If you know of my love of film, and my affinity for my home city of Nottingham you will realise how apt the title is.
So, the last few days saw me variously 'dancing' on a stage in just my underpants; creeping out of a flat whilst the owner slept; having my semen spat onto an aspidistra; and seeing a film premiere on a night which was definitely not a date.
Shall we address each in order?
Let's.
I went out Friday night with my friends as it was the end of the month. Unbeknownst to me our usual bar was hosting the local heat of the Mr Gay UK competition. Some of my friends suggested I should enter which I obviously rejected and pooh-poohed as a ridiculous notion. Only then chatting to the manager at the bar it turned out they were a bit desperate for entrants, and a further bit of cajoulling ended up with me entering as one of six contestants.
Now, it's at moments like these when you really should not be spontaneous. A bit of research, for example. The Mr Gay UK competition describes itself as a 'beauty' contest. So I was a little hasty putting myself forward for it hoping that my sparkling wit and dazzling personality would be enough to carry me. A bit of enquiry also - what exactly would the contest involve? I knew I was to stand on stage, but would I be able to get away with telling some jokes or a bit of witty reparte? No. They wanted blood. Or meat, more particularly. And certainly very little clothing. They also wanted moves, something which I am not very profficient at 'bustin'. And a little bit of preparation too. It has long been one of my mantras that spontenaity works an awful lot better with a little bit of planning. So whilst my very bright pink hipsters may well (accidentally) have been in keeping with the spirit of the competition, compared to the other five in black hipsters I stood out like a sore thumb. Or bum.
Anyway, I didn't win, but as one of my ex's once told me: you don't have to come first every time.
Saturday night was the night when most people were celebrating halloween, with halloween being a Monday this year. I'm never a fan of dressing up (although I have over the years acquired quite a collection of clothes, should the need arise) so when one of my friends suggested an anti-halloween, drinks night (not, I repeat not a party) I was up for it. As it was a bit last minute, all but the most hardy had already succumbed to the lure of tights, horns and inappropriate wigs, so it was sparsely attended. Not that that was a bad thing. Well, until the host passed out on his bed. The first anyone knew about it was when we hadn't seen him for around a quarter of an hour and I was getting desperate for the loo (thinking he was in there) so tried the door. Bless.
Anyway, on with the blow...
Who has plants in the kitchen, other than herbs? Well, I found out on date number three.
We all know from The Rules that this wasn't just third date. This was Third Date. The date when you really should be making a decision as to whether you are 'Going With'. Not yet necessarily in a relationship, or calling each other boyfriend or such like, just whether you are actually sort of seeing each other. i'm not even sure there is necessarily any need for any degree of exclusivity at Third Date. You just get to know where you are.
It was a food date as well. Not a meal, but a food date. "Pub grub" to use the exact phrase. Definitely not a "Meal" then. Albeit that it was very good grub. But we did the meal and some drinks and lots of chatting, then went back to his for "Coffee". Well, he had tea, I had a beer. And then we started kissing. In the kitchen. And then he moved down and started on me. Now, quite why he needed to spit the spunk in the aspidistra is quite another matter, afterall the sink wasn't actually that far away (although with his pants round his ankles that still could have been a health and safety risk. Can you imagine having to explain to an ambulance crew why someone is conked out on the floor of their own flat with their pants and trousers round their ankles and your spunk in the aspidistra? Quite. So it was probably for the best.
Now, it may just be me, but when he went to kiss me after that I was a bit squeemish. That was the same mouth that, until the plant took over, held my sperm. Mine. Eurgh. But we went and sat in the lounge and had a cuddle and (after a swig of tea and beer) a snog. And then, like cinderella, I dashed home before midnight. Weirdly, as we said goodbye over the threshold, he said "See you next week mate." Mate. Quite deliberate, like pub grub. So still no idea.
And then last night I went to the cinema. The Broadway Cinema was holding the UK premiere of the film Weekend. It's a gay romance. It's the kind of gay romance that I want to have - to fall not necessarily head-over-heals in love over a weekend, but certainly to get so close to someone over such a brief period that it is almost like having all three dates in one.
One of the slightly more distracting aspects of the film was that it was filmed in and around Nottingham. Previously it has only been London and - more recently - New York-based films that I've been able to play 'Been There'. This is the game you play (well, I play) when you recognise where they have been filming because...well, you've been there. With this film it involved such continuity problems as "the orange bus route doesn't go that way", "there isn't even a tramline in Lenton", "a couple of minutes ago they were out at goose fair, now they're in the city centre" and such like.
One of the minor annoyances was the need to include a drug scene. It didn't really add anything to the film or the characters. It wasn't necessary, aside from possibly a very minor technical device to get the characters talking in the way they did. The writer-director did a Q&A afterwards and I did raise it as to whether it was necessary. He basically shrugged it off as "people do drugs - they weren't big drug dealers or users, they just happened to go out, have a good night and one of them had a bag of coke". But as yet I await to see a film where there is a main gay character who goes out and doesn't end up doing drugs. I have been out on many different gay scenes up and down the country, go back with or taking back scores of guys, and yet only once has someone ever suggested taking drugs; and even then it was just a suggestion and was never followed up.
Anyway, it was a nice film. Like I say, it struck a chord with me. I am an old romantic at the best of times, and the idea that on one night you could meet someone that changes your world forever is one that I hold true. It has been described using many superlatives, including "the best gay film ever" which, realistically, are hyperbola. It's good, but it is nothing so fantastically unbelieveably amazing. But then I suppose the area of gay romance films is hardly one bulging at the seams.
And at least they didn't get called 'mate'.
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