Saturday 15th August 2009
Just been surfing Yahoo news and I see that George Michael has gone and got himself arrested again, honestly, if ever a bloke needed a strict Daddy, it’s him, he’s set on self-destructing. I hate to think what Shane would do if Dick ran a £80,000 car up the arse of a seven ton truck. He wouldn’t be able to park his arse on a chair until the next millennium.
All has been quiet on the houseboy front of late. Not much to journal about, life is pretty much a round of getting up, doing what a houseboy has to do and going to bed. The men folk have been busy with work, it’s been a hard year for them both and they’ve had to put in more hours and effort just to stay in the same place, economic times are difficult and businessmen can’t afford to be indolent. The few days they took off to spend with me in July were really great and I appreciated them all the more because I knew they were days they would not have taken on their own account. I’d been feeling a bit sidelined and neglected, and though I tried not to let it upset me, because I knew I was being a selfish prick, it did upset me and it manifested in attention seeking behaviour, such as dyeing my hair. I guess I felt a need to test them. Shane said that one of these days I will finally take on board that it’s better to talk to them upfront about what I’m thinking and feeling rather than acting it out. The thing is, sometimes I’m not really sure what I’m thinking and feeling until after I have acted it out. I did intend to write the details up as a chapter for my autobiog, but the writing bug seems to have deserted me lately. I have loads of chapters that I should try to complete, but I just can’t muster the enthusiasm. The diary has also fallen by the wayside a bit. It takes discipline to maintain a diary or blog and most people, so I read somewhere, rarely keep it up for longer than a few months, so I guess that I should be pleased that I’ve managed to keep going for as long as I have.
In some ways I regret beginning to write online, it becomes kind of confining in the end. If you keep a pen and paper diary, which I sporadically do, it’s totally a private interaction between you, the pen and the page, and there’s no pressure involved. You can write something or not write something, but when you put yourself online then other factors come into play and you find yourself becoming a prisoner of your own vain ego. You feel flattered to think that people are interested in your life and doings and you feel obliged to keep going. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the experience, but lately it has felt more like a chore and when that happens you have to seriously ask yourself whether its time to consider taking a break. Plus there comes a point when you wonder if folk have begun to lose interest anyway and if that’s the case then I need to find other avenues of expression. I had seven kind people buy a copy of the download I made from earlier diary entries. That told me a lot. It told me that the stuff I’ve written over the past few years has little lasting value for anyone but me. The site gets a lot of traffic, far more than I ever imagined it would. In fact I didn’t think anyone would ever find my tiny 'secret' portion of the Internet. I don’t think the boyfriends did either, which is one reason I was allowed to continue. However, the majority of site visitors aren’t interested in what’s gone before, it's like smoke through a keyhole, they only want new stuff, and then more new stuff and I can understand that, but again it leaves me to question what my motivation is. Having to swap sites also pissed me off a bit. I’m just one of those people that hates change. Anyway, you might have noticed that I’ve redecorated the new place; so to speak, I thought it might help rekindle my interest. I think it looks a bit cleaner and smarter.
Shane has been away for a few days; he went over to Sweden to have a shufty at some building project there. He was due home yesterday, but he decided to visit his dad and stayed there overnight. He’ll be back this evening. I’m looking forward to having him back in the lair. Dick is sprawled on the couch at the moment watching the racing on our new telly. The old telly bit the dust last Wednesday evening. Dick and I have made a solemn vow never to tell Shane exactly how the old telly met its fate. Basically we were arsing about in the lounge. We were grappling with each other in an effort to see who could perform a leg wheel Judo throw first. Dick has an unfair advantage over me, he’s much taller and he practiced Judo at school. After hitting the rug twice I was absolutely determined that he would not make it a hat trick. The struggle moved off the rug and onto the polished wood floor, I slipped and we both ended up staggering and crashing over, bringing the television off its stand in the process. Both screen and case shattered as it hit the deck.
Dick casually phoned Shane and informed him that the television set had stopped working: “we just switched it on, Daddy, and there wasn’t a spark of life in it.” Of course he didn’t mention that we’d killed it with our carrying on. Shane told us to get someone out to look at it, to see if it was repairable. I duly called someone out next day. I was coldly informed that he was a repairman not a fucking miracle worker. Dick was then able to truthfully tell Shane that the telly was beyond repair and get dispensation to buy a new one. Dick took yesterday afternoon off work and after taking the shattered telly to the tip (getting rid of the evidence) we went to PC World to look at new ones. A salesman with a slick tongue convinced Dick that 42” was something to relish and that no one worth their salt should settle for anything smaller. I think he was talking about tellies. So, as of this morning we now have a 42” telly dominating the lounge. I can’t see Shane being too pleased about it. Our last telly was 37” and he thought that was more than ample. He says if you want really grand scale then you should go to the cinema. I can’t see him being pleased about how much it cost either. I’ve told Dick that if there’s any bother it’s down to him to own it, because I warned him that it was too big. He kissed me and said not to worry as he could sweet talk Daddy just fine. We’ll see.
Well, I’m off to make a start on dinner. Shane will be tired after his trip and all the driving, so we’ll stay at home to eat this evening. Ciao.
Thursday 27th August 2009:
It’s been a wet miserable week for the most part, but it dawned fair, fine and breezy today. I got loads of bedding washed and pegged out to dry early this morning. Everything smells fresher when it’s been dried outside. I was supposed to get my hair cut this morning, but I passed. I’ve got a fresh eruption of spots on my forehead and chin and the thought of staring at myself in a hair salon’s sadistic mirror was just too much. Plus, I managed to rub garlic puree into my face last night instead of Duac gel. I can still smell it even though I’ve washed my fizzog with everything from soap to lemon scented washing up liquid. Dick tried to claim it had gone this morning, but he grimaced when he kissed me, so I know he was lying. No way am I going out smelling like a vampire killer’s mascot. The gel I use for my acne has to be kept in the fridge. I was tired and distracted last night, and I picked up a tube of garlic puree (I use it to make garlic mayo with) instead of the Duac gel, the tubes are a similar colour. I’d smeared it all over my forehead before the stench registered and alerted me to my mistake. I felt like a right stupid prat and the puree tube ended up flying across the kitchen, along with a string of expletives, which didn’t please Shane who thundered into the kitchen and demanded to know what the hell I was stropping about now.
Last weekend was shit in more ways than one. For a start, Shane’s sister and his pa landed their broomsticks on our drive last Friday afternoon. The Muppet was paying an annual visit to his sister, the one that Pen can’t stand, so she decided to pay us a call instead. I reckon the Muppet doesn’t actually have any sisters for real. He just hires some so that he can periodically escape Pen’s clutches and let his hair down, what he has left of it, poor sod. Penny annoyed me the moment she crossed the threshold. I’d made up the bedrooms for them and she had the nerve to go in and check that her father’s room was up to scratch. She dusted, even though I’d cleaned and polished every surface and then she demanded that I tell her where the clean sheets and duvet covers were. I just about lost it. I informed her that the sheets and covers on the bed were freshly laundered and had just been put on that morning, so there was no need for her to exert herself. She is such a bitch. I could cheerfully poke her in the eye with a sharp stick. Shane says that we’re as bad as each other, always looking for an opportunity to stick the boot in. The thing is she can treat me like shit and get away with it, but if I retaliate I get my ear bent and my backside spanked. Dick says that it’s my duty as a houseboy to treat all houseguests with respect and consideration, regardless of whether or not I personally like them. I tried to get him to admit that Penny is a prize cow, but he wouldn’t. He said her bark is worse than her bite. I asked if that was a polite way of saying she was a bit of an old dog. I was sharply told to watch my manners and behave.
Having poison Pen as a houseguest was bad enough, but to make things worse I actually managed to poison everyone in the house on Friday might. I made a chilli for dinner using dried kidney beans, only I didn’t cook them properly and we all ended up being pretty sick as a result. I didn’t know that red kidney beans were potentially toxic; I mean there was no warning on the packet. Needless to say, I was not a popular houseboy for a while there. I felt really bad about the whole thing and really stupid as well. I’m telling you now, if you make chilli then stick to canned kidney beans, don’t bother trying to be clever by using the dried ones, or if you do make sure you properly soak and thoroughly cook the evil little bastards to kill the toxin they craftily conceal beneath their red jackets. The sickness and cramps were pretty intense, but thankfully of a short duration, an hour or so. Thank God for multiple bathrooms. Shane’s dad was worst affected, projectile vomiting like someone auditioning for a part in The Exorcist. Shane, worried, and nagged at by poisoned Pen, called out the doctor, and it was she who pinpointed the cause of our collective malady.
We went over to Leo’s place on Sunday and he made a joke about my poisonous cooking. I lost my temper and told him to go fuck himself, and make sure he used a condom in order to avoid an STD. Unfortunately, Shane overheard and made known his displeasure. It was a long dull day from my point of view and it ended badly, for me. Everyone was following the cricket, even Penny. Apparently the Muppet used to play cricket and still does a bit of umpiring. I’m just not a cricket fan. Anyway, when England won the Ashes, a delighted Leo broke out the champagne by way of celebration. It was good champagne too, very expensive and I’d never tasted it. Of course I’m not allowed to drink. I was pissed off and jealous and as a consequence ended up in conflict with Shane. I’m still being cool with him, not that he seems bothered. I think he actually prefers it when I go quiet on him.
I don’t know what the heck I’m doing for dinner tonight. I did consider making a chilli just to see the look on the men folk’s faces when I dished it up. However, given Shane’s mood of late I quickly unconsidered. I like being able to sit down I do. I’m not really in a cooking mood, it’s too warm and I’ve got a headachey feeling. I’ve got some baked gammon in the fridge; I think I’ll just serve that with a salad and some crusty bread.
gillibran_brown@yahoo.co.uk
