FICTION OR NON

I was completely pissed for the majority of the weekend and Saturday night is a tad blurrish to be honest, I'm only thankful I didn't wake up with a bleeding ass or worse, a girl or even more unlikely, a man. The parentals came back from Hong Kong on Saturday and left a bag full of cigs and booze in the airport, we went back to find it but alas to no avail. I'm just pleased they also managed to steer clear of bird flu aswell and got me some rather gorgeous tops from Armani.

Last night was meant to be a quiet one with Stewart having a cheeky bite to eat and a few drinks to ease our way back into the working week. Needless to say, dinner was lovely and we caught up on the gossip before somehow getting rather tipsy again and I found myself in a taxi at midnight heading home with rosier cheeks than after a stint at the sauna. We had gone from one gay gin joint to another then back again and with it being Monday, the drinks were cheap and nasty to say the least. I don't know what it is about Mondays but it's only really the diehards kicking about, the worst would have to be going out dancing on a Monday night, which we've all done and loved but it really feels like the charade is over on a Monday and it's all about chilling out which we did a bit too well.

Glasgow has a few nice gay bars and there's one Stewart and I go to on the very odd occasion. It's called Revolver and caters to a slightly more mature crowd. Make no mistake, they ain't grandpas but they ain't chickens either so a heady mix of adult gay men listening to Goldfrapp and drinking beer was intoxicating and I really enjoyed it. Sometimes it's good to go somewhere different and it was a welcome change. So much so that I was three sheets to the wind by the time we headed up the road and even the gorgeous dinner I had couldn't soak up the booze. Now I'm no alcoholic but I like to relax with a vodka occasionally, I'm not quite Sue Ellen Ewing material yet although I do wonder if it's a path I'm headed. I don't think I'd get bad enough to suck the alcohol out of a deoderant stick as I can get pretty sick when I rattle the vodka too much which is always a side effect of getting completely shitfaced.

And to top it all off, I've been reading a great book by Augusten Burroughs called Sellevision. It's about America's fictional top rated home shopping channel and it's hosts. The main character Max is fired right at the beginning for flashing his cock to 20 million viewers during one of the shows. Then there's Bebe who's popular on screen but can't get a date or the fabulously named Trish Mission who's a schemer. The best character so far is Peggy Jean Smythe who is like Bree Van De Kamp but is being stalked by a viewer who says she has hairy knuckles or worse a mustache!!! I've never read anything by Augusten Burroughs before but I highly recommend it, Sellevision has had me laughing out loud which books rarely make me do. He's written his book Dry about his own bout of alcoholism and if last weekends shocking behaviour is anything to go by, I may be writing my own booze filled autobiography sooner rather later.

Being a dramatic gay man I've often thought about writing my own book either an autobiography or novel. In my teens I produced all sorts of literature in the form of short stories for school and I remember helping David write his obituary at one point in Julia's flat one night. How on earth we got on to that subject I can't remember but we did mention lots of seedy sex and hot romance for him. Then Alan mentioned he'd call his autobiography "The Confessions of a Tic Tac Techno Tart" or something like that. Other than High Camp I can't imagine what I'd call mine, but I did at one point rustle up a rather campy drama called "Genesis" It was all very glamorous in a Jackie Collins/Dynasty sort of way and I'd mapped out a good few chapters that included corporate takeovers, forgotten lovers, death by alligators, suicide and rentboys. However after reading not only my own blog through but also other people's blogs, real life is far more interesting and bizarre than fiction could ever be.