Big Brother wins

I was going to write a proper entry tonight. But the Big Brother "finale" is on in the background. And I'm afraid it's got 99% of my attention. Another 0.95% goes to Steven, who is sitting next to me like an excited child at Christmas, waiting to try out his new podcasting headphones. That leaves 0.05% to blog with, which is why this is going to be as good as it gets. Sorry. You'lll have my full attention tomorrow.

Even more Modern

You gotta love Tate Modern. And now Herzog and de Meuron, the dudes that did the original conversion, are planning this crazy extension. I love it already. Apparently it can "be interpreted in two ways: as the erosion of a pyramid and, in contrast, as a pyramid in the process of emerging." Er, yeah. And it looks good too. If all goes to plan, it should be ready for the Olympics. London just gets better and better.

Perfect Day

When I found myself "resting" between jobs last year, I happened to be watching Richard & Judy (the First Couple of British daytime TV), which is of course one of the perks of not working. Their in-house life-smith, Dr Raj Persaud, was doing a segment on Motivation - how to do all those things you never quite get round to doing. It seemed like a good time to be pursuing such matters, so I happily rang the premium line number and forked out the required £1.50 for the accompanying factsheet.

When it arrived, I enthusiastically threw myself into the various exercises it contained. One of them asked you to describe what your perfect day would be like in a completely anything-goes-sky's-the-limit world. In mine, I awoke in a sumptuous lakeside house just outside Barcelona and spent the morning working on my novel. I can't quite remember what I got up to in the afternoon, but it involved going into town and meeting up with friends. Then in the evening, I had dinner with my boyfriend Rufus Wainwright (not quite sure why I picked him, but he seemed like good ideal-world-boyfriend material - as long as he didn't have a relapse and end up back on the crystal meth, of course) after which he got us into some fascinating ubercool club.

Shortly after that, the work started coming in, and the factsheet ended up abandoned half-finished. (A classic vicious circle - I didn't have enough motivation to get through the thing that was supposed to give me motivation.)

But the reason I bring this up is that as I sat in one of my regular caffeine dens this morning tapping away on the trusty iBook, the whole thing drifted back into my mind. And it occurred to me that right now my life is pretty darn close to the real ideal which the exercise is supposed to reveal. The mornings I spend writing my book, and the evenings I spend enjoying the company of my great boyfriend. Melbourne may not be quite as curvaceous as Barcelona, but it's still pretty groovy. Steven may not have released quite as many CDs as Rufus, but I can live with that. And my friends are the other side of the planet, but I'll be seeing them soon.

Of course, it won't be long before I have to do some proper work again to get more of that stuff called money. But today I just thought I'd stop and look around. And the view looks good.

Meryl's choice

Given the intense rivalry between Sydney and Melbourne, visitors to these shores are repeatedly plagued by the question: "So which do you prefer?" I hate being asked that. It's like asking a doting parent to choose between their two children.

Sydney is the good-looking slightly vacuous child - confident and easy-going. Melbourne is the pale but interesting child looking moody in the corner, dressed mostly in black, head buried in a dog-eared paperback.

I love them both. Don't make me choose.

Scream if you want to go faster

July's been a roller-coaster ride of a blogging experience. After registering with Best Gay Blogs, this lil ol' site appeared in their 'Newbies of the week' column at the start of the month. Stopping only to install a Stat Counter, I huddled over the laptop watching my hits climb to the giddy (for me) heights of 150 'unique users' a day. The country stats became a bit of an obsession - Look! Three readers from Japan! Two from Norway! One from Uruguay! The next week, it was Steven's turn to be listed (complete with glamorous photo) as a Newbie, described as 'Simply a must-read'. Some really lovely comments and emails followed, which was, well, really lovely. Other bloggers started linking to us, and I even stumbled across a post about one of my posts entitled 'Dan's the man'. One reader has now gone on to start his own blog - I look forward to reading more about his coming-out experiences.

As the days rolled by and we slipped further and further down the BGB front page, the hits dropped back down to a more modest level. Now that we're off the front page completely, the parade has packed up and moved on, thoughtfully taking their litter with them. But to all of you who've decided to stick around - thanks, it's good to have you here.

Anything else?

So when do you tell someone you love them? When do you know you love them? What's the difference between liking someone and loving someone anyway? What is love? (As even the groovalicious folk at Deee-lite once had to ask.) A guy could go crazy thinking about it too much. All I know is that (for me, anyway) in the first three months, you're too doolally for rational thought, so you're maybe better off waiting. If you don't feel like running in the opposite direction after that, the outlook's good. But when are you sure enough to actually come out and say it?

In this case, the dilemma was neatly solved for me last Thursday morning as the plane took off. The old lore about XX% of crashes occurring during take-off and landing flashed through my head - as it often does on such occasions. But this time, my biggest fear was that if our upward trajectory should flatten out for that split second before becoming an unstoppable descent, then I would never have got to tell Steven how I felt.

So when we got back from Sydney on Sunday, I was determined to get it off my chest that night. A couple of opportunities passed by ungrasped, until finally Steven asked, as is his wont when we've finished a topic of conversation, "Anything else?" I was silent for a second - and then the words just seemed to blurt themselves out of my mouth, much quicker, higher-pitched and generally uncooler than I would have liked.

But at least I'd said it. Air travel's going to be so much less stressful.

Mirror image

Steven by me


Me by Steven

My five fave things to do in Sydney

A leisurely late breakfast at Bills. I snapped the ricotta hotcakes and banana with honeycomb butter. But the sweetcorn fritters with roast tomato and bacon are also to die for. (If the queue's too long, Mint is just as fabulous.)


A wander through the leafy streets of Paddington, among the sweet old terraced houses with their finely wrought balconies. Peace and quiet in the city.




The walk from Kings Cross to the Opera House. Down the steps, past Finger Wharf (stopping at Harry's Cafe de Wheels for pie, mash and mushy peas), through the Botanical Gardens, ending up with a well-earned drink at the Opera Bar.

Tea and cake at Gertrude and Alice. Ariel and Berkelouw are both good bookshops, but a little further down Oxford Street lies this second-hand delight. They know what they're doing - you'll almost certainly end up buying whatever you thumb through.

And the fifth thing? Well, that's really none of your business...

The ex and the current

My very first boyfriend was also Australian (what can I say, they're a good-looking bunch). He now lives in Sydney. so we'd arranged to catch up while I was there. We ended up meeting for a drink when he finished work. At this point Steven called.

HIM: You sound like you're out.
ME: Yes, I'm at the Columbian. With Vaughan.

As I was originally going to meet Vaughan for lunch, this probably surprised Steven a little, but he took it well. After we finished our drink, Vaughan suggested we go out in Newtown, as I hadn't been there before. It sounded like a good plan, so he drove me over there, stopping at his place on the way so he could shower and change. This seemed like an opportune time to call Steven back.

HIM: So are you back at the hotel?
ME: No, I'm at Vaughan's place.

Hmmm. In retrospect, maybe not the best time to call back. He seemed a little more concerned this time, but relaxed when I explained the circumstances. We went for a Thai meal on King Street with one of Vaughan's friends, and then headed down the road to the Newtown Hotel for a few beers. I went outside to make a reassuring call to Steven.

HIM: So are you having a good evening?
ME: (drunkenly) BLA BLA SDFJWE XDFOIJF XDFKJHSAD SHKJDF VBAKDLJFH BLAH.

Hmmm. Probably not that reassuring after all. We went on to the Imperial, spiritual home of 'Priscilla, Queen of the Desert' to see their interpretation of 'Grease' - the costumes were designed so that when the T-Birds turned round, they magically transformed into Pink Ladies. As Steven was working the next day, he was spared any further calls. Vaughan and his friend dropped me back at the hotel (even though it was completely out of their way). Steven called me bright and early the next morning.

HIM: How was your night. (Subtext: OK, tell me the worst.)
ME: It was good. (Subtext: I came back to the hotel. Alone.)

All in all, he was pretty relaxed about it, seeing as he's only known me for four months and there I was in a different city spending an evening with an ex he's never met. But much as I was glad to see Vaughan and pleased to find out that he's well and happy a decade on, he's still the ex-boyfriend. And Steven's still the boyfriend.

The gay hotel gene

It's our Sydney weekend this weekend. I flew up yesterday, a day earlier than Steven, and checked into the Kirketon, the hotel we booked using the gay hotel gene. I've washed my hair in the rosemary and mint shampoo under the giant shower head, pumped my music through the iTrip to the stereo while watching the music channel on mute, played with the air conditioning, danced in front of the mirror, hooked up to the wireless internet and borrowed a movie from their VHS library (SO retro). But it's just not as much as fun on your own (well, apart from the dancing bit). So roll on tonight, when Steven gets here to enjoy it with me.

The Great Kylie Dilemma

As well as being an avid devotee of horror movies, the multi-faceted Steven is also a big Kylie Minogue fan. Kylie is about to complete the previously cancelled Australian leg of her Showgirls tour, finishing in her home-town of Melbourne. Having seen a couple of her concert DVDs (it's part of my re-education programme), I can confirm that she does put on a good show - and this one should be extra-special. Ticketek will be releasing a limited number of tickets next week, but as people who had tickets for the old gigs are guaranteed entry to the new ones, there won't be many available. So when a Ticketek envelope with the code KYLIEM06 on it arrived in our mailbox addressed to a previous tenant, it seemed likely that there were some re-issued tickets inside. And thus Steven was faced with The Great Kylie Dilemma. A short interval of brow-furrowing followed, but I don't think there was ever really any doubt about the outcome - he decided to Do The Right Thing and Return To Sender. I don't know if I would have acted so honestly if some potential Radiohead tickets had landed in my lap, but I was fairly sure all along what Steven would decide. It turns out that they're not actually re-issuing the tickets and it was just a postcard in the envelope, but I love the fact that Steven wasn't going to risk the possibility of someone else losing out. That's just the way he is. I'm sure Kylie would approve.

Life's a beach

After our Sunday lunch, one of the guys we were with drove us down to the local gay beach to show us around. As it's the middle of winter here, the beach itself was deserted - but not the car park. There was a long line of parked cars, each with a single male occupant. We got out and walked down to the sea, passing a few more lone men wandering along footpaths that meandered through the bushes. I couldn't help but wonder who these guys were. Were they married? In the closet? Or did they just like the thrill of the chase enough to while away the afternoon waiting patiently in their cars? I once read In the Shadow of the American Dream, the diaries of David Wojnarowicz, who dedicated many hours of his short life to cruising. The writing contains long dreary patches, interspersed with flashes of searing intensity - much like the life he describes.

Have Metcard. Will travel.

We don't leave the CBD (Central Business District, for those not familiar with Aussie parlance) that often, but this weekend we hopped on the trams and trains on all three days. Friday night we went to South Yarra for pizza and a movie (Junebug - I really liked it, Steven wasn't so sure). Saturday we headed over to Richmond for a lovely night with Sarah. And Sunday we had lunch with some guys in South Melbourne and wandered round the market. It's nice to get out. And (maybe I'm geting old) even nicer to come home again, have some quality time with a quality guy and enjoy slobbing out in my ridiculously comfy new Peter Alexander pyjama bottoms. Sadly they didn't have the striped ones I wanted in my size, so I had to make do with the classic travel rug pattern - thankfully, they'll have a very limited audience.

FAQ

The Question I'm most Frequently Asked is "So what do you do all day?" Good question. The first thing to note is that, as I'm on a tourist visa, "employment is prohibited". They've got quite a nice ring to them, those three little words. Much nicer than "chocolate is prohibited", for instance. I still try and get up before Steven leaves at 8:30ish - and, er, mostly succeed. I have a cup of tea and some muesli and watch a bit of breakfast TV, while checking my email, flicking through The Guardian website and reading updates on other people's blogs. At some point I manage to tear myself away from both screens and go off to feed my other addiction - caffeine. Melbourne's blessed with a host of great cafes that make a mean coffee, and I'll while away the rest of the morning drinking a couple of 'flat whites' while writing my book. (Don't laugh. Yes, it's crap at the moment, but I'm hoping to make it better.) I might meet Steven for lunch or else head back to the flat. In the afternoon, I'll do a bit of blogging, read some of Lynda's manuscript (criticising other people's work is so much easier than doing your own!), though at the moment it's more catching up on Wimbledon. Then there's a bit of last-minute house stuff which might involve supermarket shopping, emptying the dishwasher and tidying up the day's debris. (Steven's a minimalist - I'm a messimalist.) And that takes me to 5:30 when my guy gets home. Hooray.

Glamour shots

We're not just featured on our own blogs. We were both snapped on a night out with some guys from a workshop that Steven had been on, and the pictures have since been all over the, er, photo page of the venue's website. And we're not just talking any old venue, we're talking DT's, the most glamorous gay pub in, er, Richmond. OK, so it's the only gay pub in Richmond.

Here are the photos, in case you missed the link on Steven's blog. Steven's the good-looking one in the top photo (as I'm almost sure the other two wouldn't mind me saying). And I'm the one on the right in the other photo.

When the photographer was doing the rounds, I desperately wanted him to get a photo of me and Steven. But as I was stuck in a corner, this would have meant butting out of a conversation, upending a table with everybody's drinks on and clambering over a few people to get to him.

So I didn't.

And the award for Best Gay Conspiracy Theory goes to...

So I finally saw Crash. I liked it a lot. When it beat Brokeback Mountain to Best Film at the Oscars, there was a lot of talk in both gay and not-so-gay media that it was all down to some sort of anti-homo conspiracy. I was on a "three gay men in a Hyundai" road-trip up the east coast at the time, and I rather think I might have got a little indignant myself that "our" film hadn't won. If so, I (rather sheepishly) take it all back. Both fine films. Both worthy of accolades.

Hot and bothered

There was much chortling on Australian breakfast TV this morning at the news that the UK government is issuing advice on how to deal with dangerous heat levels of 32C.

(Sample piece of advice: "Wear light, loose-fitting clothing, such as cotton, so sweat can evaporate." Wow, I must try that sometime.)

As summer temperatures here regularly reach 35C+ without anybody going into a state of panic, I can see why this would amuse.

To their credit, nobody actually used the words "whinging" or "pom".

Eureka part 2

Sunday dawned grey and wet. (Well, I assume it did, it was certainly grey and wet by the time we got up.) So we contented ourselves with the excitement of an outing to the local Nando's, followed by a quick detour down to the river to get another snap of Eureka Tower, somewhat different to the one from two days earlier. But that's Melbourne for ya. "Four seasons in a day" as they like to say here. Apparently.

Meeting the parent part 2

I met my dad and stepmother at their hotel, and we took a tram into town. We got off a stop early to make the most of the view as you enter the city centre. Melbourne (like many of us) looks better at night. We passed the National Gallery's illuminated fountains and the light-studded spire of the Arts Centre before walking across Prince's bridge with the city skyline laid out in front of us (picture by Steven). This brought us neatly to the crazy angles of Federation Square, the city's central landmark and our destination.

The meal went just as seamlessly as the journey. Steven had had the brainwave of suggesting bokchoy tang as the restaurant of choice, and it was just right - great Chinese food in a relaxed atmosphere. The four of us chatted away about this and that, and all in all it was a very pleasant evening.

After we'd left them at the tram stop, me and Steven naturally felt like rewarding ourselves with a drink (or several). We ended up at Horse Bazaar, a 'digital art bar' which was heaving. We propped up the bar and watched the youngsters making merry to a bunch of Brazilian DJ's. A good end to a good night.

[For a view from another side of the table, click here.]

Meeting the parent

So my Dad and his wife got into town last night. They've come halfway round the world for some conference (all arranged long before I ended up here). Steven's bravely agreed to come out to dinner with them tonight. It'll be the first time my Dad's met a partner of mine since I came out to him by bringing my first boyfriend home for Christmas. (In retrospect that might not have been the best way to do it.) Things should be a little easier this time, as he's had twelve years since then to get used to the idea. Tonight may well be a little nerve-wracking for all of us, but I think that once we get past that, it should be good.