Dear Diary...

Here's a sentence I never thought I'd write:

I hate Duncan from Blue an ounce or so less today than I did yesterday.

Saturday evening I went to bed having been soaked to the skin by lashings upon lashings of rain after watching an outside performance by the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra in the walls of a castle. Pretty standard Saturday night stuff y'know? Nothing unusual about that*.

I unpeeled my wet jeans (akin to squeezing a sausage out of its skin), jumped in the shower, sang La Roux, put my hair in plaits and went to sleep. I dreamt of supermarkets and a fat Ronaldo Cristiano. It was nice.

The next morning I awoke (as I am wont to do) and went about my normal morning ablutions. Nothing about any of this seemed strange or unusal. Nothing about it suggested that today an event would occur that would change me forever. But then, but then, I glanced at the Sunday papers and read the following:

'Duncan James: 'I'm bisexual''

And a teeny tiny miniture mini bit of the hate I feel for the man slid away. This seemingly normal summer's day had become the 'dear diary' moment to end all dear diary moments. To understand why this is such a momentous occasion you first have to comprehend the unending years of repugnance I have solely reserved for this individual. The torrents of unrelenting loathing I have let flow his way (more so than the others from the musical outfit that has plagued me longer than I care to remember). Where Duncan from Blue is concerned, love and hate are not two sides of the same coin; the coin is made up only of hate in a wallet stitched together with revulsion and placed into a pocket of scorn.

But now? Not so much. I mean, I still hate him a lot but just not as violently as I did before.

I think this means I'm prejudiced against heterosexuals.

Having said that, the signs were there, anyone with frosted tips cannot be straight. That is a scientific fact. Do these boys scream aggressive heterosexuality to you?

[Via Videogum]

No, they do not.

They might talk the talk about how many 'ladieez' they have 'nailed' but I can assure you the height of their sexual prowess is awakened, not when faced with a woman's vagina, but when Mikey is tooling around in the showers and every now and then he'll throw a look, (not even a look, a passing glance), but a knowledge is shared, a secret is passed, and they glance away - embarrassed but not knowing why. It's not a feeling they'd ever admit to, they're not even sure they know what this feeling is exactly. They just know that sometimes the light will hit Mikey just so and they get this warm glow in their stomachs. Kinda like when they used to have to climb the rope in gym class.

Anyway, that means I'm in the market for a new (one-sided) celebrity feud. If you have any candidates in mind let me know and I'll get my PA to review them.

*Actually, although I'm being facetious, (for a change) the same thing happened on Tuesday when I went to see an outside performance of A Midsummer's Night Dream in the grounds of Winchester Cathedral. I'm so cultured I'm basically a big pot of natural yogurt at this point yo.