So Jason has booked his ticket and will leave Blightey to begin his six month world tour with his fiance - Rachel.

This has a few spins on it.

Jason and Rachel have been together for eight years now, if you remember, dear reader, he popped the question under the Northern Lights whilst staying at the Ice Hotel.

Pretty cool, huh?

Heh, pun intended.

Anyway, they tend to have a few domestics every now and then so I figure they will either come back form this trip stronger and more committed than ever or they will end up splitting up.

It could go either way.

The other spin is his (our) mother and his father.

I know the condition of their finances quite well but I am safely one step away, they are at arms length, so to speak.

But Jason is more involved.

So when he goes away next May, we will see what happns.

I have called a summit meeting for him , Mark and I to discuss the matter further and see what we can do.

I think we all want to help , but none of us really know how.

We'll see.

So I have been in London with G since last Wednesday and I go back to Manchester tomorrow.

As G rightly pointed out last night , it has been a little test as to whether we can be together for more than a romantic/dirty (delete as appropiate) weekend without killing/pissing off (again, delete as appropiate)each other.

How's it been?

A resounding success.

I cannot express how good feels for me to wake up with somebody next to me.

To spend so much time with somebody that I love with all my heart.

To have somebody to care for, to be allowed to care for them.

Y'see it's like this.

When your single your like a lottery ball whizzing around the machine, bumping into other lottery balls for a moment and then moving on.

Sometimes you get sucked out of the machine and put next to another lottery ball, but this does not make for a winning number.

If you are really lucky, you get sucked out and placed next to the right numbered ball and you hit the jackpot.

I'm not sure if that analogy is lame or inspired, but you get the drift.

Anyway, we're the winning numbers is what I mean to say.

I shall move down to London in January, take up my position in the Canary Wharf hotel and take my place at the side of 'G'.

Bring it on.

So I got the job.

What? You can't hear me??

I GOT THE JOB!!!

I would write more but I'm too busy doing the happy dance.

'cause the job is only a part of it.

Yes I want the challenge of opening a hotel (again) but it means I get to be with 'G' .

It feels like the universe wants us to be together.

Happy Days.

Memory can be like an onion sometimes.

You peel it back layer by layer and the deeper you go it doesn't necessarily get sweeter.

Ah fuck, who am I kidding.

I'm just trying to find a very 'deep' way of saying that I went to party on Tuesday night, got absolutely slaughtered and made a bit of tit of myself.

How much of a tit?

Why Binky, thank you for asking.

Yeah thanks for THAT one.

Well, before we even got to the event - The Tourism Awards - in Manchester hosted by the new kid on the block The Hilton I slugged back a few pints.

Then the Champagne cocktails in the Hilton itself.

Then three bottles of wine at the table.

And that is where my memory ends.

I awoke the next morning in my room with a jackhammer going off in my brain and no memory of the night before.

I'm told that I slugged back a few Tequila's (never a good choice) and vodka's before going over to THE BOSS and telling him what a great guy he is.

And then I did it again.

And then I did an Excorsist.

A colleague steered me back to the hotel and out me to bed while the rest of the gang headed out to a casino.

I am never going to touch a drop again.

Really.

No, I won't put a wager on that one.

And what's more.

Yes Binkster, there's more.

I did what a lot of drunken guys do who have access to a mobile phone they call the person they love to tell just how much they love them, how special they are, how wonderful they are...

But it doesn't come out that way.

''I Love You'' becomes ''hmmmm I er ......IwuvU. I weally wuv you. No I mean it, I weally wuv you, I wuuv you. I Wuuv You. I weally weally weally weally wuv you...''

Or Somthing like that.

And Yes, I called G on the night when I was completely twisted and attempted to tell him how much I love him.

But unlike a lot of other guys I haven't got to be drunk to tell that one person that I love them.

G just has to look at me with that cute sideways glance.

Works every time.

Y'see, it's in bed that I really miss him.

Not in an overt sexual way, you understand.

I miss his body next to mine, I miss not being able to slide in close to his back, kiss his shoulder and put my arm around him.

And then fall asleep.

When he's not next to me, thats one of the things I miss.

Torchwood.

So what did I think of it?

Slick.

Pretty Goddamn Slick.

John Barrowman makes a good leading man surrounded by an interesting team, it's a kind of the bastard son of the X-Files and Men In Black and Cardiff looks pretty good too, like a mini Vegas.

I liked the revelation about Jack not being able to die, when Rose brought him back to life in 'The Parting of the Ways' she kinda over did it.

I also like that one of the team was killed in the first ep, it gives me the feeling that nothing is safe, that the producers are saying We Are Not Afraid To Take Risks.

Very Joss Whedon.

I took note of the subtle Who reference in episode 2.

Very Handy.

So all in all I have high hopes for this series, I think it's gonna be outstanding.

And the fact that it's a spin off from Dr Who, a series that so fired my imagination back when I was a kid, a series that was cancelled in 1989 and came back last year and is now the hottest property that the Beeb has.

None of that is lost on me.

I guess the old addage is true.

The Geeks SHALL inherit the Earth.

All I had to do was check my email.

Pretty easy, right?

Ya think?

'G' had entered my yahoo address into a competition at the weekend to win tickets for a special screening of TORCHWOOD at the Printworks.

This was Saturday and it did say that the competition had closed the day before, but he did it anyway.

You gotta love him.

Well, I do.

I came home this evening and decided to check my email at around 7.30.

I usually check it throughout the day but just didn't today.

And sitting there were two tickets.

It had started at 6.15.

FUCK

FUCK

FUCK

I know Binky, my words exactly.

And now my bed is empty.

Haworth has always been a special place to me.

Don't ask me why because I honestly couldn't tell you.

My first visit there nearly thirteen years ago was on a date.

He was a Chief Inspector fresh out of a divorce and indulging his inner homo, I was just twenty and still very niave.

I went up for the weekend on the coach and although we got along very well the sex was nothing more than a fumble.

Still, we became great friends, even to this day, and I was introduced to Haworth, a place I have been back to many times since.

I don't know why I like it so much, it's a quiet village with a postcard Main st (cobbled, natch)and a steam train that runs into the centre of the valley, it's 'toots' the perfect alarm call in the morning.

Maybe I'm attracted to the simplicity and slow way of life that exists there, maybe it's the antidote to the hectic life I tend to lead.

'G' and I spent the night there Saturday, we wandered around the village and had dinner at the 'Weavers' which was top notch.

The Bed and Breakfast was like nothing we had seen before.

I don't wish to be unkind as the room was offered to me as a favour, suffice it to say that if you have ever wondered where cuddly toys go to die, look no further.

There was a lot of them, mostly bears.

Natch.

Stil, 'G' liked the place and we spoke about returning perhaps with my parents or with dome friends who have seen much of England.

On the whole it was a good, relaxing weekend made better as I spent it in the company of a special guy.

I like sleeping with him.

I like sliding up close to his back, wrapping my arm around him and kissing his neck before drifting off to sleep.

He went back to London today and now my bed is empty.

Well,'til Friday.

How good is that?

I'm in the kitchen, shootin' the shit with Paul.

We're able to do that lately, it's getting better.

It's 11.30pm, he's making some toast and I'm standing in my robe, a little cold. I had been more or less in bed when he came home ten minutes or so earlier, so I made the trip downstairs 'specially.

I know,I know, I'm all heart.

''I don't know what it is'' he says between toasty mouthfuls '' But I miss dad''

I look at him, quizzically.

''I do!'' he continues. ''I used to be so close to mom but these days I'm a lot closer to dad''

Hmmm I think.

''Don't you?' he asks.

I look at him before I answer.

''No'' I say.

He continues to munch.

We change the subject but I continue to think on it for a long time.

I think if anything happened to my mother and father I would be naturally upset, like anybody else.

I probably wouldn't show it as is my way.

Well I would to one person because I trust him above all others.

You know to whom I am referring.

My father is pretty much loved up from my step mom and his two sons from that marriage - Paul being one of them.

Being on the periphary I guess teaches you a kind of emotional independence and it's hard to miss what you never fully had.

As for my mother.

On one hand I have a desire to financially take care of my mother and sometimes I genuinely feel incredibly frustrated that I am not in a position to do so, yet.

My heart breaks when I get to know how bad they manage their finances and there is not a great deal I can do about it.

Apart from the odd loan that I can never say no too, no matter the state of my own bank balance.

Maybe when I finally become the General Manager of the Savoy or the Ritz I'll be able to do it.

Yeah Binky, I can dream.

And this feeling of impotence is in direct conflict with the other emotions that still resonate from growing up in that household, that environment.

Oh well.

What can you do? Just get on with it.

I guess I have managed them both quite well, in as much as they are far enough away not to actually interfere in my life, but close enough should anything ever happen.

And if it does I'll deal, like I always do.

Except now, I don't have to deal with anything alone anymore.

Hooray for that.

I want the job.

Let me be very clear about this.

I

WANT

THE

JOB

What job? Allow me to explain, Binky.

The company I work for is opening another hotel, this time in Canary Wharf.

It's a management contract, similar to the Manchester property but not as big.

Well, the hotel isn't but with the adjoining apartment block it's much bigger.

I've seen the plans and it looks pretty funky in the same way Manchester is, it's contemporary and stylish.

I saw the General Manager a couple of weeks ago.

Nice guy, but reminds you of a maths teacher.

I have known him for years when I was based out at Heathrow we used to have lunch and gossip.

He'd suck back on a couple of marlboro lights, I would down coffee after coffee.

Before I met him he had already spoken to one of the Senior Guys who had good things to say about me.

Thankfully.

Then a couple of days later he called THE BOSS who I'm sure gave me a good rap.

And I -rather cheekily- emailed some of the senior guys who I know asking them to support my application.

They agreed.

So now I'm just waiting.

And patience is not my strongest point, quite the opposite, actually.

It's bordering on torture.

But I'm still waiting.

But the question you should have asked Binkster, ol' pal, is why London?

Why do I want to go back there, back to the big smoke, the metroplois, back to the hustle and bustle.

Well thats where 'G'lives.

And I want to fall asleep with him, wake up with him.

Come home to him after a hard day and kiss him hello.

Love him and be loved by him.

That's why I want the job.

I made a thrilling discovery.

In terms of comics there are a few seminal moments or series that changed the medium in some way and for forever.

I'm not talking about the moment that Peter Parker got bit by a radioactive spider, or when Jean Grey became the Dark Pheonix or even when The Sandman entered the arena.

They are important moments but they ain't seminal

I'm talking when The Dark Knight hit the comic book stands back in 86' and the world of Batman became a dark and gritty place or when we began to watch the Watchman and even when Alex Ross painted his first hero in that almost photo realistic way he has.

The Dark Knight
The Watchman
Kingdom Come

Three brilliant series that somehow managed to raise the bar in terms of comic strip story telling.

Over the years I have devoured them all and more besides.

I am happy to testify that in the wake of the publishing of such works of literary and comic art,the long held perception that comics are for kids was challenged and beaten to a bloody pulp.

So, what is the thrilling discovery mentioned at the top of this entry I hear you ask...

Well, Binky ol' chum I'll tell you.

DC has started releasing the Dark Knight, The Watchmen and the Kingdom Come in what are known as Absolute Editions.

These are coffee table sized books that reprint the series with a load of bonus material like sketches, scripts, interviews with the artist/writer.

All bound in a beutiful hard cover.

They are simply stunning.

And in the words of the immortal Wayne Campbell;

They shall be mine.

Oh yes.

They shall be mine.

The theatre was small and intimate but full.

I had heard of the play before, it had been on the edge of my radar somehow for years, I think since I had read an interview with Sir Ian Mckellan in a very old issue of Gay Times.

I even think this was during my school days,I used to be a regular reader of the magazine then.

I can even recall the butterflies I used to suffer as I bought it from the news vendor that used to be located under Colmore Circus in Birmingham,just outside my other childhood haunt Nostalgia and Comics.

The underpass and vendor have long since gone, Nostalgia and Comics remains.

I would buy it and keep it in my school bag or under my bed, reading of this other life, a life that did not in anyway involve school or parents but involved men.

Men loving other men.

I digress.

G had mentioned it and bought the tickets a few days before and had invited his friend K.

We shuffled in and took our seats, good seats not too close to the stage but not far either.

I don't think any of us were prepared for the rollercoaster ride of emotion we would experience over the next couple of hours.

The play opens in Berlin in the 1930's and we are immediately introduced to Max - a Berlin fop who lives with his lover.

The initial frivolity is brought to a murderous close when the young man Max picked up the night before is brutally murdered by the Gestapo - a reference to the Night of the Long Knives, so called when Hitler moved against his rival Ernst Rohm - an overt homosexual and political threat to Hitler.

Max and BF go on the run but are eventually arrested and sent to Dachau, but the dancer with whom Max is involved is brutally murdered on the way, with Max being forced to take part in the murder.

It is an act of betrayal, survival and dehumanisation that is effectively staged, I hugged G as I watched and he hugged me back.

Max does a deal with the German guards so he can wear a yellow star instead of a pink triangle, as even in the hierachy of the oppressed imprisoned in a concentration camp the fags were at the bottom.

Max soon becomes friends-and even a lover- to another prisoner, one who wears the pink triangle.

It is only when this prisoner is murdered by the sadistic guards does Max finally find the courage to remove the star and wear the triangle and in the process he chooses his death,casting off the lie he has been living and embracing who and what he really is.

A single act of defiance and pride.

The above in no way does justice to the play and to it's star Alan Cumming.

He is, in a word, superb in this role. He takes us on a rollercoaster of a ride of raw emotion and does so with a light, deft touch.

As an actor I hadn't given him much thought before this, but I left the theatre with a feeling that he was perhaps one of the best of his generation.

At the conclusion he recieved a standing ovation from the whole of the audience and he-and the rest of the cast- deserved it.

We came out onto the street and G and I hugged and kissed, both of us feeling emotionally drained.

And the fact that we can do that, openly in the street is testament to how far we have come since those desperate, dark days during the second world war when a man was condemned to death (and imprisonment after the second world war) for loving another man.

If you can,please go and see it.