Credit Crunch Britain

The recession ain't over yet. The local sex club has launched a loyalty card.

The nice side of hypocrisy

Earlier post: Blah blah blah won't read reviews blah blah.

This post: Accidentally find lovely review of new book on Den of Geek. Apparently I am "occasionally touching", which really does describe the last few weeks nicely. Hurrah. Stern principles out of window. Whee.

In other news: Lost Symbol was thunderingly good read (apart from wobble on page 430 when villain's plan is revealed) and my friend Darian took me out in Dalston. Travelling to a gay bar by bus feels just soooper cool. Especially when you're being told "No, not this stop. This is the dangerous stop. We wait till the stop past the Russian mafia bar."

Jackson Stops

At a gay bar in Islington. I notice there is grafitti above the long urinal. Going from left to right it says "S... M... L... XL".

A busy week for guilty pleasures

Dan Brown's new book is published and it's the last ever issue of The London Paper. I'm quite excited about both these things.

True Blood and the Singleton

Surely by now you're watching True Blood (The Ryan Kwanten Nekkid Shagging Hour). But have you walked past one of the books in Borders? Ooh, you've thought. Aren't they classy? Shall we have a look at a cover?



Gosh. Very moody. Very sinister. Oh so Twilight. Perfectly in keeping with the show.

But hang on a moment. Shall we see how those books were first jacketed?



Crikey. Er. Crikey.

Sorry Alan Turing!

Gordon Brown has said sorry. Not for anything he was directly responsible for, but for a previous government driving Alan Turing to eat a poisoned apple after locking him up in a crazy house.

Poor bugger. It's curious the way these things work out isn't it? You invent computers and swing the war and then afterwards get caught trousering another man and immediately there's talk of "loose lips" and suddenly you're a nodding eunuch in a mental home.

Alternatively, you're a Nazi rocket scientist who killed thousands? Well, why not come to American and have a lovely life at NASA?

We have much to thank Alan Turing for, although who knows what he'd make of internet dating. He'd probably come up with a formula for it. God knows, some of the guys I've chatted to wouldn't pass the Turing Test.

The sad note about it is the campaigner on the Today Programme. It's well worth a listen. She manages instantly to come across as a moaning minnie for whom nothing is ever good enough. "Well, we're grateful for the apology, I'm sure, but you must remember that Bletchley Park is in a terrible state". Sigh.

A year of cat

I've had a cat for a year. I've spent most of that year thinking that it's the fattest cat in the world, until my parents took her to the vet to try and sort out her tangled hair and brought her back shaved.

"Oh," says my mother down the phone, "She's tiny. You can see her ribs."

By all accounts, underneath all that fur the poor thing was one meal away from the RSPCA. So, having spent a year telling me it was hungry, the cat is now wandering around going "See? Told you so." It's also remarkably more affectionate, but I'm putting it down to the cat being cold.

The cat has enjoyed its month in the country, spending it proudly dragging in dead animals. Now it's back in the flat it contents itself with hiding cigarette lighters and looking disapproving. See? Still a boyfriend replacement.

Almost a review

"Possibly interesting" says someone of new book before it comes out. Well, I should certainly hope so. The internet's a funny place where almost anything you've done/are about to do can be instantly commented on. About the only exceptions, mercifully, are Gentleman's Dating Sites. Can you imagine the horror of that? ("Tries very hard but not as good as last time. One for completists only. 2 out of 10").

Mind you, reactions to last book continue polarised. Good: "Awesome. The villains are gods who come to Cardiff to save the gay scene from mullets - WHAT?" to Bad: "Good. But the fanfic out there is better."

It's always going to be the case when you're playing with someone else's toys - as much as they're owned by telly makers, in the spin-off world the characters are very much co-owned by the fans, and it's a bit cheeky to ask them to shell out cash for a book that makes them think "um, no, i'd rather they didn't do that".

I do hope some people like new book. But not everyone will. I'm sure I'll read some of the reviews - naturally I'll tend to look up any kind ones. And any unkind ones? Well, I'll probably look at them eventually, think very hard about what I've done, and either learn from my mistakes or cut-copy-and-paste bad review into next book. Not that I've done that this time. Oh no.

Ah well. Perhaps I can pay Zoe Griffin to review it.

This just gets worse

Tweed police 'to check camera phones' for footage of his alleged rape.

Curious

A letter arrives from a local pensioner daycare centre. Apparently a crate of author copies of my new book have been sent to them by mistake.

Sometimes, my life just writes itself.

The upgrade

Readers of Entertainment Weekly and about no-one else will know the controversy over Jon & Kate + 8, the US reality show about a firecracker, her doormat, and their eight kids.

Of course, once fame beckoned, Jon ran for freedom shacking up with, seemingly, his wife's plastic surgeon's daughter. Since then things have been rocky, but America seems bemused.

And then comes the news that Jon's cancelled a public appearence, replaced by Ryan Kwanten. Ryan... Kwanten. That one. Off True Blood. You know the one I mean. The naked one who the plot keeps getting in the way of.

Let's just run this one by you again, slowly.

JON:


RYAN:


Seriously. I'd love to imagine the phone call. "Sorry, no, slightly sullied family man's pulled out of your casino opening. But don't panic. I can offer you the shagger from True Blood."

Direct-to-DVD

Sarah Connor could get direct-to-DVD finale, said a barman at G-A-Y before asking you to move out of the way as he totally needs that bit of counter to lean on and look moody whilst checking Grindr.

*lets out girly scream of excites*

The Death of Zen

Goodbye then, trusty Creative Zen Media player. We've had some times. You've played a lot of terrible music and some great Radio Four. Remember when I showed a video on you to a BBC Future Media Exec and they said "oh, but don't you need a TV Licence for that, sweets?"

You've been smashed and you've still worked, you've diligently played every format, you've been held together with sellotape for the last year... but you've been a good friend.

Now alas, you're utterly shagged. And I don't know what to replace you with. Do I upgrade you to your credit-card sized replacement? Despite my sexuality, I just can't get an iPhone as it won't play most of the media formats I use and isn't available on my phone network.

Temporarily, I've got a £20 new generation portable Digital Radio. And it's proved what I've always feared... Digital Radio is fucked. It's like mobile broadband - it works perfectly if you're in Central London and stand very still.

Digital Radio's been around longer than most people have had the internet, but the idea that they still haven't produced something that can receive Radio 4 on a day with a "y" in it is laughable.

Here's a hilarious piece as a BBC's correspondent tries to test in-car digital radios. Utter Radio Fail:

Could Digital Radio Switchover cost Labour the next general election? The middle-class middlebrow heartland will take almost anything, but not the loss of the Archers in 2015.

[ PS: Dear BBC News. It's lovely that you offer "please embed this clip in your blog" on video clips, but why is it the fattest embed code ever, far wider than blog templates, and immediately stops working if you try and resize it? ]