some days, as empty
as an isle of mann gay bar,
pass by without note.
My application form for the National Poetry Competition arrived today. I did some work on the laptop and chatted for a while with Big Gay Al, who now lives in San Diego. After telling him I was going to Spain for a wedding in August he suggested I should say to a waiter “Quiero chupar el pene negro grande!” which apparently means ‘Please may I sample some of your local chorizo’.
Bo Diddley and Yves St Laurent have both run up the curtain and joined the choir invisible which is a bit of a shame for their fans.
We’re getting a bit worried about Robert. He’s taken to picking up young men in parks and taking them home. I’ve no problem with people picking up young men in parks. It’s more or less one of the commandments of the Gay Bible, but it’s never wise to take them home unless you can be sure they’re not going to murder you or run off with the George Forman grill. The last one, since Robert doesn’t have a George Forman grill, took his bike instead.
Last Saturday he informed us that he’d found out where the young man in question lived, and had seen the bike chained up outside, so, armed with a pair of boltcutters, he set out in the dead of night, liberated the bike, and returned home.
Later, another young man turned up, with another bike that he’d stolen from someone else. He left the next day, and failed to take the bike with him, which left Robert in the strange position of being in the possession of two bikes, one of which he had stolen back from the person who stole it from him, and the other having been presumably stolen and left as a gift.
I suggested that he should take the second bike and chain it up outside the house where he stole his own bike back from.
This may have been a mistake, as it’s a suggestion he may well feel is worthy of following.