I get the keys to my house on Monday.

You betcha I'm excited.

No, really I am.

I can't wait to get in there,to buy furniture, to start decorating.

I know, typical fag.

IQUEA here I come.

I can't adequately put into words what an achievement this is for me.

I'm growing up.

Albeit in a kicking and screaming fashion, but I am.

Shit, it's scary.

I'm enjoying a great book at the moment.

A biography of Alan Alda.

You know, Binky, 'Hawkeye' from M*A*S*H.

He's been a bit of hero of mine since I was a kid and I followed the adventures of those wacky Doctors at the Four Oh Seventy Seventh week in week out.

I was attracted to the character of Hawkeye in a big way.

Not attracted in any physical way, but in a kind of hero worship way.

I liked his anger, his rage against the machine (in this case the madness of the korean war), his sarcasm and his way out sense of humour.

The character always rang true to me.

And I guess, in some small way he was the kind of man I hoped I would be some day.

But I'll let you be the judge of that.

After the Goodbye, Farewell and Amen he went onto other stuff such as 'The Four Seasons' and 'Sweet Liberty' and of course 'Crimes and Misdeamours' but Hawkeye still resonnated.

And continues to do so.

For me anyway.

Reading the book is like peeling away the layers of an onion, or perhaps seeing a picture in colour for the first time.

He's had quite a ride, beginning in the burlesque shows of the thirties and forties and coping with his mothers mental illness, through to the hip sixties and the crazy seventies, when M*A*S*H hit the big time.

All throughout his love of books and writing shines on through.

He writes with a witty self deprecating style that is underpinned with an optimistic outlook on life.

I'm thouroughly enjoying reading about this great man and briliant character actor.

Pick it up if you so desire, you won't regret it.

I'm going to look for another job.

There, said it. The hard part is done.

Well, not quite....

This new year is shaping up to be pretty damn good so far.

Lets review.

New house? check.

New man in my life? check.

New job?

Hmmmmmm.

I am not challenged at all.

It's a total breeze.

I mean, really.

I love the analysis part of the role, the number crunching so to speak and the reporting of findings etc.

But it ain't enough.

I find myself becoming frustrated with the fundamental problems of the hotel and I shouldn't, I should just be 'whateva' like everybody else.

I'm not feeling the love, so to speak.

And I know for a fact, my market value is 10k plus what I earn now.

So why not?

I'm lying in bed with BigL.

He's looking magnificent, big and hairy and with the afterglow of sex about him and the scent of our climax hangs in the air.

''Oh, by the way,I'm very ticklish'' he says.

''Where?'' I ask, sweetness and innocence personified.

''Under my arms'' he replies.

A mental note to self was duly made.

Why do they make it so easy?

Jolly had fun with BigL.

Then they went and had Fun With Dick And Jane.

And the movie was hilarious, go see it.

The Mystery Guest is no longer a mystery.

He came.

He saw.

He evaluated.

And with the precision of a crack commando unit we anticipated every move.

And used his name at every available opportunity.

'Cause that carries the most points.

And we achieved the highest score in the group of 91%.

The impact of this will be felt for the rest of the year.

In a positive way.

As all the hotels are scored every month toward the Hotel of the Year

Yes, Binky, it is a completely false figure.

But I'm managing to sleep at night.

Winnipeg has bit the dust.

Adios Amigo.

I wish you all the luck in the world and I truly hope you find what you need.

And when you do? Climb off the rollercoaster.

It's not a fun ride.

I walk toward THE BOSS, two pieces of paper in my hand.

''I hope that's not an allowance request'' he says, barely looking up from his computer.

''It's not'' I say '' It's a holiday request''.

''That's even worse''.

I sit down and he looks them over.

A smile creeps across his face.

''I hear you got some flower's today''

I watch him scribble his name on the form.

The holidays belong to me now.

''Erm...yes...'' I manage, suddenly feel myself turning slightly red.

He was referring to the bouquet of roses that arrived earlier in the day.

In my usual blinkered fashion I had managed to ignore the box that sat behind me for over half an hour, and only when I thought it may belong to a guest did I question it's presence.

That was my name at the top.

Somebody had sent ME flowers....

A very special somebody.

But that's another blog.

The Memorabilia Fair at the Gmex was, in a word...

Awesome!!!

I don't know how many stalls there were but here was item upon item of scifi coolness - action figures, prop replicas,toys,signed photo's,posters....you name it, it was there.

I wandered down the aisles like the proverbial kid in the proverbial candy store, eyes wide and mouth open.

On one stall sat an aged Kenneth Cope (Randall and Hopkirk: Deceased) looking sad and lonely and I guess hoping to sell an autograph or two but nobody was biting.

Further on from him I could hear the familiar theme of the 'Eve of the War' and Jeff Wayne was busy signing copies of the albumn.

If you have never listened to 'The War of the Worlds', take my advice.

Pick up a copy.

Go home and climb into bed.

Listen to it in total darkness.

Let the music build the images as you listen to Richard Burton tell the story of the Martian invasion.

Trust me on this one.

You won't regret it.

At the back of the Gmex was a huge area reserved for the autographs.

I stood and observed and saw lots of celebs scribbling their name across a glossy picture.

They included;

Hurley from 'Lost'
Starbuck from'Battlestar Galactica'
Balter from 'Battlestar Galactica'
Benjamin Sisko from DS9
Data from Next Gen
John Rhys Davies (Goimli LOTR)
Dave Prowse (Darth Vader)
Ray Park (Darth Maul)
Paul Darrow (Avon,Blakes 7)
Kenny Baker (r2d2)

And more.

You could tell that 'Battlestar Galactica' is the hottest show at the moment as they had the longest queue.

And no Binky, I wasn't tempted to purchase one.

Happy to observe.

I did, however, buy a lightsabre.

That's right, a lightsabre.

Anakin Skywalker's to be exact.

A forcefx lightsabre made out of metal with a polycarbonate blade that glows like the real thing.

Half price at £60.00.

I've been playing with it ever since.

The Clone Wars have been fought and won over and over in my lounge tonight.

And the good guys won.

So I get the keys to the house on 27th.

Hoo fucking ray.

House warming on the 28th?

Y'all are invited.

I think I may,

Just may.....

Have learnt something today.

I know. It frightens me too.

A lot of the stuff we do to those who care for us is inexcusable, but can be forgiven.

Only something really terrible is completely unforgivable.

You see, I learnt that we have a responsibility to deal with, face on, the trials and tribulations that happen to us either within the family or within a relationship - or more importantly than both,a friendship.

And I'm particularly shit at doing that.

I mean really shit.

So bear with me, if you would be so kind.

When I decided to stamp my mark on a little corner of cyberspace I promised myself one thing; that if I was going to keep a blog then I would keep it honestly.

My attitude was, and is, if you have stopped by to read whatever shit I happen to have spent a few minutes of my day writing and you have -mirace of miracles- actually liked it,then let me tell you that there isn't enough free space on whatever server this is for me to express how happy that makes me.

I don't pretend to be the best blogger or best writer, I am not he King of the Castle or the Big Cheese where this is concerned.

But I do know where to put a full stop.

See? Just did it.

And again.

Anyway....

I am not a writer, I am a hotelier.

I've been working in hotels in one way or another since I was sixteen.

It's an interesting life, full of variety and excitement, pressure and exhilartion.

We have our good guests and we have our fair share of guests who transform into assholes when they walk through the door.

Pick a day. Really.

A hotelier who finds this extremely therapeutic and I have enjoyed every minute that I have spent in front of my little battered laptop pulling words and sentences from the air.

I'm also a gay man.

I've already dealt a long, long time ago so I'll spare you the gory details.

I'm not camp, I'm not a pretty young thing with blonde spiked hair.

I'm more of a regular joe.

So this is who I am.

There is one thing that has cropped up more than once and that is some people have read this and know me and have not been happy with what they have read.

I have made a comment about a past boyfriend with whom I was not in love or another where the sex was not as exciting as I would like it.

I knew what I was doing when I wrote those things and I was fully aware of the sleeping dog I was kicking.

Scroll back up to the first paragraph, you know the bit about being honest.

I meant that.

I can honestly say, hand on heart and scouts honour, that every word I have typed in the last 158 posts has been a true one and one that I fully stand by.

And if it has caused you a little discomfort and maybe a little pain then I am sorry, you have my sympathy.

But don't ask me to change it, 'cause I can't.

Or won't.

This is my diary you are reading, my little journal and my little secret commentary on my life and I am glad that I get to share it every now and again.

'Cause a diary ain't a diary until someone reads it.

Enter at you peril.

The moment that we realise that we have grown up is not the first time we get laid or the the first kiss we share or the first beer we drink. It's not the first day on the job or the last day of school and it's not the day offspring are brought into the world.

And it's not the day we move out, either.

It's the day we return to the bosom of the family only to find that the house we grew up in is no longer our home.

The bedroom is smaller and the poster's no longer have meaning. The single bed that was a nocturnal source of comfort and gateway to dreams of days to come, is now no more than a reminder of days spent without the love and touch of another.

The china looks cheap and carpet worn. The heavily patterned wallpaper now produces a slight cringe of embarassment.

And the people who made that place a home who worked, argued,danced,smoked and laughed in the small house, for the first time ever, look old.

We see them for who they truly are, flawed, insecure human beings who are now accessible on equal terms who left home a million years ago only to grow up and construct a life for themselves.

Thats the moment.

My all time favourite band?

The Wonderstuff.

And my all time favourite albumn by said band?

Never Loved Elvis.

And my all time favourite song from said albumn?

Here Comes Everyone.

It'll make ya weep.

So after stressing myself out about my house I get to work this morning and fire off a terse email to my solicitor.

''..now that we are entering the third month of this purchase, do we have any news? And I have yet to recieve the contracts you promised to send over on Monday...''

I had a response within twenty minutes and I was signing the contracts a couple of hours later.

Normal service has been resumed.

I put the offer on the house on November 23rd.

My Birthday, incidentally.

I'm still waiting for a comletion date.

Is this normal?

Or am I being jerked around?

Twice a year the hotels get 'Gapped'.

It's a mystery shopper deal, for hotels.

They stay , they use every service available and mark you against a set criteria.

You never know when or who.

Except I do.

A few phone calls has yielded the name and arrival date of our next inspection.

I took the names of the previous inpspectors from our London properties and ran through our system.

One came up trumps.

.....when your better, your me.

So this is when being a big guy ain't so fun.

There's a swanky dinner being held tomorrow night and the hotel is up for an award.

Best Hotel of the Year.

It's a black tie affair.

James Bond to go, please.

Anyway, try as I might I could not get a jacket big enough.

And I'm not outragously overweight.

Moss Bros? No.

High and Mighty? No way.

Debenhams? As if.

So I was nervous telling my boss and when I finally bit the bullet, I could see the look in his eyes.

You know, THAT look.

One that borders on disgust.

The look that every thin person gives a fat person.

It upset me a little bit, but I'll deal.

My brother, thats who.

And, yes there was a domestic.

Makes you glad to be gay doesn't it?

People should know their limitations.

In the case of my brother's future mother in law, who made the cake for the engagement party last Saturday that I attended, her limit was that cake.

Oh.My.Fuck.

What kind of person, who is allegedly in full posession of their faculties, chooses a 'diving' theme for an engagement cake?

Sheesh!

Yes, diving is a hobby of their's and they belong to the local diving club.

But imagine an abortion of a cake in blue, with little orange fishes and shells all over it.

And a picture of the future happy couple in the centre complete with diving masks.

Don't be angry with me for using the word abortion.

She baked the damn thing.