Lost in London

A look at London and life in general through the eyes of someone who sometimes can't bear to watch.

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Daddy uncool

I was absolutely horrified to read this article in The Times the other day. I don't have any problem with anyone who decides to 'change' their sexuality (if such a thing is even possible), but I don't really like the way that the newly-straight Patrick Muirhead is so quick to deride his one-time gay comrades. Now that Patrick has decided that he's into women, civil partnerships are "are little more than theatrical shams involving men making a point in matching wedding cravats, of embarrassed grandparents and monstrously camp multi-tier cakes" and he winces when "gays describe boyfriends as 'husbands', subverting a solemn institution created to provide stability for child-rearing". It seems that as well as a new-found predilection for vaginas, Mr Muirhead has acquired a new line in bigotry and thinly-veiled homophobia.

The catalyst for Patrick's switcheroo was a touching moment between a father and son in a barber's shop. Right then, he decided that he simply *must* have a child of his own, so that someone would love him unconditionally. Perhaps if he were a nicer person in real life, people would love him. But no, as if selecting a Gucci handbag, Mr Muirhead decided he needed a child. Not for him the long fought for gay adoption rights or artificial insemination which he describes as a "snook to the system of nature"; despite the fact there are millions of unwanted children in the world, Patrick is adamant that he should procreate, and it doesn't seem to matter who it's with.

He has been flirting with a woman in his local pub. No doubt she will be flattered to have been selected for impregnation by a former gay who has now decided at the drop of a hat to have a child. What about meeting someone and falling in love and letting nature takes its course? It's not gay parents defying nature, Patrick. It's you. There's nothing natural about the way you think that being homosexual is abnormal, simply because the majority don't practise it.

Patrick's attitude is coming across a bit like someone who's just given up smoking or split up with their lover. While you were puffing away on your cigarettes, polluting the air of everyone in the vicinity, smoking was the best thing ever and you don't care what people think. Once you've stubbed out your last fag, they suddenly become the work of the Devil, eliciting disgust and sanctimonious bleating to the smokers who still like to cram a B&H into their laughing gear. Now that Patrick has 'dumped' his erstwhile sexuality, it repels him. He no longer understands it. he fears it. He thinks it is wrong, especially now that he doesn't do it any more. What a guy.

Good luck to you with your new arrangement. Just don't kid yourself that life is going to be any more fulfilling because you've taken the 'normal' route.

Sunday, January 10, 2010

I'm over '09

2009 was the worst year of my life. I have no doubt about it. As a superlative, worst/ best X of one's life is over-used, especially by Simon Cowell on The X Factor when speaking about a very average audition. I'm not sure anyone who says that something was the worst experience of their life ever really means it. But I do. Here are nine things about 2009 that have been on my radar.

Katie and Peter

What was a thoroughly depressing and hideous partnership has now been transformed into a tiresome, excruciating break-up. Thanks to that, we've had to endure more Katie Price on TV, Peter André singing, the creation of Alex Reid, the takeover of ITV2 by afore-mentioned dunderheads. These are the last words I'll ever write about them. I hope other writers follow my lead.

Fearne meets...

Fearne Cotton is a multimedia migraine. Her radio show is shit, her adverts are shit, her various TV shows are, invariably, shit. It's not personal, but as a broadcaster she horrifies me. Everything is 'amazing'; her interview technique consists of scratching her head and going 'sooooooo...'; her voice makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and not in a good way. The pinnacle of her TV career has to be her ITV2 show (fucking ITV2 again!) where she 'met' 'celebrities'. The edition with Peaches Geldof was like watching two insane badgers eat, then regurgitate and then re-eat their own faeces. I use the word sparingly, but Peaches Geldof is undoubtedly one hell of a dumb cunt.

Losing my job

I was made redundant in April. I'd been at ITV for two years and thought it wouldn't be too hard to get another job. I thought wrong. I'm freelancing now, but summer was not a great time, except for the fact that I was as brown as a berry thanks to loafing around all day.

Being mad

Thanks to the above, I then went nut-nut and was diagnosed with clinical depression. Amazing, as Fearne Cotton would say. I am now on these bonkers drugs that make me not care about anything, which isn't as perfect as it sounds. I am 'OK' now but I do miss my old mind; we used to be so close.

MP expenses furore
The actual scandal didn't annoy me, it was the way it was reported as if it were an EastEnders plotline. I got very bored by it extremely quickly. Along with the bankers' bonus bollocks and people starting to like David Cameron, this really was the news nightmare of the year.

I'm thirty-four now. How the hell did that happen? To 'celebrate', my body decided to give me four coldsores for the big day. I am singlehandedly keeping Compeed (purveyors of coldsore patches) afloat.

I flew on planes FOUR times this year. That is quite an achievement for me. As for carbon footprint concerns, I didn't fly for a decade so I think I'm in credit there. Things I learned from flying: EasyJet sells raffle tickets; Air Malta food is nice; fat people like to sit next to me; passengers seem to save their smelliest shits for being airborne; I hate children.

Long hot summer

It was hot, it was long, it was summer. Before I went mad, I ran every day for miles and miles, sweating and panting like an overweight rapist. It was brilliant.


The Edinburgh Festival was brilliant this year. I drank enough pear cider to sink a battleship and saw some great acts.

2009, it's been emotional, but I am elated to see you finally fuck the hell off.