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The Queen reportedly stunned guests at a Windsor Castle party by strutting her stuff to Abba’s Dancing Queen.
Radio presenter Chris Evans told listeners a friend had been at the party. “The meal was had, the speeches were made and then the disco commenced. Apparently, she loves to get down on the dance floor.
“That’s a true story and she said audibly to the guests around her: ‘I always try to dance when this song comes on because I like to dance and I am the Queen.”
MX 20th June 2008
I noticed a blonde boy in a blue suit on the tram, as I stood up to get off. He adjusted his pants, you know I looked as he walked toward me to the middle door. Thirtyish. Handsome. I stopped next to him, rather than continuing to front door, like I usually do. He continued to adjust, his jacket, his tie, his cufflinks. Nice suit, fitted him well.
He glanced in my direction, right next to him looking at him. Blond hair and a nice mouth, kind of interesting, slightly turned up at each corner. I slid my eyes down his front. He looked down. Then he glanced back quickly.
The tram stopped he got out in front of me. He had a masculine walk, manly. Two thick legs firmly placed on the ground, as the line of his suit fitted nicely over his arse.
He looked back, as he went left and I went right. I smiled.
He looked back all the way down Bourke Street.
"Yeah, buddy," I thought. "I'm interested too. Nice."
I’ll be keeping my eye for him, in the mornings, let me tell you. The 8.30 tram.
I'm home again, it's a glorious sunny day, looking out from the inside with the central heating going and not being able to feel the chill in the air out side.
As much as I might deny it to myself, trying to convince myself that I'm just tired, I know I'm pissed off about my small pay rise and bonus; the pay rise is not even one hundred dollars a week and the bonus well, I'd like to tell them to shove it up their arses.
I don't know why I'm shitty about it, I know the process, I knew it was coming.
You see, what really shits me the most is the fact that our executive director of HR messed up the remuneration process, in the first place, by using a flawed model and she bought in a budget that was 600K short, which she reported to our COO. She knew her model didn't balance when she gave it to the analyst who was in charge of the details of the rem process. Our analyst told her quickly where the fault was and adjusted the forecast. After which, the exc director went about shaving every bodies ratings down in a desperate attempt to bring the rem increases within her models range, to save face mostly, but also to save her pay rise on her 500K salary and her 100K bonus.
This woman is absolutely useless, every thing she touches she messes up, usually finding someone to blame, generally a disgruntled staff member who has conveniently left the firm. I've seen it happen over and over. As one of the HR managers said to me recently, in hushed tones, "I'm still yet to determine exactly what value the exc director brings to the company."
Our nat director of HR would only say that she was a very driven woman.
She has scant knowledge of HR. I heard from a source at her previous employer that her departure was not regretted, although it would be denied by them.
The woman is a nightmare, everything she touches she seemingly fucks up. A number of HR managers have said that they don't want to ever have to report to her again.
But some how our CEO loves her. She has managed to win us a few awards, which seem to dazzle the CEO. Lets take Female employer of choice; I saw the data, I think she (finally, 10th attempt) cut it from April to March 2006/2007 with a totally unrelated base year of 2004. Essentially, she is so driven that fraud is a viable option for her. And the CEO is sucked in and the rest of us lesser mortals suffer through her incompetence.
How she keeps her job, is a complete mystery? I reckon, as clichéd as this is, she must be sleeping with the CEO. No other explanation fits.
Of course, I'm just a, relative, shit kicker in the company - even if I do have application knowledge that nobody in the firm has, being the connection between finance and HR - but it is end of financial year and they will be jittery about my absence. But they can just suck my dick while I lounge around at home contemplating life.
I should call a few agencies to see what jobs are on offer. I would, if I wasn't such a lazy bastard.
Did I mention that it was my 5 year anniversary this month. That should be long enough for anyone to work in one job.
So, 9.30. It must be time for a joint and a little brewed coffee, just to ease into the day.
I made it out the door, I wanted cigarettes. I got to the milk bar and realised I didn't have a lighter, but the nice milk bar lady produced one for me. I stood on the footpath and inhaled, as a tram sailed by. I took another puff and looked back the other way to see another tram approaching, just behind the other. I puffed on my cigarette and observed that the 2nd tram was practically empty. I contemplated chucking the cigarette and making a run for it - really, just across the road. I looked back the other way to see if a 3rd tram was coming, feeling a bit like a clown at the carnival, as I did. Tram number 2 pulled away and tram number 3 didn't materialise. I watched both 1 & 2 disappear out of sight, around the corner into Nicholson Street.
There was a soft sun and a gentle breeze. I looked at the time, it was 8.34. I looked up and down Gertrude Street a few more times, still feeling like the clown. Close your mouth Christian, I thought. I laughed to myself. It seemed like such a gentle, calm morning standing there on the footpath watching the world go by. Life. I looked at the time again and it was 8.40. Then, I don't know why, I just thought fuck it, I'm going home. Just like that. No agonising over the decision, like I usually do. No second thoughts, none. I headed back into the milk bar and bought the newspaper and then sauntered back down Gertrude Street to home, feeling free and brewed some coffee.
Mark and I went to see Frost/Nixon at the MTC. We both loved it, thought it was great.
Frost over acted, but Nixon was particularly convincing. The narrator was sexy, nice bulge in his pants.
We sat behind Jeff Kennett and Felicity. She looked great. He looked fat.
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I've turned into a chronic masturbator. I've got a great porn collection.
I think I need a boyfriend.
I've got to stop smoking pot. I've got to stop doing nothing.
I think I need some goals, above my waist.
It's those long, dark winter's nights; bunker down, keep warm.
It's company. Distraction.
It's all there is. Sensation.
I think Josh Lawson is hot. He'd make a perfect boyfriend, for me.
I wanted to lick him, Monday night, flirting with Paul Mcd
My previous boyfriend of the Josh Lawson type, Mark. Luke is too. Mark and Luke are so alike.
(for those who have just joined us, Mark and I were long time boyfriends. Luke entered our relationship, and sometime later I left. That's how it goes sometimes.)
The beautiful Sebastian goes home to Italy, today. Cheeky, gorgeous, handsome Sebastian. He's been offered his old job back, tour guide in Europe. Taking tours all over the continent. He can speak five languages. Some people have it hard.
He told me I made him laugh, as we hugged in Bourke Street. He said he'd miss me.
Look after yourself, I said. I'll miss you lots.
Tight squeeze. I didn't want to let him go, he felt nice, safe, in my arms... for a straight boy.
I'll miss his, "Oh my gord," in his Italian accent, when he is amazed, or surprised by some thing.
I'll miss his fun and his enthusiasm and his coolness with the world.
I'll miss his coy, bashful look when I tell him something sexual. Or his playfulness, like when I told him I'd look when he suggested going to a nude beach.
Smart. Funny. Handsome. Such a nice, easy going guy. There should be more like him.
I'll miss him. Ah, well, I guess it is a good reason to go to Italy.
Apparently, we're all going to Greece, next year. Mark told me, as he, Luke & Sebastian had coffee with me in Bourke Street this afternoon. Sebastian's last coffee. Our friend Millie has a house in Greece, in the Peloponnese. I guess that makes up for this year. Luke is off to Cambodia on Sunday, for a month, to complete some work he did with orphans. Then he's meeting Mark in Vietnam for another month. He won't be home until the end of August. They didn't invite me.
"You wouldn't have been able to get the time off," said Mark, as his excuse.
"It still would have been nice to have been asked," I said.
"Get off your arse and start writing," said Mark. "Then you could have holidays whenever you liked."
Monday night. It is cold. The heating has stopped working. Great!
Monday night. What a dreary night is Monday. The beginning of a soulless week, drifting into next week, drifting into next year, drifting into...
Just me, feeling lonely in a houseful of people. It's a cold and dark thing. Hibernate.
I bet Tony would agree. He was sent out into the world with his bags, today. Gone, not to return. He leaves for America on Thursday. Over. He sold up everything he had to come here. He's going home to nothing.
Mark just called and he asked if I’m alright. And I am. Winter blues, maybe. I feel blue. Don't know why?
A new week. Another Monday. Next!
I’m going to iron a shirt and go to bed. The usual, huh? I seem to be doing that a lot lately. Heading to bed, I should be running. It’s funny, you know, all the girls in my life scoff when I say I’m too fat, like it’s unbelievable that I would even think that.
The boys don’t – yes, you've put it on... luv. Smile.
The girls in the coffee shop call me handsome. They tell me dirty jokes, and try to sell me muffins.
Comfort food. I've given them up, I swear.
I should go to the movies more. Dark, but warm.
David has broken it off with American Tony, so Tony is heading back to the USA, after selling up his life for a chance of love with David. I can't imagine what it would feel like to be able to gather all of my worldly possessions together in two suitcases, when I was in my forties. He sold his car and gave up his place and now he has to go home to nothing and start again, now it hasn't worked out with David.
So we sat in front of the open fire, Mark, Luke, me and David and deconstructed David's input into the whole David/Tony affair - jumping in the deep end, after only knowing Tony for, at the very most, ten days, on holidays in San Francisco, early in the year. Opinion was divided. Tony is an adult and he made his choices, end of story. David should take into account and did have some responsibility for what Tony was giving up to be with him. I was of the opinion that Tony is an adult.
David said he turned into a bastard. He said it bought up all his old hurts from previous relationships, unexpectedly.
Mark & Luke were down so we ate Indian take-away. Mark & Luke always want Indian take away. Missy slept, luxuriously stretched out, in front of the orange flames, all night.
We walked to the Glasshouse to listen to the DJ line up. There was a chill in the air. The night was dark and shiny. The music was good, the lights were flashing, the smoke machine was pumping. But, there was too much xx chromosome represented and not nearly enough xy.
We got there at 1.45am, fuck the 2am lockout.
There were a couple of adorable straight boys dancing, with eyes only for their girlfriends, though. We all liked the bulge in the tall Italian boys pants. Shane said, He'd be like having a tall Matt. Bigger, taller, stronger. Shane's eyes sparkled at the thought.
We're friends with the owner, Maria, so we chatted with her for a while.
Nice beer garden, I don't think I've ever been out there. We could have taken a joint, after all.
The beautiful Sebastian was to have met us, after he'd been to two other parties, but he text late to say he'd picked up some girl and that he was heading home with her.
If The Brumby governments answer for road congestion is dropping the road speed limits on freeways to 80 kph, they really have run out of ideas, are way past their use-by date and have to go.
You know, as their answer to the perceived binge drinking problem is prohibition. You know, as their answer to the delicate environmental issues of the world is to dredge the bay.
Shane was horrified when I said I was disillusioned and was going to vote Liberal.
Ha, he, I said. I'm going to vote Greens. (confused, perplexed face)
It was the whole gang on the tram this morning.
"It Boy" in casual clothes and his hair cut to a number 1. Nice. He was sitting down so I couldn't see "it."
Slitherin and Revolta were up the back making their usual kissy faces. Oo! Get a room! Get brown paper bags!
Pretty boyfriend was there minus pretty girlfriend. I hope they haven't broken up.
Dripping eye woman, with her wet, gooey eyes, her faded floral house dress, dirty black coat, men's shoes and wheelie trolley.
Face-lift lady, with her stretched plastic skin and fixed expression. She looks like an android and if there ever was an argument for ageing gracefully, she is it.
Sparky was there too, reading his newspaper.
The two cute Xavier schoolboy brothers got on with me. The older one is hot. He's going to get so laid in a few years. Drunk at pubs.
Even the screamer was on board - with his spidery hands and mouth like a torn purse.
Clearly, I haven't been walking enough to work.
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I went out on Friday night to the Peel. Smoked meth, with Shane, before we went.
I've felt fucked up ever since. What day is it?
I wanted to shag all weekend, but, of course, a cold sore appeared Wednesday and took care of that. I wanted to misbehave. So pissed off; what karma was this? I'd been looking forward to the long weekend.
I obsessed over the middle eastern security guard. Shiny black eyes, olive skin, strip of beard on his jaw line, black hair. I kept eye contact up with him for half the night. When he did a circuit of the dance floor, when he was in the darkest section, he'd turn and maintain eye contact, whites glowing, pupils piercing, trace of a smile. He'd find me on the dance floor with his dark gaze, as he stood his post, at the top of the stairs. Eventually, I was standing on the step with him, perving down his front, imagining just how beautiful his penis was, when he turned and spoke.
He said, Do you want to go inside.
I asked him to repeat it, receiver down to 20%, which he did.
Do you want to go inside?
I couldn't understand what he meant. I tried to reply. Every thing was hazy. It became very apparent to me at that moment, I was too fucked up to speak.
Pity. What did he mean? What did it matter, I had a cold sore.
I was saturated by the time I came off the dance floor. I asked the big smiley blond guy, who'd been trying to gain my attention all night, the time. It was 5am.
I was glad I bought my jacket. It's good to be a friend of the DJ also, no cloak room to deal with. It was cold outside.
I turned off my bedside lamp just as the morning was seeping into my room. It seemed like another world laying there in that fractured light. Every thing silent and still, except for the ringing in my ears. Peace.
I'm never really sure why Australians are digging up Flammel, in France, to find the remains of those soldiers whose bodies were never found.
Why? If you got all the bones, from the mass grave and piled them up, the relatives would never be able to pick out their relatives. Relatives who could have only known of their soldier relative by family stories.
Is it another twist of religion?
Who, exactly, are they doing it for? I heard one of the relatives say, I've walked in Uncle Harry's foot steps for three days, I've never felt closer to him. Never felt closer to someone who was well dead before he was born?
There is no benefit to be gained by digging up soldiers bones, let's face it, one hundred years later.
In true Oprah fashion, I decided that Charlie just wasn't into me. I've made several suggestions to go out and have a drink, or get together on the weekend and he has just laughed, or not answered. So, I decided that I was mistaken about any attraction there and I decided to stop trying. Even though he always seems to want to hang with me at work functions and the like.
Whatever Charlie, I thought today.
Tonight, we had drinks for our financial director who is moving interstate. Charlie came to my office and said, Time for drinks, are you coming?
Yeah, sure, I said.
But when I wandered around to drinks, I hung out with two of the IT guys. Cute Daniel and serious Pete. Daniel's gorgeous - dark curly hair and green eyes.
I notice, after a little while, that Charlie was standing on his own, a lot of the time, where normally, I'd be hanging with him. I felt a little bad, but... oh, I don't know. I guess I must like him. I guess it is a defence mechanism. But, I didn't go over when he was on his own.
When he went to leave, he made a point of coming over and saying good bye. Giving me his cute smile and interested eyes, the way his does.
Maybe, he's got a boyfriend he's not talking about - neither of us have specifically said we're gay to each other, although everyone in the office knows I'm gay. I don't think he has told anyone he is gay. Tonight he said he wasn't the marrying kind, as he looked over at me, after Bec asked him a question about marriage.
Have a good weekend, he said.
Yeah, you too, I said.
Then he looked a little awkward, as if he was waiting for me to say something else. But, I didn't.
Respect without any responsibility, it seems to be the latest idiot expression of today. It's the 'I' generation, it's 'me' culture. Everyone one has a birth rite now, quite frightening, more often, god given in it's belief.
Respect was once earned, it doesn't seem to be the case any longer.
Every idiot thinks they deserve respect today.
Hello my name is Christian Fletcher and I am a pot head. I fell off the wagon at easter, with the bride, the day after her wedding. I'm here to confess.
Perhaps, I should go? The marijuana version of AA. I think the beauty of those schemes is that you don't have to have given up. Of course, that is the ultimate aim, bottom line is you just just have to confess. You can still use and go, though. I wonder what it would be like? Could be interesting, I might learn something to help me stop.
Must stop smoking tomorrow... it's making me feel like shit. Bad Christian!
I love the sub genre of porn, gay for pay. Straight boys who do boy on boy for money. They're hot. Bent Straight. You can tell if they are straight, or not. Straight boys are different, they have a different attitude. They have straight boy cockiness, knowing they are the alpha males of the world.
I've had a thing with 3 straight boys, Simon, Carl and Warren. It's always like it's an adventure to them, I have found. Everything is a discovery - after a couple of pills, or a skinful. There's a certain walk on the wild side feeling with them, like they are giving something up, surrendering to dark, well denied, urges, curiosity.
Giving up their pants, I've always found easy with them, giving up their lips always seemed to be the harder thing. They were usually real coy about that, to start with. Then they always seem to revel in the equal strength and they kiss passionately, once they give into it. They just want to be loved, deep down, like the rest of us.
Warren was your classic ecstasy poof. He had a long term girlfriend, with whom he lived, who did not take drugs, or approve of them. So she didn't want to know what Warren did on his nights out with the boys. He liked to be admired. He liked the attention.
Carl was your classic metrosexual. He was a beautiful show pony who only ever partied at gay clubs with his girlfriend. He used to flirt unashamedly while he had his girlfriend in his arms. The two partied long and partied hard and on the rare occasions, Alison, would leave early, or leave him alone at a club, he used to snatch gropes with gay mates. Occasionally, we'd head home accompanied, too drug-fucked to remember it afterwards. Natch.
Simon was young, six foot two and only a few fucks passed twenty. He hung out with us gang of young gay boys, an old school chum of an ex boyfriend, who propositioned him one night and invited him to join us and he did. Plain old curiosity.
None of them were shy, once they crossed the line. And they were all good at it. Enthusiastic. Into it. Make me feel good is such a universal emotion. Other gay friends have said once you make it clear to them, certainly party straight boys, they'll stray way more then any of them are admitting to. Boys just like sex, generally.
Getting back to porn, I've discovered Amateur Straight Guys and Circle Jerk Boys. Got to luv that last name.
The Crown Casino is exempt from the 2am lockout and, apparently, according to a few well placed police sources, it is the place where a lot of the trouble comes from. The casino will become the only place in town that people can go to. Apparently, a lot of kids are coming in from the suburbs because their local pubs have become pokies outlets. There is no lockout in the suburbs, because the suburbs are riddled with gambling venues.
Are the gambling receipts down?
We are legislating ourselves out of existence. Now they are saying that lemon essence needs to be restricted and only sold to people over 18 years, because, now that alcopops have gone up in price, kids are turning to food flavouring to get pissed cheaply, according to last nights late news, which only went to confirm all the reasons why I don't watch the news any longer. It just makes me wild that we are turning into the great nana country.
What with the Bill Henson fiasco - a world renowned photographer is held up to ridicule, because one zealot is using him as a scapegoat to further her cause.
We are legislating how people live their lives and raise their kids, the smoking ban with children in cars - we don't need legislation we need education.
The conservatives have wrestled away the power, that's for sure.
We don't need more prohibition, we need less.
You vill do as you are told! It is goot for you!
If they are going to misbehave on alcohol, let's give them a gambling alternative, shall we say.
The tuxedo was coming off. Warren knew, it was just that Jimmy didn't. Warren couldn't get over how handsome he thought Jimmy looked in his tux.
They stumbled along the footpath together, as the dark light broke allowing patches of light to light their way.
They were in Fitzroy, they stumbled in Christopher's gate.
"Open up! Open up!" They banged on the door. They were both still drunk from Nika's wedding. It was late. They were up to mischief.
"Open up! Open up!" Warren banged on the door with his open hand. He leant his forehead against the old wooden door.
"Open up! Open up!" Jimmy yelled, as he slapped the door with his open hand. Warren pulled his head from the door, his eyes shooting open. "Jesus!" It sounded like a gun shot.
"Open up! Open up!" Warren yelled as he slapped the door again.
A light flicked on in the hallway.
The door opened a crack. "What?" said a croaky Christopher voice.
"Let us in," Warren and Jimmy said in unison.
The door opened to show Christopher standing in front of them in his jocks.
"Nice," said Warren cupping Christopher's bulge, before Christopher pulled away instinctively.
"Where's Titania?" asked Warren, as he and Jimmy enter the lounge room.
"Left," said Christopher.
"Why?" said Jimmy.
"I told her the truth."
Warren and Jimmy stopped in their tracks and looked at Christopher. The both inhaled audibly. They looked at each other and shook their heads. They looked back at Christopher. "And she left?" they said in unison.
The three of them are lying on Christopher's double bed, looking up at the ceiling, holding each other's hand. Christopher is in the middle in his jocks, framed by four legs in black cotton.
"You know, I think I really liked her," said Christopher.
"How long is it since you've had sex?" asked Warren.
"Oh, months." Months? It had been months. He couldn't remember the last time?
"No, could easily be a false positive," said Jimmy.
"What?" asked Christopher.
"You're still in the post-glow of the grateful period," said Warren. "You haven't committed to anything yet, have you?"
"No, just sex," said Christopher. He was grateful, even he knew it. He'd been getting really toey over the last few weeks, it had been becoming distracting, all he had on his mind. He'd even been sizing the fifty-something tea lady at work. She had on a low cut inform, Friday. She'd had nice tits. Red hair, she was all right, he thought, as she asked him, "One or two?"
He'd thought orgasms. "Two," he said, in such a sexy way the tea lady blushed, as his eyes came up from her chest. She'd meant sugar.
"What?" asked Jimmy.
Christopher looked round at him. "Huh?" Where was he?
"Two?" said Warren. Christopher rotated his head to look at him.
Christopher had said that out loud, he was surprised.
"Maybe two dates," he covered. "Maybe we'll go on a second date."
Silence. Christopher's head spun. He could feel Warren and Jimmy on either side of him. He could feel their heat.
"So what's going on with you two?" asked Christopher. He looked at Jimmy, still with his bow tie on.
"Us two?" Jimmy said.
Christopher looked at Warren, shirt undone, jacket still on.
"Going on?" Warren asked.
"Do you think I'm blind?" said Christopher, looking from Warren to Jimmy.
"Are you two playing hide the sausage?" said Christopher. He looked at Warren.
Warren said nothing.
"Are you gay?" Christopher looked at Jimmy. He said nothing.
Christopher looked back at Warren.
"Yes," said Warren. A smile spread across his face.
Christopher looked at Jimmy. "How long has this been going on?"
"Just started."
Christopher looked at the ceiling. "My two best mates are homos."
"Get fucked," said Jimmy. He punched Christopher on the shoulder. It hurt.
"What do you call it then?"
Jimmy and Warren both grinned broadly, as Christopher looked from one to the other, but said nothing.
"What about you, Christopher?" asked Warren, as he slid his open hand up Christopher's thigh.
"You know you want to," said Jimmy, sliding his hand up Christopher's other thigh.
Christopher slid both hands over the front of his white briefs. "Ha, ha."
