Wednesday, August 13, 2003
Don't Sit Too Close To Me
Dawn's not too sure, you see. After sukiyaki and sake, she and the girls are going to this camp comedy club, but it'll be her first time in a gay bar, and she's worried it's going to be more Village People than Queer As Folk. But Trish says not to worry, 'cos Gareth will be there, and he'll look after them, and anyway, titters Sarah, some of those boys are, like, totally fit, and you really wouldn't know they're gay at all.
Meanwhile, to my right, Juan and Julio have just so obviously met for the first time at G.A.Y last night. They’re staring soulfully into each other's still loved-up puppy-dog eyes, babbling away in Portuguese. When their bento boxes arrive, and they have to stop their mutual pawing because they need their hands for the chopsticks, they start on some serious footwork under the table, at one point nudging my Converses by mistake.
While I appreciate the great-value food and no-fuss attitude of noodle canteens like Satsuma in Soho, the management's habit of jamming you thigh-by-thigh next to total strangers in rows of long, refectory-style tables is about as welcome as a kick in the tako-yaki. Call me old-fashioned, but I like to concentrate on savouring my sushi, rather than being forced to listen to Dawn's doubts about the evening, or the cooings and wooings of two randy Brazilians.
Of course, if I was eavesdropping on them last night, they were probably doing the same to me and the Social Worker. As we were chatting about nitrate abuse, a knife-carrying psychopath we're both rather fond of, and the cost of pectoral implants (two grand apiece on Harley Street, if you’re interested), I hope Dawn and the girls, never mind Juan and Julio, don't run their own blogs. I'd hate just any old riff-raff reading about what I get up to in the evenings, thank you very much…