11 Dec 2001

Cornwall. It took us 1.5 hours to travel the six miles down Cromwell Road to the A4. I was pretty much out of a roadtrip frame of mind by that time. But there was adventure ahead. Kirsten and I stopped in a Moto in Reading and I got behind the wheel for the first time in England. It's terrifying. I felt 15 again, sitting next to my father panicked about where to look or turn. The biggest problem with driving wasn't staying in the left lane or turning left into roads but trying to remember that there is a whole half of a car on your left side. It's impossible to know the distance between your car and other things on the left hand side. I almost removed a couple of mirrors! But Kirsten was patient and kind. Add to that problem the fac tthat I was driving a stick shift with the gear on the left, that the English drive 90+ mph down the motorway, that is was rainy and foggy and nighttime, and that they have roundabouts, and you get an idea of the terror I felt.



Trethurffe Manor was lovely. An enormous rambling country manor in the rambling Cornish countryside. It pissed rain, but we got out to the Eden Project (bio-domes where they replicate various world climates and vegetations -- steaming jungle and dry mediterranean fields.) We visited the seaside, including Mount St. Michael, a 13th century monastery on an islet and St. Ives, quite near the Western-most point of the British Isles. We ate -- haggis, pheasant, an enormous Martha Stewart recipe Thanksgiving dinner (I made whilst drinking champagne -- surprisingly, very good) and drank three cases of wine. We played silly parlor games and watched as our Md stuffed ten raw brussel sprouts into his mouth. (I thought I was going to pee my pants with laughter.) I'll post the pictures soon.

29 Nov 2001

The iPod has arrived. It's beautiful. It's steel and lucite and beautifully white (for now.) It took 4minutes to download 1.5 gigs of songs (338 to be exact) through the Firewire. This may be my favourite product I've ever purchased. Off now for a long weekend in a manor house in Cornwall.

22 Nov 2001

Grateful. I got my health... I got a job... My family... Coffee in the morning... British documentaries... My lovely friends who come to visit... Fountain pens... I live in London - cool ... Digital cameras... The Italians who work on the corner deli... Rainy London nights... Music... My new shower... How good I sound singing in my new shower... Emails that make me feel in touch... How good Judi Dench was in that play... Long weekends in Cornwall... Co-workers who don't mind that I'm occasionally an ass... My mother telling me there's nothing going on then gossiping for an hour... A hope for peace in Afghanistan... Planning a trip to California... My team... London friends who keep me rooted... I've counted my blessings and find I'm on the credit side. Happy Thanksgiving.

2 Nov 2001

Guy Fawkes Day. Once a year, in early November, England gathers around bonfires and firworks to celebrate one of the strangest events in English history. In 1605 Catholicism was an embattled religion -- all were forced to swear allegiance to the monarch as supreme head of the Church in England. Guy Fawkes was one of a group of catholics, called recusants, who conspired to blow up Westminster when the protestant king and others would be observing the opening of Parliament. They stockpiled several barrels of gunpowder (which gave the name, the Gunpowder Plot) in a cellar nearby. They were found out when Monteagle, the brother-in-law of one of the conspirators was handed a note warning him to stay away. The note was given to the king, and a search was conducted of Westminster. The conspirators, including Fawkes, were captured and were hung, drawn, and quatered in January 1606. Every year since, on the 5th November (or thereabouts), the English gather around bonfires burning straw effigies of the Catholic treasoner, Guy Fawkes.



"Please to remember / The 5th November:

Gunpowder, Treason and Plot.

We know no reason / Why Gunpowder Treason

Should ever be forgot."



So now you know. In other news, I bought the iPod and am waiting for it to ship in the UK. I've been loading MP3s onto my Mac in anticipation and can't wait to get my hands on it.



Today, after a meeting on Shaftesbury Avenue we ran into that finest of British wit, Stephen Fry.

25 Oct 2001

Have you seen it? Apple introduced iPod, the new mega-powered Digital music player than can store over 1000 songs but is only 4x2 inches. I'm in love. I want one, making it the third product this year I yearned for: the cube, the Titanium laptop, and now the iPod. I'll have to wait until sometime in November.



Happy Birthday Debra! The little tart tried to keep it a secret, but I let in slip. Poor dear is sick however so I hope she manages to have some fun.

15 Oct 2001

Welcome to the new site. Hopefully this is working -- I should be better at this web thing than I am.

8 Oct 2001

Happy Birthday to me. Friday was my 33rd and having navigated a hectic workday and the "Jesus made it to 33" jokes I went off to celebrate in Soho. A co-worker and his wife had 30th birthdays last week and we joined forces to throw ourselves a fete in a back room at Lupos on Dean Street. The three of us paced the room nervously for an hour and a half, but the room soon filled with friends and colleagues and the rest of the evening was a whirlwind -- as it should be. The rest of the weekend was quiet and stormy. I went yesterday to the Tate Britain to stare at the Pre-Raphaelite paintings and got stuck in a massive downpour of rain soaking everything I was wearing and carrying. I had tea in the National Gallery and did some shopping. Last night, the BBC had a documentary of Ewan McGregor in the Honduran rainforest -- I'm in love.



In more sombre news, the US began retalitory strikes on Afghanistan last night and London is on hyperalert.We've moved forcibly onto the cusp of the first defining days of this century and I feel the anxiety.

2 Oct 2001

Last night's wine tasting party wasn't simply and hour swill and spit affair, but a 10-bottle tasting followed by a four-course four-wine dinner. I'm very headachy and slow today. It's hard, however, to not enjoy oneself in such a pleasant surrounding especially when one is gorging on monkfish and venison. Oddly, my favourite wine of the evening was the Californian zinfadel they served with dinner.

1 Oct 2001

Picutres from Greece are finally online! Now that London is firmly footed in Autumn I find myself daydreaming about the sun, the Aegean, the German. How fantastic are holidays?



As I mentioned below, John was here and has posted images on his site. I love when people visit because it means spending a good amount of time with people one may only see over coffee or fleetingly at parties. I've made a mental list of things he'll need to do on his next visit -- the Tate, Portobello Road market, the ride down the Thames to Richmond, a walk through Regents Park. Basically, anything other than shopping.



Had a quiet, somewhat blue, weekend. I did very little but sleep and watch movies. But as this weekend IS MY BIRTHDAY and I may be off to Italy soon, I should be glad to have some time to myself. For now I'm off to a wine tasting party at Home House with John B.

18 Sept 2001

It seemed impossible to think about continuing the travelogue on Tuesday. Such terrible violence, unthinkable, really. I woke up from a nap to see the first tower on fire and sat for four hours glued to CNN. Incomprehensible, really.



Now, a week later I'm back from Greece. John was in Ireland when it happened and is just making his way back today. I'm praying he arrives in the US safe and sound.



I'm in turns impressed, then dismayed about what I'm seeing from the US. The outpouring of emotion and compassion was touching, and it's brilliant to see how heroic and unselfish some people are. But I'm sick to death of the "they can't get away with doing this to Americans" rhetoric and startled by the reports of violence against muslim people. It's sad that there were so many victims, but no more sad that it was America than if it had been Northern Ireland or Kosovo or Iran or Indonesia. The sanctity of life has to be as applicable to Kurdish, the Zimbabweans, the Pakistanis as it is to the Americans. Hopefully this helps shore up our resolve to protect life and freedom and democracy and human respect and not just simply an exercise in American isolationism.



Unfortunately, I also fear this is all pointing out what an inarticulate, jargon-mongering fool Bush is and one can only hope he does as little damage as possible.



I hope everyone's loved ones are safe and well.

10 Sept 2001

So much to catch up on. The next day I woke up late and didn't get an early start to Delos, the ancient holy island off of the coast of Mykonos, but I made the 12.50 boat and had two hours to explore it. It's a fascinating archaelogical dig/relic to the god Apollo. It was destoryed over several centuries and now one can walk amongst the ruins of temples to Poseidon, Apollo, etc. On the way back I started talking to a group of German men who asked me to take a group photo, and noticed several of them were good looking, but didn't think a thing about it. Later that night, I ran into them again in a bar and ended up talking (and heavily flirtying with one of them, a Berliner named Gunther.) Long story short (now that I have to pay for internet minutes) we hooked up and spent two days hanging out together. We were both realistic that this was a holiday fling and made no promises or embarrassing declarations. On our last night together, however, he said "you're only single because you're not trying." Which struck me as possibly true. Danke schon, Gunther!



Today I left Myknos to take the hyperjet ferry (which sails across the ocean) to Paros, then the regular, cruiseliner-like, ferry to Santorini. It was a bit cloudy and I was sitting in the shade on deck so didn't grease myself -- stupid mistake, I'm now red as a lobster. It was a beautiful trip, but nothing prepares one for the sight of the caldera. Santorini, or Thira as the Greeks call it, was once a round island, with a thriving Minoan cuulture. Several thousand years ago, a volcano in the centre of the island erupted, leaving the volcano, and a ring of island around it, like a doughnut. People have settle on this caldera, building houses the flit over the clifftops high above the sea, and despite volcanic eruptions and earthquakes that have destroyed their villages, have stayed.



When the ship approaches Thira, it looks like any other greek isle, but when it turned the corner, one starts to see the magnificent incline of the cliffs and the small white villages set precariously atop. Its an amazing view. The ferry docks and we board a small bus that scale the steep, zigzagging road to the top of the caldera. Stunning. My hotel isn't as grand as the hotel in Mykonos, and the view is rather poor. But two minutes walk from the hotel and one is on a footpath on the caldera and the sunset was amazing. It walked it until dark, then stopped at a sunset cafe, Zafora, to eat lamb stew and drink Santorini wine. Now, with I can feel the extremity of the sunburn, and the ever-present bobbing of the Aegean sea internally, but love it here.



I'm running out of minutes, more soon.

7 Sept 2001

Day five. Last night I forced myself to go out again. At sunset I went to a funny little bar called "Kastro" that sits overlooking the ocean. They open these enormous windows and play classical music and the breeze drifts through and causes the cieling lamps to sway -- the whole thing had a very expressionist Hungarian feel about it. I met a 55 year old queen (with a 21 year old's buffed body) and before I knew it got swept up into his group. He's been here every year since 1980 and seems to know everyone. He calls himself "the catalyst". The group of gay men were men he'd met the night before, the week before, 20 years before and we all went out to dinner and had a howlingly good time. I didn't get home until 2am and am knackered today. Am meant to meet up with them later, but may opt for sitting on my balcony and reading.



Got up late, then went to the Island of Delos, an archaeological site that was once the Ancient Greek Holy Island. Walked around for two hours admiring the ruins (and feeling a bit like one myself)taking pictures. It's strange to walk all over something thats beena ruin long before there was civilisation in Europe!



Now it's time to find a little bit of lunch then return to the hotel to lay by the pool.



I like this life of leisure!
Hello from Greece. I had to escape the mid-afternoon heat to sit under a fan sipping ice water and checking email. It's beautifully warm in Mykonos (whoever thought I would say such a thing) and when one's days are meant to be spent meandering and swimming and laying around the beach, hot weather is a great thing.



I am attempting to tan, but my efforts are mixed -- I've managed to completely burn any part of my foot not covered by sandal straps and my forearms and nose, but little else. I've also found the effort of tanning -- the greasing, the facing the sun, the not getting books and waterbottles greasy an enormous chore. But it's delightful sitting on Platy Yialos admiring the blue Aegean sea (and the mediterraneans). The water is crystal clear, and so saline that even I am blissfully buoyant in it.



The beaches are the best thing about Mykonos. They are stunning. I've been to three, including the party beach, Super Paradise -- which one gets to by climbing onto a precarious fishing boat and coasting around the southern tip of the island. Otherwise, Mykonos is simply a dusty, rocky, barren island -- very Arizona-like -- with clusters of stacked white cubist homes with brightly coloured shutters.



My hotel sits on a mountainside overlooking the ocean. I've taken to having a cocktail on my balcony about 7.30pm and watching the sun slip over the hills and listening to the tavernas on the beach begin their nocturnal parties. The rooom is tiled and cool at night.



The tavernas all seem to serve great food and I've gorged myself twice a day. The food is mostly fresh and my favourites have been the greek yoghurt and honey they serve at breakfast and the lamb souvlaki(grilled kebab-style and served with a dill yoghurt

sauce.)



Mykonos Town is smaller than I thought it would be and is a maze of small streets where one wanders and dodges the scooters and white vans. It was built that way to confuse pirates -- it seems Mykonos has always been plundered by someone or another. It's now very touristy, but one sees bits of Greek culture here and there. During the day its fairly quiet and comes alive at night when everyone on the island (it seems) is in a taverna or bar. I met a lovely Australian couple last night but they left today and have otherwise been

happily solitary (save brief conversations with Kostas, the amiable and cute hotel clerk). Tonight I'm going to sit in a bar in Little Venice and watch the sunset and attempt to be social again.



I'm here for another four days (how quickly it passes) before going on to Thira (Santorini). Tomorrow I'm heading out to the island of Delios, the ancient greek sanctuary to look at the archaeological ruins. And am planning to do little else.

23 Aug 2001

Bank Holiday Weekend. Hope everyone had a pleasant bank holiday weekend. The weekend that signifies the end of the Summer, the Notting Hill Carnival, and the intense tourist season. I'm glad it's all behind me -- I love Autumn and the fact that a week from now I'll be sitting on a beach in Mykonos.



The weekend was fairly civilised. Robert arrived on Saturday and lugged his bags through the heatwave to my little flat. He arrived hot and tired and needing to rest. We watched Quills, the Kate Winslet Marquis de Sade vehicle. It's a quirky little film that's neither dark nor graphic enough to be remarkable. It did, however, make me think that Joaquin Phoenix is a babe! We then ate dinner in Maida Vale and headed up to the north, north, north part of London for a BBQ in West Finchley. I'm glad we went because very few Organic people did (shame, shame) and Kirsty, our media planner/buyer is a lovely person. But it was still hot out and the wine wasn't cold and it all made me very sleepy.



Sunday we laid around watching the EastEnders omnibus (an entire week's worth of episodes shown in a row without commercial interruption) until Robert danced off to Northampton (by all accounts, charmless Northampton) to join the elderly parade through Althrop, Diana's resting place. I watched tv and went to bed early. Monday was just shopping for my upcoming holiday and working on my website.



There are now pictures of Edinburgh in the Images section.
Test, one, two, three, four

22 Aug 2001

I think I've been losing data. Back form the Festival. Had a brilliant time in Edinburgh despite the never-ending downpour of cold rain. Highlights were Peepolykus, Kate Dimbleby as Peggy Lee in "Fever!" and Priorité à Gauche (two English boys as French popstars touring England -- maxi bon!).

17 Aug 2001

Went last night to 10 Tokyo Joe's the bare, plain, uninspiring, and badly ventilated nightclub for a client's marketing party and had a brilliant time. Lots of very fun people and free wine and good dance music. Spent quite a while talking to a very cute account handler from another agency who I told I had been skydiving several times, only to find out he had done over 175 jumps and was off to Perris Valley to do 50 more jumps in five days. Apparently, I'm a liar now as well. I would no sooner jump out of an airplane than jump off a bridge. Oh well, it meant I got to hold his attention for a while, which was lovely.



Off tonight, hungover and tired, to Edinburgh for the Festival. Have tickets for such interesting things as Her Aching Heart (a musical told with glove puppets) something called Wiping My Mother's Arse (which I'm hoping isn't told with glove puppets) and Priorite a Gauche (a play of two English men pretending to be French rap stars touring England.) I'll report back on Monday. Happy weekend.

15 Aug 2001

I've finally decided about a holiday, two weeks on the islands of Mykonos and Santorini in Greece. It will be several days on a beach working on my tan (hah!) and reading and not being anywhere near a computer. I was incredibly indecisive.



I've also added new pictures to the Images section -- evidence on sunshine in London and other bits of Summer life.



Off to have drinks with Neil at Oriel.

13 Aug 2001

Weekend recap. Friday night I had dinner with Kirsten and her boyfriend Peter at the pub. It was the usual weekend kickoff -- too much wine and a big lie-in on Saturday. We cooed over the Islands of Greece brochure which hasn't helped me decide where to go at all, and recapped the week's work trangressions. It looks like Kirsten will be my new neighbour, as to whether or not Peter will...



Saturday night, after the forementioned lie-in, I went to a party at Lance's friend's flat in Notting Hill. It was on a fabulous roofgarden and the images of the chimneyed rooftops against the cloudy night sky was stunning (ok, it could have been the champagne) but once I navigated the roofladder it was brilliant. Met a fascinating (and sexy) Australian of an undetermined sexuality who was Christiane Armanpour's cameraman and now follows Louis Theroux around. He was remarkably candid about the phenomenon of seeing some truly horrible things through a viewfinder in Kosovo (which objectified anything going on until he could reflect on it later.) and what it was like to have a Kosovan boarder guard put an empty gun to his head and pull the trigger. I was quite intrigued. He stormed out, however, once his female companion (date? friend?) started making out with some guy so I have a feeling I won't be seeing him again anytime soon.



Sunday, after another big lie-in, I went and bought a random collection of DVDs including the last available season of South Park (which is getting dark and very perverse) and Leni Riefenstahl's Triumph des Willens, the remarkable and disturbing propaganda/documentary of Nazi Germany that is celebrated for its innovative moviemaking form and banned for its evil content. In this age of racial troubles and politicisation of debate, however, it's good to be aware of the signs of fanaticism and history-repeating.

9 Aug 2001

We had a heatwave. Now we're having rainstorms. The never predictable weather is dumping inches of cold rain on us not days after the heatwave. I'm wearing a sweater.



I spent the weekend re-discovering my inner diva -- some brilliant mind thought of renting a karaoke machine for our quaterly party on Friday and we were here until 2am screeching random songs like rock stars. It was such fun, and I was rather fearless about singing, which was a nice reminder that I used to have talent. High point a very sentimental solo California Dreaming and the dance mix to Dont Cry for Me Argentina, the low point: the all-white version of No Woman, No Cry (we should have been shot).



Sunday we had an unusually gorgeous sunny day so I went off to see the Courtauld at Somerset House on the banks of the Thames. The continental courtyard was packed with children playing in the geyser-like fountains. The collections are diverse, form the truly tacky Gilbert Collection to the stunning Hermitage rooms. Then went to visit the other homosexuals at Heals to buy little household gadgets.

31 Jul 2001

We're having a heatwave. Yes, a heatwave has descended over England bringing temperatures to a shocking 86 degrees! It sounds ludricrous -- especially after Davis summers of 110+ -- but it's quite serious. The Queen Mum has heat exhaustion ("she certainly can can-can"), the beaches were thronged with people, people on the Tube are collapsing, and there's a lot of talk about avoiding sunstroke in the media. Bless this little country so not used to the sun. Fret not, it's all said to be disappearing tomorrow and we're back to our regularly scheduled gloom. Still, it's nice to see the throngs of pasty white bodies in the parks.



IXL and Scient merged today. Oddly, they chose to keep the Scient brand for the company. I wonder if Lance still has a job.



23 Jul 2001

Art buying day. I just two pieces of photographic art. The first as a present, so I can't give too many details, but you can see Chris Honeysett's work online. A work colleauge told me about his images, which he painstakingly prints himself. I also bought a Datura photograph from my former mentor and friend, Doris Mitsch. Her work, besides being visually beautiful has an intriguing concept: the datura flowers are both a hallucinagetic aphrodiasiac and a heart-stopping poison.



Spent the weekend doing as little as possible. We went to the Willliam IV on Friday night for a big boozy dinner and stayed until after midnight. Then I had a leisurely afternoon shopping and having coffee in a Kensington cafe, enjoying the very brief appearance of the sun.



I'm embarrassed. At the other end of the cultural scale I not only watched, but l laughed my way through Jackass, MTV's adolescent show of people doing remarkably stupid stunts -- riding tricycles down steep cliffs and unicycles near polluted cestpools. There's very little redeeming about it, but it help let off some steam. Maybe I'm becoming lowbrow.

12 Jul 2001

Black day. Yesterday we had to let some people go. It was probably the hardest thing I've done in this job, and not my favourite moment. It's hard to tell people you're forcing them into a change then acknolwedge that it's for the good of the office. Very upsetting. I want to still have faith in what we're doing here, what we're working towards, but yesterday made it very hard.

6 Jul 2001

Art. I don't why I hadn't seen Yasmina Reeza's play, "Art" before last night. I had meant to, and there have been a parade of remarkable actors in and out of the play I wanted to see. I just hadn't gotten around to it, so was pleased when Lance recommended going. Currently, George Segal headlines the play and was brilliant. Very natural and focussed despite the staggering heat of the theatre. But even he was upstaged by Richard Griffiths giving a staggering funny/sad performance as the passive victim Yvan. There's a machine gun monologue half way through that instantly won the hearts of the audience, and a bit of stage business with olives that had me giggling uncontrollably. But there are inherent problems in the production. The psychological insight and deconstruction (carefully chosen word) of the male friend's relationships was undeniably feminine in form and seemed oddly placed on the soldiers of these variants of masculine control, and the string of angry shouts and retrievals. This is a play which probably has a bigger impact when performed by the French as it makes sense of the exchanges of temper, reaching out, and silence. That said, it was wonderful to see these three men, so different, related to this material which is essentially about the disruption of a relationship that happens because one of them buys a white painting for 200,000 francs.

5 Jul 2001

Happy fourth. The American posse in the office managed to pull together a pretty astounding barbecue on our back balcony. Budweiser, Oscar Meyer hot dogs and watermelon were hunted down and found in odd corners of London and brought to bucolic Queen's Park to do more celebration for America's independence from our own host country. Ironic, no? But we had a great time sitting in the sunshine on a precious mild evening shooting the breeze. It could have been Nantucket or Fresno or Cincinnati with the ringing American voices and Budweiser beer. I spent the afternoon making potato salad (negotiating a lack of french mustard and dill pickles with suitable English replacements) in a steaming hot kitchen.



We talked about how living here has changed what some of us think of ourselves as Americans. It's easy to be critical -- moments on the Tube when you've heard and spotted the loud American tourists spritzing in their tourist gear trying to negotiated the proper pronounciation for Leicester Square and criticisng the food, the trains, the British, or the prices. You hide deeper into yourself hoping no one else realises your American and join the group sneering wishing they would get off, disappear, or at the very least shut up. It's easy to see the reflection of America across an international landscape and the truths that spotlight the stereotypes.



But it also fundamentally changed my critical view of America. I was a cynic in my own homeland painting wide strokes across people, ideas, and regions and not seeing were foundations were strong and were intentions were good. Having a place to have one's own identity mirrored back to one is a healthy, chilling thing. I can respect it more, especially as I'm fortunate enough to be away from it, but can also clearly see the good and bad bits of it I took inside of myself -- the belief in the individual, the centrist view of the world, the materialism. I'm still horrified about the death penalty, America's actions towards China and the backhanded condescension of the President. There is, however, a bit of me that grows in pride.

2 Jul 2001

Happy pride. This weekend was London's gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgendered, gender confused, gender unconcerned, polysexual, gay curious, ex-lesbian, latina dragqueen, and everyone else festival. It draws an enormous crowd but manages none of the style, excitement or level of pride that other cities do (San Francisco.) Sure, there's a parade meandering through the streets of Westminster where you can go and gawk at the awkwardly ungawkworthy paraders ("I'm a lesbian Tube driver and all I got was this stupid tshirt") or the club queens who clearly didn't feel any more pride with go-go dancing on a float in the middle of chaos than with dry humping an out-of-towner at Trade. Then you can end up in Finsbury Park -- if you pay your ticket and can manage to find the flipping bus from King's Cross -- to listen to the newest round of vaguely ambiguous boy bands ("Are they interesting or not? I just can't tell") and has-been gay icons whilst paying too much money at corporate sponsored lager stands and cruising either the same boys you cruise who ignore you on Old Compton Street or the small village gays who've snuck out of a Beatrix Potter book to stand around like a group of Miss Marple movie extras but secretly like to be spanked by canoe paddles whilst bleating like a foot and mouth diseased ridden sheep.



Wow, do I sound bitter. I didn't even go. I was recovering from a second night in a row of pretending I'm young enough to stay out past two am. Friday night we did the usual, went to the local gastro-pub to drink bottles of white wine and eat olives and chat with Geroge, the bar manager who knows our names, our regular drinks, and anything else we've told him in a vino haze. Then went onto John's private club, Home House, the stunning 18th century mansion that was home to the French Embassy and Courtauld Institute, but which is now the hunting ground for the wealthy and terribly uninteresting, and the ravenous peroxide anorexics who clearly think that sucking down gin and tonics is foreplay and that vomit is an aphrodesiac. An awful thing to happen to such nice architecture. But then, I guess I would never really be happy there until I could sweept through the neo-classical halls in pantaloons and powdered wigs.



Saturday, foregoing the hoopla above, I had dinner with Kirsten at the always amazing Rasa Kurmuda in Charlotte Street which specialises in seafood from the Kerala district of India -- crab in masala spice and tamarind, a delicious flatbread stuffed with crab omelette and curry leaves. We quizzed our waiter about the various mysteries of smoked tamarinds and spicy okras and licked the spicy paste of our finders. Then went to the Charlotte Street Hotel bar, den of trendy american new media types, to gawk at the hunky Australian bartender with the hairy forearms (what is it about those accents?). So I didn't march in a parade, but still managed a bit of gay and a bit of pride.

26 Jun 2001

Equal amounts of despair and happiness. On one hand, BT came and installed ADSL and its working brilliantly, had a tremendous weekend of summer barbecues, and friends Steve and Jeff were both in London on layovers to and from holidays. On the other hand, 20 years and 22 million deaths into the AIDS crisis the news is dire what with infections in the gay community on the rise, Africa devastated for generations, and the U.N. struggling with the hypocrisy of some of the world's governments.



Will we ever understand the psychological shadow that hangs over us, and may hang over us for decades? Will some of us ever stop worrying when we have a cold, slight fever, or ache? Why are so many surprised that infections are on the rise when society is so blase about the disease? 22 million people is more than the population of New York State. Brazil has lowered deaths from the disease by 60%, yet they can barely afford to provide medication because of the greed of the pharmaceutical companies. Two generations of Africans have grown up in societies devastated by the pandemic. I'm afraid for the world.

22 Jun 2001

Trying to get BT to come and install ADSL has been no fun whatsoever, and I've already spent an afternoon in my flat waiting for them to not show up. Had drinks last night at the Westbourne in Notting Hill. If the weather is even remotely good, the place gets backed. We stood out on the street with our bucket of wine. An ex colleague from Organic was in town and we got all caught up on gossip. Tonight, Charlie's having a jam session/bbq in Wandsworth and tomorrow night is Lance's birthday bbq. And I'm afraid that will be my entire social calendar for the summer.

11 Jun 2001

It's done. I've moved into the new flat, gotten familiar with the quirks and problems, and broken my toe. Big weekend. Now I'm gimping for the 7 minute walk to the station but have reduced my work commute by 35 minutes, which is thrilling.



I can't quite believe that the US has executed someone. Granted, what McVeigh did was inexcusable and devastating to the families and the country. But I can't shake the sickening thought of a federal official injecting poison into McVeigh's leg then waiting for him to die. So much for democracy.

8 Jun 2001

Robert left town this morning after a whirlwind three-day trip. I wouldn't want to deal with the after-effects of jetlag from such a short trip, but understand his desire to travel. It sounds like things are starting to go well for him. But after staying up until 2.30 to drink vodka, listen to records, and talk old days, I'm hungover, anxious about moving, and trying to get work done.



We had drinks last night at the perennial favourite St. Martin's Lane Hotel with Kirsten and Robert's friends Mark and Murray then dinner at Joe Allen's which was below par and very badly served, but it caters a theatre crowd and there were some very attractive men which made the waiting hours for dinner a bit more enjoyable.

7 Jun 2001

I hate moving. My flat is a mess of half-packed boxes and rubbish bags full of crap and general pandemonium. I wish I was sorted, relaxing in my new flat.



Robert's in town, and true to form he left me waiting 7.5hours yesterday whilst he recovered from his hangover. I can't imagine flying to London for a three day holiday, but it's awfully nice to see him.

1 Jun 2001

The Depression Era. Last night I went to this month's Out in Digital Media gathering, an event for out gays and lesbians in the digital media to network. Despite the fashionable surroundings of the 23 Romilly Street club bar it was a rather depressing event. Not for the usual reasons of feeling unattractive in a room full of petite designer wearing twinks, but because there was desperation in the air. The industry is crumbling and people are grasping at anyone who can keep them working. Met with several people who were either searching for work, or heading up empty departments. That said, vodka did seem to sooth the mood a little bit and I still had quite a bit of fun chatting up a South African named Jay. I hope we make it through this. I am suddenly very nervous.

30 May 2001

Viva le weekend! Insead is a large international business school that each year hosts an alumni ball at a chateau in the ancient forests of Fontainebleau. It's an amazing event. 11 of us (Organic and BT clients) got on the Eurostar on Friday afternoon with 12 bottles of champagne and hampers of food. Two hours later we had demolished the champagne and made a quite disruptive presence on the train. We arrived at Fontainebleau at 12.30am ready to continue the drinking only to find Fontainebleau shut down for the night. As our one French client said to the concierge "In the whole of France we must be the only people not drinking at this hour."



Saturday we had a private lunch for 20 at the 17th century Chateau de Bourron. I promptly got a sunburnt head (a theme for the weekend) enjoying the first real sun we'd seen in a very long time. After a nap, I donned the monkey suit, we met for more champagne (another theme for the weekend), and headed to the ball at the Chateau de Courrances.



The ball was themed the Silk Road, but was more Arabic in actuality. Lots of tents ot bellydancers and camels and champagne. There was a spectacular fireworks show set to music which flooded the valley in smoky, moody light, and a brilliant vodka and vibe lounge spinning Algerian-French lounge music. There is something just overwhelming about 2000 men in tuxedos, though as it was a business school they weren't the best looking crowd (lots of short men with leggy, bored blondes) and seven hours later we climbed on the busride through the dawn back to the hotel.



Sunday afternoon we visited the Chateau de Fontainebleau, by far the most impressive of the three chateaus, and wandered through the Napoleon rooms (it was in Fontainebleau that he gave up the Empire) and gardens. I continued getting sunburned and then napped in the afternoon heat. We gathered for one last boozy dinner with our client team who I like immensely even as they pressured us into joining them in the hotel room for a late night raid of the mini bar.



I love being in France. Everytime I'm there I resolve to study French and become fluent and it was a great pleasure to get to know another part of it. They really have the balance of life and pleasure well-defined. It's something I wish I was better at packing and bringing back to London.

22 May 2001

Don't you hate it when an event doesn't live up to it's promise? Last night a group of us went to see Closer to Heaven at the Arts Theatre. The new Jonathan Harvey and Pet Shop Boys musical was meant to be the highlight of the Summer season but is an immense piece of stinking, steaming crap. Terrible acting, a suprisingly lame script from the brilliant mind of Gimme Gimme Gimme and ridiculous choreography made for bulky inflexible steroid queens. I spent the first act offended by its dull dull dull script then the second trying not to giggle during the high-school-monologue-death-scene acting "I cry these tears for you, I cry these tears for me, I cry these tears for all of us." Bloody hell, why not cry for those of us who paid 28 quid for an evening of pre-pubescent gay teen improvisation set to badly programmed drum loops. If nothing else, you learn that apparently you can convert from straight to gay if your drug dealer blows you in the toilet whilst your girlfriend watches on the security monitors. Apparently being in a k-hole is like watching Jonathan Livingston Seagull on an uncalibrated monitor. Did we really need to set all of the insipid gay stereotypes to pounding electronic music? It needs to be way more camp to be laughably bad until then it's less fun than the sound of a drag queen's fingernails scrapping across a chalkboard. Stay far away from it.

18 May 2001

Success at last. Signed an agreement on the flat in Maida Vale. It's a lovely Victorian apartment on Elgin Avenue and has a large sunny reception/dining room that will be perfect for entertaining. It has two bathrooms, one which has a bidet, and a large bedroom. The commute to work will be reduced to 15 minutes, and it's on the tubeline that hits Soho, Oxford Street, the Heathrow Express, and Eurostar. I'm much relieved.

16 May 2001

Just made an offer to rent a 1.5 bedroom flat in Maida Vale. Crossing my fingers that they accept it and that this nightmare come to an end.
The sun's gone, and we continue our nephologous discussions. We did have a briefly spectacular glimpse at summer when temperatures rose to 27 degrees over the weekend.



Estonia was the winner of this year's pageant of Eurotrash flash, Eurovision. Several Americans came over to sit on my couch, drink champagne, and revel in the tackiness. We had picked either France or Greece to win, and were surprised by the ascendancy of the Estonian entry to offered such dazzling musical bon mots as, "Not even time can take away The starlight from us, no, it won't fade Still we believe that we Were made to laugh and sing." It was painfully tacky, but surprising less tuneless than last year's debacle. There was a dirth of cute boys, however, with only Spain's Ricky Martin-look-alike getting any sort of appreciation. The UK entry bombed scoring only slightly higher than last year's monumental bomb, Nicki French. And Ireland,winner of more contests than any other country, scored so badly it was relegated out of next year's competition. Even more surprising, only Lithuania managed the complete lack of taste that's very much in fashion this year.



Still flathunting, and have now broadened my search to include Maida Vale. Looking at two places today and hoping one of them will be a winner.





8 May 2001

Happy Birthday, Mom.

The sun is finally out and the temperature starting to warm. We may have Spring yet, though I'm sure I'll soon be complaining about the humidity. We had another holiday weekend here in England but I stayed home and worked on getting over my recent cold. I got up early on Saturday to look at yet more tacky, pastel-coloured, overpriced, badly furnished, inconvenient flats in Clapham. If I walk into another peach-coloured room I may scream. And as several agents have described places as tasteful, I'm starting to doubt there's any taste at all in the industry. Plain white walls would be a blessing right now. I then had a mediocre mexican lunch with Lance to celebrate cinco de mayo.

Rented a tuxedo for the Insead ball at the end of the month. They're quite cheap to rent here, 46 pounds for the four-day weekend, but I'm afraid I'll rather look like a waiter in mine. I'm looking forward to a weekend of drinking champagne in a French chateau even if it is with a bunch of MBAs.

25 Apr 2001

Enough with the nephology, I'm ready for Spring already. Got soaked by hail-addled rain at lunch today. Now I'm damp and grouchy.

23 Apr 2001

So, America is now dealing with Anne Robinson and the Weakest Link. Raising both the ratings of NBC and the ire of critics the show and its acerbic host are all over the place. Well it's only the start of retribution for all the whingeing Friends, Ally McBeal, and American talk shows we have to suffer through here in England. I find the show hard to watch -- it made me very anxious.

Had dinner at Louise's house in Balham on Saturday night. She had invited the American-heavy management group to her home and made us blend with other English people at a sit down dinner for ten made by her husband. It was a fabulous evening, although yesterday the cumulated hangover from four nights of parties and pubcrawls took their effect. It's time to dry out.

18 Apr 2001

Had dinner last night in Covent Garden with Lance. We went to a sushi restaurant that was overlit and watched the wilting sushi travel around the conveyor belt under re-used plastic domes whilst he filled me in on his travels to Buenos Aires and Prague. I had a small suspicion he's not planning on living in London long what with this new-found wanderlust. We then went to the Box and admired the steroid-pumping half-dressed bartenders and plotted finding the perfect mate.

It's still bitterly cold here, but the sun visits occasionally reminding us that Spring is, indeed, on its way. If only work would slow down so we could take walks in the park at lunch...

17 Apr 2001

Tried several times to update this page -- Blogger isn't happy.

The recap: Andy G. came to London in March and spent a week keeping me up late, eating curries, shopping, and barhopping. I had a tremendous time. It's a bit of a stress having houseguests, but it's also time we can catch up with everything (we hadn't really spent that time in a couple of years) and I missed that we used to be closer.

Organic went through another round of redundancies. This kept me hugely occupied and anxious for the whole of March. As a department head I was in some very difficult discussions. We had a voluntary programme in London, however, which was far gentler and allowed people to make a decision to have a life change.

To combat the stress of the whole thing I went to Paris. Stayed in Montparnasse and shopped, walked, ate, and flirted with the French -- especially the very dapper Benoit. I just adore Paris and hope, at some point in my life, to live there. Not that I don't adore this country, but Paris is an altogether more sensual place. The trick will be to live a Parisian life in London.

I'm trying to not use exclamation points after someone pointed out how often I did!

Had a domestic weekend. Went to see the gloriously gothic Shockheaded Peter with a colleague and her visiting boyfriend and spent the night in the bar at St. Martin's Lane Hotel getting reacquainted with Ketel One martinis. Then bought a Dyson vacuum and realised how little dust and debris my old vacuum was picking up (it was disgusting.)

That's all the news I'm going to give anyone. More soon.

16 Mar 2001

Hello from the land of burning sheep.

We've got terrorist bombs, a collapsed NHS, persistent Tube strikes, a farm animal epidemic, a tumbling economy, terrible weather, exorbitant rent, and oh nonstop Big Brother on the tele.

Yet, for some reason I'm agreeing to another two years here!

More of the same. More work, more stress, more weight, more hairloss, more no sex, more exhaustion, more drinking too much, more dull client meetings, more soppy rainshoes, more black phlegm, more tourist madness.

Yet today, in a mad dash in a taxi we rounded the Trafalgar Square roundabout and the sight of Nelson's Column, the National Gallery, and St. Martin's in the Fields, made my heart leap and I couldn't help but smile.

I still love it here, fool that I am.

7 Mar 2001

Bombs and Chocolat. Sunday morning a car bomb exploded in front of the BBC building in West London. The explosion injured one, caused damage to the buildings in the area and reawoke the possbilities of bombings in everyone's mind. The Real IRA (an IRA faction group) was blamed for either trying to damage the suffering peace process or for retaliating for a stinging Panaroma exposé. I was unaware of the explosion until I was attempting to get home from shopping at Habitat on the Tube and many of the lines were closed for safety concerns. It seems impossible in this day and age and in this country that terrorism be a factor of daily life. And we return to days of security alerts at tube stations and panicking at the sight of empty bags on the sidewalks.

Last night a group of us ate dined at a rather informal Thai restaurant in Clapham Common, then went to see Chocolat. The movie has gotten mediocre reviews and we had low expectations, but I found is absolutely delightful. Juliette Binoche , one of my favourite actresses since I saw Blue, is one of the most radiantly beautiful women. It's a story set in a small town in 1950's France of a wandering chocolatière, Binoche, who sets up shop in a small town stifled by its "tranquilité" whose desires are awoken by this mysterious Mayan chocolate. There is a shop in the Parisian left bank that sells mayan chocolate and it's magical. Judi Dench deserved her nomination for her role. Johnny Depp is lovely to look at, but didn't quite manage his Irish accent which only appeared once he said he was Irish. Go see it. There's no sex, only a little violence, and few special effects. But there is Binoche.

28 Feb 2001

I'm feeling increasingly uncomfortable in my flat, for no apparent reason. I see flickers of light through windows in the kitchen and think someone is there in the room. It's wildly irrational, and mostly to do with the sinus congestion, but it's meant that I've not relaxed fully at home. Maybe it's age, or insecurity, or stress, or the winter wind. I'm looking forward to Spring.

23 Feb 2001

Haven't written lately because work's been busy. A lot of pitching business so that we can stay afloat. Strange weather today -- hail, snow, rain, and sunshine. No wonder I have this cold, and have irrational moodswings. Spent last night thinking someone was trying to break into my bedroom window, only to realise it was a loose roof pad across the garden.

12 Feb 2001

Maman à Paris. One of the best memories in my life will be the look on my mother's face as we rounded corners and she found herself up close to the monuments and places she never thought she would see in her life. She loved Paris.

At first, it was bitterly cold in Paris, and we gave up our plan of walking through Paris for an afternoon at the Musèe d'Orsay. We apparently came across a famous French footballer who had hordes of art-bored schoolchildren following him around as he absently talked on a mobile phone. I'm not sure any of them actually saw any art. After the museum and a night walk along the Seine we searched out Le Navigator, a restaurant in the rue Galande I had been to with Scott Palmer. I've discovered that whilst I have passable french for doing things like getting tickets and asking directions, I have no culinary vocabulary and mom made do with what little things I could translate from the menu. Luckily I understand the universal language of wine.

We went to the Louvre, braving the crowds to stand and admire the Mona Lisa. It's always been a mystery to me, however, how this is the penultimate painting when da Vinci's Virgin of the Rocks, is so much more masterful. It's quite easily to be massively overwhelmed by the sheer volume of art and to miss the building itself. After a three hour walk through the Louvre, and as much about 17th century painting as I could remember from the dodgy recesses of my art history training, we left the Louvre to walk in the brilliant winter sunshine up the rue de Rivoli to the Paris Opèra and lunch at the Galeries Lafayette.

At night we had dinner at la Coupole, the Montparnasse brasserie were the cafe society of the 20's met and ate. Had a fabulous meal, more wine, and a brilliant conversation. It was typically Paris -- historical, loud, flashy, well-dressed, joyous.

There were other highlights: Napoleon's tomb, the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame. We returned exhausted, overfed, feet blistering and glowing from a great weekend. That's probably only something that I'll experience once in my life -- the joy of watching my mother experience Paris for the first time. It felt good.

7 Feb 2001

Welcome to London. My mother flew into London yesterday for the first time -- and I'm getting sentimental over the days when arriving in London was exhilarating and new! I guess the downside to living here is seeing all of the things I take for granted. It is infectious, however, and I can't wait to start showing her around. Friday morning we're off to Paris which will really blow her mind! We're staying the St. Germain de Pres and I've already picked out the intinerary and restaurants. I'm hoping she'll have the time of her life!

25 Jan 2001

The sun is shining in London -- how unusual. Had drinks and dinner last night with one of our clients. He's the first British person I met who I suspeact has a similar sense of humour to mine. We got on like mad. I'm starting to enjoy the seniority of my new position -- it certainly has brought an air of confidence when dealing with clients.

Now it's into the cycle of madness -- visits from corporate people, trying to see friends I haven't seen in months, reviews, parties, and mom visiting. It's going to be Spring before I know it. (Where should I go for holiday?)

21 Jan 2001

The round-up. Still loving my new role -- though there is a lot of hard work to be done, I feel up to the challenge. My mother is coming to visit on February 6th. Can't wait to show her London. Bush is now officially president, though his inaugural address was dull, dull, dull. It's cold and dark here, we recently had snow, but the days are getting slightly longer! Britain is in the midst of the adoption scandal, and far be it from me to judge from appearances, but those Kilshaws look really dodgy. Can't help but think those babies are better off in foster care.

10 Jan 2001

Great exciting things going on at work that are going to force me to get organised, motivated, and better able to work closer to my ability. I'm thrilled though, more soon.

8 Jan 2001

So, explain to me how a woman who possibly sheltered an illegal immigrant for a year, paid her some money, then said she didn't "truly" employ her is a good candidate for Labor Secretary?

She's either a liar, a doormat, or a cheapskate -- none of which is high commendation for a public office.

George, what the hell?
Whiskey and stress and fatigue = blurry Brian. Pitch almost over, and my head is full of things to say, not to say, would be nice to have said. Pitching is like being in a play -- days spent rehearsing to convince people that you're something you may well not be.

I need a good night's sleep. And a good shag. In that order.

I've just noticed that the interface to Blogger includes a male/female icon for "Team" which looks like they're holding hands. Is it subliminal? Or is it the whiskey.

7 Jan 2001

Even God rested today. But I'm working. More pitch work requiring me to coerce my jetlagged brain into thinking clearly, innovatively, and optimistically. I'm failing on all fronts. At this very important time.

Had dinner last night at Satsuma with Lance in Soho. I increasingly hate Soho with its crowds of lager louts, tourists, and screeching queens. Its cramped, dirty streets and lack of cashpoints. It has its bright spots -- the liquor store that sells honey vodka, the Asian market where one can buy edamame, the caipirinhas at that trendy bar I can never remember of the name. But it's usually just tiring. We did see Paul Rudd, the handsome actor who's hiding under a shaggy beard, holding hands with some greasy blonde and rushing through the streets as though many would recognise him.

But that was last night. And today my head is full of pitch scenarios, my career advancement, my to-do list, and Emmylou Harris' excellent new album. (And no, I'm not a fan of country music.)

John, and the rest of America, has discovered the Naked Chef. No he's not naked, and we don't understand what "pukka" means either.

6 Jan 2001

Ho ho home for the holidays. Days on the couch at mom's. Dinners with Mel, Dave, and Rich and Sara. Lovely party at Paul's. Drinks with Kelly and her new beau, Michael. Shopping. Swimming. Beautiful California sun. New Year's Eve with the beautiful people, Kerri Applebaum and David Harrison. Bad fish. Food poisoning. Laying around Kate and Anne's watching Iron Chef. Being bumped to business class on the way home.

Things I got: Gloves, a fleece vest, seafood utensils, a leather wallet, tickets to Mamma Mia, books, a hat, a piece of Lindlar pottery, a Kerseg calendar, candy.

Things I learned: Christmas isn't about the things I got, but the people I saw and get to spend too little time with. It's ok to love San Francisco and not want to live there. I miss sushi and sunshine. I like being able to drive everywhere. I like coming back to England.

New Year's resolution: to have a better year.