endless.

Culture miles: 200

2011-12-28T06:32:00.000Z

I normally try and think carefully about what I'm reading around this year as who wants to wake up on their birthday only to be faced with a slog through an impenetrable work of literary fiction that is more 'improving' than it is entertaining. But sometimes I get it wrong which is how I ended up reading a book about gay prostitutes. To be fair it had been on my wish list for sometime but that didn't stop it being disappointing.

As its title suggests it's three stories set in London. They have common themes but are set in very different times: 1894, 1954 and 1998. A character from the 1894 story appears very briefly in the 1954 one, and one from the 1954 one gets a mention in the 1998 one but essentially they are three separate stories about a similar subject, although the book alternates chapters from each period so it's not like three short stories.

The 1894 section is set during the trial of Oscar Wilde, and the main character is one of the rent boys he so enjoyed, which led to his downfall. The 1954 section is about a painter who falls for his male model. And the 1998 section is about a rent boy and is just really intended to show how times have changed.

It irritated me to be honest. It felt like the kind of gay writing we had to put up with in the 80s, when gay fiction had its own special shelf and any old shit would get published by obscure little publishers just because it was gay. It reminds me of a badly written version of Neil Bartlett (and he even gets thanked in the acknowledgement). It also suffers quite badly in comparison to Alan Hollinghurst's last book which also deals with gay characters and skips through time rather randomly - except his writing is so beautiful you want to cry, whereas this isn't. The Oscar Wilde stuff is done quite nicely despite the fact that he's been done to death in recent years but oddly the worst section is the contemporary one which just seems pointless and stupid, although I suspect that was his intention.

I'm not going to finish another book before the end of the year - in fact I'm not really sure what I'm going to start next - so now would be a good time to dust off my spreadsheet and review my year in books:

This year I read 44 books - three less than last year although more of the books I read were bigger so the total number of pages I read this year was 15516, whilst the total from 2010 was 15556.

The oldest book was from 1901 although I have older stuff in my unread book pile - I'm just too scared to pick it up. 80% of the books were 10 years old or less - lower than last year because I've developed a habit of randomly exploring anything, which has taken me places I might never have gone before. 77% were 5 years old or less (more than last year), and 27% were published this year. So despite my excursions into the past it's still all about contemporary fiction in this house.

20% of the books I read were written by women, which is a very slight improvement on last year and still very disappointing.

73% of the authors were British (which was a huge increase on last year), the rest came from America, Iceland, Japan, Australia and unexpectedly Austria (but it wasn't a very good book).

38% of the authors were gay, which is an increase on last year and reflects a bit of a move towards gayer things in my life this year (subconsciously, but a move all the same).

The longest book was The Northern Clemency by Philip Hensher at 738 pages (although I could have happily done without the last 150). The shortest was Nat Tate by William Boyd at only 67 pages including pictures, which was more of a trick than a book.

Only 40% of the books were borrowed, which is a bit disappointing as I have no intention of keeping books any more so no need to buy them . Just like the last two years eight books were bought new, the rest were bought second-hand.

This year I added three books to my bookshelves, all by gay authors: Smut by Alan Bennett, The Stranger's Child by Alan Hollinghurst and The Night Listener by Armistead Maupin.

I think this year I continued to be less discriminating/more desperate in my selections, and although that meant I read more mediocre books than I would have liked I only gave up on one, a French thing called Hate: a romance which was dreadful and very badly written.

Favourite book? Come back later in the week when I do favourite everythings and find out!

2011-12-26T20:03:00.000Z

Hello lovelies!

Well that's another Christmas over, and inevitably all the worrying I'd done about it was a waste of time: it was as relaxed as always, everyone liked their gifts, and there was about ten times more food than anyone could possibly eat. I think that classes as a success. Here's my favourite gift:

Astonishingly they were the least middle-aged of my gifts.

Today has been more of the same, only there was just Mum & I at hers. There was the traditional Boxing Day jigsaw but she resisted the traditional Boxing Day walk so I watched a Harry Potter film instead which I enjoyed much more than I'd expected, so how fortunate that we bought my nephew the complete boxset for Christmas - hurrah!

And now I believe I'm a bit behind on my chocolate eating schedule...

2011-12-24T17:02:00.000Z

Last night I went out for a meal to celebrate my impending birthday. The usual suspects gathered at Market Bistro, which I've never been to before but people I Twitter with have been and loved it, which is good enough for me! As an added bonus they have a private dining room for larger groups which comes with a separate seating area so you don't have to mix with/annoy the other customers.

The food was lovely, although I'm not entirely sure my companions agreed. I started with a ham terrine with bread and piccalilli, then I had lamb with gorgeous roast beetroot and finally treacle tart, which was wonderfully rich. It was all nice and simple and well made - I'll be going back. They also do interesting cocktails: I started with a hot chocolate thing which had Baileys, Kahlua and something else that is now lost in an alcoholic haze. If only hot chocolate was always like that! Then I finished with a rhubarb & ginger fizz, which had vodka in it and goodness knows what else - it was very refreshing but it seems to have wiped my memory!

Memorable bits: Josh's card trick; Trish knowing the words to a song from Hairspray; and getting a lift in Jan & Josh's hire car: an Alfa Romeo as advertised by Uma Thurman (wasn't she an actress not so long ago?..) with one of those clever/scary engines that turns itself off every time you stop.

Thank you for coming everyone! xxx

This slightly random picture of me with a bauble - thank you Jan & Barry! - can only be a prelude to one thing:

HAPPY CHRISTMAS!!! xxx

Personalize funny videos and birthday eCards at JibJab!

2011-12-22T19:19:00.000Z

Amongst all the travelling, men madness and Christmas nonsense I've found time to read. The book you see above has the same kind of cover as the ones my mother buys in Morrison's for £5 for 3. Which obviously isn't a literally recommendation. And it was another one recommended by the mad gay man who recommended something else I didn't really like.

It's another local author: lives in Norwich although she's actually from Cardiff, but the book itself isn't specifically local. It's set in England somewhere, but right now I can't remember where - perhaps it never said. I'm thinking Home Counties, somewhere green where the locals are a bit simple. It's about a woman who goes to work for an elderly man who lives alone in a big country house, who is compiling an archive of all the records he owns. It was his son's idea, to keep dementia at bay, but it backfires slightly as the woman he employs has some previous history with the family.

The book alternates between the present day story of the man and the woman pottering round the house listening to music, and the woman's childhood in a cottage by a river with her hippy mother and her mother's lover (who is not her father). Inevitably/predictably the two stories converge in a big finale in a slightly apocalyptic storm.

It's just not very good: the plot skips around all over the place and there are deliberate gaps left in the story which you have to fill in for yourself, although rather stupidly one of those gaps is the end! The characters aren't especially likeable or believable. And there's endless references to water which is just irritating. That's the last time I take book recommendations from that mad gay!

Last night I went to see Ema, Alan and their family for a little gift giving. I got given lovely things which I wasn't expecting, including the reindeer you see here, which was decoupaged by the youngest child. Ema cooked and we sat round the table gossipping, which was a lovely start to the Christmas. Thank you all! xxx

2011-12-20T22:21:00.001Z

For the past few years at work we've been doing a Secret Santa. You know the thing: you pick a name of a colleague out of a hat and buy a gift of a set value, then the gifts are distributed anonymously. It's brings a bit of much needed festive cheer to the office, although the quality of gift can be a bit variable - more often than not mine have headed straight to the charity shop. Not this year though because some genius bought me this:

I mistakenly described it as a onesie earlier, but it has no feet to it so I guess it's just fancy dress. Or pyjamas. Whatever it is it's absolutely fantastic! Well done whoever it was, you made my day a whole lot happier!

2011-12-19T07:03:00.000Z

After the show finished on Saturday Andrew & I made a dash for the Tube as we had trains to catch: he was heading back to Wales, I went to Hove. I know I don't live in Hove but the man who I spent a night with last month does and I'd arranged to meet him. Since that previous meeting we'd communicated every day, which had basically turned me into a crazy person and even the thought of asking him if I could go down on Saturday became a minefield for me. Thankfully he said yes.

He met me at the station and seemed as pleased to see me as I was him. We went to Waitrose to buy some dinner, which suited me fine as I love Waitrose but also I love wandering round a supermarket with a man - two men, one basket, could there be anything more romantic?? Yes I realise they do it all the time in Brighton but for me it's wonderfully domestic and a bit sexy. We spent the rest of the evening cooking - well, he did most of that - and watching TV before getting sleepy and heading to bed.

We started Sunday with porridge, because his family is Scottish (like half of mine!) then we wrapped up warm and went for a walk along the seafront into Brighton. I do love Brighton - how can you resist the pier and all the lovely little shops? We tried on shoes - yes, my stupid shoe craving is back although thankfully only in theory not in practice; went to watch people skating on the ice rink at the Royal Pavilion; then wandered through the North Lanes trying to avoid buying lovely gorgeous things from the lovely gorgeous little shops.

Then back at his I watched a Kylie DVD whilst he pottered (and danced) in the kitchen and made shepherds pie:

Who could resist a man who makes that??

Then it was time for me to head home so he took me to the station where I felt relaxed and happy enough to kiss him goodbye. Twice. Then as I walked down the long platform to the train I just wanted a big cry. He's so lovely.

2011-12-18T23:41:00.002Z

I was in London on Saturday with Andrew. We used to meet in London quite often but then he fell back in love with Wales and I did too so it's been a year since we were both in London at the same time. I met him at Paddington and we started gossiping straight away, and didn't stop until we headed for our separate trains at the end of the day.

We had coffee then wandered into Knightsbridge for lunch, ending up in a branch of the Gourmet Burger Kitchen which was packed with children. The food was still great though. Then we headed towards Sloane Square, stopping on the way to browse in an expensive interiors shop. As we left who should walk by but Felicity Kendal! We stalked her at a reasonable distance until she got into a white Range Rover - how tacky but how exciting!

We were in Sloane Square to see the London Gay Men's Chorus Christmas Show at the Cadogan Hall. We saw it last year and loved it so much I booked tickets as soon as they went on sale. Yet again it was very fab and very gay. It was a mixture of traditional Christmas songs and more modern ones, including a medley of Christmas number ones. They were also joined by Hannah Waddingham, who is not only a West End star but is also their patron, who did All I want for Christmas is you in a way that put the Mariah Carey version in its place! They have a tendency to lapse into novelty which they don't really need as they've proved themselves as magnificent singers and really should just let the singing speak for itself. It's a wonderfully festive show though. And as an added bonus they were again joined by a ridiculously handsome sign language interpreter who is too handsome for words! It was all to fabulous! Here's them singing (but not from this show):

Lovely to see you Andrew! xx

Culture miles: 198

2011-12-17T07:31:00.000Z

Last night I went to see Adam Ant, who is back from wherever he has been hiding and is touring in preparation for a new album next year. I was never the biggest fan but of course anybody who loved pop loved his singles so he had to be seen. The fact that in recent years he's ended up in the tabloids because of mental health problems did make me more curious (shamefully). Thankfully he's no more mad than your average popstar, although the fact that he and Johnny Deep in Pirates of the Caribbean now look like the same person is a bit odd:

But the Adam that is back is the punk Adam not the pop Adam so he plays lots of early stuff and I didn't recognise anything until the fifth or sixth song. He does play some of the hits and they sound fantastic, although oddly as he's trying to reposition himself as a punkier performer he plays Puss in Boots, which surely must be his worst song ever. The hits are magnificent, surprisingly Ant Music, which I might not have remembered that well, gets the whole audience chanting along which is particularly thrilling. And if there are two better pop songs that Stand & Deliver and Prince Charming I can't think of them.

Adam sounds great although he's not especially chatty - not in a sulky Morrissey kind of way, more in a get-on-with-the-music kind of way. His band sound fantastic too and includes two drummers which really makes a difference and fills the room with sound. No electronics at all, which also makes a change. And oddly he's joined by Georgina Baillie, more famously Andrew Sach's granddaughter - the one Jonathan Ross and Russell Brand left an answerphone message about which cost them both their jobs at the BBC. She wears underwear on stage and writhes behind the microphone stand and seems rather pleased with herself for doing it. I take an instant dislike to her when her band - who provide the support for the evening - play a song called "When did you last have sex?" which finishes with her giggling and saying, "I faked it!" before running off stage. I just thought, "oh grow up!" but apparently her friendship - and that's what they insist it is - has rejuvenated Adam, although I can't help thinking she's a bit talentless and charmless.

So it wasn't quite the evening I was expecting, although that's more to do with my expectations than Adam's performance. Thinking about it on the way home it probably would have been impossible for him to do a greatest hits set and then release any kind of new material that wasn't total pop so it makes complete sense doing what he did. It'll be interesting to see how the album turns out and what kind of reception he gets. It must be tricky being a 57 year old pop star who wants to keep making music and a living, let's hope it turns out ok, because surely the man who gave us this deserves only good things:

Culture miles: 82

2011-12-15T22:17:00.000Z

Tonight was cinema club, and because it's Christmas they showed something seasonal. Thankfully not something modern - instead they dusted down something old, which is handy as there's a lot of old stuff I really ought to have seen but haven't. They showed Scrooge from 1951, which is based on Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol. Now I don't really 'do' Dickens. I wouldn't dream of reading one of his books and always steer clear of the TV adaptations (which is surprisingly difficult as there are so many of them). I just associate him with Victorian misery and poverty, which isn't much fun is it?

I'm sure you must know the story - if I did you must! - but I'll repeat it anyway. Miserable old Scrooge is visited by the ghost of his dead business associate then three extra ghosts who show him how different life could be if he was just a little bit kinder to people. And as if by magic when he wakes up the following day (Christmas Day) he has learnt his lesson and life becomes much better. It's not a complicated tale and is potentially a bit sickly, especially once you throw in the limping child called Tiny Tim, but actually it's surprisingly festive.

It stars Alistair Sim, who I ought to know but don't really, although it turns out he played the headmistress in the St Trinians' films, which probably explains why it was funnier that I expected. It would have been love to find it had snowed when I left, but unfortunately nature didn't oblige.

Culture miles: 24

2011-12-12T22:07:00.001Z

I went to the cinema last night to see Anonymous, which was an interesting idea for a film that didn't quite work. The idea behind it is that Shakespeare didn't actually write any of his plays - they were written by an Earl, who couldn't admit to having written them as Earls should have more serious matters to worry about than drama. Especially Earls who have fathered an illegitimate child of Elizabeth the First's whilst at the same time being married to the daughter of her closest adviser. So he publishes them anonymously but when they become popular and the public demand to know who the author is an actor called Will Shakespeare takes the credit, knowing that the truth can never be known.

I must admit it wasn't a theory I'd ever heard before, although I'd been vaguely aware that some people think he can't possibly have written all of the plays as there are so many of them. I'd have thought at this point who wrote what was almost irrelevant but people do like a conspiracy. It's an interesting idea though and it's a good excuse for a bit of period drama: Elizabeth the First is always good value in a film and she always gets good costumes; films about acting always work well too, as does a bit of politics and country houses. Everyone's a winner.

Well not quite. It nips backwards and forwards in time and I got a bit muddled about who some of the Earls were - was it their younger self, or their son, or someone else altogether? There's some shocking hair in it too - I'm sure the wigs were expensive, but they're ridiculous! And don't get me started on the facial hair... And there's way too much CGI used to recreate Elizabethan London - lots of aerial shots of the Tower of London which is just distracting as I just end up trying to work out where modern places are. And the scene where the Thames freezes over makes it look about a mile wide!

It's not helped by the fact the the Earl is played by Rhys Ifans, an ugly pig twat of a man of no discernible talent who has somehow managed to sleep with a string of attractive women: Sienna Miller, Anna Friel, and did I imagine Kate Moss too? He strides around wearing too much eyeliner and actually isn't rubbish, although he is rather upstaged by Vanessa Redgrave as Elizabeth the First, but then she's reached that stage in her career where she's basically legendary. Derek Jacobi turns up in too, in a prologue and epilogue that put the story in context, although I'm not sure it's really necessary.

Astonishingly the whole thing is directed by the same man who did Independence Day - you know, that thing where Will Smith single-handledly brings an end to WW2. Vile. And yet despite all that I found it rather interesting. It's a good idea that could have made a much better film but then I suppose it was lucky it got made at all - it's not exactly obvious Hollywood stuff is it?

Culture miles: 38

I almost forgot the Christmas graph for this weekend:

So very close!

2011-12-11T18:08:00.001Z

Saturday

I iced my Christmas cake (and don't think I'll be giving Nigella and Delia sleepless nights):

I took delivery of a new tumble dryer, which oddly has a light inside it:

I put up a Christmas tree (albeit a very small one):

I put up some paperchains:

What I didn't do was see George Michael as planned because he is poorly and has cancelled the tour. Get well soon George!

2011-12-10T21:38:00.001Z

Last night I went to see Weekend - from which that still is taken - for a second time. I'm probably going to give the plot away so if you haven't seen it and want to then come back tomorrow.

Still here? Right. I first saw this last month and was absolutely blow away by it: it's the best gay film in years, and the first gay film I've ever watched that represented gay life in a way that I recognised. It's also beautiful and sad. I had to see it again and it turned up at Cinema City in Norwich for one night only, and as an added bonus the director was there to take questions from the audience. He lives in Norwich, although he isn't local, but it is his local cinema so that was quite nice.

Second time round the film didn't disappoint at all, and there were things I noticed that I hadn't spotted before. First time round I was more drawn to the Russell character (the lifeguard), probably because he was the quieter, more ordinary of the two - just getting on with his life and being gay. It seems natural that of the two of them he should be the one that wants a relationship. But this time round I really warmed to the Glen character (the artist). His 'journey' is more interesting: he's absolutely against the idea of a relationship after his last boyfriend cheated on him, but you can see him fighting the urge to stay single, unable to resist Russell. It's beautiful the way you can see him struggling to reach out and open up to him.

The film finishes with Glen leaving for America, but not before Russell has raced to the station to see him off. There's a part of me that desperately wants Glen to stay, which is stupid as I'd never give anything up for a man, not even change my lunch plans, let alone throw my life upside down. I guess I just want to watch someone do the thing I'm most scared of. It turned me upside down a bit, which is what great Art should do. I think this will end up being my favourite film of the year, and it's such a good film that it makes me wonder where gay films can go next.

I was a bit worried the local gays would do their usual trick of staying at home but for once they surprised me and there were so many the film was moved into a bigger screen. It wasn't full but it was a decent audience, and they had lots of questions for the director, who turned out to be funny and down to earth. I'm rubbish at Q&A's, I can only think of the most inane questions. What I wanted to know was whether he'd imagined a happy ending for the film, but it implies criticism of the actual ending which isn't intended. Turns out he provided the answer as part of a different question, and no he didn't ever imagine a happy ending. So just silly romantic old me then.

Of course the obvious thing to do after the film would have been to go to a gay pub or club and fall in love with a stranger. So I went to Tesco and bought a Christmas tree instead. Fool.

Culture miles: 86

2011-12-09T17:27:00.001Z

Earlier in the year I read King of the Badgers by Philip Hensher and enjoyed it so much, despite not liking some of his earlier novels, that I came home and ordered another. A big fat Booker Prize nominated thing called The Northern Clemency.

It's set in Sheffield in the 1970s and is about two families who live on opposites sides of the road in a suburban part of the city. One couple move up from London at the very weekend the couple across the road split up for the weekend, and unexpectedly this makes the wives closer together. It then follows both families for the next ten years or so, taking in the strikes and power cuts in the 1970s and the miner's strike in the 80s before ending later in the 80s when some of the children have made more of a success of themselves than others.

It's very well written and I got through a great chunk of it with no trouble at all, but suddenly I hit a wall about 150 pages from the end and I just ran out of steam. Or perhaps the author did? Suddenly more dramatic stuff started happening but it wasn't very convincing or even that enjoyable, and in the end I was glad when it was over, which is a pity as most of it was great. Still, I'm glad I read it because it helped me get over my dislike of the author and hopefully his next book will be stunning.

2011-12-07T20:59:00.001Z

Last night I went to bingo with Janet, at the village hall in the village she grew up in (and where her family still live). We'd been a couple of times before, a few years ago, and I'd had a fantastic time, so as soon as she suggested this I put it straight in my diary. I was a bit more excited than I ought to have been.

Janet's Mum had saved us a seat and once we'd bought our tickets - a book, three separate sheets and two lots of raffle tickets!- we had a cup of tea and settled down. The hall wasn't very full to start with, which I liked as it improved the odds of winning, but it started to fill up and as it did people popped over to talk to Janet's Mum, her friends and Janet. Janet's Mum's friends were lovely and welcoming too, which was nice, and I discovered that Janet played a Munchkin in a play - now there's a picture I need to see!

Then the bingo began and Janet won two of the first three prizes! What a fabulous start! Then it seemed like our tables luck might have been used up but then I won a prize, and then another - it was too exciting, and it didn't even matter that they weren't the most useful prizes:

I had a fantastic evening - who wouldn't love a bit of bingo?? It takes more concentration than you imagine, and there's always the fear that you might call out a winning line only to discover you've got the numbers wrong and everyone frowns at you. There's a certain kind of bingo madness that is very infectious: a woman's phone went off and before she realised what she was doing Janet had tutted at her! And of course it has it's own kind of stationary: a bingo dabber! I borrowed one from Janet's Mum, which I suspect she regrets as I got prizes and she didn't.

Anyway, it was just the kind of fun evening this week needed! Thanks for the invite Janet! xxx

Bingo miles: 62

2011-12-05T22:17:00.001Z

Last night I took a break from the seemingly endless Christmas preparations to go and see a choir. Which turned out to very Christmassy. The choir were Only Men Aloud who I know almost nothing about but I'd been oddly excited about seeing them and had got a ticket as soon as they went on sale. I know so little about them it came as a total surprise to me that they're Welsh, which was an added bonus as I do love a bit of Welsh.

I think the choir thing started with the man from Brighton - remember him? - how sang in a gay choir, which I always wanted to see. Then the whole Glee thing happened. And then last December Andrew & I saw the London Gay Men's Chorus, who were fabulous, and I think it's just impossible to resist a large number of male voices raised in song. I also think that there's something intrinsically camp about them which would obviously appeal to a big old gay like me. And apparently older people too - I was the only person in my row of seats below pension age. It was nice to feel young for a change!

The show was part of a tour to promote their new Christmas album, so it was a mixture of Christmas songs and other stuff. The Christmas stuff included two Welsh carols, Silent Night in its original German, and Wham's Last Christmas (the greatest early 80s Christmas song ever!).

The other stuff was great: a medley of Singin' in the Rain and Raindrop keep falling on my head performed with umbrellas; Moon River, which always makes me want to sob; Don't Stop Believin', which I guess is standard choir material now; Glen Miller's In the Mood (which is originally an instrumental!); a Tom Jones song (they are Welsh after all); and the Nina Simon song Feeling Good (although they seemed to be doing the Michael Buble version). The finished with a medley of Take That's Rule the World, Tears for Fears' Everybody wants to rule the world and Coldplay's Viva la Vida (which include the lyric "when I ruled the world" and is taking on a camp pop life of its own as Pet Shop Boys did a disco version of it a couple of years ago), which worked surprisingly well.

The whole thing was far camper than I expected, leading me to believe they might not be entirely straight despite all the stuff in the programme about loving rugby and extreme sports. The choreography didn't help, and there's something about the way they stand in groups and sing that is just a little bit gay. Needless to say I loved it and grinned all the way through it. I'll definitely be going next time they play locally. Here's some of their work:

Culture miles: 86

2011-12-04T15:10:00.001Z

Saturday was a busy day of Christmas preparations.

I bought gifts:

I put marzipan on my Christmas cake:

I put up some decorations:

And another:

I wrapped presents:

I entertained a gentleman:

I started writing my Christmas cards:

And then I had an early night as all that Christmas is a bit tiring.

2011-12-03T22:04:00.001Z

Last night I was in London, although it's reached that time of year when I'm tired of trains and travel in general so I spent much of the afternoon wondering if it might be a better plan to stay at home and eat chips. Well that would have been stupid because then I would have missed The Unthanks who this year have become one of my favourite things.

They were playing in St James's Church on Piccadilly, which I've walked past many times and even pottered round the little market they always have in front of it. But it's easy to miss the church itself as it's squeezed between bigger buildings and overshadowed by them. Turns out it was built by Sr Christopher Wren and is really rather lovely!

I thought I was a bit early but when I got there the queue was already extending a long way down the street, much futher than I expected as it only looks like a small church. By the time I got into the church the downstairs was full so I ended up in the gallery, overlooking the band:

[That's Rachel Unthank in green, her sister Becky in red, and the man at the piano is Rachel's husband Adrian - it's a proper family affair.]

It probably wasn't the best place to sit as it was difficult to hear what they were saying when they chatted, but the view was great and it was better than standing - which is what people in the other rows of the gallery were doing.

The band are touring their new album, which is a live album so that's a bit unusual. But it's a live album recorded at two shows they did in London last winter when they sang other people's songs. The first half is the songs of Antony Hegarty, who is Antony & the Johnsons. All the songs they do are from his I am Bird Now album, which I love (although his work since has been less interesting). The second half is the songs of Robert Wyatt, whose stuff I don't know apart from a cover of Elvis Costello's Shipbuilding which he released during the Falklands War.

The show follows the same format as the album but with extra songs. It's great to hear the Antony Hegarty songs live, and it's surprising how well they work as he has they seem so specifically his, but there's something otherworldly about The Unthanks too so it really works. For Today I am a Boy stil makes sense when Becky sings "One day I'll grow up, I'll be a beautiful woman" and they even manage to do You Are My Sister without it sounding horribly sickly. The Robert Wyatt songs are more similar to their own, are a bit more up-tempo, more varied and they even get the clogs out for one song - it's my favourite half of the album. They finish with a folk song about New Year's Eve, which they get the audience to join in with, and it's lovely!

I was sharing a pew with two older men with Newcastle accents, and as I eavesdropped on them it turned out they worked together and they'd come to the gig together as their wives were no longer interested in music. At the interval one pointed to the front row downstairs and said to his friend, "that's Geoff Travis" - who I think was the band's manager at some point, but more importantly was the man who signed The Smiths and therefore changed everything forever! (Slight overstatement, but it was rather signnificant.) So then I started scanning the audience more carefully and I'm pretty sure that on the opposite side of the gallery to me was the novelist Joanna Trollope!

So anyway, the whole thing was lovely. I love The Unthanks and can't wait to hear what they do next - it's the third time I've seen them this year and each show has been completely different and absolutely wonderful, and I could happily see them again tomorrow and not be bored. I'm glad I wasn't a silly sod who stayed at home. And I really should go to churches more. Here's some singing:

Culture miles: 188

2011-11-30T22:55:00.001Z

I've been out tonight to a literary event, to see the marvellous Alan Hollinghurst talk about his work. It was at the UEA - the university in Norwich - which I've only ever been to for gigs. Previously when I've tried to get tickets for their literary stuff they'd sold out, but I was on the ball this time and had ticket number 8.

It was fab to see a different side to the university. The venue where they have gigs on is just a concrete box with no character at all, so I've never really understood why people praise the place for its architecture. Well as I walked across its elevated walkways to the Lecture Theatre I could sort of understand why - lots of straight paths and open spaces, all nicely lit in the dark. I wish there had been fewer people around so I could have explored and taken pictures.

The Lecture Theatre itself was packed although frustratingly there was a lack of obviously gay men in attendance, but lots of middle-aged women - are they the only people who read now? It makes me cross - how many Booker prize winning gay novelists can you name? Wouldn't you make a trip out to see them if you were interested in books? Well apparently not if you live in Norfolk. Bloody parochial gays!

Anyway, Mr Hollinghurst was interviewed by the man who is in charge of the part of the university that organises the literary festival, and at first I thought he might be a dull interviewer: his questions seemed too long and rambling, more statements than actual questions, but somehow it worked. There was one slightly odd moment when he asked how the authors parents had reacted to his coming out which left him almost speechless so they moved on rather quickly, which made me wonder if he'd ever discussed it with them at all. He also said that the paperback rights to his first book (which was in the scheme of things only a very moderate success in hardback) were sold for a six figure sum, which in 1988 was enough for him to give up work and become a full time author - and they say there's no money in publishing!

He read a long piece from his latest novel (the frankly marvellous The Stranger's Child) plus a bit about opera from his first (The Swimming Pool Library - which I shall be re-reading very shortly) and a piece from The Line of Beauty about Margaret Thatcher which was funny and surprisingly camp. He's a great reader, and he looked like he was trying not to laugh at his own stuff as he was reading it. He was posher than I imagined, and I'd also been worried he might not be very nice - the man from Hove has met him and declined to comment when I asked him what he was like, so I need to find out what that was all about - but he seemed perfectly charming.

At the end they took a few questions from the audience. I really wanted to know why he writes so slowly, because I'm greedy for more books, but that's not really a question is it, more of a criticism, so I didn't bother. Then as an added bonus because it was the last night of the literary festival, and because Christmas is approaching, everyone got a free book as they left. Not by any of the authors who'd been at the festival, but a free book all the same. I picked up Jonathan Wild by Henry Fielding because he was the only author I recognised - apart from Arthur Miller, who the building is named after, and who I have no time for at all. I've no idea whether I'll like it but I've added it to my book pile so we shall see.

Anyway, it turned out to be an excellent evening - well done Norwich!

Culture miles: 82

Today it is also eight years since Dad (pictured above) died. No dramas today but just like every other day, I miss my Dad.

2011-11-28T19:53:00.001Z

I've been in Cardiff for the weekend. It was lovely!

Friday

I went over on the train, Andrew picked me up from the station and as soon as I got in the car the gossipping began.

In the evening we had tickets for a dance thing but first we needed food so we had a Chinese buffet in the Bay, which probably wasn't the greatest Chinese ever but it did the job. Then we headed to the Wales Millennium Centre:

I've seen it every time I've visited Cardiff, and have even been inside for a bit of a wander, but my trips have never coincided with something I wanted to see. Well this time it did: a dance thing called At Swim Two Boys. It's based on a gay novel I'd read when it came out ten years ago and which I've been on the verge of re-reading for some time. It's set in Ireland in 1916 and is about two teenage boys from different backgrounds (I can't remember if it's class or religion) who can only relate to each other when they're swimming.

The interesting thing about the production was that they had water on the stage, only a few inches deep, and at the back there was a corrugated structure, suggesting a dock, down which water flowed. The two dancers started on the top of the dock then danced in the water. It really worked well, with the movement and sound of the water adding greatly to the whole thing, and the first two rows got a bit wet.

The two dancers start in trousers and shirts, then when they're soaked they switch to vests and kilts, before ending up just in swimming trunks, at which point they finally have sex, which is done so subtly and beautifully, before switching to army uniforms. It helps that the two dancers are inevitably very fit, and the thighs on one of them are to die for! They really threw each other around the stage but at the same time were incredibly tender - it's such a nice change to see two men dance!

There's live music too, created by a guitarist in a kilt and a keyboard player/accordionist, which wasn't always pretty but was nicely atmospheric. The whole thing was lovely, a nice treat!

Culture miles: 7

Saturday

I slept badly - I seem to have fallen back into my old ways of sleeping badly when I'm not in my own bed - which wasn't helped by an odd banging in the flat, which was random and inexplicable. At first I thought it was the elderly neighbours downstairs trying to attract someone's attention but it the early hours of the morning I managed to convince myself it was a ghost, and I don't even believe in that crap.

We started the day with breakfast out:

We were joined by Andrew's friend Andrew for a bit of a gossip then headed off for shopping. We went to Wilkinsons which is my new favourite thing and I came home with a bag full of Christmas decorations and Andrew bought more:

Then we headed into the city centre to look at the Christmas lights and wander round the shops. Inevitably it was total mayhem. Andrew was looking for shoes and I was happy to tag along as my shoe craving seems to have reared it's head again (although I didn't buy any but I should have done).

In the evening we went out. When we'd been planning the trip Andrew had said in an email, "We're going to a function at the BBC club on Saturday evening". He didn't elaborate any further. Well my mind was racing! The BBC Club? Google didn't help - the only thing I could find out about it is that Super Furry Animals played there once. I had visions of illustrating this blog with a picture of me and Dr Who, or John Barrowman. Well, no. It turned out to be the 50th birthday party of the husband of a woman who Andrew (and Andrew) work with. Aah well, I'd met her and she is fabulous and it was still the BBC!

It was rather exciting to get into a taxi and ask for the BBC, and just as exciting to find ourselves on their site. But the BBC Club turned out to be very similar to a traditional working mens' club and was called Scrum (V) - how butch! It wasn't the evening any of us had expected but it was fun. We drank lots - the drinks were clearly subsidised, thank you BBC! (just don't tell the Daily Mail), ate lots and Andrew danced himself dizzy. We were joined by Andrew's friend Andrew's boyfriend Drew (which I'm guessing is short for Andrew) so when the taxi driver asked which one of us was Andrew I rather enjoyed pointing to the back seat and saying, "they all are!" Their colleague was still fab and it was a nice relaxed evening.

Sunday

Amazingly I didn't feel hungover! We started the day with a walk to Sainsbury's for ingredients for lunch then popped into Wilkinsons so I could buy even more Christmas decorations - clearly I'd found my Christmas. Then back to the flat where Andrew cooked a Christmas dinner for us all. This is quite extraordinary as - I'm sure Andrew won't mind me saying - he never cooks, and indeed sometimes never even eats. In all the time I've known him he's cooked for me three times, so this was unexpected and gorgeous:

It was also warm and sunny, but despite that it really did feel like the start of Christmas! It was a lovely weekend, thank you Andrew! xx

2011-11-26T19:14:00.000Z

I'm in Cardiff right now but prepared this before I went, because some things just need to be maintained otherwise anarchy follows. Yes, really - badly maintained Excel will bring about the end of civilisation, just you wait and see. Or maybe not. Anyway, I guarantee I won't have been Christmas shopping in Wales so it's not cheating to do this in advance:

I must admit that when I looked at the figures I felt disappointed but when I saw it as a graph it seemed better, so perhaps graphs should be used in future to make bad news seem less bad. Perhaps one day I can even dump somebody using a graph? (It surely can't be any worse than doing it by answer-phone message, of which I'm guilty.)

Anyway, next week is the big push: I've got Monday off and am taking Mum shopping and won't bring her home until every last Christmas task it completed. Yes it will be a bit hellish but I have an incentive: once I pass the 75% point I've promised myself a treat in the form of some lovely new shoes. The carrot always works better than the stick!

Have a lovely weekend! x

2011-11-23T18:59:00.001Z

The pile of unread books beside my bed is getting a bit small, and too many of them are 'classics' which means they're potentially quite difficult. It's the wrong time of year to head into a bookshop, unless you want a Jamie Oliver cookbook and a 'celebrity' autobiography - no thanks! So I went back to the bookcase and rummaged through things I've kept but am having second thoughts about and ended up reading a book of diaries that Quentin Crisp wrote in the early 1990s. I do like reading a diary - they're often a better indication of the person than anything else you might read about them, and they're always in lovely small chunks.

This was very readable and yet at the same time somehow quite pointless. I know he had an unusual life but I can't help feeling it's all been well documented and there's not much left to say about it. Frustratingly he always refers to other people as Mr or Mrs [insert surname] which can make the gossip a bit tricky. There's no doubt who Mr Sting is, but when it's someone with a more common name it gets a bit frustrating.

One thing he does write about, although not in as much details as I'd like, is the making of the film Orlando in which he plays Queen Elizabeth the first (obviously). I've had a copy of it for ages so it was a good excuse to dig it out and re-watch it (I saw it when it first came out nearly ten years ago).

Well I know I like an Arty film but honestly this was just a bit ridiculous. It's based on a Virginia Woolf novel - thank God they keep turning them into films so I don't have to read them! - about a man who is somehow immortal and who changes sex halfway through the story. Tilda Swinton plays him/her and has the right look for it. Quentin plays QE1 and Jimmy Somerville plays an angel. It's set in all kinds of exotic/beautiful/photogenic locations so it looks stunning but dear God it tries to hard and if it hadn't been just 94 minutes long I'd have given up halfway through.

2011-11-20T06:15:00.001Z

I should have had a lunch date yesterday with a handsome 27 year old but as the week progressed I went off the idea. He's nice enough and certainly handsome but we have nothing in common: his idea of a good night out is getting drunk in Chicago's with his female friends, mine in dinner and an early night. My heart wasn't in it. (It was actually in Hove but I've made a big enough twat of myself about that this week so I'll say no more.) We never seemed to be online at the same time during the week so the plan was never finalised and on Thursday, just when I was thinking I should do the decent thing and make up a lie and cancel, he cancelled. He's busy now until January so I think I'll take the hint and leave him alone.

All of which freed up yesterday for some more Christmas shopping. I've reached the stage where I'm prepared to go to any lengths to get a gift I like. Yesterday it was Hunstanton. It was a lovely sunny day and I really should have stayed to enjoy it but I had my shopping head on and there's no room for pleasure in there.

I'm just keen to get it done as I've got a lot of sociable things coming up, and if possible would like to fit in some more, none of which allows me time to be queuing in Argos. It's all going well apart from my mother who has absolutely no idea what she wants. The only thing she's come up with so far is a thermometer for the house. Although why anyone wants to know how hot the house is mystifies me. Clearly I'm not the only one because I'm buggered if I can find such a thing. I wonder if she'd make do with a meat thermometer instead?...

Anyway, here's the inevitable graph:

Hurrah!

2011-11-19T06:48:00.001Z

That's Will Young singing Silent Valentine, one of the best songs from his new album, in a cloud of red paper hearts in Cambridge last night. I was there.

Nearly ten years ago when he won Pop Idol I didn't care. Then, as now, I didn't watch that kind of thing, thinking that they might find people who can sing but then they turn them into the blandest things ever (yes I mean you Leona Lewis, but also Olly Murs and big gay Geordie Joe). The people I love would have got kicked out in the first round, so there's nothing for me to see.

But over the years Will crept up on my. It's the sad songs, but also the fantastic videos. Soon I found myself watching them obsessively on YouTube. Then I went to see him. Twice. Once in Cardiff, once in Sandringham, both times with Andrew and lots of middle-aged women. Now I'm just a bit mental about him in a way that isn't quite right. Ema, who has a way of seeming totally disinterested in people then getting to the heart of the matter in a way that is frankly terrifying, said very perceptively, "it's like the Jason Donovan years all over again!" And she's right: I loved Jason beyond all reason too - let's just hope Will's career doesn't wither and die like Jason's although the thought of him on Strictly Come Dancing is ridiculously thrilling!

So last night I found myself in Cambridge with lots of women, some who had brought there husbands, and some who had brought their gay friends. Yes, there were gays in the audience! At last! Well done Cambridge! For once it was rather thrilling to look at all the women in the audience who clearly love him and think, "you don't stand a chance love!"

He did lots of his new album, which I like and have played obsessively since it came out. For all that it's supposed to be a dancier direction it's the ballads that do me in: a lovely, fragile little song called Outsider which shockingly people chatted through when what it deserved was respectful silence; and Silent Valentine, one of those 'I love you but it's better if I leave you' songs that always break my heart. Also excellent was I Just Want a Lover, which almost seemed political when he sang it: he's a 'safe' gay, he's never going to talk about bumming and get his cock out, your Mum would love him (and was probably at the gig) so to talk about casual sex seems quite daring: "I just want a lover/Nothing that is complicated/I don't wanna know you... Lying here together/Staring out the bedroom window". Well that's most of my sexual experiences summed up nicely. And of course Jealousy is fantastic.

There was old stuff too including Light my Fire which got the first big sing-along of the evening. It's not a personal favourite - I don't like The Doors and he does it in a jazzy way, and I don't like jazz, but I tolerate it as it was Will. Better was Who am I which is unbearably sad, but then most of his songs are.

The encore started with a cover of Kate Bush's Running up that Hill which he'd previously done acoustically on Dermot O'Leary's radio program and he does it really nicely. It's a brave man who takes on someone as individual as Kate Bush but he makes a good job of it.

The highlight, as ever, was Leave Right Now, which actually made me cry. It's an absolute genius of a song, about loving someone but knowing that if you go back to them it will only make you both unhappy. What could be more painful, and what could be a harder decision to make? It seems braver than fighting tigers. And the way he sings it is spot on. It should melt the hardest heart.

Will of course was lovely - very chatty and smiley, and he looks very fit! Tight trousers, black top, nice arm muscles going on. He'd make someone a lovely husband. I'd like that someone to be me. Here's a sad song:

Culture miles: 72

2011-11-18T18:06:00.001Z

More books...

Since I discovered the joys of local crime fiction and the magnificent Jim Kelly I've been searching for more of the same. I did find another author but she's only written three books and I've read all of them this year already. This was recommended by someone I chat to online, who I had sex with 4.5 years ago and have been trying to shake off ever since as he's a bit too much of a Daily Telegraph reader for my liking, but we do have similar tastes in books and films (which worries me a little) so when he suggested this author because her stuff is set in Cambridge I got excited.

It's about a woman who comes back from the gym to find that her newborn baby has been swapped for another one. Her husband, who was sleeping at the time, disagrees and thinks it's just post-natal depression. Then a week later the woman and the baby both disappear. When the police discover that the husband's first wife had been murdered in the driveway of his house it doesn't look good for him...

The first disappointment is that it wasn't set in Cambridge at all! In fact it had very little sense of place at all, which is a pity as that's what I love about the stuff I've been reading. It's set in some vague part of middle-England, but goodness knows where! I didn't find any of the characters remotely sympathetic: the woman is annoying; the husband undergoes an unconvincing personality change and turns into a sadist; his mother, with whom they live, is a clichéd monster mother-in-law. And the police are no better: a man who is annoyingly smug and stupid at the same time, and his female boss who inexplicably fancies him until it affects her job.

The ending, whilst not being totally predictable, is signposted a long way off and doesn't feel very satisfying. Oh well, I tried.

2011-11-17T21:38:00.001Z

Right, let's catch up with what I've been reading.

I read The Night Listener by Armistead Maupin which I'd read before but never owned. I bought it after I met the lovely Mr Maupin last autumn and have been looking for the moment to read it ever since. I'd been putting it off as it's not one of his Tales of the City books, but something different (and not as good). But then when I read the Paul Monette book which includes half an essay about a book written by a terminally ill child that many people claimed was fake and he mentions Maupin in it (who wrote a blurb for an edition of the book) and after five minutes on the internet it became clear that this is actually a fictionalised account of a true story.

It's about a writer who reads his stories on late night radio, who is given a manuscript by his publisher. It's supposedly the true story of a boy who is abused by his parents and their friends, and after they are sent to prison it turns out he has AIDS. The writer starts a phone friendship with him but attempts to meet him are thwarted by his ill health. At the same time the writer's boyfriend has moved out but not split up from him. Slowly people put doubt in the mind of the writer about the existence of the boy so he goes to visit and ends up stalking the woman who looks after him, although he never gets to meet the boy, and then she vanishes leaving everyone none the wiser.

It's a slightly unsatisfying read. The bits about the writer and his boyfriend are more typically Maupin (and are also fictionalised from his life) but the other stuff doesn't quite work. I can't help thinking it would have been a more interesting book if he'd written a true account of what happened, maybe an investigative piece into who the woman/boy really were. It's an interesting failure, but I'm glad he went back to the Tales of the City series.

There's also a film of it which I went to see in Norwich the weekend it opened (I was that curious about it) so at the same time as I bought the book I bought the DVD. The film is very different from the book, despite the fact that Maupin wrote the screenplay. Interestingly (and unnecessarily) he moves it from San Francisco to New York. He also takes out a lot of the phonecalls from the book - they'd only look dull on film - and invents some extra scenes when the writer is stalking the woman/boy (including a scene where he breaks into their house and gets arrested then beaten up by a cop, which doesn't really work). It stars Robin Williams - it was made during the period when he was desperate to be serious - but I don't for a minute believe him as a gay character, he's just Robin Williams. They give him a cute younger boyfriend whereas in the book he is older and is developing a taste for leather.

I was preparing to hate the film and was looking forward to chucking it in the box of stuff for the charity shop but actually it's not that bad. It's an interesting companion to the book, but it's almost like they're not from the same material. It's an odd thing and it is spared the charity shop. For now.

Meanwhile back in the real world I've ordered a wood-burning stove. At last! The installation man was supposed to come round on Monday but didn't so on Tuesday I was declaring the idea dead. The Wednesday night he phones and says, "are we still okay for tonight?" and all I could think of was how lucky it was that my gentleman caller had cancelled! So the stove is ordered but it's not as simple as I thought - before it can be installed the chimney needs sweeping and the electric cables attached to the chimney need covering up by the electric company. It took twenty minutes to get through to the right part of the electric company so any hope of that happening quicky have died. Still, it is all rather exciting.

2011-11-16T19:28:00.001Z

I went out last night, which was probably a good thing. I went to Cambridge to see Fascinating Aida, who people have been telling me I'd love for some time. But I didn't really understand who they were, assuming they were a cosy cabaret act, a bit too twee for my liking, just the kind of thing that a middle-aged gay man ought to like.

But then I saw them briefly in Edinburgh - they were guests at one of the shows we went to and did a fantastic song called Cheap Flights (which is apparently something of an internet sensation but it had passed me by!). So I came home and booked a ticket, and finally it was time to see them.

Yes the audience was predominantly middle-aged (and older) but the last thing their act could be described as is twee! The first song was about bankers and the chorus just called them c*nts, which was accompanied by great piano playing, singing and dancing. From there they proceeded to take on pretty much any subject you could think of, each song reducing the audience to tears of laughter. But more surprisingly they had a couple of moving songs too: one about sex in hotel rooms that made me feel a bit wobbly and another about growing old and people dying which had a great lyric which began "lay one fewer place at the table". They also did a series of thirteen short, sharp pieces without piano apparently in the style of Bulgarian Folk Music, which were excellent.

In fact the whole evening was fantastic, it was really good to laugh out loud for a couple of hours. And my reservations about comedic songs totally vanished. I think it helped that they're fantastic performers with great voices. I'll leave you with a song about dogging, which I've been singing round the office all day:

Culture miles: 72 (all done in a brand new Nissan Micra as my car was in the garage waiting for a camshaft seal. It's always a treat to get to play in a new car - this one was also an automatic, like my own, but it always seemed to be in too high a gear and had a tricky change into top gear that totally took the wind out of your sails. Disappointing.)

2011-11-14T17:59:00.001Z

On Sunday I came back to earth with a bump: I had to go Christmas shopping with my mother. Last week's graph had scared me into action so I was determined to get some stuff done, and I was also a bit fed up of Mum nagging me about it. I think she forgets that some of us aren't at home all day with nothing better to do that flick through gift catalogues. We got quite a lot done, then I came home and did more online so I feel like I've broken the back of it.

Here's the graph up until Saturday (my week ending date for Christmas shopping) - next week's will be even more impressive.

Mum was in an odd mood although why is anybody's guess - it could be the deaths in her family lately but equally it could be the stones in the street, there really is no telling. Or perhaps it could be me, perhaps I resent her slightly because I feel she's stopping me from running away and moving to Hove. Of course she isn't, the only thing that is stopping me is my own cowardice. And the fact that nobody has asked me.

Yes, that's right, I've gone mental! I've been chatting on and off to the Man from Hove but every time I suggest meeting again he avoids answering. I've lost the ability to focus on the positive stuff he's saying and end up just focussing on what he's not saying. I found myself wondering why and then started wondering if perhaps he wasn't single at all, despite the fact that during dinner on Friday night he'd talk about how he felt about being single. So basically in my head I'm calling him a liar.

It all got a bit much for me earlier and I started wondering if it might be better if nothing happened with him at all. So in the space of 24 hours I've gone from marriage to divorce. All in my own head! It frustrates me that I'm able to tackle everything logically and rationally apart from men. What is it about them that unhinges me so?? I really am a twat.

2011-11-13T20:07:00.001Z

[That's the view from the window of the hotel room I stayed in on Friday night - no idea what the building in the foreground is but the round building in the middle is where the Mayor of London (mad Boris) works.]

So, yesterday I promised words, if I could find them. Well, I'm a bit unhinged today so I'm not sure I can offer insight, but I'll offer facts and madness and you can make of those whatever you like.

I spent Friday night at the Mint Hotel in London, just round the corner from the Tower of London and Tower Bridge (you could see them from the window of the room), and round the corner from The Gherkin (which you could see from the corridor outside the room). I wasn't alone, I spent it with a man from Hove who I've been chatting to online for about three weeks. We were originally going to spend the Saturday in London, just pottering about and doing stuff, getting to know each other, but then it became obvious that as well as getting on well and having lots of stuff in common we also really rather fancied each other. So I suggested we book a hotel and he found one and booked it.

During the last week it occurred to me that I didn't know that much about him and there was a risk that I might get bludgeoned to death in a strange bed and dumped in the Thames, but I went anyway. I took the precaution of telling Andrew all about him so at least someone could send the police in the right direction. Well it turns out that the Man from Hove had the same concern and had also told a friend, who oddly enough also happens to live in Cardiff - so whilst we were tucked up in a strange bed Cardiff was worrying about us. I think we might have picked our best men.

Anyway, I was excited and not in the least bit nervous until I got on the Tube and this bloke got on wearing bad shoes - those pointy-toed slip-ons that mobile phone salesmen always seem to wear. Vile. And I suddenly thought, "what if he has bad shoes??" Then I preceded to get lost coming out of Tower Hill tube station and had the wrong address for the hotel, so I'm striding up and down a rode looking in office buildings trying to find something that didn't exist. So I phoned him and he talked me to the right location, and there he was sat in the foyer of the hotel, reading the Guardian (hurrah!) and looking exactly like his photographs (always a good start).

We went up to the room, on the tenth floor, and chatted, and were surprisingly relaxed with each other. Later in the evening we went down to dinner - it was included in the package, and it turned out to be a good plan because if we'd had to go out and find somewhere else to eat I think we wouldn't have bothered and would have just got cake and crisps from a supermarket. The restaurant was a bit posh - it's a four start hotel, so the menu was a bit on the poncy side but we managed to find stuff to eat: ham hock terrine with piccalilli which was actually rather lovely; a roasted vegetable roulade (surprisingly filling); and a pear crumble, which was lovely too although obviously it was a tiny portion.

After that we went back to the room, and lay in bed watching TV, my head resting on his chest (broad and hairy - lovely!) before succumbing to the effects of the bottle of red wine and falling asleep. Of course I'm out of practice with sleeping with someone else in the bed, and strange beds can be tricky too, so I didn't sleep as well as I'd hoped. It was hot, because we hadn't worked out how to do the aircon, and there was a light in the room that wouldn't go away, so at 5am we were wide awake and drinking tea. Thankfully it was both of us, it could have been tricky if it was just me. But we managed a doze before heading down to breakfast - the full hotel breakfast: bacon & eggs, cereal, toast, juice, tea, everything you could want really.

We checked out at midday then went to wander round the City. Coincidentally it was the day of the Lord Mayor's Show, which I remember from my childhood because they always showed in on TV, which interrupted Swap Shop. We were right in the thick of it so we wandered down to see the start of it, then went to the Museum of London, which was really interesting. Then we headed towards the river, passing by the protests outside St Pauls. I've got very mixed feelings about the whole thing and seeing it in person didn't make me feel any more sympathetic towards them.

We rejoined the parade near Blackfriars Bridge and ended up seeing nearly all of it. It's an odd mix of stuff: lots of military, floats representing trades that I guess once took place in the city, community groups, and one advertising a new film starring Antonio Banderas. It was quite thrilling though. Then we crossed the river to the Southbank and stopped for pie & mash before wandering round the lovely shops at the bottom of the Oxo Tower; popping into the National Theatre to look at Christmas gifts they had for sale; seeing some news photographs at the Royal Festival Hall (which were oddly depressing); then getting tea and cake from a food market behind it and sitting on steps to eat. Then it was time to cross back over the Thames and find a space to stand to watch the fireworks from. They were great - thank you Lord Mayor! Then we got on a Tube - he got off at the hotel to collect his bag and head home, I continued to King's Cross to get my train.

So that's the facts, now the other bits. He's lovely. Absolutely lovely. Physically he's just my type and he's just a really nice person. He has a job which he's serious about; he has his own home, which he loves; he drives; he has a grown-up relationship with his family; he's single; he's interesting; he likes food; he likes the Pet Shop Boys even more than I do; he's the nicest man I've met in years. And he lives in Hove.

We both said we enjoyed the day and enjoyed meeting. We exchanged texts on our journeys home. And when we chatted online this morning he didn't tell me he loved me or ask me to move to Hove, and I realised that made me disappointed. At which point I realised I was being mental. Which means I really like him. Oh fuck.

2011-11-12T20:53:00.001Z

Words tomorrow, if I can find them.

2011-11-11T07:00:00.000Z

Last night I was at the theatre in Norwich to see Rambert Dance Company. I don't often get to see contemporary dance so it is something of a treat, although it can also be a bit of a disappointment. This one wasn't though. It was the usual format: three pieces of varying quality with intervals in between - those dancers need a lot of rest apparently.

The first piece was called Seven for a secret, never to be told which obviously takes its name from the nursery rhyme about magpies. That would be the same nursery rhyme that also inspired Steps One for Sorrow, which oddly was the name I had in mind for the novel I was going to write way back when I thought I actually had a novel in me. You had a lucky escape! Anyway, back to the dancing. It had a woodland setting: the stage was bathed in green light and there were ragged bits of cloth hanging down to suggest trees. The dancers were dressed as children: Guides, Scouts, and in school uniform, and it was basically about them being lost in the woods but loving it. It reminds of me Peter Pan and also of The Jungle Book. It's unusual for there to be any characterisation with the dancers but there is and it works really well. The music was written in 1925 and has a jaunty, playful feel to it. A good start.

The second piece was called Rainforest and was potentially the most interesting. It was a a revival of something originally done in 1968 and features Andy Warhol's silver clouds as part of the set. When it was originally performed he wanted the dancers to be naked but they end up wearing flesh coloured body stockings instead. Unfortunately the music is that modern tricky business that sounds like a radio that isn't tuned into any station in particular, which doesn't work for me so the whole thing failed slightly.

The last piece was called A Linha Curva and when I saw it list in the program I did a little jump for joy (in my head) as I've seen it before and it's one of the best pieces of dance I've ever seen: 26 dancers, lighting that makes the stage look like a 1970s disco floor, and fantastic percussion - it just works so well together it's impossible not to grin and tap your feet. It's hard to explain so why not watch and see for yourselves:

Culture miles: 86

Tonight I'm off to London to stay in a hotel with a man I met on the internet. If he's as lovely as he seems it could be 24 hours of heaven, if not I could be on the last train home. As long as he doesn't murder me and throw me in the Thames it should be fine!

2011-11-08T22:39:00.001Z

I finally got to see The Adventures of Tintin: The Secret of the Unicorn last night. I'd been keen to see it but a little anxious. Not because I'm a huge Tintin fan: it always seemed to be on TV during the summer holidays when I was a child, but every episode seemed the same so I don't really remember much of it other than the look of it, that beautifully simple animation. And of course there was a time in the early 80s when every gay man wanted to look like him: young, thin, blonde quiff (just think of Jimmy Somerville).

But I was nervous about it because of the way it is animated - not in the same way as the original cartoons, and not in the shiny glossy Pixar way, but in some other way that involves people moving then getting coloured in. It seemed like a lot of fuss and potentially a lot of nonsense. I was ready not to like it, and the fact that it's 3D too didn't help (not a big fan of the 3D here - this was only my second experience of it). Well I was an idiot - it was excellent!

It begins with a really beautiful title sequence that echoes the original cartoon but also those great 1960s animated titles - do I mean Hitchcock? Then it's straight into the action: Tintin buys a model ship from a market stall then two strange men offer him money for it, trying to outbid each other for it, but Tintin refuses. Inevitably it gets stolen from his home, although thankfully the secret it contains falls out and is saved. He then gets kidnapped and so begins his adventure round the world to find out the ship's secret.

I can see why Steven Speilberg wanted to direct it - it's basically an Indiana Jones movie, but without Harrison Ford's aged body lumbering round the screen, It's very thrilling, racing from one location to the next and taking in just about any kind of escapade you could imagine: ships, planes, desert, motorbikes, pirates, falcons, huge piles of gold. There's one sequence where he is on a motorbike chasing after a bird which is absolutely breathtaking!

The cast is packed with famous names but actually they're a bit unrecognisable, which is something of a relief really as they could be distracting. Simon Pegg and Nick Frost play the Thompson Twins and I was nervous they'd ham it up, and it would be horribly jarring like Pegg's turn as Scottie in the Star Trek film, which still makes me cringe when I think about it now, but no, they were great. Everyone was great!

It was written by Steven Moffat (who is doing Dr Who now and who also reinvented Sherlock Holmes), but thankfully he doesn't do any of the tricky stuff he's been overdoing on Dr Who lately, Edgar Wright (who directed Shaun of the Dead), and Joe Cornish (who used to mess about on late night Channel 4 and somehow has turned that into a career). How authentic it is to the original I have no idea but it I loved it! Let's hope they make more.

And the 3D? It worked really well, making the whole thing feel like it had a lot of depth but avoiding doing that gratuitous throwing things at the audience business. It's hard not to feel an idiot though, sitting in the dark with one pair of glasses on top of another.

Culture miles: 22

2011-11-07T19:39:00.000Z

Yesterday I went to Cambridge to see a fabulous film called Weekend. It had been previewed at the London Film Festival a few weeks ago but the tickets sold out instantly so I had to wait until it was properly released to see it, and frankly would have travelled anywhere to see it. It was well worth the effort.

It's about two gay men - Russell and Glen - he meet in a club on a Friday night and end up going back to Russell's. The next morning Glen doesn't rush away and they get to know each other a little better, then Russell goes to work and they meet up again after that. Then in the evening they meet again as Glen is leaving the country the next day and his friends are gathering for a few drinks to send him off. They end up back at Russell's again, talking through the night, both realising that something more than a one night stand has taken place.

Bret Easton Ellis tweeted that it "might be the greatest film about gay men ever made" and he has a point. It's probably the first time I've seen gay life presented on film in a way that is recognisably similar to mine. The dialogue is spot on, it really does feel like the kind of things people say, with all the awkwardness and uncertainty that comes with it. They have real lives, not glamorous London ones: it's set in Nottingham (apparently, although I thought it was Leeds); they have ordinary (ish) jobs - Russell is a lifeguard at a swimming pool, Glen works in a gallery; Russell lives in a block of flats and goes everywhere by bike; and they were hoodies, not designer labels.

The cast are excellent: one straight actor (playing Russell), one gay (playing Glen). Both beardy, and hairy in a natural way - not waxed or plucked. And although they're both fit neither has a six pack, and it feels like they're the kind of men you could actually meet (although obviously not talk to as they're out of my league!). Glen is played by Chris New who I saw play Joe Orton in a play with Matt Lucas as Kenneth Halliwell, which didn't last long as Matt Lucas's ex-husband killed himself and he pulled out of the play and it closed soon after. At the time I read an interview with them both in which New was by far the spikier, more political of the pair, which is very much like the character he plays in this.

What was so nice about it was the way they are so casually physical with each other. It's so rare to see men touch on screen. And I don't mean sex, because there's not much of it, although what there is real rather than glamorous. There's one bit where Glen rests his chin on Russell's shoulder and you can tell he so desperately wants to kiss him but he's playing it cool and doesn't. And later when they're kissing Russell slides his hands up Glen's t-shirt and it's so authentic I could almost feel it.

The whole thing looks beautiful too, just like the poster. There are some lovely stills from the film-making here. The director is from Norwich apparently and he'll be doing a Q&A after a screening of the film next month. Obviously I've got a ticket. The film is completely and utterly beautifully and made me want to cry all the way home - the greatest compliment I can give a film!

Culture miles: 72

The film doesn't have any incidental music, it's just the sounds of wherever the scene is taking place. But near the end they use two songs by John Grant, who is absolutely wonderful - a gay singer/songwriter who I got to see last year when he supported Midlake. His album is beautiful and sad and makes me want to cry, so it was the perfect music to use with the film. Here he is being wonderful:

In other news, I've started my Christmas shopping. It had to be done. I wanted to get more done this weekend but failed miserably. What I did manage to do was buy all my family and friends Christmas cards, which just leaves work ones to buy (any old supermarket ones will do!). I usually get a bit mental about cards and can spend weeks trying to find the perfect card for family, but my sister's kids couldn't care less about the card - quite rightly - they just want the present. So I chilled out about it and feel better for it.

Anyway, here's the graph:

*panic!*

2011-11-06T07:41:00.001Z

Yesterday was Ema's birthday, and also Guy Fawkes night, which means the traditional fireworks and food extravaganza in her back garden to celebrate the two.

The usual crowd gathered and ate a huge amount of lovely food, broken up by two lots of fireworks, let off by Ema's husband and his eighty tear old aunt (!). They've done it enough to know what they're doing now, so the Catherine Wheels all spun beautifully and we all ooh-ed and aah-ed over the rockets, and cowered slightly at the big things that made load bangs. Apart from their youngest child who was having some kind of sparkler frenzy and was totally in his own world.

Lovely to see everyone, sorry I left in such a hurry xxx

It's always a good excuse to bake something sweet so I took Lorraine Pascale's chocolate cheesecake which was very easy too make, and perhaps a bit too rich, but it looked great:

I spent some of the earlier part of the day in Norwich. Not as much as I'd hoped as the parking was a nightmare - it took 45 minutes to find a space! Of course everyone is Christmas shopping but I've been in such denial about it that it never occurred to me they would be.

I'd gone to meet a strange man I met on the internet for coffee. Although he wasn't such a stranger as we've been chatting for ages. Long enough to know there's no attraction between us but also long enough to know we have a shared love of musical theatre, have seen lots of the same shows and share the same sense of humour. And I could do with more local gay friends, although to be honest Diss isn't that local!

We met outside The Forum, which was celebrating its tenth birthday so was ridiculously packed, then headed for coffee and cake and picked up chatting where we'd finished online basically. Then we wandered round the shops. He had a gift voucher to spend so we ended up in House of Fraser, which I would not normally bother with as it sells gorgeous things like Paul Smith socks at £17 a pair! We even ventured into a Superdry store, which I've been itching to get into since I started going to the gym - I think they pump some kind of Superdry-loving chemical into the air so you get off the stepper and crave overpriced hoodies. It cured me of that craving - £45 for a polo shirt?? I did nearly buy these lovely shoes but the only pair they had in my size were faulty. I'm promising myself a pair as a treat once my Christmas shopping is over. It would seem that my shoe craving is back...

But despite the crowds it was actually a really nice afternoon and we've said we'll do it again, only next time somewhere less crowded!

2011-11-04T20:42:00.003Z

Last night was my second night in the theatre this week. I went to Cambridge to see Mike Leigh's new play, which at the time I booked it had no name but which ended up being called Grief. I got a bit excited about a play of his coming to Cambridge as he hardly ever does plays any more but what I forgot was that recently I've found his stuff a bit tricky: I gave up on Happy Go Lucky half way through as the main character annoyed me so much (which is surprising as the actress who played her has been fantastic in everything I've seen her in since) and Another Year was depressing and a bit tedious.

The play was set in 1957, in one room - the front room of a semi-detached house in suburban London. The main character is a widow called Dorothy, whose husband was killed in WW2. She shares the house with her bachelor brother who is on the verge of retirement and her teenage daughter, who has no real memory of her father. There is also an Irish cleaning lady, but she doesn't last long; a doctor friend of the brother, who hardly pauses for breath and seems too big for the house; and two women Dorothy used to work with - they were telephone operators, I'm guessing in the war, and the friends' lives have turned out more successfully than Dorothy's: rich husbands, clever children, active social lives.

So what happens? Well not much really. The daughters O levels and sixteenth birthday come and go, with increasing amounts of door slamming and cursing her mother. The brother retires and they spell his name wrong on the silver salver they give him. Dorothy's friends pop in for tea a lot. But mostly Dorothy just looks disappointed and miserable. I'm going to have to be honest and admit I didn't like it. It wasn't that it was bad, I just couldn't see what the point of it was. I'm assuming that because he called it Grief that's what it's about, but if so he had nothing new to say about it.

The acting is good although some of the characters are hard to like: Leslie Manville plays Dorothy but she's played too many timid women who can't cope and I'd love to see her do something different. The teenage daughter is just annoying but thankfully she gets what she deserves in the end. The best characters are the doctor and Dorothy's friends who are all fabulously funny - if only he'd written the play about them it could have been a fabulous night in the theatre.

It doesn't help that the cheap seats (£15.00 plus £2.00 booking fee, so not that cheap) are at the back of the stalls, and has the is very little slope on the floor you're buggered if you get a tall person in front of you. I did so one eye was focused on the back of his head and the other on the stage, which made me squint and quite irritated. And it was far too hot. And two hours straight through with no interval is silly in the theatre - yes I know they do it in the cinema, but invariably cinemas have comfier seats!

Aah well, an interesting failure.

Culture miles: 72

I've also had a day and a half off this week, which broke it up nicely. And although they were productive they were hardly exciting. Wednesday afternoon I picked Mum up from the station after her trip to Scotland. It seemed to go well, although Mum isn't good at showing enthusiasm so who can tell. It was also her birthday so we stopped at my sister's for cake and gifts, which was nice.

Thursday morning I had the loft insulated. I thought the whole never having a water butt thing had been the height of my stupidity but no - it had never occurred to me to put more insulation in the loft since I moved in, and the 50mm that was in there was woefully inadequate - they're recommending 250mm now! Of course I didn't do it myself, Tesco did. There's no ladder up to and no light - I'd have lasted about eight seconds before I came plunging through the ceiling, so thanks to some odd grant scheme I got the whole lot done for £99. No mess, nobody fell through the roof, and they were gone by 8.45am.

I had the whole day to myself to catch up on some jobs so I went looking for wood-burning stoves. Again. I think I've found the perfect one but I can't be sure until the man comes back net week, so watch this space...

I also fitted in a trip to Waitrose (which is now so expensive it has inspired me to start baking flapjacks); a gentleman caller; and a whole pile of housework. Not the most thrilling day off then but I got stuff done and it was obviously nice to be out of the office.

2011-11-03T14:40:00.000Z

Last Christmas - or perhaps it was the one before that? - there was a Judy Garland special on TV: her, Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin, all singing together for an hour. Obviously it was fantastic. Then I discovered she made a whole series of TV shows so I added a box set to my Amazon wishlist but it was never cheap enough to buy. Then a couple of months ago I went to see a play about her and came straight home and ordered a DVD of one of the episodes. Turns out there are 26 DVDs so I went online to do some research to find out which ones were best and it turns out there's a book about the series. So I bought it.

It's written by Mel Torme, who was the musical director on the show, but who was also a successful singer in his own right - I knew his name but not his work, assuming he was a poor man's Frank Sinatra (but actually that would be Dean Martin) or another Bing Crosby (a bit cheesy). A few minutes on YouTube and it turns out I was wrong - the guy could sing!

He works on 22 of the 26 shows, making him one of the longest survivors, apart from Judy. It's a troubled show and has three changes of producer, but none of them can sort out Judy's problems and get her to show enough interest in it to make it a success. Eventually she fires him to save money and replaces him with a young singer she's having a fling with. Meanwhile the writer is going through his second divorce.

It's actually a great book. I didn't think people wrote tell-all books about TV in those days, I thought it was a more modern invention, but apparently they did and it turns out he's a good writer too. He's honest about himself and Judy, but he's as quick to praise as he is to criticise and he doesn't mind being hard on himself. She doesn't seem as much of a mess as you'd imagine, just distracted by her personal life and not really interested in the show. And watching them it's obvious she could still really sing.

In the book he mentions a song from the last show which was never broadcast, but there's a fantastic picture from it in the book. Well it turns out that like everything else ever it's found its way onto YouTube!

2011-11-02T22:29:00.000Z

Last night I went to the theatre in Norwich, with Ema, to see Top Hat - the musical of the Fred Astaire & Ginger Rogers film. Tap dancing, songs and 1930s glamour? Who could resist!

It stars Tom Chambers who was in Holby City but then won Strictly Come Dancing after which his career has turned a bit musical theatre. I guess he was the reason for the packed theatre, rather than the original film.

The story is your basic mistaken identity thing: Tom plays an American actor who comes to London to work in the West End. At his hotel he flirts with a woman who thinks he's the husband of her good friend Madge, whereas in reality he is just staying with the husband. So she shuns his advances but then they end up in the same hotel in Italy where she manages to convince Madge that her husband is being unfaithful so Madge suggests her friend marries her dress designer just to put the awful business of men behind her. Which she does, just before the confusion is revealed. But there's a twist so they all get a happy ending.

I'm sure I've seen the film but now I'm not so sure. There's a scene in a bandstand that seemed familiar but some frantic Googling in the interval made me realise that the bit where he dances round the room, jumping from chair to chair and off the walls, is from a completely different film (Royal Wedding) and the slow-motion scene Ema had been thinking of was from Easter Parade. We're a bit rubbish. But I enjoyed it - the plot is silly and flimsy but there are great songs (by Irving Berlin) but mostly it's the dancing that's great: a whole stage full of men in top hats and tails doing the same thing - it looks absolutely glorious!

And Tom? Well he can certainly dance, there's no denying that. I just wish his voice had been a little better. I know Fred Astaire wasn't the greatest singer but it didn't seem to matter at the time. It was genuinely thrilling to watch a big group of people tap dancing - it's just not something I ever get to see, and it just makes me grin!

Anyway, here's Fred & Ginger doing what they did best:

Culture miles: 98

2011-11-01T13:40:00.000Z

So another month ends and with it ends a year of recording my cultural miles. I'm not even sure why I started the whole thing - I think I knew I was getting out and about a lot and just wanted to see how far and how often. I don't know what I was intending to do with the information, certainly not cut down or anything like that. So what did I learn:

Total miles covered: 7883 (equivalent to a return trip from Berlin to New York)

Number of cultural things done: 103

Average miles per cultural thing: 76.5

Longest trip: Edinburgh: 978 miles but I did see four things (244.5 miles per thing) whereas the trip to Manchester was 604 miles for just two things (302 miles per thing) so Manchester wins I guess.

Shortest trip: 1 mile, to see my niece in Fiddler on the Roof at the High School in town.

So here's how the mileage broke down month by month:

Busiest month was July, followed by August, which rather contradicts my complaint that there's nothing cultural going on in the summer. Quietest month was January which was only marginally slower than December, so no surprises there.

And here's how the number of events per month stack up:

I wanted to combine them onto one graph but as much as I love Excel it's a bugger to get the graphs to work. I'm not sure the graph is very informative on its own but I did it so it's a shame to waste it!

Oh I do love a spreadsheet!

2011-10-31T05:04:00.002Z

I spent yesterday afternoon in the cinema. The Arts Centre in King's Lynn had a mini Halloween film festival on this weekend and although I couldn't get to the first two I was free for the last one: The Innocents, a 1961 film starring Deborah Kerr. I'd never heard of it and might not have bothered going but then I read about it and thought it sounded a bit like The Others which I'd really enjoyed (turns out they were inspired by the same source).

It's about a governess who is employed to take care of two orphaned children whose uncle is so busy enjoying his glamorous London life that he isn't in the slightest bit interested in them. She moves down to his country house to look after them but slowly starts to think things are not as they seem. The kids are a bit otherworldly - the boy in particular is like a grown up in a child's body but the girl is creepy too. Then it turned out the previous governess had killed herself and another member of staffed had died in strange circumstances. Then she starts hearing voices and thinks the children are possessed. It obviously doesn't end well.

I'm not really a fan of Deborah Kerr but in this she manages just the right level of paranoid and mad so you don't know whether her fears are real or imagined. Despite the ridiculously posh accents - did people in England ever really speak like that? - it manages to be nicely creepy and when I got home I was careful to put lots of lights on before I did anything in case there were ghosts lurking.

It was apparently based on The Turn of the Screw by Henry James, whose name and stuff I keep bumping into so I wonder if it's time for me to get one of his books and see what all the fuss is about? And unexpectedly the screenplay was co-written by Truman Capote, although I'm not sure I'd have ever guessed.

Culture miles: 22

Also yesterday my niece was nine. Mum and I went over to give her gifts, including a big pink balloon shaped like a 9, which was something she'd particularly asked for. I ate lots of party food but spent most of the time on the computer trying to sort out using two iPods - she got one for her birthday and her sister already has one - on the same computer. iTunes doesn't like it and the solution isn't as elegant and clever as you'd hope from Apple, which makes me think they'd just be happy if everyone bought a laptop to go with every iPod.

Then I had to take Mum to Peterborough station as she's off to Scotland again. Unfortunately not for pleasure: her sister died in August and last week her sister's husband died. He'd been in hospital almost continually since she died. He's in his 80s, a tiny man who looks like he weighs nothing, and an alcoholic for most of his life. He just took to his bed and gave up. Whilst it's hardly fair on his daughter and his grandchildren I can understand it: the woman who he has spent his whole life with, who has taken care of him and kept him together, suddenly dies - you would give up wouldn't you? It's almost romantic, in a Victorian kind of way.

So with all that going on yesterday was hardly the day for the passenger door of the car to get stuck shut. It's been an ongoing problem but I think the spring in the handle has finally broken and I can't get it open at all. If I can find a wire coat hanger later I'll try and fix it with that, assuming that technique actually works and isn't just a myth. It wasn't much fun trying to get Mum, a suitcase, a beanbag, a huge balloon and other gifts into a tiny car through one door!

2011-10-30T06:44:00.001Z

Sarah & David are in Norfolk for the weekend, staying with Sarah's Mum Dorn and last night I went over to have dinner with them. I've been visiting Dorn's house for over twenty years now and the thing I love most about it is the warmth - not just from the Aga in the kitchen, but in the relaxed way they make you feel welcome. It's always lovely to see everyone.

Dorn's partner John was demonstrating their wood-burning stoves to me - they have two! - and now I have actual physical proof of how hot they can get (very) and know you can toast crumpets on them (hurrah!) so I've got my excitement back and will definitely be doing it. After dinner Dorn normally retires to bed but last night she stayed up, telling us stories of Sarah's Dad's family - it was just like an episode of Who do you think you are? and when one of the relatives turned up in Canada I found myself thinking, "ooh it's just like the Richard Madeley episode!" Dorn also provided my favourite moment of the evening when she admitted she'd once dumped a boyfriend because he liked fluorescent lighting, which I giggled about all the way home.

Obviously it was also lovely to see Sarah & David too, and I seem to have agreed to climb Mount Snowden with them next year, as long as "climb" means "go up by train". See you at Christmas! xxx

And the picture? It's Lenin. Made out of chocolate. Which, if I understood correctly, was a gift from Russia from a friend of Dorn's. Genius.

2011-10-29T14:43:00.000+01:00

Once I started going out this week I can't stop! Having seen no comedy for months last night I found myself at my second comedy thing in three days: Jenny Eclair just up the road in Ely.

I have seen her before, years ago in Bury St Edmunds, in the gorgeous little theatre there. We had a box right next to the stage and I remember being terrified she'd pick on us. Of course she didn't but that was the image she had at the time. Inevitably I got bored of her after that but recently I've warmed to her again: she's written a couple of novels, one of which I read on a sunny day in Coney Island. She's also did I'm a Celebrity... which I didn't watch but which revived her career a lot. But the thing that made me finally book a ticket was the blog she writes on her website. It's chatty in a way I feel I can never manage, is nicely personal, is often about food and always includes pictures - it makes her sound interesting and even rather nice, which I'm sure wasn't the intention.

When I got there the male steward on the door said, "you'll be outnumbered in there" and of course he meant that the audience was mostly women. I don't know why this hadn't occurred to me before, but it hadn't. Not that it matters, comedy is comedy after all. And what followed was very funny, although it has to be said it was funny in a much more traditional way that Dave Gorman earlier in the week. Men are crap in the kitchen jokes? Still? Come on Jenny, you're smarter than that, and if she or any other women were putting up with those kind of men wasn't it also a bit stupid of them to do so?

She plays up the old, fat woman stuff a little more than I was comfortable with to be honest. She's only 51 for goodness sake, which is not old in anyone's book! I think she might have done a bit too much Grumpy Old Women and started to believe that's what she is, which is a shame as she's far more interesting than that. But the audience love her and squeal with delight when she mentions tampons in public and it all just feels a bit old-fashioned. Of course I laughed, it's impossible not to when someone on stage is swearing like a sailor and talking about wanking boys at bus stops when she was a teenager. But I couldn't help thinking she sold herself short a bit.

Culture miles: 38

I don't have a picture of Jenny in action, or of an eclair, so here's the view from my sofa right now:

Do you think he wants to come in?

2011-10-28T16:41:00.000+01:00

I went to the cinema last night. I had planned to go on Sunday night but I had a head full of cold and didn't want to be the annoying person sitting in the dark coughing. I hoped I could go Monday but felt no better. By last night I was just irritated by feeling run down and went anyway, not really caring if my coughing upset anyone or not. And then I didn't cough at all, although if I had I doubt anyone would have heard over the sound of the two teenage girls in the row behind me kicking the seats in front of them...

I went to the Princess Theatre in Hunstanton which used to be run by the council until they ditched most of their Arts stuff in the cuts. Luckily the people who run the cinema in King's Lynn took it over although that was months ago and I'd not been before as they just seemed to show stuff that had already been on in King's Lynn.

Well I think they might have turned a corner as they were showing Woody Allen's new film Midnight in Paris which hasn't been out long. It's about a Hollywood screenwriter who is taking time out to write a novel, who is on holiday in Paris with his fiancée and her parents (the father is there on business, the rest are just along for the ride). One night the writer is just walking the streets when he is beckoned into a passing car and he finds himself at a party in the 1920s where he meets Scott & Zelda Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway. He loves it and starts to go back regularly, eventually falling in love with Picasso's mistress. Meanwhile his fiancée's family are becoming suspicious although she doesn't seem to care as she's spending a lot of time with a couple they know. It all ends happily.

The cast is less stellar than recent Woody Allen films but Owen Wilson is something of a revelation! I've previously found him irritating as hell - just look at his previous work, nothing there designed with me in mind - and his dalliance with Kate Hudson (talent vacuum) didn't endear me either. But in this he's great. He's playing the obligatory Woody Allen character but he gives it his own spin so it is less clichéd than it could be. And there's something about his trousers that fascinated me. I literally do mean his trousers - I need new clothes and I found myself transfixed by them - not that they were anything special, or indeed that they would fit me as he's skinny as a rake.

The best bit of the film is the recreation of the 1920s, where everybody you've ever heard of seemed to be in the city at the same time: Cole Porter, Salvador Dali, Josephine Baker, Gertrude Stein, TS Eliot. It's rather thrilling to recognise them and rather fun. I thought perhaps he'd been a bit generous with Hemingway, making him more handsome than I thought he was, but a quick search online made me realise that Hemingway wasn't the grizzly old codger I'd imagined. I wonder who I can have been thinking about. Oh and for good measure Carla Bruni - wife of the French President! - pops up in it too, not playing herself either but acting.

Paris looks lovely and I really wanted to go back, and the whole thing was just nicely light and silly. I'm not sure I'd have guessed it was a Woody Allen film if I hadn't known though.

Culture miles: 51

2011-10-27T23:12:00.001+01:00

Wednesday night I went to see some comedy. I don't see very much comedy, it's just not my thing. So much not my thing that sometimes I wonder if I have a sense of humour at all. As did Ema, who challenged me to tell her just what I found funny. Well, stuff obviously. Life mostly. Other people. Comedians? Not so much...

There's something about stand-up comedy that I just don't like. It's too male. Too laddy. When I arrived at the venue - Cambridge Corn Exchange, not a bad venue, dreadful sound for gigs, much better for comedy - the bar was just mobbed by men wanting a drink. It's just not my environment. And I hate the way that comedy thinks it's the new rock 'n' roll - one appearance on Mock the Week and suddenly they announce a three month UK tour. Even rock stars can't do that anymore.

So I don't really like comedy gigs but when I was in Edinburgh I was inspired - both by the excellent acts we saw but also by the reviews the others were getting. So as soon as I got home I booked some tickets, including what I was in Cambridge to see: Dave Gorman. I've seen him a few times before, most memorably when he got the whole audience to chant, "more freight on the canals!" and more recently when he was travelling between gigs by bicycle. He did some good TV at the start of his career, and a book which I really liked, but then I felt like I'd had enough of him - he seemed a bit samey (as comedy often does - yes I do mean you Ross Noble). Then I went off him even more when I saw a program he made about crossing America by car. He came out of it very badly, behaving like a bit of a c*nt to the person who was sharing the driving with him and generally being a bit of a twat. But somehow I forgave him.

Which is how I found myself in Cambridge last night laughing till I cried as he stood in front of a screen onto which a PowerPoint presentation was displaying tweets he'd shared with Jim Davidson. Quite how the show ended up there is beyond me now - it felt like a runaway train really, but he's so clever and it all tied up nicely. Although the show is called Dave Gorman's PowerPoint Presentation that doesn't really explain what it's about - not that it's about anything, other than mad stuff he's found on the internet. PowerPoint is just his way of making it more visual and it's genuinely thrilling! At times it seems like he's in a cartoon! He's ridiculously good at it - the pace is frantic, the laughs don't stop, and he's clever as well as funny. A fantastic night out!

He was supported by the similarly named Jay Foreman who played guitar and sang comedic songs. Comedic songs are a bit tricky but I warmed to him and he got the whole audience to join in with one called Moon Chavs.

I'll leave you with a song. Dave posted it on his blog because his wife is in the band. I was a bit scared as he's legally obliged to like his wife's stuff but that doesn't mean it will be good. But it is - the song is lovely, but it's the video I love most. You'll see why:

Culture miles: 72

2011-10-22T13:27:00.002+01:00

When I finished the Alan Hollinghurst novel it was a bit tricky deciding what to read next. Anything contemporary would never live up to his standards, although I did briefly consider a crime novel because they work in a whole different way, but in the end I decided it was time to tackle one of the increasing number of classic novels that have found their way into my book pile. I normally prefer contemporary fiction although if it has an historic setting that's not a problem, but an actual novel written a long time ago? Tricky.

I decided to read The First Men in the Moon by H G Wells, which I'd bought earlier in the year after I read David Lodge's fictional biography of the author and found him rather fascinating. The trouble is he wrote loads of books, and admitted himself that some of them weren't very good and had only been published for the money. So I bought one that I recognised - this was made into a TV drama at the beginning of the years starring the marvellous Mark Gatiss and Rory Kinnear (who I'd just seen being so excellent in Hamlet).

It's about two men - one a bit of a mad professor, the other a failed businessman who ends up living in the country trying to write a play to pay back his debts. The professor invents a metal that defies gravity and, encouraged by the other man, turns it into a spherical craft that will take them to the moon. They build the craft and it does indeed take them to the moon, where they find strange plants, gold and creatures. The creatures pursue them and the businessman manages to get back to the craft, abandons his friend and heads back to earth, where he proceeds to write a book about the trip. Then he discovers his friend is sending back messages from the moon about how he has started to communicate with the creatures, although at the end it is suggested that they have killed him.

I think it's possibly the first science fiction novel I've ever read, and as it's also old (it was written 110 years ago) it is written in a very different way to contemporary fiction. I found it a bit of a struggle to be honest and at some points found myself only managing four pages before I put it down (which is when I started reading something else at the same time). I really should have given up but I don't like to be defeated, especially by something that is only 203 pages long.

I'm sure at the time it was genuinely thrilling to read as the first airplane flight had only taken place seven years before, so the idea of getting to another planet must have seemed extraordinary. But obviously since then man has been to the moon (unless you believe the conspiracy theorists and really I'd rather not - let it go guys, sometimes things are exactly as they seem, there's no need to complicate things further!). But for me the moon stuff didn't really work - two people in a strange craft landing on the moon, it's basically an episode of Dr Who isn't it? The bits I liked best were the bits set on earth, which makes me think perhaps I should have read one of his books that wasn't science fiction.

Anyway, it made me think of this:

I'm slightly struggling with the new Bjork album. Although it blew me away when I saw her perform it in Manchester now I have it at home I'm finding it slightly impenetrable. This is one of the lovelier moments from it.

2011-10-20T23:16:00.003+01:00

I've just got back from the cinema where I saw The Help - for free! There's quite a lot of films you can see for free if you can find them - this was was through some random film newsletter I'd registered for and then forgotten about it. I'd not heard of the film before despite it being a bit of a hit in the US (according to the poster) and being based on a best-selling book (according to the website).

It's set in the early sixties in Mississippi, at a time when segregation is still part of everyday life in that part of America, and is about how a white girl who is desperate to be a writer helps the black maids in the area tell their stories, which causes a bit of trouble locally but also helps change their lives for the better. It's filled with bitchy, vapid young white women who've been brought up to think they're princesses who don't need to do anything more useful than have children and play bridge one afternoon a week. The writer has been away to college and is determined to make a career for herself, which makes her mother wonder if she's a lesbian and makes her friends try and set her up with unsuitable men. But she just can't stand the racism that is so much a part of their society, where the maids basically raise the white women's children but aren't even allowed to use their toilet.

I think it may get described as a women's film, and that's certainly what the audience was, mostly of a certain age. But it made me cry and I really enjoyed it. It's 146 minutes long, which is about 50 minutes longer than my preferred length but actually it flew by. The acting is uniformly great although a couple of people stood out: Jessica Chastain, who plays a trashy wife who the others shun, who ultimately turns out to be nicer than the rest of them put together, and oddly the actress who plays her, despite being American, has been in Poirot of all things! But stealing the show near the end was the always fabulous Allison Janney, who will always be CJ from The West Wing in my head. She plays the writer's mother and in some ways is very similar to the character she played in Hairspray - a little bit racist and desperate for her daughter to settle down. But she has her own problems and she turns out well in the end.

The film is sad and uplifting, it made me cross and it made me cry. Yes it was sentimental but I don't necessarily think that's a bad thing. The only disappointment was at the end when the credits rolled - I wanted to see the phrase "based on a true story" but actually it was based on a novel. How disappointing!

As I queued up with the middle-aged women I spotted the primary school teacher - remember him?? I certainly did and was hardly surprised to see him there with another man. I wonder if he was the boyfriend I secretly thought he always had? I don't know if he saw me as I did my 'pretend you're invisible' trick of hiding behind my phone, which pretty much always works.

Culture miles: 96

2011-10-18T19:41:00.001+01:00

I've just finished reading the book you see above: Last Watch of the Night by Paul Monette. He was a gay poet who switched to novels and memoirs. I've read a few of them before: firstly his memoir Becoming a Man, which Sarah sent me years ago because it has a handsome man on the cover; then I read his novel Afterlife, which I remember being bright and sunny, like a David Hockney painting; and there's a copy of his memoir Borrowed Time on my bookshelves, which means I've read it but can't remember it, so I guess I better add it to the pile for re-reading.

I wasn't actually reading this book, I was half way through something else then ground to a halt so picked this up thinking I could alternate it with the other thing. This is a book of essays, which isn't the kind of thing I'd usually read, which explains why it has been beside the bed for two years. The difficulty I have with short pieces like essays, and short stories, is that I forget them almost as soon as I've read them. Even now as I look at this book I can't quite remember what all of the essays were about.

It starts with a nice one about is dog, and is about how the dog copes with the death of the author's partners - he just gets on with it - which in turn helps the author get on with his life too. There's a gossipy piece about a theatrical lesbian; a piece about graves - his own, his partners, ones belonging to ancient Gods; a piece about a big AIDS march on Washington; and a piece about how gay writers are treated by the press in general (with an interesting section about a young author who turned out to be a hoax).

He writes movingly and honestly about his own life and the death of his loved ones. The book was written in the last 18 months of his life before he died from AIDS. He's honest, unsentimental about himself and angry. And yet someone it feels slightly dated. It's appalling to say it but there's something a bit last century about people writing about AIDS, it just doesn't seem to happen any more - gay writing has changed so much, it's so much better than it used to be, although I wonder if it's also somehow slightly less gay?

2011-10-17T18:42:00.000+01:00

You'd think that I already have enough big plastic things in the garden but apparently not:

That's right, this weekend I got myself a rainwater butt!

Astonishingly in all the eighteen years I've lived here I've not had one which means I've been using expensively treated tap water meeting high European standards to water bedding plants that only ever live for one season. Scandalous isn't it! And yet the penny only dropped last week when I read an article about our reluctance to use 'grey' water. I always thought that because I have a water meter and pay for exactly what I use - and don't really waste it (I thought!) - that it was fine, but I was so wrong!

Inevitably I had to get Mum to help me fit it - she's just far more capable with a saw than I am! Now I just need it to rain so I can see if it works.

2011-10-16T08:35:00.001+01:00

I had a man to stay last night. That's the first time it's happened this year. And it only happened twice last year. The last time it happened with any regularity was with the 25 year old, which now seems like a distant memory.

He's from Lincolnshire, used to be married, has two kids, is a solicitor (and a local councillor, school governor and Freemason). We'd been talking about cars and he mentioned that his was rather predictably that of a solicitor so I guessed BMW, but I was expecting a series 5 not an X5 (I forgot about the children). And I wasn't expecting the private number plate that comprising the first letter of his first name, a low number and the letters L, A and W. Oh dear.

We had a cup of tea and sat chatting then there was a knock at the door. He was parked in front of one of the neighbours because someone was parked in front of me so I just assumed it would be them asking him to move. But it was my eldest niece who blurted out, "can I use your loo, I really need a wee!" then raced upstairs leaving us both speechless. All I could think was, "thank God she knocked!" and, "thank God we weren't naked!", and "I must get my sister to ring before they pop in!"

Inevitably I slept badly - I always do when there's someone else in the bed. I find myself clinging to the edge of the mattress with half of me uncovered by the duvet so I feel precarious and cold. It didn't help that he slept on his front so there was none of that falling asleep on another person's chest, which is surely the whole point of having another person there. Still he made up for it by being cuddly in the morning and also knowing when to leave (7.30am) so I've had biscuits in bed and feel ready to tackle whatever today might bring.

That's the view from my front garden this morning. The moon is still in the sky, which never fails to amaze me. It looks like it's going to be a beautiful day!

2011-10-15T15:37:00.003+01:00

I was in London last night for a gig. I was at the lovely Roundhouse to see Heaven 17. I probably wouldn't have gone if the tickets hadn't been on special offer - £23.50 reduced to £10.00 - although very much like Ryanair a £10.00 ticket is actually £15.80. But even at that price it was too much of a bargain not to go.

I love the Roundhouse, it's such a gorgeous venue - an old Victorian railway shed that has been really sympathetically converted into a music venue. The main space is intact - a circular space (those Victorians loved a round building!) with lots of steel columns and a nicely domed roof - whilst the bits they've added to it are modern but nicely plain and really functional. I've only been to it once before to a gig (Paloma Faith at the itunes festival) and would love to go more often. It's also fabulously accessible: just three Tube stops from King's Cross and almost opposite the Tube station.

As for Heaven 17, they're one of those great bands from the 80s that I really loved but who were never quite as popular as the ought to have been. They made three great albums before it all started to peter out but they've been recording new stuff ever since. This, however, was not about new stuff - they're were playing their second album, The Luxury Gap, in it's entirety. It's not the first time I've been to one of these shows where people do a whole album: I saw Saint Etienne do Foxbase Alpha although it wasn't advertised as that kind of gig and I was just expecting hits, and on his last tour Rufus did his album as it was recorded but that was just a bit pretentious. I don't know how I feel about the whole idea to be honest but I went regardless.

When I arrived there was a DJ doing an 80s set:

The venue looked great and he was playing Soft Cell's Memorabilia, which is always great to hear. But then he started playing some quite obvious stuff like Phil Oakey & Georgio Moroder's Together in Electric Dreams, a song I'd happily never hear again as long as I live. It made me realise how easy it is to be an 80s DJ - slap the records on and people of a certain age will go mad and sing along regardless. (The audience was exclusively middle-aged, I didn't see a single young person.)

Then it was time for Heaven 17, who shockingly actually have a band now! They used to be three men with machines but oddly they've acquired a drummer and two guitarists. I'm not sure I approve - they didn't need them back in the day, why do they need them now? And drums are always tricky live, they can quickly turn the sound to sludge, whereas crisp electronics usually just sound fabulous! So I sulked about that for one song then realised that the singer still has a great voice - nice and deep, and it's lost none of its power. He's also looking good too - his 80s hair has receded, he's a bit beardy and his filled out a little so he's looking like a bear in the making. Yummy!

They played the album straight through. Nine songs - because in those days albums didn't have seventeen songs, just nine songs that were all fantastic, and four of those were singles! Fabulous! Then they said they would play some obscure stuff they don't play very often, which was a bit disappointing - I was just expecting the rest of the rest of the hits.They started with a couple of Human League songs, because the two keyboard players (of whom there is now only one left) were part of The Human League until they went their separate ways. But crucially the singer wasn't in The Human League and this is where it gets problematic for me: I know music is in theory half the song but actually the singing is so much more than that, and if the original singer is not singing the song, no matter how good it might be, it's a cover version, karaoke. In this case more so as one song was a version of The Human League's version of The Righteous Brothers' You've Lost that Loving Feeling - it's enough to make your brain melt! But then they went back to their own stuff, including ...(and that's no lie), which is one of my favourite of their songs - just look at the title! And it's nearly nine minutes long and has nothing resembling a chorus. Dear God people were fearless in the 80s! They finished with a remixed version of Temptation, their biggest hit but not necessarily their best song and I left with a smile on my face.

Here's a very wobbly picture of the singer:

I came home on the last direct train out of London, which my younger colleague calls The Drunk Tank, and he'd know as he's been drunk on it often enough. It's okay when you leave London, just packed. But it arrives in Cambridge at midnight and fills up with people heading home to the sticks. Including the builder who lives opposite me, his wife and their two sons. We'd hardly left the station before they were climbing into the overhead luggage rack. All of them. Lovely.

Culture miles: 192

2011-10-14T17:04:00.000+01:00

Last night was Film Club and although they were showing a film I've already seen I went and I loved it all over again. The film was Potiche, a French film about a trophy wife (that's what the title means) who spends her days at home with her expensive kitchen appliances and poetry whilst her husband runs the umbrella factory her father founded and has an affair with his secretary (amongst others). But when he becomes unwell she takes over the company and is very successful, which obviously she must pay for this so she's ousted as the boss, but she gets her revenge in the end.

It's funny, camp and utterly charming! It's directed by François Ozon, whose stuff I love. He really gets the best out of his actresses and his stuff is always funny. And he's gay. Hurrah! It stars Catherine Deneuve, who is marvellous and sends up her glamorous reputation by wearing tracksuits and an apron. Gerard Depardieu plays a mayor who helps her bring changes to the factory, and despite the fact he's grown hugely fat recently he's great. Here's a clip of the two of them refusing to take themselves seriously:

It finishes with a song but I can't find a clip of that although you can enjoy the audio here. It's a lovely film and I enjoyed it even more second time round.

Trish came with me too and she loved it as well, which was a relief as I thought she might not, but I soon heard her chuckling and was relieved. We ended the evening in Tesco, which was a bit disappointing then back to Trish's to see Janet and Kevin the kitten - lovely to see you all! xx

Culture miles: 22

2011-10-13T23:27:00.001+01:00

This week I've added a new wheelie bin to my collection. Left to right: black (baby bin) - general household waste; green (Mummy bin) - recycling (I love to recycle!); brown (Daddy bin) - garden waste. The brown one is the new one and is the only one I have to pay for (although obviously I've paid for the others with my Council Tax but they like to pretend they're free). I think I only got it to appease the part of me that feels the need to complete sets (that would be the male part of me).

I'm hoping it will change the way I garden. At the moment I have to take garden waste to the tip as soon as I've collected it which means I end up doing all my gardening in one weekend afternoon per month then filling my lovely car with bags of waste and heading to the tip. You can't store garden waste for long as it starts to rot and who wants smelly, rotting garden waste in the car?? I've also developed a habit of pulling weeds out of the gravel as soon as I see them but there's nowhere to put them so I just leave them there to rot. Now I have somewhere for weeds so if I come home from work and have an uncontrollable urge to weed I can. Oh the joys of being middle-aged!

2011-10-12T21:31:00.000+01:00

So as I mentioned yesterday I did have a gentleman caller on Monday evening after all, just not the kind I'd planned: it was the wood-burning stove man!

I've been a bit obsessed about a wood-burning stove lately but trying to turn that into an actual stove has proved frustrating. I found a place that sells them but won't install them in my area; then I got side-tracked by a local man who would install one but said my fireplace was too small; and finally last night's man came recommended by the first people (although it was his second attempt at coming round - last week he cancelled because his wife was ill). He got a bit lost on the way and I was starting to think the whole thing is doomed.

Here's what I have now:

That red screen hides what is apparently a small opening. Dad made the screen, I painted it. It's horribly dated and has to go, but that isn't reason enough to get a wood-burning stove. I have had an open fire before but the heat goes up the chimney not into the room, so it's a lot of mess for something that looks pretty. Anyway, I could get a stove in there but it would look like it was squeezed in. I was about to give up home when the man poked his head up the chimney and realised there's quite a big opening behind the fireplace so if it was knocked down and opened up I could have any stove I liked. Here's what that might look like:

At first I completely misunderstood him and thought he would rebuild the fireplace round the bigger hole, which would mean a higher mantelpiece so possibly no room for the big painting. But then I realised he wouldn't do that at all and in fact the chimney breast would be one lovely smooth surface of silver paint. That's the moment I stopped quibbling about building work and decided I really, really want to do it! I've got to pick a stove again though so it's not going to happen immediately, and I need to make sure the costs work for me, but I'm fairly certain I'll do it and soon.

As the stove man was trying to demonstrate how small a stove would look in the existing space he picked up the nearest thing of the approximate size to show me what it would look like. Unfortunately the thing was this:

And the more I wanted him to put it down the more he seemed intent on showing just how much of a squeeze it would be. I was slightly mortified. To make matters worse he was very cute! A proper blonde - you don't see many of those any more - with blonde eyelashes too! If I'd have bumped into him on one of those sordid parts of the internet I'd have thought he was totally out of my league. It's almost worth having a stove fitted just to have him back in the house again...

2011-10-11T19:10:00.000+01:00

I could have had a man stay over last night but I panicked and cancelled. It's easy to understand why: I'm out of practice. The last man who stayed over was The American, just over a year ago, and that was a bit of a disaster. And the one before that was the man from Brighton, almost exactly as year before that. So actually from that timetable I'm due another one but I'm not so sure. I'm feeling a bit out on a limb at the moment, a bit of a spare part, the kind of feeling that gave this blog its name really. And I'm well aware that running into the arms of a stranger isn't going to make that any better.

Anyway the man who didn't spend the night is a solicitor from Lincolnshire. I fear his career does him no favours: I've had indifferent experiences with policemen and just lump all those legal professions into one pile and assume they're all as mad as one another. He used to be married and was only divorced 3 years ago. He's trying to make up for lost time, which is understandable but it comes across as incredibly eager, which in a 47 year old man can look a bit naive. And then I hate myself for even thinking that. He suggested that if we got on maybe we could have a weekend in London, which is a lovely idea, but we've not met yet. But then it makes me feel sad because I can't remember the last time I met a man and was so excited about him I wanted to go to London with him. I feel like I've turned into a cynical, jaded, horrid person and I don't know what to do about it really. I did think perhaps I should have just called my own bluff and let him come round but that's just silly. So I'm going to see him on Saturday instead, which gives me time to address my other concern: the cleaning - I couldn't possibly concentrate on snogging if I thought he was judging me for having a dusty mantelpiece. And no that isn't a euphemism for something else.

Oh and today I find out that he's got two children. And he's a Freemason. Goodness me he's quite a catch isn't he!

But the evening wasn't entirely wasted as I had a very different kind of gentleman caller, about which I'll tell you more tomorrow.

This feels appropriate:

I do love Cher!

2011-10-10T19:40:00.000+01:00

Mum's attempt to hijack yesterday failed although a late night on Saturday (drunkenly chatting online) did nearly derail me, but I pulled myself together and the cake got made:

This year I have abandoned Saint Delia in favour of Nigella, although to be honest I'm pretty sure fruitcake recipes are much of a muchness. Her's doesn't have any nuts in it which I can't help feeling is a bit wrong although I'm wondering if I'm imagining them in the Delia recipe? It does have a lot of sherry in it to make up for it though so I'm not complaining! Now it just has to 'rest' for a few weeks until it's time to ice it. Unless I get a bit peckish one night and can't help myself...

2011-10-09T08:16:00.004+01:00

I went out last night, which is exactly what this week had been lacking.

Today is Barry's birthday so last night I joined him, Jan, Ema & Alan for a curry. But first there was pre-curry drinks and gossip - sorry if your ears were burning! - including an odd French beer-liqueur thing which I couldn't work out if I liked or not so I kept drinking it and didn't realise until we started walking up the road to the restaurant that it had gone straight to my head.

The food was lovely although inevitably there was too much of it, because I simply will not learn to order less! Onion bhaji for starter followed by chicken tikka biryani with a vegetable nan - considering I'd hardly had time to eat all day I should have polished the whole lot off no problem but when I was full it hardly looked like I'd even a thing. Must learn to order less.

So it was a lovely evening: great food, good company, lovely and relaxed - just what a Saturday night is for.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BARRY!!! XX

2011-10-08T16:20:00.000+01:00

I was hoping to illustrate today's blog with a picture of a Christmas cake but Mum hijacked my afternoon and now there's not enough time to bake it before I have to go out, so that will be my task for tomorrow. Mum was in a panic about my niece's birthday. It's not for three weeks and we've already got some gifts, but Mum does like a panic so we took a trip to Wisbech to buy a beanbag. As you do. On the way back we stopped in to see my sister so actually it was quite civilised. I'd just prefer my spontaneity to be a little more planned though.

You may have noticed things look a bit different round here. Don't worry, it took me by surprise too! Blogger have been making some improvements and we all know what that means: new stuff that hasn't been tested enough so it doesn't work properly, or old stuff that doesn't work as well as it used to. Yes I mean you Facebook. But I also mean some workflow software we've been using at work this week which gets me so confused I feel like I've forgotten how to do my job. Anyway, the 'improvement' is supposed to make this a more dynamic experience for you. Ha! In reality it meant that my old layout no longer fitted onto the screen so I had to change to this new layout. Crafty that.

But you can change it, which I guess is the dynamic bit. You see in the top left hand corner where it says my name, underneath it is a bar with seven words on it - click on one of them and you can see this in a whole different way. I think some of them just make it harder to understand what's new but I do rather like the Flipcard option, although that would look better if I posted a picture every day, something I've been meaning to do for some time but have never got round to doing. It does mean that all my 'extras' have vanished although apparently it will be possible to put them back, although exactly when nobody can say. So in the meantime if you're desperate to see what I'm Twittering about you can find that here. I'm not entirely sure I like the idea of this being randomly remixed outside of my control but I guess I'll get used to it.

In other Bad IT news one of my email addresses was hacked and sent out spam. I've been fairly lucky with this and don't remember it happening before but that just makes it worse really. It just gives me that sick feeling in my stomach followed by the urge to call up in a ball and cry, it just makes me feel so vulnerable! I'm not stupid online, I've got as much anti-virus stuff as you can have and yet this stuff keeps happening. Meanwhile one of my friends - you know who she is - pretty much has a laptop downloading films from the internet 24 hours a day, and I doubt anti-virus stuff is high on her list when faced with the possibility of seeing a film that isn't out yet, and yet she has no problems! Anyway, I hope the people who got the message realised it was spam as I hardly ever forward things, and I'd never in my life start a message with, "I knew it was important for me to stay optimistic..." Optimistic? Me?? Anyway, what's the answer: spend less time online (and spend it even more carefully), or get an iPad because they're seeming impervious to viruses? Or just have a bit of a cry?

Anyway, I'm going to give this picture with every blog thing a go. But I can't find anything that sums up today - what looks like frustration?? - or is particularly memorable so instead I give you gardening. This dahlia flowered in the week, after I'd given up hope of that happening. I wasn't even sure if it was a dahlia to start with, I assumed the tubers would have rotted over the winter, but it was nice to see:

2011-10-07T21:31:00.000+01:00

It's been a quiet week - I've tried to find things to do but try as I might I can't so I've organised the house, done lots of reading and had lots of early nights. Alone unfortunately* but there you go. What I have done is watched a lot of cookery problems: Lorraine Pascale on Monday (I'll be making her chocolate cheesecake sometime this autumn); Great British Bake Off on Tuesday; Great British Bake Off Masterclass on Thursday; and Nigel Slater tonight. All of this has inspired me to make a Christmas cake this year. Here's the fruit soaking in sherry:

I may soak myself in sherry shortly.

*apart from tonight when I had a gentleman caller, although he couldn't stay as he had to get back to his boyfriend who isn't really his boyfriend although he did remain faithful to him for ten years despite the fact they've never had sex. Did I mention he is mad?

2011-10-02T08:42:00.001+01:00

My sleep has been a bit all over the place this weekend, which is my own fault as I had two very early nights in a row. My body only needs so much sleep - 6 hours - and after that it just wakes up regardless of the time. But of course those early hours are perfect for some quality reading time.

I've just finished The Stranger's Child by Alan Hollinghurst which I'd been looking forward to reading since it was published at the start of the summer but I'd had to wait until I had finished my travels to start it as it's a book that I wanted to give my complete attention to, which you can't do on a train. It was worth the wait - it was glorious!

It's about a poet who dies at a young age and how his life is remembered by those who knew him and by the literary world in general, how things get covered up for the strangest of reasons and how the truth seems lost forever. The writing is absolutely beautiful, it feels so well considered, not one word seems out of place. It's set in several different period and each is evoked cleverly and subtly without banging on about brand names and the other usual signifiers people use. It's a long book - 562 pages - but as with all his other books it's a joy to read and when I finished I couldn't help wishing there were another 500 pages of it left.

It's split into five section: the first section takes place just before WW1, when the poet visits the family home of a university friend, where he writes what will become his most well-known poem, and where he woos both the son and the daughter of the family. The second section takes place between the wars, after his death, when his brother is getting something of a literary reputation for himself and the family home is regularly full of fashionable people. The third section takes place in the late 60s, just as homosexuality is about to be decriminalised, and is about a young man who works in a bank run by a distant relative of the poet, who gets slightly mixed up in their lives for a time. The fourth section takes place in the early 80s and is about a writer working on a biography of the poet, struggling to make any headway with the family as he attempts to find something new to say about the poet. And the final section takes place at a memorial service for somebody who has been on the fringe of the whole thing, and is a clever way of wrapping it all up.

It starts quite slowly and I found it a bit tricky to begin with as the first two sections remind me very strongly of Brideshead Revisited - other people have said it's too like E.M. Forster but I only know Maurice so that didn't occur to me. But the Brideshead similarities are striking: the artistic outsider spending the weekend with a family after becoming friends with a son at university, and whilst there charming both the mother, daughter and the son (although in Brideshead the artist is poor and stays with a rich family, whereas in this it's the other way round). The house is also a character in its own right, and like Brideshead there is stuff about the war and about university. It's slightly unfortunate that the daughter reminds me of Lady Edith from Downton Abbey and in the second section there's an interior decorator who in my head I was convinced looked like a nurse from Holby City (but that's probably due to her rather severe fringe). It was a little too familiar for my liking but once those sections were out of the way it seemed to change gear and really take off. The third section was probably my favourite, in which two men tentatively woo each other over the tomb of the dead poet. He manages to write about men's relationships with each other in such a casual but perceptive way that is just lovely. He's also particularly good in the last two sections as he clearly knows his way round the literary world.

I'm going to see the author talk about the book at a literary thing at the University in Norwich next month and may well squeal with delight!

2011-09-30T18:55:00.000+01:00

This unexpectedly lovely weather has clearly gone to my head as I've been very sociable these last few days.

Wednesday lunch

A few of us from work went to meet Colin - who retired from our company at Christmas - and his wife for lunch. This has turned out to be a nicely regular thing, every six weeks or so, which I think has surprised him and probably has surprised us a little too - he imagined we'd slowly lose interest in him after he left whereas every day I have to spend with his incompetent replacement makes me miss him even more.

We went to Arbuckles - a diner type restaurant about a mile from the office, which despite the fact it is situated next to a petrol station on a main round and used to be a Little Chef is always busy! The food is surprisingly good although their chips are a little to close to oven chips to really thrill me. I decided to have a sandwich as I was eating out later (see below) but obviously our ideas of a sandwich differ: I ended up with a loaf of ciabatta about a foot long, stuffed with chicken, bacon and avocado. As I was expecting something a lot smaller I'd ordered chips too. Heavens!

There were nine of us, although unfortunately that included our boss so we had to be a little bit careful about what we said and couldn't bitch about people quite as freely as we might. Next time we must plan it for a day when he's out. As always it was lovely to see Colin, and I'm always surprised by how much I like the people I work with once they removed from the work environment.

Wednesday dinner

Trish & I went to Prezzo in King's Lynn for a catch-up as we haven't seen each other in ages. So long in fact that I can't even remember when it was. And yet despite that I seemed to have no news at all and spent most of the time gossiping about other people, so if your ears were burning Wednesday evening it's because we were talking about you, but don't worry - you're lovely!

The food was good: I had a nice big dish of pasta with meatballs in a spicy sauce, with a generous amount of cheese on top. Mmm. And for pudding I had a lemon ricotta cheesecake which was nice but not quite lemony enough. As an added bonus there was a nice shaven-headed waiter who I'd have happily had for afters instead. Then we headed back to Trish's to see Janet and Kevin the kitten. He ignored me but Janet was full of news. It was lovely to see you all! xx

Wednesday bonus sociability

On the way to dinner I stopped in to see Mum as her younger brother and his wife were visiting. They have holidays on the Lincolnshire coast twice a year and they always spend a day visiting Mum, because the journey from Lincolnshire is only two hours whereas the journey from their home in Aberdeen is endless. She's always pleased to see them and it's nice of him to visit, so I always make a point of stopping in to say hello. He does have a particularly strong accent though and I sometimes find myself agreeing to something I've hardly understood and hoping I've guessed correctly. He's also got cancer, but after three years his treatment is keeping it at bay, which is a huge relief as too many of our relatives have died lately.

Thursday lunch

I found myself out with work colleagues for the second day running. This is unprecedented and I wouldn't normally have gone as this time it was a slightly laddier crowd - one of them actually used the word 'bender' as an insult, so I think we can safely say they're Not My Kind Of People. But it was birthday drinks for the man who works with me, who threw me into a bit of a meltdown earlier in the summer when he announced he'd been for several interviews for a new job. He didn't get it and since then he's really bucked his ideas up in the office and is really contributing good stuff, and is also funny and chatty, which makes the day a lot easier. So I felt it would be rude not to go.

We went to The Hare Arms, which is only a couple of miles from the office. We sat in the beer garden in the glorious sun as the chickens they keep there ran round our table. They're not just ordinary chickens, they're unusual breeds, so I don't think they breed them for lunch. They're fun to watch and distracted my colleagues from their usual banter, which was something of a relief.

Thursday evening

I was going to have a quiet evening in front of the TV and that's how the evening started. But the TV proved disappointing: the Sophie Dahl program about Mrs Beaton was an odd mixture of biscuit recipes, family history, social history and syphilis. And the Shirley Bassey drama that followed it failed to grip me.

So when a 22 year old who lives in the next village messaged me to see if I fancied a visitor I could hardly say no. It's mostly vanity really: my 42 year old self likes the fact that a 22 year old wants me, although I realise it's more to do with availability and that if he lived somewhere more densely populated he wouldn't give me a second look. He's not really my type and yet there's something about him that I rather like. He's ridiculously confident and isn't shy about saying what he wants and is clearly used to getting it, last night being no exception. He's still got stuff to learn though, for instance that it's terribly bad manners to get lube on the cover of a big fat work of literary fiction.

Friday afternoon

I left the office at 2pm. The sun was shining and it was hot enough to burn my baldy bit. It was the perfect moment to do something sociable. I went to the tip and to Tesco. Oh.

2011-09-26T21:06:00.001+01:00

I had a really productive weekend - I just looked at all the stupid little jobs that needed doing, which I'd been putting off for weeks, and just did them. All of them. I couldn't stop myself. I even started making up jobs once I'd started to get a bit manic - I cleaned out the guttering on my outbuilding, which didn't really need doing but I did it anyway! I was so pleased with myself I was going to blog about it, but then I realised that would be tedious so I poured myself a glass of cider and turned on the TV.

And that's when it all fell apart.

I wanted to watch the new Jo Brand series, which is shown on Dave - a channel I've never visited before (I think you can tell from its name that it's probably not my kind of thing) - but I couldn't find it, so I retuned the TV thing and it found it along with another 150 other channels it had never found before. How exciting! Except it didn't have any program information for them so I couldn't record anything, so instead of going to bed I had to watch Downton Abbey, which I wasn't in the mood for and thing I might have lost interest in slightly. This morning I turned the TV on to see if the program information had returned but the DVD/hard drive recorder turned itself on then off, so I turned it back on and it turned itself off again. Repeat until I'm nearly late for work. It was clearly broken.

So I did what anyone would do: went to Argos and bought new stuff! But technology has changed and instead of one box I've ended up with two: a digital TV recorder and a DVD player. So that's an extra remote and yet more cables! But actually not enough cables: the recorder needs an optical lead to connect to the surround sound, which I don't have. It's all very confusing. I don't like new things in the house. I was hoping by now we'd be streaming TV directly from a cloud into our brains but apparently not...

2011-09-23T21:30:00.000+01:00

Last night was theatre night, which this dull old week desperately needed!

Ema & I went to Norwich to see The Madness of George III, the Alan Bennett play about an episode in the King's life when he went quite mad. It's true apparently, and the characters is the play are real people, although I guess most of what is said and happens is made up. The King is happily married, the country is stable despite the fact that America has just been 'lost' in the War of Independence, but politicians are scheming to replace him with his son. Then he goes mad. Suddenly he has a lot of horrible symptoms at the same time and it drives him crazy. His own doctor can't do anything about it, then his son's doctor has a go and fails, and finally a vicar from Lincolnshire has a go, and despite his unorthodox treatment he manages to cure the King.

I think it might be the least Alan Bennett like play of Alan Bennett's that I've seen. All the things I normally associate with him seem to be missing, which doesn't mean it's not interesting but it is a bit of a history lesson. In the interval Ema, whose love of a dull documentary program about famous people is boundless, was trying to put the history in context for me. There's a lady-in-waiting, who Ema was convinced was related to the woman Keira Knightley played in The Duchess (and she was right, but I think she was a niece rather than a daughter), but of course I didn't remember it, all I could picture was Ralph Fiennes striding round and Keira running round the lawns of Houghton Hall (which is local!). Then I was trying to work out how the King's son - Prince Regent - was related to Queen Victoria - I knew he built Brighton Pavillion and I know she hated it, but I couldn't connect the two. "Haven't you seen Young Victoria??" Ema asked rather increduously, because it's all explained in that. Well I had, but I what I remember most was how handsome Prince Albert was (coincidentally played by Keira Knightley's then boyfriend). So apparently we're learning our history from films now. God knows how I got a history O level or what use it has been!

Anyway, back to the play. The King steals the show really, it's one of those really showy roles that I guess actors loves to play: the mad version of him gets to rant and wail and run round and misbehave, whilst the sane version is nice but smart, loves his wife and knows his way round politics. He's played by David Haig who is excellent. He's one of those actors I recognise but don't know from where, and even looking at his CV online the only thing I recognise is one of Alan Bennett's Talking Heads monologues. As good as the rest of the cast were he really steals the show.

Culture miles: 98

2011-09-21T21:31:00.000+01:00

I was hoping to have wood related excitement to tell you about but things didn't go to plan so instead I'm going to rave about a book:

Gypsy Boy on the Run by Mikey Walsh

Earlier in the summer I read the previous book by the same author and was absolutely blown away by it and immediately ordered this one. I was equally blown away by it! It covers the stuff that the previous book dealt with in a single chapter, which isn't as much of a cheat as you might think. The first book ended with the author finally getting away from his abusive father, and this book explains how and then picks up his life from there and brings it up to date.

He runs away with the help of a friend he has made only for his father to offer a reward for anyone who can bring them back so their life becomes hellish and at one point the author is forced to sleep in the boot of a car. Inevitably the relationship can't take the strain and they split up. Then he meets someone very controlling and ends up moving to Manchester where he moves in with a notorious drug dealer, which eventually prompts him to move to London and follow his dream of becoming an actor.

Along the way he has lots of bad luck - he seems to have a knack of meeting the wrong people, people who don't necessarily have his best interests at heart. But he also has a knack of pulling himself together and moving on and making the best of his life. It makes you really root for him and hope it will all turn out well. It does, sort of: the last book ended with him getting married to his boyfriend, but this one ends with him on his own - the relationship couldn't take the pressure the book brought to their lives. So it ends with him alone in London and all I really wanted to do was give him a big hug. It'll be interesting to see what happens for him next - I hope he doesn't keep writing about his life despite there being nothing left to say (like Augusten Burroughs has done) and his writing is so personal I don't know if he'd have a novel in him. I guess the happiest ending for him would be to disappear.

I love the way it's written, it's so honest and warm and it doesn't pull any punches at all, even at times when perhaps it should. Some of it isn't that easy to read - at one point he's sleeping in the boot of a car and spending the day in the car in a car park whilst his boyfriend is working, but as he can't read the only way he can amuse himself is with colouring books and puzzles. At that point all I wanted to do was have a good cry so I had to put the book down and do just that. If I read a more amazing pair of books than this one and the previous one I'll be a very lucky man indeed!

There's an interview with him here that's as funny and as sad as the book.

2011-09-20T22:31:00.000+01:00

It was a bit windy at the start of last week - people were claiming it was the tail-end of a hurricane but I think they were just being competitive: America had just had hugely bad weather, and you know how we like to copy those Americans! Anyway, it was a bit windy which always make me slightly nervous. Thankfully I have a nice new fence with sturdy concrete posts so that didn't move at all!

I do, however, have a very old and slightly wobbly looking roof which I'm getting increasingly paranoid about*. So as I went to work the following day I cast my eye over it to see if anything had moved and behind the TV aerial something looked amiss. But how can you tell when a roof is two storeys above you and you're a bit blind? I looked, then I looked again, then I looked from a different angle, and the more I looked the more I was convinced the whole roof would simply have to be replaced as it was knackered.

So I did what I always do: I phoned a man. His name is Jack and he's a roofer. He popped round whilst I was at work then we had a slightly confused phone-call during which he seemed intent on re-roofing my neighbours outbuilding. We agreed a price and he came round today to fix it whilst I was at work. He phoned to say he was finished so I nipped home to pay him, and to make sure he'd got the right house. Thankfully he had.

He also had broken tiles for me to look at, including one that had a round hole in it the size of a tennis ball, which for the life of me I can't work out how that happened. It was only after he left, taking the tiles with him, that I wondered if he'd brought the bad tiles with him and had just had a fag in the garden and conned me out of cash. Then I hated myself for being so mistrustful of people! There are new tiles on the roof and I feel relaxed again, although I would prefer it if the wind didn't get stronger than a light breeze for the rest of the winter thank you.

Oh, and Jack was quite cute ;-)

*my Mum is obsessed with her roof and it's starting to rub off on me. She won't spend any of her savings in case her roof falls down. She's actually used the phrase, "in case my roof falls down!" She's clearly mad. But of course she was also right - earlier in the year she had a leaky chimney so she had to have some tiles replaced, some pointing redone and the flashing fiddled with. The roof didn't fall down, but in her eyes it was the same thing. And it would appear madness is catching.

2011-09-19T19:43:00.001+01:00

I promised myself I'd see two films this weekend, and, despite yesterday's best efforts to derail me, I did.

I went to see Jane Eyre, which I might normally have avoided but the trailer was rather good so I thought I'd give it a go. I don't actually know the story as I've not read the book - I find novels of that period a bit tricky and have never managed more than two chapters of a Jane Austen novel (I know she didn't write this, but it's a similar period)- and I haven't seen the earlier film, and now I've discovered that it stars Orson Welles and Joan Fontaine I think perhaps that was a wise choice.

So, the plot. Orphaned girl goes to live with her aunt, who doesn't like her and sends her away to boarding school. When she leaves boarding school the aunt rejects her again so she goes and becomes a governess for a young girl whose own mother has died and who is now being looked after my a family friend (Mr Rochester). She's happy there but things don't quite go to plan so she runs away and is taken in by a pastor and his two sisters where she ends up running a school and is happy, although inevitably the past comes back to haunt her.

Okay so the plot could perhaps be a bit melodramatic and yet somehow it works. I think it's down to the acting, which is uniformly excellent. And they do it in a Yorkshire accent, which is of course appropriate for the setting. Mr Rochester is played by Michael Fassbender, who I've only ever seen in the last - slightly dodgy - X-men film. He looks very appealing in breeches and I could totally understand how he could turn a young girl's head! Jane Eyre was played by Mia Wasikowska, who I couldn't place but have just discovered she was the daughter in The Kids are All Right (which I liked so much I saw twice) - she's excellent! Mr Rochester's housekeeper is played by Dame Judi Dench, who is never bad; the wicked aunt is played by Sally Hawkins, who seems incapable of being bad in anything either; and the pastor is played by Jamie Bell, who once was Billy Elliott but has now turned into a good actor with an interesting twinkle in his eye.

I also liked the fact that it wasn't twee, genteel and chintzy. There were a few moments that made me jump, which you don't normally expect from this kind of thing, and overall it just felt more physical, less like people sitting round politely drinking tea. And there was proper kissing. So, second film based on a book in two days and again I loved it. Hurrah!

Culture miles: 22