Since The Grapevine seems to have suddenly appeared on Blogger’s “Blog’s of Note” page, and since I seem to be the featured lampoon victim of the day, I suppose I’d better comment. Yes, it’s all true. I am a glittering queen. Yes, I am married. Yes she is called Suk Mei Wang and yes, we live in Chester. However the picture is a fake. I look more like Harrison Ford.
The new Apple device is announced today in the US, and I’m surprised by how interested I am. Perhaps foolishly I thought I was past getting excited by press releases. If you’re a journalist for any period of time you get used to them and find them at best tedious and at worst laughable. That doesn’t mean you don’t use them of course – there aren’t enough journalists to do all the editorial work that journalists are supposed to do.
Part of me wishes that they’d release something like this – the world’s first actual ‘gaydar’ product, designed to make it easier to spot and meet people of dodgy sexualities. Apple could do it so much more skillfully than most – and they could combine it with online profiles so you could get information about people you met in real life afterwards – if they wanted you to… All this stuff could be ideal for people like me who are basically too dim to tell if someone fancies them, and very keen to suggest dodgy congress with people who are resolutely – tediously – straight.
The pop question of the day is Which Spice Girl would you most like to smack in the face? Think about it carefully before you go – it’s a difficult question. They are all so very objectionable in all their special different kinds of ways…
A fairly accurate portrait of my personality.
And in a blinding flash, I’m suddenly convinced I know who The Grapevine is.
Micro-snippet two: T-shirt of choice.
Because it’s genius: The Wheels of Madonna…
I’m feeling kinda lonely over at the TCN boards today. Come and join me – let’s talk about trashy celebrity stuff.
Last night I dreamt that I was at some kind of large function and that people were milling all around me, and that everyone was hectic and busy and professional. There was a large banqueting hall and a vast area with rows of narrow tables serving food and drink. The place felt like a hotel – it had those desperate carpets and florid decoration that no individual would choose, but hotels seem to crave. I felt strangely disconnected from everyone – like they were talking from far away, and like they weren’t quite real. And I wandered through the crowds really quietly. And I went to a counter to get some food, and a man behind the counter – dressed in a white shirt, waistcoat and bow-tie, with his hands locked behind his back – looked at me and paused, and I looked at him and kind of breathed in. And we stood silently, looking at each other for a few moments, and it seemed like some kind of feedback loop had been established – like something wonderful had gone seriously wrong with the mechanisms that keep the world turning. I felt completely unconcerned with myself – as if all my anxieties and neuroses had fallen off. And a few moments later I turned and walked away from him.
Sunday night – trying to polish off the gay section of the London guide for the new Time Out London book. I’m currently thrilled with myself for the final three words in the following sentence: “A stylish and affordable brasserie serving trendy but substantial food to a mainly gay clientele, Balans remains the premier restaurant for queens and company.” I don’t know precisely why, but I think it’s because of the resonance of ‘Queen and Country’. Hmmm. I need to get out more.