I don’t know who took this picture of our bodypaint orgy at last week’s Southbank Dorothy night but we’re very proud of it here at the Dickie Beautique. It’s going straight on the wall. At a jaunty angle.
That’s me swimming in the middle with the white face. I’m either in ecstasy or it was caught at the moment David Hoyle’s elbow cracked my balls.
And if you’ve never danced in the moving fountains in front of the Royal Festival Hall in your undies at midnight, I highly recommend it. Bit cold, mind you.
Everyone knows that the Nazis had the best uniforms. This basic unalterable fact forms the basis of a judgement I’ve formed on the Max Mosley controversy in that, whatever else you say about him, if his S&M party had an SS theme, the man’s apparently got taste.
It’s hard to know what’s more depressing about the Heinz ad gay kiss fracas: the fact that people actually felt strongly enough to complain, or the fact that the ad was taken off the air by Heinz. We’re talking about the least sexy man-on-man kiss in the history of television. Anyone who found this offensive is an obvious lunatic.
But, digging deeper, there’s a curried bean in this somewhere that burns my ass.
That was a nice message. I could reply to it right away. So, I’ll reply … mm … later. First, I’ll have a cup of tea and read that article that caught my eye on my RSS feed.
While I wait for the kettle to boil, perhaps I could put some washing in the machine. No, by the time I’ve sorted out my colours, the water won’t be BOILING hot anymore and I’ll have to boil it all over again. Forget that. I could … I need a pee, I’ll pee.
You may, if you’ve been rigorous in your consumption of online current affairs (i.e. following FaceFuck updates), already be aware - so apologies for repetition - that a pigeon shat on my head outside Starbucks on Friday 13th. Apparently, this was “lucky”.
If you’ve ever boarded an N8 towards Hainault at 3am in full drag you might be familiar with the descent of a dreaded sense that there’s a man near you who seems suddenly possessed of the urge to defend himself against your fabulousness. There may even be more than one. And all you want to do is get home.
