Today was a good day...

The Emporer has gone, departed.

Adios, Amigo.

Later, Alligator.

But he didn't leave before doing his usual thing.

That thing being sitting all of the HOD's in a conference room, showing us a motivational video (which in true corporate irony has the opposite effect)and once we have had a moment to digest this, he stands before us, worth his weight in gold, fifty times over. And he says:

''And I will now take questions..''

And when will everybody in the team learn, when will they cop themselves onto the fact that if you ask him a question twenty minutes of you life is gone as he answers it, happily going off on one tangent or another.

You won't get them time back.

When he inevitably came to me, I respectfully declined telling him that my question had already been answered.

Then he climbed into his Merc and left for London.

And the whole hotel breathed a tangible sigh of relief.

Later, I heard via the LONDON GUY that the BOSS had been impressed that myself and another colleague had given up our weekend to ensure that everything went fine.

I felt the Love.

And in true style I took advantage of the situation and managed to get the next three days off. And the weekend.

So I'm not back in work until Monday.

Yay for me.

I almost dropped my glass.

Last Thursday the hotel threw a little party.

The party was for our clinents who had helped make the first year a very successful year - in terms of revenue, the competition and well, Manchester in general. And we wanted to thank our clients.

So the LONDON GUY had the idea to throw a little Barbeque in our second restaurant.

Sales sent out the invites and 90 confirmed.

An outside grill was ordered.

The chef prepared a huge buffet.

THE BOSS asked all of us to be in attendance, to be the hosts and generally schmooze.

In the crazy business that we call hospitality we measure the volume of business given to us from a company and agency in..

Wait for it Binky....

...Room Nights. Not revenue. Room nights. And the more room nights we get the better there rates will be. So all those invited had generated a minmum of four hundred room nights in the first year. Some had generated a couple of thousand and therefore we consider them a major client.

I digress.

As the guests began to arrive I decided to take my place at the entrance of the hotel to meet them, greet them and escort them through for a welcome drink and some chow.

And this I did almost all night.

It was either that or make small talk with people I have never met about subjects I know very little about or have no interest in.

Anyway.....

Half way through the evening THE BOSS gave a speech.

In the last year I have heard him do this several times and I have to say, he is a good statesman.

Half way through his speech he tells everybody that the management team that he has in the hotel is the best he has ever worked with-

-And at his point I feel a swell of pride. For me, he is the best General Manager I have worked with. I like him, I respect him.

He continues and then says something, something that validates one person and invalidates everybody else.

He tells them we are the best team he has ever worked with especially THE LONDON GUY.

I could have dropped my glass. It felt like I had been slapped in the face.

I admit I sulked a little that night and when I got home I fired up the old computerino and started redrafting my resume.

I could have dropped my glass.

They say the world is a small place.

Well, they lied.

The world is a big motherfucker, it's just full of strange coincidences that make it feel small.

One such coincidence is this.

As I was winding my way along Compton st on my way to the Kings Arms, an ex boyfriend of mine was sitting in a small Thai restaurant having lunch with his current boyfriend but secretly noticing me.

I know this because I email this guy nearly everyday and we talk.

We talk about this and that, there's a little flirting-

(I find E-flirting very easy, hiding behind the pixalated compliments but in real life I'm less confidant. I'd like to think of myself as a smoothie but I'm not. What is in my heart and deserves to be said somehow gets transformed into mumbling mess of meaningless gook. Christ it's a class 'A' fucking miracle I get laid at all.)

-and I think a touch of regret for both of us that it didn't pan out for us.

So when he emailed me on Monday to say that he had seen me, I was little taken aback.

Small world huh?

So I get to the Kings Arms and it's not too busy. The first of many beers is purchased and I take up residency in a corner of the bar chatting to a Spanish friend I had met earlier.

I noticed the short,dark sexy barman come on duty. I had admired him from my previous visit and he still retained his sexiness.

He had nice legs and a great ass and a thick black goatee.

I'm a sucker for a nice ass.

The bar filled up steadily and a guy had caught my eye.

He was tall, over six foot and chunky , but in a good looking,sexy kind of way. All night he would look over and I would meet his look before continuing whatever conversation I was having with other people.

We exchanged a cursory hello as I past him to go to the bathroom,'cause once you break the seal there's no going back.

The Gent's at the KA is a bizarre place.

The bar attracts some of the biggest (and let's not forget sexiest) guy's in London and bathroom is probably smallest of all the pubs in London.

Now you may think this is a negative, me I think it's great.

After one such trip and fuelled by the courage provided by copious amounts of alcohol I stopped by and said hello to him.

And he said hello back.

We chatted briefly but it was my next visit to the toilet that we kissed.

And he was a good kisser.

I mean really good. Almost intoxicating.

We kissed for a few minutes and then I had to return to friends.

We exchanged numbers and I was on the verge of asking him back to the hotel when he said he had to go as he had things to do.

I stood outside in the balmy night air surrounded by bears and cubs and I watched him go.

And I thought *WOW*

I left the Kings Arms and went on down to XXL.

I hadn't been to the club in a good four years.

When I went regularly my enjoyment was less and less as I felt it to be a very cliquey environment.

But on this night I had a great time, and I mean a really great time.

After cruising around a little I took a spot on the dancefloor and let the music take me.

Now don't get me wrong I am not a great dancer.

Normally I wouldn't go near the dance floor if I were anywhere else but at XXL , in the semi-darkness of the dry ice and heavy bass I just went with it.

It was was almost spiritual, in a very unspiritual kind of way.

I ended up dancing next to a maturebear who looked after me, in as much as sharing his water and wiping the sweat off my brow.

I finally left around 2.30 am and rode the bus to Trafalgar Sq and took a walk up St Martin's Lane to the hotel.

Back to the Kelly.

And the certainty of room service breakfast next morning.

When not updating his blog or whoring his principles at the hotel for a lousy buck, the writer can be found leaping tall buildings in a single bound, deciphering bible codes and working on a cure for cancer. In his diseased mind, that is..

'' The Emperor is coming here....?'' says the fearsome Commander as he stares into the deep.soulless eyes of Lord Vader.

Sound familiar ? It should do, Geekboy!

It's one of the lines from the opening scenes of 'Revenge Of The Jedi'.

Doh! I mean 'Return of the Jedi'.

Old habits and all that...

This line has taken on a new meaning around the hotel, 'cept it's:

''The Chairman is coming here....?

Yes he is Binky!!!! For the Mardigras!!!

Go the fuck and figure!!!!

The one weekend of the year thats is better than Christmas (more colourful AND a lot more fairies and if your a good boy the fairy will give you a present...) and JS (as he is known in a whisper around the company) chooses to come and squeeze the palms of us good folks here in the north.

This means we ALL have to work.

He has an itinary planned down to the last detail and it's all designed to keep him out of the hotel.

Out of sight,out of mind, etc.

Unfortunately I can't reprint it here as its hidden inside a little R2 unit.

And no matter how proud we are -and we are very proud- of our little mancunian Death Star we don't need the grief should something not be right.

If his egg is overcooked then the WHOLE of Food and Beverage is rubbish.

Dramarama.

And no multimillionaire and ruler of our little galaxy is complete without an entourage and his number 14.

14.

Is that the sign of the beast?

Sheesh!

So if you see 14 middle aged indian guys wandering around looking uncomfortabele and wearing pink t-shirts with 'Sex Bitch' in silver glitter. And torn jeans and white trainers..

It's them.

Approach with extreme caution.

And don't try the Jedi mind trick on him.

That's WAY to obviouse.

The writer would like to point out the he is not a transvestite called Gloria at the weekends as is rumoured. It's Tuesdays and Sophia.

Life is like a box of chocolates.

Empty, save for the coffee creams that nobody wants.

Seriousely though folks, I'm feeling the love at the moment as a rival hotel is headhunting me.

I must have done SOMETHING right.

Yep, these mad fools have contacted me asking the usual questions of what I've done, where I'm going and how much coinage does my current employer put in my paycheck every month.

I told 'em and put 3k on top.

Sneaky.

And nothing less than Deputy GM.

And when I think of all that has happened in the last few months, how low I have felt, how the BOSS has failed to see or care about what is happening in his little slice of middle earth, about the arrival and current residency of the LONDON GUY....

Man,even with my two left feet it's gonna be hard not to dance....

The JollyQueerGiant went to London for a jolly this weekend.

I took my usual place outside the Crown pub on friday night and slugged back some beers with colleagues like we used to in the good old days.

The good old days being when I was in London and was a founding member -and champion of- the Friday Night Drinking Club.

Or the Beermonsters.

Or the Boozeketeers.

You get the picture.

The Manager of the hotel had very kindly organised a suite for me,

Room 707, formerly the Kelly Suite.

The best room in the establishment.

7th floor overlooking Seven Dials.

Being a poor bitch with aspirations I loved every minute of it.

So Friday we had beers and then an Indian.

We entered the Balti House and the waiter recognised me, knowing I would be ordering a CTM and family Naan bread.

CTM Binky, is a Chicken Tikka Masala.

Later I sat in my suite looking at the London skyline at night, soaking in it's urban beuty.

I could see straight down St Martins Lane and all the way to the London Eye.

And at 2am it is at it's most peaceful, most mystical.

When I worked in that hotel a few years back I would climb out onto the roof and sit watching the city, watch the people come and go along the narrow Covent Garden streets,watch the planes overhead and the cranes in the distance.

Nobody knew I did this, the city and I had an understanding.

Saturday came with the arrival of room service breakfast and after a shower I began to wander the streets, looking in shops, watching the people.

I noticed with a little sadness that the Cockroach Cafe is no more.

Man, I used to love that place.

Cafe Centrale in Soho was a haunt of mine for many years, mainly because the pasta portions were so big, even I could not finish it.

Yes Binky, I can eat a lot!!

I christened it the Cockroach Cafe after seeing one of the little buggers in there one day. But it didnt put me off, the food was too good.And it was ruled by a genuine Italian Momma, complete with a dogged looking husband cooking in the small kitchen

Soho is great on any given day, it's always alive.

The hustle of the twinks outside G A Y and the bustle of the clones outside Comptons.

The deli's and the coffee houses.

And I always get asked if I want a whore when I walk down Berwick st.

Don't they know I smoke dick?

I lift shirts and I garden uphill.

I carry my pink Card at all times.

I wandered up Berwick street past the market and turned into Poland st to meet a friend in thre King's Arms....

Do bears crap in the woods?

Not unless the Pope is around to hear it!!!!

Bwah ha ha ha ha ha ha!!

Binky, I made another funny!!! That's TWO this year!!!!

Well, the Manchester Bear social event is rapidly approaching and all over Manchester posters are starting to appear advertising the main Gay Pride weekend of which the nights at The Outpost will be the highlight for a lot of us.

Bare chests, pierced nipples and hairy legs will be on display -
and that's just the lesbian's!!

Bwah ha ha ha ha ha ha

Jeez,I'm on a roll!!

Seriousely, if you have been kind enough to have a look at my little blog, please say hello, I'll be more than happy to talk to you.

I might even let you buy me a pint.

And if your really lucky I'll sleep with you.

Relax, I'm just kidding!!

Maybe.

I'm watching the Commitments on tv and I'm getting a little nostalgic for Dublin.

I spent two years in Ireland and enjoyed them immensely, on the whole.

The Dublin in the Commitments is a lot different from the Dublin I was exposed too, but thats no thanks to me, it owes more to the man I fell in love with and eventually broke my heart.

I met him in the George one cold January night,I gave him my number and he said he would call me in 2 weeks, as he was busy until then, it was only a cursory conversation and I thought no more of it.

The George is the equivalant of the Quebec in London.

But call he did.

We went for dinner and spent the night in a hotel.

That was on a Wednesday.

We had another dinner on the friday and spent the night in a cottage he had bought in Booterstown. It was little more than a building sight inside but the bedroom was furnished and we spent the night there.

Love among the rubble, he called it once.

He was 46 when I met him and a Doctor. Sex was great, he liked it early in the morning and I was happy to oblige.

I had yet to discover the magic of poppers and how to be receptive, that was to come later when I had returned to London.

I slowly met his family and they were a prominent Dublin family.

One of his brothers was a banker, the other a politician.

Another - my favourite- was a Doctor in Canada.

One nephew was an Architect and a niece was married to a multi millionaire.

The first time I met them was at a party and I receieved major validation as this 40-ish Doctor and uncle to the assortment of nephews and nieces started to kiss me openly, I was a little self conciouse but he wasn't. We snogged like any other couple , in between champagne and wine.

We went back to his cottage and fucked.

The circle of frends I was introduced too were -in their own quirky, almost eccentric way- amazing to me.

Conversastions over food and wine were fascinating for me, for somebody who was bright but not particularly well educated.In fact, wine was a popular topic and discussed at great length.

I listened mostly, contributing only when necessary.

I didn't feel...well, worthy.

What could I say to these people who had grown up in the seventies, had partied hardy and tried various substances, who could quote Waugh, Coward and Yeates in the same breath-

( I had never read Waugh (But did so later..) had heard of Coward and had yet to pick a volume Yeates)

-they were doctors and opticians, millionaires and entrapaneurs. One was the manager of a marina ( I liked him a lot, great guy) and one worked at the medical college, she was also a favourite.

One, I feel just tolerated me for his sake.

They were a product of their age and of their middle class upbringing.

I was a product of my working class upbringing.

A fish out of water.

Still, I enjoyed those evenings immensely, I was an observer but I feel I also gained an education and I am thankful for that.

I was in love. And I felt it was reciprocated.

But I should have known, I should smelt the coffee.

The begining of the end was four months after we met. We had had sex, I was leaving the cottage for work that morning and I was kissed goodbye as usual.

I got a telepone call from him at midday telling me that his friend from Australia was arriving tomorrow and he was going to spend the next two weeks with him.

It was something they had been planning for years.

This trip had been mentioned a few months earlier but never mentioned again. I had thought no more of it,why should I?

I was gobsmacked.

I called him a bastard and hung up.

I went home that evening and climbed into bed, falling asleep only to be awaoken a few hours later by him.

And I got it all.

I forget the details of the conversation but I thought for all intents and purposes that that was that.

I was deeply upset.

In retrospect I should have gotten into my car and just left, never to have been seen again. That would have been cleaner and better for me in the long run.

But I was in love.

He turned up the next morning and we had breakfast and he was deeply sorry and said that if he could turn the clock back he would.

Then he went off to the airport to meet the australian.

And I waited.

Two weeks later the status quo was restored but the inevitable was only postponed.

It came a few months later.

His mother had died and perhaps the best party I ever went to was thrown, as is the Irish way. After the church service in Booterstown everybody retired to the Merrion hotel for lunch.

We sat down at 1pm and didn't leave the table until 8pm, a huge collection of empty wine bottles left behind.

The usual suspects were at the table.

The end came swiftly. Dinner and then a conversation over a pint in the Shelbourne hotel. That was it. Finished.

He didn't love me, he said.

Small words that shattered a world.

And broke a heart, that may have been waiting to be broken.

I was quite devastated, although I tried my best not to show it. I continued to go to work but my enthusiasm had left me, I came home to nothing and began to spend more time in the pub with colleagues and did one or two silly things, nothing too serious but I will not recount them here.

That Binky, is another blog.

After we split we saw each other a few times, terse converations but no arguements.

I felt as though my heart had been ripped out and it took me a long, long time get over this feeling, this churning of the stomach and misery.

The circle of friends I had been allowed to be included in was suddenly gone, and I noted that none of them ever extended their concern or comforting word to me.

That hurt me too, really it did.

But not one called. Ever.

I could think of no reason to stay in Dublin so I left.

He saw me off at the ferry terminal as I drove back to England, and I was shocked when he burst into tears saying goodbye.

Back in London I walked into the job I had walked out of two years before,picked up where I had left off.

But I was still hurting inside.

I had a few telephone calls and these became fewer as time went on.

Time went on, life went on and each day I felt a little better, and in some respects I became hard inside.

I met one boyfriend and then another.

I moved to Manchester.

He came to see me last year for a few days, and it was fine. We talked, had dinner and had sex.

Then he left.

I get the odd phonecall now, usually to organise a hotel room in London.

I've moved on. Water under the bridge.

But sometimes I do get a yearning, the heart flutters, usually by images of Dublin or a flavour of Ireland.

Like the Commitments tonight.

Roide Sally, Roide.

Clowns.

I hate 'em.

Big smiley red nosed bastards.

You know underneath that red curly hair and painted on smile, beneath the oversized trousers and inside the big floppy shoes lurks something bad,something not quite right,something just left of the centre.

I've never liked them, ever since I had a very vivid dream when I was five years old.

In this dream I woke up to see a clown standing before me, I was petrified with fear. It proceeded to climb over my bed and climb out through window, pausing only to look back me at giggle.It was a Stephen King moment.

Clowns.

They are the stuff nightmares are made of.

Sometimes, even now, some thirty years later I can wake up in the middle of night and for a split second I am gripped in an unrational fear that I am not alone in my apartment, that something is lurking over there, in the shadows.

Just like I did last night.

I turned over and tried to get back to sleep, one eye open and looking around the room until I finally fell into unconciousness.

Clown's.

I hate 'em.

This is too funny.....

Hit the link, Binky!

http://www.thebestpageintheuniverse.net/c.cgi?u=banish

There is a documentary on BBC2 called 'Sad to be Gay'.

It's about a thirtysomething guy -David- who doesn't want to be gay anymore.

He wants a straight life -a wife and family - more than anything.

He goes to a community in america to try and overcome his homosexuality. The people in this community are incredibly religous, and he is at odds, not only with his sexuality but also with the zealous nature of the facilitors who have banned such things as facial hair.

It's kinda sad and I feel for the guy.

The people in the Love Action group try to convice him that the abuse he suffered as a child makes him seek the love of other men.

Gladly Davis rejects this and instead comes back to England with a sense of peace, content to wait for somebody to come along and ignite the fire within him.

With the changes in the adoption laws his dream of becoming a father seem achievable.

I admire his honesty in making this film,and although I can relate to his feeling of loneliness and longing, I cannot relate to his self loathing.

I like being gay. I wouldn't change me for the world.

The job I do can be suffocating sometimes.

Stifling, even.

Over the last 9 years I have risen through the company to a fairly senior level. I have managed a couple of properties in London and have been a part of the opening team here in Manchester.

I have won a couple of awards and been bollocked to the middle of next week.

In the hotel I have done it and seen it all. Nothing would shock me.

Not even the drunken naked woman wondering around the lobby first thing this morning.

Binky, pass her a leaflet on bikini waxing,if you would be so kind..

I don't know how the straight guys can do it.

And I can get away with murder if I wished. I know all the tricks.

But I feel completely unable to be myself. I feel unable to have a number 2 all over - and I would love that! Really, I would like nothing more than to have the barber run his razor over my head with a number 2 only and really look like one of those guys you see on Eurowoof or BearWWW.

I know it may seem like a big deal, but we are so disciplined in this company in terms of presentation etc, it's a wonder I get away with my gotee. In fact, referring to the employee handbook I shouldn't have it.

I would love to have an earring too.

I WILL be getting my first tattoo this week. I am searching for a design that has some meaning for me, not just some random tribal or celtic symbol. It has to have meaning.

I'd love a tattoo on my ass. There is something very sexy about a guy with a tatt on his left cheek. Something to admire while your digging deep.

The first I'm gonna do when I leave this company - for whatever reason - is a number 2 all over.

So Binky, let me tell you something really cool.

I have been walking on air after reading a comment left on the last post.

It was left by a bonafide writer, he said that I write beutifully.

*WOW*

I mean fucking *WOW*

Okay it may not be a big deal for you Binky, but for me?

Wow.

So I'm sitting at my desk and my phone rings.

I answer and the hotel operator tells me my brother is on the phone.

Okay that's cool.

Paul or Andrew or Jason want something and thats cool too. They are younger than me and great guys.

I give my usual robobtic company standard greeting and I am then halted in my tracks.

''Neil it's Mark.''

Mark. My older brother.

This I was not expecting. This caught me by suprise.

There was no 'how are you?'.

Or 'how's things?'.

Or Lets-shoot-the-shit-for-five-minutes.

No, straight to the point my brother - could I organise some rooms in London for him.

And I wanted to say no.

I wanted to tell him 'no', 'cause the only time I hear from him is when he wants a room in a hotel.

But of course I didn't, I told him I would see what I could do.

My feelings toward him are mixed.

I want to like him, I want to be able to talk to him, I want it to not be awkward when we are together in the same house when I am visiting my mother but I just can't.

And I don't think it would be reciprocated either.

He had things a lot harder than I did when we were growing up.

Being older he was more acutely aware of what was happening.

The fallout of my mother walking out on her marriage and her children was felt more by him than me.

And I'm sorry for that.

I was his shadow over the next few years, I went everywhere he went and did whatever he did.

This was in the seventies when kids went OUTSIDE the house to play,on bikes and in the local woods without a care in the world.

In my memory days seem longer and sunnier, punctuated with The Tomorrow People and Cheggars playing pop.

We were split up when I left to go and live with my mother and over the next few years we really grew apart.

Even when he had the big fallout with our father and came to live with my mother things got worse.

Until finally we stopped talking at all.

And thats where we are today,more or less.

So he called me for a room in one of our London hotels this weekend.

And I wanted to say no.

But I didn't.

I started the weekend under a dark cloud and I didn't know why.

I came home friday night and locked the front door and my mood just seemed to spiral down and for the life of me I couldn't tell you the reason.

I was feeling down because I have only been moderately successful in my career and other people seem to be doing more, I was down in the depths because I haven't bought a house at thirty five, I'm overweight, I feel ubattractive, I'm single....

Blah blah fucking blah.

I could go on.

And this wasn't like me, I have a happy optimistic disposition and naturally see the good in most situations.

It didn't last and by saturdsay I had shaken the mood off and felt better and today I feel great.

Maybe it's the thought of returning to work tomorrow that has lifted my spirits...

Heh no.