Crawley

I love my girlfriend, but we are having major problems in the bedroom.

She needs 8+ hours sleep every night, and I can't have more than 6 - generally less at the weekends. So I'm finding that most saturdays I've got a couple of hours free in the morning to do something else while the babe lies in bed and dreams of me.

It's kind of like having two weekends: I have the one which I am spending with my girlfriend, going out doing things with her, and I have the morning stretches where I can get up and work on a couple of projects, while my honey sleeps.

At the moment, I'm working on a little English-Finnish dictionary to run on my phone. It's derived from a translator program which I wrote a couple of years ago, but obviously it's running on a phone, so there are some differences. Too exciting to describe here. No, really.

When I wasn't in an early morning nerd session, I took my girl on a surprise trip to Battersea Dog's home in London this last weekend. We aren't thinking of getting a dog/cat - or rather weren't, until we saw this one adorable Rex cat. Ho hum.

From there we wandered around Covent Garden, and then after dinner mooched around a couple of gay venues. We dropped in at Halfway To Heaven, which is just round the back of Trafalgar Square, before heading off to CXR for a drink. I do like CXR, even though it's predominantly a gentleman's bar. We then headed off to a friend's party in Hackney. I've known my friend for about 17 years, but never been to a birthday party yet. It was just too exciting.... she has this whole other group of friends who I see about once a year or so (usually New Year's Eve), it was very pleasant to get the latest snapshot of their lives. How transient our existence is.

We left at midnight – any later would have meant getting back real late, and my girl does like her sleep. We arrived at Victoria Station at about 1.20, well, we weren't in a hurry to get home. The next train wasn't until 2, so we dropped in at The Stag, just round the corner. The Stag is a little gay bar which the wifey had spotted earlier in the day – I'd never seen it before. She's got sharp eyes, has my girl, probably because she gets a decent amount of sleep. We stayed there for about an hour – lovely little pub, very friendly atmosphere. And then home on the 2 am train, getting to bed at just gone 3.


I love late night bar hopping, and I'm pretty glad that my girlfriend will come out with me and drink shots at two in the morning. A lot of people just won't do that.

This has been a weird weekend.

I was going to go to a friend's birthday party on the Friday, but had to give it a miss due to the world's most stupid sports injury. So that was a shame. I had a constriction injury on my knee, caused by a badly fitting sock. Injured by a 45cm long piece of fabric - proof of "stupid design", if you needed it.

Things were a lot better on Saturday though. I was in London again, on my way to see this show, which the company I work for had gotten us tickets for. I went partly because of some curiosity about the show, and partly to see people from where I work. Our company is spread across three sites, and I'm on one of the smallest of the sites, in Crawley. In fact, I was the only one from Crawley to go, so it was a work do, but didn't feel like a work do at all because I didn't know many of the people there.

I'd arranged to meet my colleague Samantha (Sam) for coffee before the show, and we met at the First Out Café Bar in Soho. It's round the back of the Centre Point building and about 100 metres from the the theatre, which was useful. First Out Café is also the only gay café I've ever heard of, which was cool, although there were a couple of straight people in there kissing, which at lunch time is just offensive... not because it's a gay café, but because people kissing anywhere at lunchtime is just plain annoying.

The show was “We Will Rock You,”, this cheesy excuse to play a lot of Queen songs and make a big pile of money. They have this flimsy excuse for a story to play the songs too. On the whole the show was fun, but I was a bit disappointed with it as well. I thought that the scripted parts should have been cheesier and camper, and I was annoyed by the way they had changed the lyrics in the Queen songs (sacrilege, surely). And I don't care how good they may be, but nobody can do Freddie Mercury the way Freddie Mercury did. But it's not a bad show, just not a show that you have to see before you die.

Sam and I left the show and went to wander round London, looking for somewhere to eat. We ended up at this Italian restaurant somewhere in Holborn (Trattoria Verdi, in Southampton Row). The food was reasonable and the table service was good – and all the staff were real Italians too! After that we took a nice unscheduled walk around Aldwych, before meeting Sam's husband Griff in The Crown pub, Oxford Street for a couple of Britneys. All very civilised.

I could have gone home after that, at about 10.30, but I really wanted another drink and I craved the company of sapphists, so I headed to the Candy Bar in Soho. But the Candy Bar wanted £6 to get in. I was of the opinion that that price would have been fine if I was with friends out for a night, but just for a solo-mission end of the night nigthcap was probably a little bit steep, so I headed into Soho in search of somewhere less pricey, arriving at the Admiral Duncan at about 11. The AD is one of the best known venues in London. I've never been in because it's mostly a guys' venue, but it was free so I ventured in. Then I went outside to stand on the pavement and talk to people there.

On the pavement outside the Admiral Duncan I met someone who I hadn't seen for about 10 years. And he remembers my ex. And he tells me that the Clarence Hotel in Bedford closed down years ago and Russell and Abdou left, and that the Barleymow is now being run by lesbians (that's probably not a bad thing), and that he really, really, remembers my ex very very well, and is pretty glad that she's my ex now.

So, anyway, eventually the bar closed, and I went back to the underground. There was a big party going on on the London underground – the new mayor of London has banned alcohol from the 1st of June, so the London party scene responded by having a huge party on the circle line on the 31st. Excellent. I didn't go to the party but on the streets above we knew that it was going on, and then they closed the underground down, and all the boys in blue disappeared from the streets to go keep an eye on the Circle Line, heh heh heh. I drifted round Soho, talking to and being talked to by tipsy strangers, chancers and just the lost. I got chatting with this (straight) South African girl, who had weekend objectives. Hers were to get a picture of a police officer, which was thwarted slightly by the dearth of coppers on the surface. Mine, incidentally, were to get the phone numbers of two women*, and the nice lady generously helped by giving me hers. I told her I'd text on Monday to see how she did, but I'll probably forget, or chicken out, or something.

Then I met this other guy with a weekend objective: he was a psychotherapist, but is retraining as a film producer. He needed to someone to be his muse, had been talking to people all evening, and just happened to spot me. He wanted to talk to me because I look different to most people... telling a woman she looks different is probably one of the easiest ways to get her to talk to you, as it appeals straight to one's vanity, does it not? We ended up sitting in some doorway smoking cigarettes and discussing Kierkegaard, which is a pretty unusual way to end an evening.

Oh, the fripperies you indulge in when you alone.

I got me this Heart Rate Monitor watch on Sunday, on a whim. I really wanted to go work-out in the afternoon, but my knee isn't 100% yet so I'm resting until tomorrow – I've a 7 mile run with my running buddy scheduled. Instead I monitored my heart rate for sitting around the house. It is about 60 for sitting around, rising to 70 when caffeinated. About 90 – 100 for cleaning the kitchen, shooting up to 130 when I run up the stairs. There are two flights to run up to get to my room.

It's currently 57.

Sussex House in Crawley, one of the town's most important eyesores, has been demolished. It's all gone now, but last week this much was left. It's being redeveloped as shiny new soulless boxes and mindless consumer outlets, which is something to look forward to.


*Set by Rick, following the England - USA 2 - 0 result on Wednesday.

I get the impression, from what I've read, that the best known Pharaoh of ancient Egypt wasn't really a very good leader. I don't think that he achieved anything in his 10 years, except to fool around, be a puppet leader and then die a pointless death aged only 19. His tomb was so small and unimpressive that the grave robbers never really looked that hard, leaving it for the 20th Century archaeologists to marvel over more than 3,000 years later.

I know all of this because on Saturday I went to London to see the 'Tutankhamun – Some Egyptian Guy' exhibition at the O2 arena.

My mother got us all tickets to go and see it last year, so we've been waiting since then for the date. She didn't get tickets for herself because she can remember it pretty well.

I was supposed to meet my younger brother for lunch before going in, and arrived at the bar we were meeting at. I got a beer and asked the barman if he'd seen my brother ('looks like me but with shorter hair'). He said no, so I checked my phone: there was a txt from him saying that he was in Nando's. I called him up to let him know I was coming, and he got lunch in for me, so it was there when I arrived. I chugged my beer back super-quick, and got there to find my brother had nicely gotten me another beer. So I was two beers down before I'd even met the most of my family. I feel that that is the best way to meet them, but I also feel that feeling that means that I will probably be the next embarrassing family alcoholic, unless I stop it, soonish.

The exhibition has shown me a whole new perspective on Ancient Egypt. The first few rooms of the exhibition are filled with inane, stupid, consumerist junk, basically the same kind of rubbish which we fill our lives and houses with today. The only difference is that this stuff is 3,000 years old. There are stupid things like lotion bottles with gods carved on them, model boats, stupid twee statues of gods, spoons carved in the form of naked women... you get the idea. Apparently, the ancient Egyptians were also fond of beer as well So when they weren't out fighting other countries or working in the fields, the Egyptians liked to stay at home, chill out with a beer and play around with nonsense consumerist crap. This brings them to life for me: they aren't just some remote, different, old people who lived thousands of years ago, these are humans just the same as we are, who did some amazing things and utterly stupid and totally pointless things, exactly the same as we still do now.

Some of the things which they actually did get in Tut's tomb were pretty cool though. The regular Egyptians had crap, but the boy-king got buried with good stuff. I think my favourite relic was this crown which which he wore to work. It has the most exquisitely carved vulture head on it, the head of the goddess Nekhbet, goddess of Lower Egypt. It's crisp lines and smooth, shiny appearance look like it was made only yesterday, not over 3,000 years ago. I don't think any of my jewellery will be around in 3,000 years.

The very headdress, in fact. Nekhbet is on the left.

After getting in touch with my Egyptian side, I took a boat from Greenwich to the Embankment and headed downtown. Downtown started out in the Candy Bar, which I quite like. But it's a lesbian bar, and my friend being a bisexual obviously wasn't so keen on it. It's that promoting bisexual stereotypes? I'd go to the Candy Bar again, but I think maybe by myself or with another dyke.

We moved on from there to Trash Palace, a more mainstream gay bar. It was a good evening. At the end of it a large contingent of straight people turned up. I have no problem with straight people coming to gay venues, but I do have a problem with straight couples holding hands and kissing in our places. I think that's because I feel threatened by straight men, and when I'm out letting my hair down with like-minded people, I don't want to be on my guard against predatory men. I don't think that's too much to ask, and I resent being called 'heterophobic' for that....

The roof of the millenium dome, altohugh they don't call it that anymore - I wanted to put one of my pictures in the post, and here is the one which I am putting up. It's the roof of the O2 arena, formerly known as the Millenium Dome. The Dome was built by the British Government, who took a lot of flak for building it. The media all whined about price, but I think that basically they just don't like the design. Or it could be that Brits, especially Londoners, tend to whine all the time anyway.

It was really hot this last few days, and I'm slowly beginning to freckle-up for summer. They're breeding all the way down my shoulders now, and I'm turning a dusky brown underneath. Perty.

I headed down to London on Saturday to meet this old friend for lunch. Then off to Rotherhithe to meet this not-so-old friend Päivi, get the candy, and avoid the Harpy. It didn't go quite according to plan, but actually I think that things came out a lot better than I'd hoped they would do.

The first change was meeting Päivi away from the house. Old Friend had me talking longer than I'd expected and I let time slip a little, so I had to hurry to get to the (incredibly crowded on a hot day) tube. When I finally did get to check my texts, Päivi was sugesting meeting at the station and going somewhere else straight off. So of course I was all "I shan't see the Harpy! Damn! Because although I really don't want to see her, I really do want to see her!" The tube was running slow, late, so I called Päiv up when I finally did get to the station. She was at some shops near the station. And as luck would have it, she had some shopping that she needed to take back to the house. Excellent. Or not so excellent: it turned out that H hadn't been home that night, and wasn't home at 3 when P got back from work, even.

"Well, that's probably a good thing," I said to myself, and chided myself for being such a fucking loser anyway. But as we got into the house, Päivi turns to me and says that Harpy's jacket and shoes have appeared in the hall, and from this she infers that the Harpy is indeed back in the nest. Forsooth, there she was, sitting cross legged 'pon the floor by her laptop, doing something or other. I think my sudden appearence rather caught her out

So we went and had coffee in another room and left her alone.

After a while she came through to chat to us. It went as it always does.... first she is quite distant and stand offish, then she gets friendlier and chatty, and it's like we are friends. Which is nice. Eventually the time for Päivi and I to go out for a couple of drinks in London comes around, and as Päivi goes off to get her coat the Harpy comes across and hints gently that I could come back to their place and stay over, if I wanted to. I politely declined. She gave me a hug, which I can't say wasn't nice.

Päivi is pretty sensible, and isn't one for staying up late drinking, so at about 11 I met up with another chum for a few drinks in the centre of London. Went to some other club and hung out with some other people, who I'm sure were very nice, but I don't really care that much if they were or weren't. Stayed too late, came back on the 4 am train, finally got to bed at 6am.

I actually remembered to take my camera to London, but I never feel inspired to take pictures of the city becasue I don't like the place. So instead there is a picture of the view from the skylights in my room.

Sunday was mostly a write-off. Watched Lewis beat Kimi in the F1, which was all exciting.