ouch..... hangovers hurt

"If it weren't for the flashbacks, I'd have no memory at all!"

Busy busy week!

Wednesday night it was our belated staff christmas night out. We went to a brazillian barbeque/tapas style restaurant. Ate loads, drank loads, said things I really shouldn't say in front of staff and took some very embarrasing photo's. A classic work do really.

So when the bar shut at midnight and the staff started talking about where to go on to, I thought it best to disappear quietly... or not so quietly.... I headed to Central Station; a sleazy basement club, dark rooms and all. It always seems like a good idea at the time but very rarely is. Bear in mind this is the venue where I met the Busdriver and the Hairdesser so it hardly has a good track record!

Anyway, wandering into the darkroom I was followed by a guy who started kissing me. For some reason it just didn't feel right there, he seemed like he might be worth more than an anonymous 'quickie', so I suggested we went back to his.

I was right luckily, he turned out to be a really nice guy; very butch, very sexy. He works as a guard at Paddington Station (what is it with me and public transport workers??)

Thursday night we met and had dinner in Islington and then went to see Final Destination 3. Not really my type of movie, but I loved it. The story was the same idea as the first two obviously, but it's the first one I've seen on the big screen and the effects were fabulous. In fact, I spent 90 minutes or so hiding behind my knees! The main pleasure of the evening though was when he slipped his hand into mine. It's been a long time since I've had a first date at the pictures and I'd forgotten how romantic those first tentative touches can be.

Friday I had an interview for a new position at work. Get this... "Trainee Managers Training Manager". Crap title but I really do want it. The chat went ok, but for some reason I don't think I've got the role. Just a hunch. I'll keep you posted.

Afterwards, I was meant to be going to Nottingham to pack the house up, but I had couple of beers in Comptons and then really couldn't be bothered with the journey. A couple there led to having the great idea of going back to Central Station....

So, I woke up this morning next to a skinhead whose name I forget. I was wearing a pair of leather chaps and bearing a morning glory that (at my age) was a welcome surpise!

I put the thumping headache down to alcohol, until I touched my face and it felt more tender than a usual 'morning after'...

Now I remember walking, face on, into the wall of the dark room. I think I sent a few guys flying when I ricocheted but cant really remember....

Being English

I was reading this morning on Society Freaks blog his thoughts on the lack of passion in the English race compared with some others who take their passion for their race or religion to the extreme, and how the vast difference makes it hard for us to empathise with the strength of their feelings.

He's right! As a country we only seem to get really worked up over sport, soaps or the latest goings on in whichever reality tv programme is currently holding millions in its car-crash grasp.

When we see our national flag, be it the St Georges Cross or the Union Jack, we tend to feel embarrased, as it's emblazoned across the boxer shorts of a lobster coloured drunk!

I was amazed last year that many local councils banned flags from being put up on St Georges Day out of concern over offending minority groups, and even more amazed that quite a high proportion of English people didn't know when St Georges day was!

Look at the fuss the Americans make over July 4th, or the parties that take place all over the world on St Patricks Day! I know this is mainly because both these countries have been repressed nations and we haven't, but to be honest I'm starting to feel a little repressed now; albeit by an attitude of crazy politcal correctness rather than another nation!

So here's my attempt at helping to reinject some national pride.... hope you sign it!

"There is a chance the public can make St Georges Day a public holiday (After this year) Click on the link below to vote, the site needs at least 500,000 votes for the government to take it seriously and give us another holiday, and I know you are up for that! Pass the address on to whoever you can!

St Georges Day Holiday

On The Move!!

At last!

After first seeing this flat in May of last year it looks like I'm eventually going to be moving in!

It's been a trial selling the house in Nottingham, what with buyers pulling out at the last minute, damp proof coursing found to be knackered, solicitors handing over the case etcetera...


Mine's the one on the first floor, by the way, with the lounge balcony centre in the picture.

So I have my work cut out for me in the next two weeks....

Clear the furniture that I'm keeping out of the house in Notts and into storage.
Dump the rest!
Get my brand new, superdooper bedroom furniture out of my Mum's garage in Surrey.
Build it (aaaaargh!!!)
Notts furniture out of storage and into flat
New white goods to be delivered
(blimey, haven't ordered anything yet! oops!)

Eventually...get my day-to-day stuff out of this rented room and NEST!!

What Pauly Did Next!

So there I was, tired from the Friday night at Exit, (see 'This last week...') running around the PizzaPlace on quite a busy Saturday night when I came face to face at the top of the stairs with Jean Yves.

Jean Yves, to enlighten you on the historical importance of this meeting, is the Ex of the Hairdresser after one of our previous splits. The Hairdresser and him went out on dates a few times before the 'Silver Snipper' realised he was missing me too much and finished things with the Frenchman.

I'd been very jealous of their 'friendship', Jean Yves being a tall, sartorially elegant man with charm, money, handsome looks and a casually stunning wardrobe.... in fact everything that I'm not!

So, my shock at being confronted by him was trebled when he announced that our mutual ex was downstairs. My heart started pounding and my stomach was turning somersaults. After all, the last time I saw him was two weeks ago when he threw me, literally, out of his flat swiftly followed by my bag being hurled onto the pavement next to me.

"Oh, that's nice!" I said, as genuinely as I could, and hastily scurried off.

I took refuge in the basement office to catch my breath.

"Fucking bastard!" I thought, "I can't believe he's bought a date into MY restaurant after just TWO WEEKS! And HIM of all people! What a fucking TWAT!!!"

Getting my breathing back to normal, and knowing that hiding in the office for an hour and a half while they ate was not only cowardly but also a crap business decision, I headed back up into the restaurant. I was determined to keep busy, smile, and generally look like the ultimate professional! I could feel their eyes on me as I got on with my work, Jean Yves especially.

As luck would have it, well my luck at least, I was called to a complaint table; my only one of the shift, and it was, naturally, directly next to theirs! A group of Mancunians had received their bill and didn't think they should pay full price as one of the meals had been burnt.

They'd eaten everything, their table was cleared and they hadn't mentioned anything to their waiter until now. Naturally, I explained that it was very difficult for me to do anything now, as the offending meal had been consumed and I could hardly pass judgement on a meal I couldn't see. They started arguing with me, so to avoid a confrontation in front of the ex, I comp'd the lady's dessert 'out of goodwill'. (thought: It's amazing the lengths people will go to to save £3.95!)

After they'd left, The Hairdresser called me over and said "You handled that really well! I'm impressed!"

"Thanks," I replied "How was your meal?"

"Yeah, excellent, it always is here."

I smiled and left the table, retreating back to the solice of the basement!

On the CCTV I could see them leave and grabbed my mobile.

Text:

"Plz dont take this the wrng way, but cud U plz avoid coming in here again, @ least 4 a couple of weeks, even if you think I may not b wrkin"

Reply:

"I've always eaten in there & will continue"

As you can imagine I was now fuming, but just had to get on with the rest of my shift. I couldn't wait for it to end though so I could get over the road to the bar and have a drink and just calm down.

Entering my local gay pub, I noticed Jean Yves and the Ex were sat at the bar. I got my drink and sat in a dark corner hoping not to be noticed. After about 20 minutes, however, he did spy me and beckoned me over, nice as pie!

It turned out that he'd been to a party. Jean Yves was there so they'd got chatting. The party, by all accounts, was awful and the two of them were bored so decided to head into Islington. He was hungry and although Jean Yves wasn't they decided to come into my place. Jean Yves had said "Do you think that's ok to go into Pauls' restaurant?"

"Apparently. he's out of town." the Hairdresser had said.

"I'm really sorry about that Paul," he explained, "but I honestly thought you wouldn't be there. I go there twice a month, and even when you're working I never see you actually in the restaurant."

"Why couldn't you say that in the text rather than send me that spiteful reply?"

"I don't know, I'm sorry."

He went on to say that he loved me, is in love with me, he misses me and wants me in his life anyway that he can have me; as a friend or more.

Hence the confusion of the last long weekend.





You see the trouble is, I love him.

This last week...

Sorry it's been a few days since I posted. I've had a confusing few days and not been able to make enough sense of what's going on, in my head and in my life, to even talk to friends, let alone write anything down.

Last Tuesday, I was chatting away to a guy on Gaydar that I've been in contact with for quite some months. He's a handsome Italian, 27 years old, now living in Cardiff.

Out of the blue, he asked "So when are you going to come and visit me?".

"I've got Thursday and Friday off work this week. I could make it up then" I replied, surprising myself at my own spontaneity.

"Great!", he answered "I'm owed some time off, I'll book it now!"

So, Thursday lunchtime saw me at Paddington station with my weekend 'shagbag' in my hand and a thrill of anticipation in my stomach.

He met me at Cardiff Central two hours later; handsome in his suit having come straight from a meeting he couldn't avoid, and his dark Italian looks framing a big white grin as he saw me approaching the barriers.

Our first evening we stayed in together getting to know each other and just relaxing. On the Friday evening, we went into town and hit the bars, ending up in Exit; a club I know well having performed there 100 years ago in my boyband days!

We had a great night, dancing, flirting and laughing. Followed of course by a hot, hot night!

Come saturday I was actually quite sorry to be leaving, unsure of whether we'll meet again, but the Pizza Place in Islington beckoned and the taxi to the station was waiting....

Five Monkeys...

Start with a cage containing five monkeys. Inside the cage hang a banana on a string and place a set of steps underneath it. Before long, a monkey will go to the stairs and start to climb towards the banana. As soon as he touches the stairs, spray all of the other monkeys with cold water.

After a while another monkey makes an attempt with the same results-the other monkeys are sprayed with cold water. Pretty soon, when another monkey tries, the other monkeys will try to prevent it.

Now, put away the cold water. Remove one monkey from the cage and replace it with a new one. The new monkey sees the banana and goes to climb the stairs. To his horror, the other monkeys attack him. After another attempt, he knows if he touches the stairs he will be assaulted!

Next, remove another of the original monkeys and replace it with a new one. The newcomer goes to the stairs and is attacked. The previous newcomer joins in the punishment with enthusiasm, now feeling accepted.

Then replace a third monkey, the a fourth. Every time a newcomer takes to the stairs he is attacked. Most of the monkeys beating him have no idea why they were not permitted to climb the stairs or why they are participating in the beating of the newest monkey.

After replacing all of the original 5 monkeys, none of the remaining monkeys have ever been sprayed with cold water. Still, no monkey ever again approaches the stairs. Why not? Because as far as they know that's the way it's always been done around here...

And THAT'S how company policy begins!