Last Week

Wednesday 13^th July
Arranged to meet David Benson at Waterloo station at 5:30pm as we were going to the theatre in Earlsfield.

Fought our way onto the train and for the next three stops chatted excitedly about the crumbling Murdoch empire and how we’d become so accustomed to its malign influence that it was only now could we begin to see the light.

Wandered out the station. Quite a few fit guys swaggered past. Spotted the Tara Theatre across the road. Told David that was was the theatre where I was once interviewed on stage by a bearded comic in a turban who spent the entire interview cooking a vegetable curry.

Entered the theatre. No one around. So David pressed the intercom buzzer and a voice bellowed out, “Come back at 7:30!” So we wandered back down Garrett Lane to find somewhere to eat. Ended up in Carluccio’s. David ordered the breaded chicken and I had the sea food pasta. We both had a Prosecco, served by a very friendly Spanish girl. David was a bit down. But, as so often happens when we get together, we talked a bit about the possibility of one of us dropping dead at any minute which immediately cheered us up. Wolfed down our panna cottas and headed back to the theatre.

The play was called An Instinct for Kindness, a one man show by Chris Lamer about the assisted death of his MS suffering partner through Dignitas. Obviously it was very emotional - but it was also surprisingly funny. At one point Chris described how, moments before she was about to die, his partner asked him to read the last chapter of a book as she wanted to find out what happened in the end. Halfway through it she stopped him and said, “That’s weird! All the characters seem to have changed.” Then Chris realised he’d brought the wrong book. “Now I’ll never find out what happens!” his partner laughed. This black humour reminded me of when I was with a friend in a church and we were saying our last goodbyes to his dead boyfriend, lying in an open coffin. As my friend bent down to give him a final kiss, the coffin suddenly started to collapse. And we spent the next few minutes in utter panic, trying to stop his boyfriend falling out before the family members walked in.

After the performance I told Chris that I couldn’t say it was an enjoyable play, given the subject matter, but it was very well done. Wish I hadn’t said anything as I didn’t explain myself very well and he looked at me a bit strangely.

Caught the train home.   

Thursday 14^th July
Went to the Finborough Theatre with Jorge to see a dramatised play reading by Nicholas de Jongh. The play was called There Goes My Future and it moved between 1929 and 1976, involving two young men who meet at an election night party and an actress who falls from fame and glory.

Arrived at the Finborough to find the place buzzing with actors, producers and Soho Gym personal trainers. Got chatting with David McGillivray who writes wonderful articles on gay history for QX magazine.

I’d read a few drafts of Nicholas’s play and so was interested to see how it translated on the stage. It didn’t disappoint. Nicholas has an enviable ability to write very witty period dialogue. He did the same in Plague Over England. In this play, he again managed to summon up an era without the audience being bludgeoned with dates and events. And having the play built around a party of coke sniffing elderly people was particularly amusing. The audience certainly thought so and it all bodes well for a full scale production. He could have another big hit on his hands.

Caught the C1 home, Jorge reminding me that Nicholas’s success was a lesson to me. Get off Facebook and start writing!

Saturday 16^th July
Arranged to meet Martin Watkins in Soho, in Soho Square. We walked down Dean Street and ended up in my favourite coffee shop on the corner of Old Compton Street and Dean Street.

Sat outside, admiring the forearms of tattooed straight men while chatting about Grindr/Scruff profile pix, cam obsessed bi-boys, the avant-garde Manchester art scene and Thai Ladyboys lip synching to Beyoncé covers.     

Pam the Fag Lady tottered over. ‘I haven’t got any money today Pam,’ I shrugged. Then she spotted a pound coin on the table. Pam can spot a gold coin at twenty paces. So I let her take it. Told Martin that the week before I’d been sitting in exactly the same spot with Angie and Angie’d asked Pam when she’d last had sex. Pam replied that it’d been thirty years before. She’d been raped and while her attacker was raping her he’d shoved a knife down her throat and then afterwards he forced it up her vagina. Suddenly it’d all made sense why her life had turned out the way it had.  

Decided to eat at the Thai restaurant on Greek Street. Had the green chicken curry and Martin had the red one. I ordered coconut juice which Martin said looked like someone had cum in it. Flicked through the Grindr messages on his phone. Then a guy messaged and said, ‘Want sucking?’ I told Martin to message back, ‘Just a black coffee for me thanks.’ Earlier on he received a message from a heavily muscled guy with just a towel wrapped round his waist. The guy asked him what he thought of his profile pic. Martin replied, ‘How did you get your towel so white?’

Bar Italia afterwards for another coffee. Chatted about Sebastian Horsley's death, and Marc Almond’s last gig (where he dedicated a song to him, Steve Harley & Cockney Rebel's, Sebastian). Martin's appearing at Lovebox with Marc on Sunday and one of Marc’s songs is ‘A Beautiful Day’. The weather forecast is torrential rain.