It all started this morning with muscles, big man arm muscles. For some reason the sorting office had a queue – very unusual for a weekday morning, but I think like most other people in the world they were just going a little bit too slow, until the fast man came on and the queue went down in a minute. I like the fast man he is always friendly and efficient, whereas some of the other guys just dodder and botch. So where do the muscles come in, well whilst I was waiting I had time to idly vada a workman over the road. He was sweeping and his arms were moving like the pistons of a steam engine. They were accurate, firm, purposeful moves which resulted in an efficient sweep and a pleasant observational study for me.
So chopping block in hand, for that was the purpose of my trip to the sorting office, I began to motor on to work. The shoulder muscles of the workman must have stuck in my subconscious for I started to recall other muscle extravaganzas from the dusky archive. I remembered in my early days meeting a theatrical troupe over from America. They were performing in London and my companion and I were entertaining them in our Zone 2 Georgian duplex. One of them was so nice, and so sweet and so lovely and had such unnecessarily large muscles and a very tight t-shirt, but in a nice sexy gorgeous way, not a plastic, over tanned sterile way – which you see a lot of these days – or you did, maybe you don’t so much now. What would I know anyway – the last time I went anywhere where people wore tight t-shirts Princess Margaret was still alive! I digress. Anyway I remember taking every opportunity to accidently touch his lovely arms – he didn’t seem to mind. And if I just add that their would have been opportunities a plenty for bouncing nickels – you get the picture – let’s just leave it at that.
So that got me thinking about D-Ream – things can only get better – don’t ask me to explain my thought processes as I don’t control it. I did have a bit of a thing for Peter Cunnah – I thought he was, what the young people call, a dish. Somehow and I can’t remember how, I think I was at some launch or something, or chatting to mutual friends in a bar, and he asked me whether I’d like to come to his party at Heaven. Well of course I did – tartan trousers withstanding. Well the wine was flowing and Peter was very friendly – a really lovely guy. My drunken exit found me scouring the party to find Peter to thank him and bid him farewell. Well I got a kiss good bye, so as I was walking out, I thought, I think I’ll go and say good bye to him again – how sweet. Blame youth – the eternal get out of jail free card.
So that got me thinking as to whether I’d ever been to any other celebrity parties. Well yes I have as a matter of fact, just the one or two. I remembered going to the after show party when Babs last played in London. Now she was far too famous to grace her own party, but I did get to see Barbara Knox and Lulu – so you can’t say I actually missed out – celebrity wise.
So then I got thinking about Vivienne Westwood. I did once go to a tea party at her house which was very nice, and she was lovely, but I also remembered being at a publisher’s bash and being stood next to her, in a Westwood jacket, saying to her ‘Vivienne I hear you have an eye for fashion, what do you think of my jacket?’ She leant over and said ‘Don’t be silly William, I know it’s one of mine’. That was quite a good night actually - it was in Kensington at that lovely roof gardens place. We had to cross a picket line of angry lesbians though who were protesting at some of the publisher’s raunchier, steamier publications. But there was wine to be had. Never let Politics get in the way of the Grape – now who was it who told me that…………….
And just as I started to recall the night at Claridges with Julie Burchill I arrived at work, so the thinking had to stop. Ah well it leaves more for another day.
So chopping block in hand, for that was the purpose of my trip to the sorting office, I began to motor on to work. The shoulder muscles of the workman must have stuck in my subconscious for I started to recall other muscle extravaganzas from the dusky archive. I remembered in my early days meeting a theatrical troupe over from America. They were performing in London and my companion and I were entertaining them in our Zone 2 Georgian duplex. One of them was so nice, and so sweet and so lovely and had such unnecessarily large muscles and a very tight t-shirt, but in a nice sexy gorgeous way, not a plastic, over tanned sterile way – which you see a lot of these days – or you did, maybe you don’t so much now. What would I know anyway – the last time I went anywhere where people wore tight t-shirts Princess Margaret was still alive! I digress. Anyway I remember taking every opportunity to accidently touch his lovely arms – he didn’t seem to mind. And if I just add that their would have been opportunities a plenty for bouncing nickels – you get the picture – let’s just leave it at that.
So that got me thinking about D-Ream – things can only get better – don’t ask me to explain my thought processes as I don’t control it. I did have a bit of a thing for Peter Cunnah – I thought he was, what the young people call, a dish. Somehow and I can’t remember how, I think I was at some launch or something, or chatting to mutual friends in a bar, and he asked me whether I’d like to come to his party at Heaven. Well of course I did – tartan trousers withstanding. Well the wine was flowing and Peter was very friendly – a really lovely guy. My drunken exit found me scouring the party to find Peter to thank him and bid him farewell. Well I got a kiss good bye, so as I was walking out, I thought, I think I’ll go and say good bye to him again – how sweet. Blame youth – the eternal get out of jail free card.
So that got me thinking as to whether I’d ever been to any other celebrity parties. Well yes I have as a matter of fact, just the one or two. I remembered going to the after show party when Babs last played in London. Now she was far too famous to grace her own party, but I did get to see Barbara Knox and Lulu – so you can’t say I actually missed out – celebrity wise.
So then I got thinking about Vivienne Westwood. I did once go to a tea party at her house which was very nice, and she was lovely, but I also remembered being at a publisher’s bash and being stood next to her, in a Westwood jacket, saying to her ‘Vivienne I hear you have an eye for fashion, what do you think of my jacket?’ She leant over and said ‘Don’t be silly William, I know it’s one of mine’. That was quite a good night actually - it was in Kensington at that lovely roof gardens place. We had to cross a picket line of angry lesbians though who were protesting at some of the publisher’s raunchier, steamier publications. But there was wine to be had. Never let Politics get in the way of the Grape – now who was it who told me that…………….
And just as I started to recall the night at Claridges with Julie Burchill I arrived at work, so the thinking had to stop. Ah well it leaves more for another day.
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