Twoliday, Twabbatical, Tweath

There was a recent BBC article on the growing language of Twitter^[1], and I decided to apply this language to my conundrum.

I have noticed that recently a lot of my favourite twitterati have fallen off of twitter, some gradually reduce their tweets, engage less, and generally fade, others seems to just stop. This has led me to considering the idea of a twitter holiday (twoliday), a twitter sabbatical (twabbatical), or the ultimate twitter death (tweath) – I am sure someone has already coined better phrases but this is the best I can do.

I think it is always good to have a Twoliday especially if you have some reason i.e. you actually are on Holiday . I think it is nice not to broadcast your every thought, and to keep some things private from the rest of the world. Also I have noticed when people come back from their Twoliday they have more to say. Obviously there are some occasions where because you are on holiday you will have more to say, and more time to tweet, and more interesting things happen – so you don’t have to use that as your excuse to have a mini-break. I think the breather also lets you connect with what you are doing – I feel like sometimes people are so busy tweeting about stuff they forget to enjoy it, and forget to enjoy it with the people they are with in the real world - for me it’s a bit like the people that go to a gig, or concert only then to video the whole thing through their camera or phone, but watch the camera more than they do the stage, and then end up actually missing out on the experience.

I have to admit I am currently going through a Twabbatical and I am oddly enjoying it. In a recent discussion with someone I said about twitter “you only get out what you put in” – so if you are a lunatic, you will get insanity out, and if you angry, you will grief out, if you are flirty you will get fun times (probably) out of it. I think my problem was that I was putting in inane rubbish and therefore getting it out. I had lost anything relevant to say. I think the problem came when for about 7 days I couldn’t tweet as I had such limited signal, and then on getting back I didn’t really have much to say, so I tried really hard, and then I just seemed like I was trying. Also it felt like I had followed so many people that my timeline was getting confused, I was struggling to follow people, and certain people that annoyed me and I loved to hate were turning from deliciously annoying to just plain repugnant. Of course everyone is allowed their view and everyone is allowed their say and I have no problem with people expressing a different opinion to me – in fact I welcome a bit of lively debate. But it does annoy me that there are influential people on twitter that don’t enter into debate but state their opinion, and there is a strong pressure to conform.

Then there is the ultimate. The Tweath – your twitter death – I have known some to be resurrected, but others have taken the plunge never to return. I have to admit I get it and am more and more tempted. I sometimes feel like I have been sucked into twitter and that I know more about what is going on in a random person’s life than I do my friends, or that I have the same circular conversations with people “good morning, how are you?”, “good night sleep well” – don’t get me wrong I would say twitter has introduced me to some lovely people, some attractive people and some lovely attractive people (a bonus) – some of which probably don’t know I exist – but that is fine, I don’t need them to. But those that I really care about I have met, and I interact with, whether it be through facebook, or in actual real life.

I could give you a long list of the people I like, but that would be embarrassing and weird – so I hope they know who they are. I probably will be back (probably tomorrow).

^[1] http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-14785537

The Stealth Account and the Media Account

Someone recently mentioned to me that they had a stealth account. Of course this had occurred to me before, and I quite like the idea. It could be the account where you could be exactly who you want to be - you could be completely open, uncensored, bold and untouchable because you couldn't be linked to the real life you. I already can hear people saying "I am already like that on my normal account" and although I don't doubt there are some people that are mostly true to themselves, I think most people become altered online - whether it's more flirty, less open, or just a slightly exaggerated caricature of themselves.

I like the idea of a stealth account as it enables the user to be completely open, they can:

a) Hate people - whether it be other twitter users, famous people, private people - without the judgement of everyone out there.

b) You can have an open relationship without some people clutching their pearls and slightly looking down their nose at it.

c) They can shag around (like most gay men do especially the single ones) again without everyone clutching their pearls.

d) They can have fringe views without being brow-beaten into accepting the common consensus.

e) They can not follow back, or follow the same people as everyone else, they can not respond to tweets or ignore DMs without being vilified. (This goes in direct contraction to my earlier blogs, but here I mean that this anonymity allows people to forget to respond to the odd tweet, or do it two days later without getting judged - not just choose who to reply to based on who their friends are - and if you are using a stealth account to share an experience you may not necessarily want to follow back everyone that follows you)

However in direct contradiction to the Stealth Account is the Media Account. I know I will probably get some people rolling their eyes at this because of course celebrities will use their account as a way of interacting with their fans, but I don't mean celebrities, or anyone that would be considered famous - I mean those with a huge following but for no apparent reason. I have seen a lot of them both gay and straight, male and female.  This type of account is one I generally oppose and I wont follow for very long.

The reason I cant stand this type of account is that it is completely disingenuous and often their tweets can seem contradictory. They use it to push their "persona" whether it be in a semi professional sense, or in a private sense, but this isn't the real them, you don't get a 'warts-an-all' experience - you get a highly tailored experience to only show off their very best side. Of course no-one wants to show every aspect of their soul on facebook or twitter, but to claim to be completely open and to share yourself through twitter, but then only show the sides that you think will best suit your fans seems to me to be totally deceptive.

Again to clarify, I don't care if you don't want to tell me your shoe size, what you had for dinner, or what you and your partner do in the bedroom, but I don't want to hear that your life is all happiness and sunshine all the time, that you love everything although sometimes you get sad [ sad face ], but that you will never go into it, but you will promote you amazing nights out, your latest bit of work, your great workout, your fabulous friends, the party you go to z-list celebs, or even A-list celebs, that you love all the right things and will not do one singular controversial thing in all the god given day, you will lightly flirt, but never say anything outrageous, and all the while claim you are an open book and it can all be seen on twitter.

It all gets too much for me as its all too sanitised and has the feeling of a PR person pulling my leg. I am no media guru but I know enough that I know that the likes of  Will Young, Russell Tovey, or Scott Mills aren't ever going to say they went to The Hoist and spent all night in a sling, and I don't expect everyone that does it to splatter it all over twitter - but come on, lets not all pretend we haven't seen a penis before. However there are pitfalls that I dont think these people realise when promoting themselves as being so wholesome and well rounded:

a) I have to admit I am a gossipy queen, and if there is one thing a gossipy queen attracts it's gossip. People love to tell me stuff about everyone - why? Because I am a completely receptive audience (I'm not showing off - it's not an attractive quality but it is true). Therefore, I often hear what is happening behind the scenes.

b) we live in a small community especially if you consider gays on twitter. I feel like there is probably about a 1 degree of separation on Twitter - I oddly have found people that know my boyfriend, that I went to school with, that are close friends of my friends, that I knew when I was 16.

c) everyone that has gaydar, or grindr can see what you are doing, and they like to tell everyone behind your back.

d) we can see you when you are out and drunk and doing all those things you pretend you don't do.

e) people will hate you, or dislike and this leads them to bitching about you, and if you want to maintain that you are St Saintly of Sainthood then you cant rise to it, or engage with it, or be annoyed, because you are after all a well oiled PR machine, and if you let the crack show then it proves my point and you are not the butter-wouldn't-melt-girl-guide you make yourself out to be.

Dating Discussions

I haven’t dated for over 5 years but from what most of my single friends have told me the rules of engagement haven’t changed in the slightest. It is still a battlefield, and the same obstacles need to be overcome.

After a Sunday Roast I had prepared for my friends we discussed some of our worst dating encounters and some of our best stories. This included my best friend and her new boyfriend, and our other friend, T, who is an expert in finding the oddest men.

We started with the usual encounters, those that are really into you, and you are not so keen – where they are trying to stroke your face, look intently into your eye, and compliment you unendingly. I think this is perhaps more of an issue for straight women than it is for gay men. But I had in my dating past the person that on taking a 15 second break from replying to a message, or chat, or some e-communication the obligatory “are you there? … have I done something wrong? … why are you ignoring me?” This is tiresome and unattractive. Fact. Sorry I know from the other end it appears rude and off hand, but at the same time, I feel that the level of intensity you are showing is odd at such an early stage. This also reads across in person, when people are trying to Jeremy Paxman style interview you on a first date – unattractive. But the worst is when this heads into the bedroom (of course we are all ladies so this wouldn’t be until at least the 12^th date) and they are trying to tenderly make love to you – there is a time and a place for that, and on the first dates it shouldn’t be. They should be about clothes ripping off, not long meaningful looks and slow tender hugs (maybe with a single tear running down their cheek). Bleurgh. I feel there is a misconception that this is what women want and I fear that some gay men also fall into this trap – because someone says they are looking for a relationship doesn’t mean that they cant have wild passionate sex.  

Then you get the exact opposite. The bad boys. We all know them, probably at some point some of us have been them. When we know that we are into them and they are just enjoying our company. This gets us doing all the chasing, checking our phones more regularly than socially acceptable, being ever so slightly annoyed if we notice they are online and not talking to us, or if they have text and it’s bland and non committal and you think “why don’t you love me” (whilst softly humming along to Beyonce).  When you are the friend of someone entering into this kind of relationship you shake your head, you think ‘why can’t they see it?’  We then get to sit on our highest of high horses and think ‘it’s obvious he is an arsehole’ and ‘clearly only using you for one thing’ – but at the same time when you are in it (and it has been many years since I was there) very little will manage to knock those rose tinted glasses off your face and sometimes I wonder if its better that no-one tries to knock them off until you decide to take them off. As a friend to many a girl that has found herself in this situation I would advise extreme caution as you can either come across as jealous, hostile to the new man, or ‘you just don’t understand’. All of which are difficult to hear when you know your friend is setting themselves up for heartbreak. My suggestion is be honest but diplomatic. My best friend said I gave her ‘tough love, without the love’ when I told her that someone she had fallen for really hard, probably wasn’t even thinking about her hence why he hadn’t been in contact. To be honest I didn’t want to be trite and say ‘he’s just not that into you’, but sometimes I think everyone in the dating world needs to think ‘does it feel like he is into me?’ If the answer is no, then I would cut and run – hardcore and easy to say but that is my only piece of dating advise.

 

Along with these two archetypal dates, there are whole rafts of oddballs… we came up with a list of special quotes from my favourites: 

“I prefer to use industrial strength duct tape, so how about we give the cinema a miss and I tie you to the chair?”

“I didn’t do anything at the weekend other than masturbate, and now I have a blister on my finger” This was from a woman to a man.

“Well as I see it we have two option, we either have a second date, or we go back to mine now?”

“Can you pretend you are 40 years old?”

“I like feet”

“I like to dress up as a baby”

Obviously these are all extremes, there are plenty of nice people out there that are willing to hold normal conversations, and will be open and honest. But by god they are some right old fruit loops out there too.

To unfriend?

I notice a lot of people claim psychology disorders, and I am sometimes quite quick to attribute them to people: narcissistic, manic depressive, depressive, histrionic (the most common in my opinion), Münchausen syndrome (and by proxy) and a whole range of body issues that would keep a psychologist in work for years to come, but I think all of us have some elements. I would say I could have a tendency towards the depressive, but it is slight. I am also quite paranoid (as many of my blog post probably show) but I like to think I am a long way off needing to be sectioned. But I notice now there is a rising trend in people who not only have bad moods, but have consistent issues and air them at length. Both twitter and unfortunately my Facebook timeline are quite bad for this. I like everyone have a moan, I have a man period, I hate Monday mornings, and I love a good gripey whinge, but some people seem to use these social media as a form of counselling. The problem with this approach is that it can have limited success or end up feeding the Monster and making it almost a form of entertainment. I have a few case studies to back up my awful generalisations and sweeping statements, and then I have the person with who I have the most issue and I need to decide whether to commit the ultimate sin and unfriend her on Facebook. 

 

1. I think Twitter is bad for mental instability becoming a form of entertainment or almost feeding other peoples desire to feel needed and important – for the histrionic. A particular case I have in mind is someone that clearly has issues we will call him X. He has lots of followers, but previously I would say that he was a manic depressive, he is up and down like a rollercoaster, and brutally open with it, but part of his histrionic situation is that he requires constant confirmation from others that he is ok. Sadly there is a group of people that have almost taken on the role of being his crutch, and I think they are perhaps more unstable because they get pleasure and gratification from his pain – Münchausen by proxy. Sometimes I do think he is truly depressed, but sometimes I think them revelling in it and affirming it even if there is actually no justifiable reason. Now I can hear the battle cries and the self doubt – is that me? I don’t follow this person any longer, so if I follow you, you are safe. Also I hear your criticisms that I don’t know this person and therefore who am I to judge him or his supporters. The reason I can is because this person is publicly advertising this situation and even unfollowing him hasn’t removed him from my timeline.

 

2. Case study Y is a slightly more complicated character. I had real issues with him. He was perfectly nice and polite to me, always asking how I was, saying good morning on twitter, and a close follower to the things I said. However I found him to be oddly narcissistic sociopath (forgive me if my diagnosis is not quite correct – I’m not a professional – this is armchair psychology) which had a really interesting juxtaposition bearing in mind I knew of this person through a social network. He seemed to require to enjoy using twitter to be “social” but this was generally inane chit-chat and sometimes came across as a little needy, however he also liked to air his views (again fine), however I often found them simplistic and very much Black and White, and I would have said uninformed or ill-informed. Therefore his views were often quite contentious and prompted a response. I initially excused his sometimes aggressive statements as being his youth and somewhat his passion, I became slightly more sceptical when whole swathes of people were entering into arguments with him and there was a mini Twitter pitch battle. I finally broke and reached for the unfollow button when someone very reasonable was suggesting an alternative point of view and he said “I don’t come on here to get into a discussion – I know I am right” – admittedly they were having a deep discussion about Irish Riots which Twitter is clearly not the place for unless you’re very succinct, but to be so dismissive of someone else’s opinions and not allowing them to respond went against what I thought twitter was about. He asked me immediately why I unfollowed but I didn’t want to get into it. In this case the social media seemed to be feeding his ego, feeding his sense that people were either with him or against him. 

 

3. Then we come to my “friend” from Facebook. She has many many issues, but to give some background on our friendship. About 5 years ago we were part of a group that did everything together, it just so happened that our planets aligned and we all went out pretty much every night. To be honest she was always a little dramatic, a bit of an odd ball and we did wonder whether much of her history was tall tales (otherwise she had the most horrific and adventurous childhood and adolescence known to man – including murderous twin – very Days of Our Lives) but since the advent of Facebook and the acceptance of inane status updates we are now getting a full running commentary. She often refers to periods when I knew her well, and I was in her life and knew her girlfriend and yet she depicts a completely different story to the one I ever saw or experienced (but benefit of the doubt – we don’t know what happens behind closed doors) but then they came:

 

“Z is not a happy bunny”

“Z is not enjoying today”

“Z is furious with the world”

 

Ok, ok, we all have moments where we need to rant, but these statements were always so random, out of sync with the rest of her timeline and never explained. Even if directly asked “is everything ok?” she will not respond. I think often she needed people to show they cared. Unfortunately these would eventually ramp up.

 

“Z is on the verge”

“Z doesn’t know why she bothers”

“Z thinks everyone hates her”

 

Her poor kind friends (this doesn’t include me) would obviously flock to her page and write comforting messages and supportive things, but the oddest part is then 15 minutes later “yum Mushroom noodles” appears as her next status update. It is all too much for me. Sometimes she descends into utter madness and it’s lots of “Z f*cking hates you for lying to her and making her feel like nothing, well not any more. I am done with it.” Again there is no explanation and no reasoning, so my patience wears thin. The problem with Z is that she does two other things I cannot bear. She takes endless amounts of photos of herself in various pouty faces (I know I know, we all like to take the odd pic of ourselves if we feel we are looking good, but come on – not every day a new picture with a  new pouty face) – and this I find awfully narcissistic. And her final nail in the coffin that got me to unfriending her was she set up a Alter-Ego Facebook profile for her “professional modelling persona”. No. Just No. Nothing more. She isn’t that pretty. She is short and wide of hip. And She isn’t in any way model material. I would like to add she isn’t just any model but a seductive model – all her photos have a slight soft lens look, she is normally in underwear and draped over the nearest couch. It is not a good look.

 

With all these people and a lot of other I do wonder if they are looking for their 15 minutes of fame? Whether it be from friends, or twitter they are just desperate for the validation. But then I think I am too. I have had a short hiatus from Twitter and I have really missed it. Suddenly I am full of witty things I could have tweeted and things I wanted to say out into the ether. And oddly more than once I thought  “I should blog about that” but then I think – does it make me as bad them? That I want people to read my thoughts, and find them important. Who Knows? All I know is that I wont be unfriending her just yet, as sometimes crazy as I find her I also find her oddly entertaining and enthralling.

Man Period

Today I felt entirely inspired to talk about a phenomenon that I feel may only effect me, but I am hoping that through this blog others might come forward so I don’t feel like a weirdo. It is the Man-Period.

 

The reason I am inspired is mine is totally in full flight – if I was a woman I would be classified as having full on PMT.

 

I am irritable – if the guy on the next desk over burps one more time I am going to jam my keyboard down his gullet and take utter delight in doing it. 

I am lazy – no gym for me today, even the thought is raising bile in my throat.

I am comfort eating – so far a dime and crunch bar down in quick succession.

I am irrational – I almost cried when the excel spreadsheet I was working on wouldn’t do what I wanted.

 

For me these occasions are bought on for no discernable reason, and they go just as easily and randomly. Normally for me they only last about a day and they are quite subtle, unless you knew me you’d probably say I was perhaps a little more quiet, reserved and a tad arch at times, I am not sobbing at my desk (yet) or throwing office furniture (close but not quite – god I’d love to).

 

On occasion I am sure it is hormonal because they are so completely random and I am just more “emotional” than usual. Normally getting me to cry would require waxing my stomach as I’m not the sort to cry, but when I am like this I almost crave it – is that weird? Do I sound like a psychopath?

 

I suppose the point of this article is for me it’s totally normal and we should all have these day, right?  

 

Oddly when I am like this the last thing I want is for people to comfort me or be kind, or ask what’s wrong, I just need to be left alone, handed a pain aux raisin or three, some jazzies, and a coke zero and allowed to retire with either a podcast or a good book. Unfortunately life often gets in the way and instead I am inflicted onto the world. So I apologise if sometimes I seem to be self-indulgently negative, but most of the time I do try to be positive.

Sleeping with the Enemy (apparently)

Five years ago and 4 days I started going out with my boyfriend (cue smug smile) and in that time he has done four jobs but the last one he has done for two and a half and I can honestly say he has found his vocation. He is a Police Officer.

I am proud of that fact and I know he is too (sometimes erring on the smug side) - in fact I have been known to refer to him as the Sheriff as he tries to lay down the law in all walks of life but I put him straight on that. But by no means was this an easy route.

To give you the background he has always wanted to be a police officer, and when he was 18-24 all his mates were coppers but for some reason he never thought he could do it. Luckily for him (I'm sure he counts his blessings every day) he was with me and I'm not the sort to ignore life long ambitions so when we heard the Met were recruiting - I researched the arse off it and showed him what he'd have to do - the maths test, the written test, the role play, the interview, the whole assessment centre... Etc etc - and then the physical and health checks, and said that if he wanted to do it, I'd be right beside him. So we did it! It was gruelling, teaching and testing a 27yo on long division, written papers etc over entire weekends is not a happy task - but he wanted it so he learnt it, much to his own amazement. We managed to get through every stage - he aced the maths test (pats self on back) and he got to training.

Even though they told us, we didn't know what we were quite letting ourselves in for - the changing shift patterns, the late running shifts, the shifts over holidays, the learning and revision of what felt like entire legal volumes (I myself learnt a lot from testing him) - but there was an up side: the people. Of course they weren't all perfect - like anything there were some idiots - power trippers that thought with a badge they were Gods, but most of them seemed to get caught out by the recruitment system and didn't get through training. But when I met his fellow officers the one thing I felt was reassurance because I knew they'd have my boyfriends back and he'd have theirs and they were the sort of people I wanted to help me in an emergency - they weren't all big burly blokes, not all straight, not all White, not all English, but they respected each other and they all had a passion. Again don't get me wrong I am sure some love the power, the fast cars and the authority (and some are probably arseholes and idiots) but they all are willing to help others - people they don't know.

You may say - well their job is catching criminals but I'd say a lot of what they do is helping people. Yes of course they are catching criminals, but they also offer reassurance, make people feel safe, help find lost children, protect the vulnerable, protect people from themselves, all sorts of rubbish I didn't even think about till he started and I heard about it every night!

So now we get to the crux of my post - I start reading twitter posts a about the lousy job the police are doing in Tottenham, Student Riots, on pretty much everything - but let me ask you this - what would you do? Would you stand there and be completely calm as someone throws a petrol bomb at you? Screams "scum! Scum! Scum!" in your face as one delightful student was doing on their protest? How would you react? Now you might say they are paid to be calm, paid to take the abuse? Really you think? I don't think they are paid enough then. Because no amount of money could pay me to do that!  least we forget when all these same people are broken into or their bikes are stolen, or they're mugged, who do they call?

When it is said that the protesters shouldn't be kettled but whatever you do don't let them vandalise the statues?

Don't contain them but don't let them chase Prince Charles car?

Don't stop them or search them but don't allow them to go equipped to loot Topshop?

How do you stop them? How would YOU stop them? People also like to say in their most outraged voices whilst clutching their pearls "they were children and kept in cordons for upwards of 4 hours" - oh heavens how did they ever manage to survive being cordoned off surrounded by police for 4 hours in the broad daylight - Don't be ridiculous - I am sure they all thought it was cool and none of them are traumatised by the experience!

Now for Tottenham (to caveat this piece I haven't be studying the news in depth on this so I may get some points slightly wrong) and more recently Brixton, Enfield, Walthamstow, Islington... These don't seem to be a demonstration against a Police state but rather opportunists using the flash point of a man being shot by a Police Officer to loot and riot. I understand the family and friends of the man wanting to get answers and the answers probably seem really slow coming, and the long process the IPCC probably needs to go through is long and tedious (but I am sure there is a reason for this i.e. to find the truth and fully investigate) but I doubt the people breaking into Currys in Brixton really have justice for this man in their mind. I completely agree that the shooting should be investigated, and it should be checked that everything was done to the very letter of the law, and if it was a mistake and the wrong person was shot then this needs to be highlighted and the correct action followed. But please don't lampoon the police, or use general statements about the whole of the Police force, because the Police have come on leaps and bounds in the last 20 years, sure they like everyone else make mistakes, sure they like everyone else don't always have enough staff to deal with problems (how they were expected to know that people were randomly going to start looting and rioting in Brixton is beyond me - also how many Police officers do you think they have? Don't forget they are a front line Government service like everything else they have deliver their savings - cut overtime - lose staff - etc etc). The Police are dealing with the problems as best they can, but what is everyone else doing about it? Or isn't it your problem? Oh no, it's the governments problem... the "communities" problem... the Afro-Caribbean problem? - Actually it's not. It's everyone's problem, and rather than lambast one of the few groups that is trying to tackle it, how about for once you try to be supportive.

I know its my problem, because I hear about it every night, the good and the bad, the light and the dark, but I also get the fun of thinking "shouldn't he be home by now?", "he hasn't responded to my text?", "there has been a Police Officer shot"... in the two and a half years I have come to terms with this more and more, but I still get the twinge when I haven't heard from him and he was meant to have finished. I am sure there are wives, girlfriends, boyfriends, husbands all over the country that have dealt with this much longer than I have, and the odd few have got the awful call to say something has happened - but one thing I know is that the majority of these Officers do a fine job and they go to work (and we send them off to work) knowing the risks and still decide to help people.

So in conclusion my message is this - be critical of the Police if you want, but be fair, and try not to make general sweeping statements!

Hierarchy of Twitter and Tribe Politics

My friend and I often discuss the relationships between twitter folk – I find it an endless enthralling soap opera watching how these people will let us into every aspect of their lives, it actually feels like a real life Game of Thrones / Dynasty / Family Guy – all rolled into one. With some of the tribes and cabals I get the impression that this is purely an e-fantasy world… like Second Life, where people explore relationships that they would never or be unlikely have in the real world. However to me the much more interesting tribes (to observe) are those that actually live out their life using Twitter as a portal. This is a dangerous game because obviously we know everything about them, and they don’t know us at all, which leads to confusion when interacting because the social boundaries are blurred. However, where my friend and I differ is that there are certain groups I wont get involved with as much (having been burnt once by it all) and yet he optimistically see’s the best in everyone and therefore gets more stuck in.
 

In our discussions around the topic, we have agreed that much like in gay tribes you can see trawling Soho, Brighton, or wherever we tend to congregate, there is a hierarchy within the tribes, and the politics is rife. I find the Twitter Tribe will often feature:

 

-         A Leader / Lord – Almost exclusively they will have the largest number of followers, and generally well liked by a broader group than just their “friends”. Oddly in my most fascinating group case, the leader in question doesn’t tweet very much, but when he does there is frenzy around it. And to get a tweet from them is truly a blessing from god – also he isn’t very social and rarely if ever goes out (that he tweets about anyway). I find the leaders of the tribe will generally always be very attractive, have good bodies (and oddly work in the media) in gay tribes, polite to everyone, and be fairly intelligent to get that mass appeal. The problem with Twitter is that once you become a “leader” on a social media website you fall under scrutiny unlike in the real world, where you can lead your gang of friends in any way – showing both dark and light – on Twitter that will not sit so well.  So therefore to me they become a little sanitised and one dimensional, and they self-edit far too much for me to appreciate them and to fall into line.

-         The Deputies or Dukes – These will have a large amount of followers, generally tweet a lot more, and interact a lot more. These characters seem to play a fairly crucial role, because they almost exclusively live their lives in twitter, even going abroad won’t stop them, being on a date, being at a funeral, these guys will tweet no matter what. End of the world… they are tweeting. To gain this appeal they are generally also attractive and fairly intelligent, but as they are not the leader they can show a bit more light and shade and be a bit more human (which has its appeals to me) but means they cant be the leader as some people wont like them, and we cant have that. In the group that interest me all of the Dukes tend to be close friends with their Leader and almost always there is some simmering sexual tension underling it – which they always strongly deny with mock outrage and clutching of pearls – but come now you are fooling no-one.  

-         The Deputies Consort or Ladies – These people are just the other halves of the Duke or their close friends – their main role is to look good, tweet inane rubbish, and never be controversial. These people often have a nasty whiff of being desperate to be accepted and for any scraps the leader will give them.

-         The Ambassadors – Those associated to the leader but located in a different country or at least county – this makes it extremely difficult to meet the leader regularly or socially, but they often interact quite closely and likely to be extremely attractive. I tend to think in the group I observe these Ambassadors are the people the Leader fancies… they are often super fit, but not based in London, so they are no threat, but they help give kudos to the Leader.

-         The Foot Soldiers – These form the mass of the hysteria around the leader… they will defend them to the death, #FF them every week without fail, probably will never meet the leader, but might get a chance to meet the Deputies (and if they are lucky talk to them) but they will tweet them extensively and likely get responses.

-         And The Masses – this is everyone else that follows the gang – they wont interact but you will be expected to take note of what is said, and woe betide you if you dare to question the leader or their deputies because the full focus of the Tribe will destroy you.

 

However, wider than there are lots of personality types on twitter that fit into this tribe dynamic:

 

-         the Lone wolves – independents that float in and out of the Tribe, they might be aligned to them at some point, but they generally move alone, quite independent and wont cast their allegiance, most likely to be fairly intelligent, and can offer a lot of validation to a Leader if he can snare them. (Don’t all go thinking you’re lone wolf now!)

 

-         Mercenary – sell their love to anyone and everyone - whoever is the current flavour of the month.

 

-         The show man - The jester – the illusionist – these are my favourite characters on twitter because they are clearly a façade for someone’s comical outlet, or extremely flirty side, but some people take them very seriously, or are outraged by their duplicitous nature.  These guys are clearly there to entertain so I am not sure the issue.

 

-         The whore – these are also surprisingly (?) my favourite individuals or members of tribes because there is a pure honesty to what they offer and why there are there, but they are likely to appear vacuous if they don’t provide something more.  

 

-         The Crazy – there is a whole lot of crazy on twitter but some of them are truly epic – they love a good long rant, they love to start random fights, but then they like to be all nice and soft – their schizophrenia is amazing to watch but tiresome if you get involved.

 

But more importantly to me than the roles, is the politics. The Dukes flirting, undermining each other, vying for opportunities to grow their fan base… sometimes I think it is sub-conscious, but sometimes I think their intent is clear – they want to be Leader or be in the Leader’s bed and officially be the Lady of the Tribe. The foot-soldiers fighting for acknowledgement, the Consorts parading their wears for all to approve of! It really is like Game of Thrones. I whole heartedly approve, but step foot in that arena – no thanks – I don’t want to lead, I don’t want to bow to spend my time massaging someone’s ego over twitter. I think these games, politics and the roles transmit into the real world in our social groups… I always aim to be a Duke (it’s the safest place) – but oddly on twitter we almost invite people to watch it. I can’t wait for the rise of the next generation of Twitterati and because I think a challenge to the Leadership could have me fetching the popcorn and sitting in for a couple of weeks.

The Problem with Pride

I am sure this is a topic that is often covered and many people have already said what I am about to say, but I am going to say it my way.

On Saturday my timeline on Twitter was filled with a lot of negativity about Pride London, and mainly by people that werent there. I fully understand people not going. I didnt go. Not because I had an issue with it, but I had made other plans to go to a wedding before I realised, however I would have gone had I not realised.

Most of the people being critical of twitter were annoyed at the overly sexualised nature of Pride and the fact that people seemed to forget that it was about being proud of being gay and celebrating it, standing up for our rights, and raising money for charity.

I admit that Pride is quite sexual, there are the naked and near naked men (and it is mainly men although I dont think this is because our Lesbian friends are margialised as some claim) - but lets be fair we are quite sexual beings and part of our difference is about who we have sex with, so sex is going to be part of the day. And I also think that the day is meant to be part of the celebrations of all the many ways we have sex: dressed in leather, with bears, twinks, sparkles, which ever way we want. It is a hard mix to make work, because just as we all like to pretend we are open and liberal, there are some things we just wont get and seem weird. To me its rubber - I can understand it, I dont like the smell, it just seems overly complicated to deal with - how in god's name do you get into it - and I imagine it to be tight and uncomfortable. But I dont judge those that enjoy it - it's also their day to be proud as much as it is mine. So on this front I think we need to suck it up - we are sexual, it is what ties us - a non-practising gay (or lesbian) in my books is not a gay (or lesbian) - but at the end of the day we all enjoy different things.

Someone else I noticed said that they didnt need a special day to feel proud, they feel proud everyday. Well good for them, but I think they miss the point that it's not so easy or simple for everyone. I had a very supportive family and friends, I have rarely encountered homophobia, and I am obvious enough of a gayer that unless someone is blind and deaf they will realise I am gay and so I dont actually have an issue of having to surprise people with coming out! But even for me it's nice to have a day where I can walk down the street and hold hands with boyfriend and in the centre of town, right where  a man was kicked to death for standing up to bullies. To be clear I am not a person that enjoys Public Displays of Affection and if someone tried to stop me from holding my boyfriends hand if I wanted to then they would have a fight, but I feel like I should have the opportunity, and if this day helps make it the normality then Pride is important just for that. Also though, I think there are others that don't live in Central London, they may not have the supportive family, friends, colleagues, and for one day it is nice for them to be totally surrounded by their community and feel normal, or even boring in the sea of gay faces. Again, this shouldn't be the case, but let's be real, it is, and so don't take it away from them and dont belittle it.

The other comment I saw on my timeline was about Pride being all about young hostile twinks covered in glitter giving such a strong Gay Face you're not sure if they are having a stroke. To be fair, the young pretties with a love for tan in a tube do seem to dominant but then it depends where you go and what you do. The parade is full of all sorts as is the parade route, and the bars just seem to be full of those that normally go there. I dont think you will find many young orange blonde skinny twinky types desperate to get into Comptons but yes you might have to put up with them on the street outside as it is pretty much packed so you stand where you can. Also I might add I always thought I hated these twinks but then my friend Stevo told me about it his outfit for pride... it consisted of a spray tan, an all white outfit, a Venice bejewelled eye-mask and angel wings - hmmm yes angel wings. Angel. Wings. I had to admit I thought "what the fuck?!?" But to be fair he looked the happiest I have ever seen him wearing it. I thought it was more appropriate for him to be supporting Kylie rather than stepping out in public, but to be honest, he is a copper, he has a stressful job where he deals with some real shit all day long, and if he wants to take this one day to wear Angel Wings then fuck it, who am I to worry.

So in conclusion, there is no problem with Pride - people need to either enjoy it or not go. Don't bitch about it and knock it for others - if it's not for you then JUST DON'T GO it ain't that hard.

(ranting post over)

Guest Blog: The Beauty of Sex

I love having sex with beautiful people. There. I said it.
 
Do you think I’m superficial?
 
You might be right.
 
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t only sleep with super-sexy muscle marys or model-grade twinks, but I unashamedly worship at the alter of physical beauty. The laptop that I sit at typing right now has a stream of wallpapers and screensavers featuring beautiful men in various states of undress. My coffee table is adorned with books celebrating male beauty. My porn of choice is always that which features impossibly hot men, none of that “real guys having real sex” bollocks. I could go to any old club darkroom if I wanted to see that. For me it’s all about the fantasy, and when an opportunity presents itself to make that fantasy reality, I grab it with both hands.
 
So you can imagine my excitement when I found myself chatting to a very attractive porn star on Grindr one particularly uninteresting day last week. He is not a big star – I had never heard of him (although I have since looked up some of his work) – and he seemed a nice, genuine guy. I was especially surprised because at the time I was in a small town an hour or two from London – not the place you expect to find such a person.
 
He told me that he was also an escort and would be interested in doing me a deal, since he was very horny and rather desperate to get fucked by a hung guy (did I mention that I am bigger than average?)
 
His offer pricked my curiosity. I had always considered the possibility of sleeping with an escort but had never gone further than browsing the back pages of Boyz and QX. And here was a guy, incredibly hot, just my type, offering to fulfil my fantasies on what would have otherwise been a boring evening in cheap hotel. All of this at a rate that I would never get back in London.
 
I went for it.
 
Greeting me at his door, it became clear that his Grindr picture did not do him justice. This man was beautiful. I mean, completely beautiful. With an incredibly handsome face, dark eyes, all-over tan and a body that was gym-toned to perfection. He was wearing nothing but a pair of Abercrombie and Fitch sweat pants. It didn’t take me long to shake off my initial nerves, not least because he was just as friendly in person as he had been chatting to me on Grindr. We headed straight upstairs and got undressed in a flash, and yes it was as good as I had hoped. An already semi-hard very large cock, and the one of the nicest, most toned bums I have ever seen. I am rather partial to a nice bum.
 
Pretty soon I had him doing exactly what I wanted. “Yes, I do want you in the shower with me!” “Now turn over”. “This isn’t working for me, lets change”. Having that control and being able to have it exactly how I wanted it was incredibly hot. We did it in every position I could think of.
 
Yet, the whole time I had something niggling at the back of my mind. Something that made the whole experience seem somehow hollow, empty, false. Don’t get me wrong, he was very good at seeming enthusiastic, and I do genuinely think he was enjoying himself – his cock was certainly rock-hard the whole time and he came pretty quickly when I instructed him to. But occasionally he would take it a little too far, turning on his porn star training and oo-ing and arr-ing just a little too much.
 
When it was all over he was once again a pleasant and friendly guy, asking if I wanted another shower. Yet once money had changed hands (he didn’t ask for it upfront, which surprised me) there was something in his voice and body language that said he wasn’t up for small talk. He was in no way rude or abrupt, but it reinforced the feeling that this had been a cold, hard transaction and nothing more. Not that I was expecting love in the afternoon, but I think part of the joy of sex, even when it is random and anonymous, is that you are being pleasured and at the same time bringing pleasure to another human being. It is a shared experience.
 
Today I had another anonymous Grindr encounter and I couldn’t help comparing it with my experience with the escort. Was the guy hot? You bet. Was he hotter than the escort? No way. Was the sex better? Absolutely. There was a physical connection between the two of us, a mutual attraction, a shared joy at the pleasure that we were giving each other, and that shared pleasure was the sole reason for us being in that room together. No material or financial benefit to be had.
 
I actually have a lot of respect for escorts. They use an asset that has been bestowed upon them by genetics, or that they have attained through dedicated health and beauty regimes, and they sell that commodity to a market that craves it and is willing to pay for it. As for whether I would use one again – I would never say never. I still worship at that alter of beauty, and that craving for beauty may pull me in again the next time I find myself with a spare hour and a spare few pounds. But on the other hand perhaps it would be best if the men in those books on my coffee table stayed fantasies, except for those rare occasions when the fantasy is one that we can share.

Tweetup: A good way to make friends?

I was explaining to my friend as we sat in Brockwell Park the idea behind a tweetup… and she concluded “so it’s basically a way to make new friends?” and I thought actually it is. As school-ground as it sounds I think Twitter is a good way to make new friends (although I have had discussions with people about the difference between having a lot of Followers and having a lot of Friends) – but I think the point still stands it is a good way to actually meet new people. But I can imagine a tweetup especially a group one could be risky and does require all people to step out from behind the mask of Twitter.

 

I have to admit I felt nervous arranging a tweetup, although the mechanics were easy, the thought of meeting an entire new group of people is daunting to me to say the least. My friend said to me that she was proud of me (and she didn’t mean it at all patronisingly) because we both know that I get nervous about meeting new people. I don’t really know why, but I think it has to do with my fear of embarrassing myself.

 

Luckily for me, I had spoken with majority of those attending quite a lot, and I felt quite comfortable being able to generate conversation, but I just hoped I wouldn’t be the big fat moose wearing last years fashion meeting the Glitterati of the gay world. So I put on my safety outfit… and strode out into the mix. (I should caveat this with that fact I have done one big tweetup before, and I have met a few people from Twitter for coffee or a swift pint, so I am not a complete virgin – I would suggest smaller groups to those daunted by the prospect – and for the big group one try to meet them in a pub and not in a club as that makes introductions really difficult as I found to my cost last time)

 

The first lump caught in my throat when I realised a) I would be late (I am incapable of being on time to social events – I am normally 15-20minutes late – as I don’t schedule enough time for throwing my clothes around the room, trying most things on twice, and going back to my original outfit), and b) I would be on the same train as two of the guys that were coming. Although this gave me the benefit of being able to walk into the bar with someone it meant that I would be under their spotlight in the harsh light of day and there would be no escape.

 

My second lump in the throat was when I stepped on the train and I thought – “oh god they look better than me – a lot better!” but I cant stress enough how nice these two guys are. I think they may have some Mutant power to make people feel relaxed and included, because my tension levels fell through the floor, and I thought if nothing else I would comfortable with these two and if no-one else turns up it wouldn’t matter.

 

Walking to the pub, I was getting the tweets telling me people had arrived, and I felt a little proud that people had bothered to show. I am under no delusion that they turned up to see the glorious LiamSE21, but it was nice that people bothered to come, even if it was to see how hot everyone was.

 

When I got in there, after some stilted introductions with a mixture of names and usernames we settled into to conversations. To be honest, Twitter came up very little, it was really nice to meet new people have discussions longer than 140 characters, be able to talk about our personal lives without broadcasting it to the universe and find that in actual fact all of the people had a lot to say, and we were all quite different but managed to get along really well.

 

Some of my thoughts on tweetups:

 

·         Names become an Issue – (maybe just for me) I have to admit, I am terrible with names and it took a lot to shake off their usernames – so I apologise in advance to them if I continue to refer to them as their usernames rather than their actual names – but when you are used to people being called something random the name kind of sticks in my head.

·         Flirting is even more fun – Even though I think we were all in couples, and most of the couples were there (mine was working), it was actually fun to be a bit cheeky, and have a laugh with people that you might have sent the odd double-entendre tweet to.

·         People will surprise you – some of the people that are the most flirty on twitter can be the most reserved in real life, and those quiet ones are the ones to watch. Also I found everyone really intelligent – I know I shouldn’t sound surprised but it’s something that is really hard to grasp on twitter, maybe mainly because I am obsessed with #HottieorNottie it only gets a limited response, and I may not read your tweets on the current situation in Libya.

·         It can be hard to talk to everyone – I actually struggled to get a chance to talk to everyone properly, it was so busy in the pub we went to that I think that may have been a contributory factor, and in future I might suggest a venue where we weren’t hemmed in so much.

·         But finally they are fun, and a great way to meet new people – whether they become your friends or not, and if you’re lucky (like I was) you might actually think “I’d like to be there friend!”

 

Anyway I have just puked down myself at that cheese-fest. Mainly I thought they were mostly hot and was jealous of them – so becoming their friends will be convenient way to perv over all over them. (This happened to be my friends guess as to why I do it). Also somehow we ended up XXL and half of them took their tops off… #TweetUpWin

Part 2 (of 3): Winter Winds

Someone is going through my pockets, and I moan and try to push them away… oh god my face hurts, and it’s wet… why is wet… where am I?

“It’s ok I with the ambulance, you need to lie still”

I am sitting up although all of my body is telling me to lay back down, oh god my face – it hurts so much, its throbbing, and wet … it comes crashing back down on me and I can’t help but sob. The blood streaming from nose, and my chest is killing, but all I can think is my parents would be so disappointed in me for not fighting back.

“What’s your name? Are you hurting anywhere else?”

I want to tell her to leave me alone, push her away, and be left alone in my shame – I didn’t do anything, I didn’t put a single hand on them, I didn’t protect myself, I virtually laid down and let them do this to me.

I manage to sob out my name, I stand up, I want to run, but everything hurts and my fucking nose is still streaming blood, and I’m still crying. All I can think is that my family will be so ashamed – my brother would never let this happen to him, Jesus, my mum wouldn’t. She didn’t raise me to be a wuss… I should have fronted up to them, but I was just too scared.

Oh god, the thought of telling everyone what happened is going to be so embarrassing. I just want to go home. The paramedic is still talking to me – telling me she is going to take me to the hospital to check me out. I don’t want to go but I don’t know what else to do.

My phone! I frantically search my jeans – nope – gone… as is every else… no wallet, no keys… The paramedic tells me it will be ok… is it wrong I want to tell her to fuck off?

I just gulp… fighting back the tears, even though it feels like my nose is broken, and my chest is in a vice, I feel worst about my phone… isn’t that ridiculous. I instantly feel cut off, and violated… I know everything I say and do is on that phone.

I get in the back of the ambulance and she is being nice – but keeps fiddling with me and talking to me. I feel suddenly so numb and cold.

***

Sitting in A&E passes in a bit of a blur, there is a lot of hubbub around me, but I am just sat there, not doing anything, re-running it through my head over and over, what I should have done, should have said, how I should have landed one blow… how I should have not walked down there in the first place.

I feel so dirty, the blood has pretty much dried down my top and just want to strip off and get into bed. But they said the doctor would need to see me, and the Police will be coming. I can’t face them, I don’t want to, I don’t want to explain to anyone how I let it happen.

I finally get called, and a young doctor checks me over, he tells me that my nose isn’t broken, asks me a lot of questions, and then tells me I will need to get an x-ray on my chest when I mention it hurts. Oh Jesus, more waiting… I have to figure out how to get home yet… I don’t even know what hospital I am in. He tells me to wait, and says someone will take me to me to get the x-ray done.

I’m still waiting, and then a Police Officer turns up, and I hear him ask the receptionist for me, oh god here goes. He introduces himself, explains he needs to take the details. I want to say, don’t waste your time. But I just can’t be bothered to put up the fight. Isn’t it odd how you notice the detail at the weirdest time, I am suddenly fascinated by how crisp and white his shirt is, it’s been starched and ironed within an inch of its life. I’m oddly jealous of it, but I think it is because I know I will have to throw my shirt away.

We start talking about it, him asking me basic questions, where I was, what time? I can’t even begin to think, I can’t even guess. I can only work backwards and try to figure it out. He asks me to describe them – them – the men that beat me to the floor – and I can’t. I couldn’t remember what they were wearing or what they spoke like… how tall were they? I don’t know. Not taller than me. The more I go on, the more pathetic I feel. I get beaten to the floor and I can’t remember a single thing except I didn’t do anything to stop it.

I really don’t want to cry but the lump in my throat is betraying, and when I am describing them kicking me on the floor, my lip is quivering, and I gulp loudly. Great now the big baby can’t even tell his tragic tale without blubbering. He asks me who kicked me and how many times – funnily enough I wasn’t taking a survey. 

He finally finishes, takes my contact details and says he will be in touch, they will check CCTV and speak to the person that reported seeing it from their flat. He says that they will need to take pictures of my injuries and speak to me again to take a proper statement. He asks me if they can contact anyone but I’ve already told the nurse that there isn’t. I don’t have anyone’s mobile and I definitely don’t want them to ring my parents in the middle of the night – they will probably have a heart attack thinking I am dead.

So the wait continues. I am tired, hungover and still bloody and I can’t bare being in this hospital a single minute more. But as I just start to think about leaving, a porter turns up with a wheelchair – god knows why – to take me for my x-ray. I do what they say, and am returned to my waiting room seat in less than 15 minutes. Oh god I want to go home – I bite the bullet and ask if I can use the phone to ring my flat landline – I pray that one of them hears the phone which is rarely ever used.

“Hello?” comes the bleary voice of Kate. The sense of relief washes over me and that fucking lump is right back in my throat.

“It’s me, Liam, I am hospital – St Thomas’, do you think you could come and meet me?” I manage to fumble out before I feel my lip quivering.

“Are you ok? What happened?” I hear her become alert in seconds and panic resonate in her voice all at once.

“Nothing – I got beaten up … they are doing x-rays … I just need to get home” I am sobbing now, and even more ashamed.

“’l’ll be there, St Thomas’ right?” she asks.

“Right” I say crying openly.

“Don’t worry, I will be there soon, love you” She says and I can hear her voice is a bit thick.

“Love you too” I manage to blubber.

***

They have sat me on a bed, still in my dirty clothes, but at least I have had some water. The doctor comes in and explains that they think I have broken my sternum – I didn’t even know what he was talking about until he said it was my chest bone. I don’t really care. I just want out, I want my friend to turn up, and I want to get home, to bed.

He says it will be painful, but there is not a lot they can do, they will proscribe me with strong pain killers that may make me feel a bit woozy and tired, and I am only to take one every twelve hours. He is quite firm in telling me anymore and I will be useless. I get it. I am not a child and I am not going to overdose. He is just signing my paperwork, when in a flurry of white curtain Kate’s face comes into view. My heart lurches with a relief I had never known, I felt a weight drop from my shoulders and my damn quivering lip resurfaced in a second. The doctor said I could go as soon as I was ready and excused himself, just in time for me to sob, and breakdown.

For a while Kate just holds me – I knew this was hard for her as she can be a bit of Monica from Friends about germs and dirt, but she just held me as I cried and cried. I tried to tell her what happened, but I couldn’t only get out stupid snippets. Finally with one long inhale, I managed to gather myself enough to jokingly say, “so how was your night?” and laugh. She knew it was hollow though, and simply said “let’s get out of here”.

We waited for a cab, I sat in silence all the journey home staring out the window, and didn’t notice a single thing. Kate pays for the taxi and I think to myself I will have to pay her back. We get inside and I hug her, say thanks and go off to bed.

I peel off my clothes, thinking I will burn them, and I pull on some fresh PJ bottoms and a t-shirt. My chest hurts and as my head hits the pillow I sob again, so hard I can barely regain my breath between the sobs, and I just want to die.  Luckily I eventually just drift off.

Part 1 of 3: Winter Winds (my first fictional piece) comments welcome

Well here we are again old foe. It’s another cold winter Monday morning after a Christmas break, Twitter and Facebook are already full of the usually cacophony of cheerful “kill me it’s Monday” updates, and the battle for West Dulwich Platform 1 is about to begin. The commute into Victoria takes a grand 12 minutes, and mostly everyone get on, but the when that train comes into sight (after 5 minutes of constant watching), the shuffle to where the doors opening begins, a furtive glance left and right, sizing up the competition: Old Lady – no problem; Smitten couple – nauseating but distracted; cute guy reading – happy if he wants to climb on my head; oh no here he comes… ignorant Business Man in his ill fitting suit. He has an air of determination, and uses the most underhand tactics, it doesn’t matter if you are elderly, disabled, or pregnant, or all three, he will get on that train before you. Time to limber up, get your game face on, and be ready to dive through those doors as soon as they open.  One, two, three, ok they are opening, I am right in front…. Ahhh ignorant Business Man has just charged on…. Ok, calm down… no need to cause a scene, how I would love to just smack him straight in the chops though.

So this is what my life has boiled down to, wishing death upon my fellow commuters. On leaving Uni, I planned by now to be living the high life, settled with a delightful boyfriend, maybe adopting a child, having a fabulous media career – doing … lets say Marketing, that always sounds fun. Instead, I am single almost 23 Office Bod, living in a house share with two uni friends – one I love dearly almost as a sister and is my best friend, Kate, and one makes me want to burn her eyes out with a blow torch, Karen. I have come to terms with being single – in fact I have quite enjoyed it, but the time has come for me to date properly or maybe find my “life partner” as my best friend mockingly calls it!

***

Logging into my email I have the sudden crush of dread as I note my Deputy Director’s PA has put a meeting in my diary to give an Update on my project at 2. This actually means she will throw questions at me at a rate of 100mph, mostly on random tangents, and before I have time to turn red, get angry, or stammer a response she is moving on to the next request. This is if the meeting actually occurs, she has a  tendency to move meetings, delay them, postpone them indefinitely, and then march up to your desk like a screaming banshee asking why you weren’t waiting outside her office?!? What for the last two hours? – Hmm anyway, I have time to check my emails, ( 4 job alerts: read thoroughly and then delete as under qualified for pretty much every one; 3 voucher code emails: think about printing them off, but delete as I never remember to use them; 15 emails from friends: Studiously read and reply to each; 27 work emails: delete, delete, delete – they will email again if its important), make a coffee avoiding the kitchen when my office nemesis is in there – a particularly nasty queen I have nicknamed ClubFoot – roughly the same age as me, more senior, but seems to hate me with a passion. Luckily for him the feeling is mutual, and in spades and he has a weird limp – so I get to smile to myself as he minces up and down the office with his weird limping walk. I nice relaxing coffee and a chance to reflect on the evil torture ideas for ClubFoot – a good way to start any morning in the office.

Ok, enough dilly dallying, I need to get all my papers out of my cabinet, spread them around my desk, print off some more to throw at my Deputy Director when she asks for an update. Lots of paper seems to distract her and give me time to think, and having lots of papers all over my desks makes me feel and look busy and important.

Hmm, papers all spread out, now what to do… what to do… make a coffee?! Don’t mind if I do, and then I will write a war and piece email to my best friend about my evening and hear about hers.

Hi Big P,

 So tell me all about it? How was your date? Was he the love of your life? Don’t tell me, “you got on really well” – you always get on really well, but did he make you fall off your seat? Did you get out of your tree as usual? Snog in the middle of a crowded concourse?

Needless to say, since I have woken up this morning, I have checked Scruff, Grindr, Gaydar, etc etc about a million times, and I have either the same lunatics, new lunatics, or the “nice guys” chatting to me. I had to block “cute David” because I didn’t respond instantly and he went into a breakdown of “Why are you ignoring me… Fine be like that…. Hello?!?... Are you there?... Please?....” – that was way too much and I was tempted to say “sorry I was going for a big sh*t” but didn’t think that would be appropriate. So blocky block block.  I did have a complete Hottie walking in front of me on the way to the station, and I think he was a Mo, but I don’t think he even knew I existed. He was a tall, bearish man, built like a brick-sh*thouse, but he went into the building opposite without a backward glance – although I did hear him speak on the phone and he sounded Irish – double hot!

Did you notice that the Evil one, had not only randomly got in and went straight to bed last night, but before she did she had put her washing in the machine overnight – not turned it on, and this morning when I went to put mine in – hers was still in there? Why would you reserve the washing machine the night before when you are off the next day? Also half of my milk was gone as per usual – I thought she didn’t like milk – she certainly never buys it? And also she seemed to have got home, emptied all her rubbish in the kitchen bin, and left it stacked as high as she could manage without it toppling – it truly was a feat of engineering.

Anywho, I best be off, I have papers to shuffle around my desk, and a desperate need for coffee.

Don’t forget I am meeting Tim tonight – ohhh, ahhhh! First Date in a long time – will he have 12 toes, webbed fingers and be crossed eye? A stalker? Be on the rebound? The options are endless – but if you are around later we could meet in Soho for catch up before going home to the Battle Ground?

M

X

Oh look it’s lunch, which I will be mainly spending on Twitter, half flirting with the couple that live somewhere near me and feeling somewhat like I worship them – ah well I am shameless… and the other half rolling my eyes up into my head at the pandering to certain individuals and their laments of how they have been “single forever” and that they just want “a nice man to look after them” – yeah love join the queue, I have been waiting just as long, and I unlike you don’t require someone to look after me as I am not a child.

***

The briefing is approaching and I am ready with reams of paper to befuddle and bemuse the DD, so far it’s been put back an hour… pretty standard. But I want to be out at 4 as I need to pretty myself up for the date and frankly I need all the time I can get – am going to have to do a Wonder Woman style change in the toilet cubicle. So far Tim has made contact and we are on for meeting in Soho. I did have reservations about going to a bar full of hot men – but then I thought it will give me something to look at if it all goes wrong and I knew said he couldn’t stay out late as he had to be up early…. Is that a bad sign? Is it an excuse to get away? Am I Fat? Hmm enough of that … I need to put on my game face and suck it up, if he doesn’t like me there are plenty of other men out there.

It’s exactly 15:45 – I have been clock watching for exactly 2 hours and 45 minutes, still no sign of meeting with DD happening… now is time for my exit strategy (don’t you love Management training for the BS they teach you) – so I am going to tell her PA that I have an appointment at 16:30, lets say, at the Dentist, and that should cover me…. Ok, time to bite the bullet and pray she doesn’t come bounding out of her office expecting me to have a laboured conversation about every point.

This is it…

The walk of dread…

I could be ambushed at any point…

Also she can see me whilst I talk to her PA…

Ok… I’ve made it…

Score… she’s on the phone…

Her Secretary is a legend and replied “serves her right, she shouldn’t put you back three hours – enjoy the Dentist – it will probably be much easier than talking to her”!

So after a quick freshen up in the toilets – noticing the sribbled pen mark of “I suck c*ck here every day at 2:30”  hmm I didn’t write that  so I wondered if it was Nemesis… hmm note to self check out the toilet tomorrow at 2.30 – I decide to make a run from the office with a quick text to Tim to say I am on my way. It’s a good sign that he has text enough to make me feel confident he will show, but not so much as I feel like he is stalker… Bonus!

I have to admit I am quite excited, is that sad? I put my ipod on for the Power-Mince across St James Park – I need some Chunes to inspire my fantasies – I like to have a good theme song to my day dreams so for today dates – I like to imagine walking along to “All the Lovers” :

Both me and Tim making our way to the pub from opposite directions, both smiling broadly, slipping past the slow tourists,  arriving at the bar at slightly different times… but the crowds part as Kylie belts out ‘All the Lovers that have come before, don’t compare to you” … and we both smile… and my Bridget Jones lifestyle is over”

Hmm imagining over – already I am struggling as the wet winter afternoon has brought out the useless umbrella users that seem incapable of not attacking everyone that comes with five foot of them.

***

Ok, so I am at the pub, and he isn’t here yet – hmmm now what to do. I always find this difficult, you don’t want to look around too much, you don’t want to be seen to be cruising the guys when your date walks in, but you don’t also want to be standing in the corner like a wall flower afraid of your own shadow. I can’t tweet too much as he is on Twitter…. Damn it… have to fall back to old habits – smoking it is. This is a life-saver (ironic I know) but the only thought is that I hope he is not one of those people that hates smokers.

Oh dear lord, he texts to say he is going to be another half hour and the pub is starting to get busy and there is only so much Twitter, Facebook, Solitaire and general texting to the peopleI know will respond one can do.  Hmm however there is a particularly good looking group on the other side of the bar, and I am sure one is on Twitter – one of the Twitterati, part of the cliques that Twitter can be terrible for. He is hot… but ohh what’s this?… in the corner… all alone… super brooding… heavy eyebrows… enough stubble to give rash after kissing…. Hello Sailor….

What is wrong with me? I am about to have a date with a guy I think I might really like, but the first David Boreanaz lookalike I find I am virtually drooling and humping his leg.

Ok, David Brooding Boreanaz Boyfriend has just turned up – that is that fantasy over.

No text from Tim, and it’s been 45 minutes… ok no problem, I can stand being stood up, as it were. But I wish he’d just told me, I understand as well that things come up, and you get better offers, but come on a text wouldn’t hurt. Maybe I should try that E-harmony website – the relationship website – I generally mock it, but needs must and who knows maybe they will find my perfect match!

Ok, so it’s been an hour, I have received GayFace (the pouty arched eyebrow face), Sad Face, Shame Face, and Cruisey Face from too many gays in the pub, and my pride is taking a beating. I rang him 5 minutes ago and it rang out, bad times. So now I am deciding whether to tweet or not to tweet –I should hide my shame, shouldn’t I?

Yay, its ok he turned up. Ok, he is not as casual and relaxed in person, or nearly as flirty and the picture he sent seems like it may have been taken 3 years ago, when he had been more regular gym goer? Does that make me a bad person for thinking that?

We are getting on ok, oh alright, I am dying inside he seems so drab… he has spoken loads about his ex and has moaned almost incessantly about work – immediate turn-offs. I don’t care – I don’t know  you, I don’t know these people you’re referring to and we seem to have nothing in common – how could I have got it so wrong – but then he doesn’t seem to be the person I talk to online – the light and witty person?? Where is he? I want a date with him please God?... oh well… time to plan my extraction – it’s already pretty late and I think I have missed the tube and I have given this guy 4 hours of my life (Jesus 4 hours, how did that happen?). I think it’s probably too much to use the friend calling saying that someone has died… maybe just say I need to go as I have work early, that’s fair enough… but then I need to avoid any kiss… I definitely don’t want to send that mixed message. So with an overly dramatic gasp and look at my phone, I declare it’s way too late, I need to get home, as the nightbus is nightmare at this time of night. He looks surprised and a little bewildered – ok perhaps I am a tad tipsy and I did that a little dramatically but it worked, I am now gathering my belongings and with a quick “it was nice to meet you” and a peck on the cheek and I am outtie! (So urban and cool!)

Hmm, now outside, in the fresh London air (or as fresh as it gets) the alcohol is making itself known. Ok I don’t feel totally trollied, but I have a sneaking suspicion getting on a bus is going to be a bad idea. I don’t really want to get a box of Chinese food for £6 either, so I am thinking walking part of the way, and then jump on bus. It isn’t a long walk to Vauxhall, and I can then check Twitter (or maybe Grindr) to see what’s occurring. So decision made, I am off.

***

It actually is a very nice walk, I love walking past Parliament and Big Ben, and my zig zag walking seems to mean it is taking only slightly longer than usual. Win! I tend to have a very good homing beacon, so I very rarely get lost and I don’t need to rush home – its only work tomorrow – and to be honest the way home is via Vauxhall – who knows what might happen? There might be some delightful Muscle Bear that is lost and confused and urgently needs my help… and my Grindr seems to be nicely buzzing away, however the battery on my iphone is quickly approaching the dreaded 30% - which means I am going to have to be selective about what I look at.

Ok, so I seem to be stumbling into the petrol garage, I need a drink… a soft drink – luckily I seem to have accumulated a pocket full of change… hmm there is a hottie behind me waiting to talk to the man in the booth – is it wrong to walk really slowly …. Really really slowly…. Quick, quick, get Grindr up and see if I can see him – bloody GPS will probably show me in Japan… Oh he is coming this way… and he is walking under the arch… dare I? Is it worth it? Am I too drunk to actually be any good?

Ok, fuck it, I am going for it. I have done much worse and taken bigger risks – it’s only him and me, and I reckon I can take him if I need to. God, let’s hope he wants to take me … hmm… right he now seems to be slowing down, and he is smoking, so I can open with “can I get a light?” line – that always a good one.  Ok so his face isn’t that good as I get closer… and he looks a little urban, but I can handle that.

Oh dear… he’s stopped.

Here we go…

I smile as I approach, and he snarls “give me your fucking phone you faggot!” – hmm that managed to kill my boner and make my heart come up into my throat all at once. Panic makes me want to run, but I’m thinking, I can’t run, I don’t want to look like a coward… so I keep walking and just say “fuck off” in as strong voice as I can manage. To be fair, I know I know that I am not that far from safety, if I just turn around and run, but my pride is telling me to keep going.

Oh fuck…

There are two more guys in front of me…. a quick glance behind shows that the “hottie” is still there, and walking fast to catch up with me…

“I told you to give me your fucking phone you poof” He says,

“ Fuck you, you’re not getting anything of mine” I declare rather more boldly that I feel! Still walking, and he is walking beside me, but I don’t know what I am doing as I am virtually walking straight into his mates… fuck fuck fuck.

“Do you want me to fucking kill you?” he says,

Oh fuck, oh fuck, right I have basically got myself surrounded…. The lead one seems to be doing all the talking… but I can barely hear him, in my mind I am thinking I should run, just run, but I pretty much guarantee they can catch me!

“DO YOU WANT ME TO STAB THIS OUT ON YOUR EYE” he says brandishing his cigarette. That snaps me back into the situation, I recoil, but it’s too late – one of them is behind me, he trips me and I fall to the floor.

That’s when the first blow lands – sadly a punch I could take, but the kick lands squarely in my chest …I can’t think, I just put my hands up to protect my face more out of instinct, and I try to roll up, but they keep running up and kicking me – I cry out and they laugh – they laugh. Someone drives past, and I wonder why they don’t stop? Why don’t they help? They kick again and this one connects with my face and my nose is streaming and my eyes are watering, and then it comes the final blow… blackness.