Drinking, smoking and homosexuals November 30, 2006Posted by BiB in Uncategorized.
Just settling in for the long haul. I’ve had a brilliantly constructive day. I must have thought about doing a jot of work for at least twelve seconds, perhaps twice, before confining the idea to the dustbin, but it’s good to know where you stand. Then the Russian and I went off on a shoppery. I’ve got a feeling brokeness might be about to attack again soon so, before it could get a look in, I decided to be extra extravagant. Card not refused. Signature correct. Got home. Had a delicious and early dinner, to whose manufacture I contributed, thus avoiding a domestic moment. The Russian dashed off to bed, because he’s been working like a demon of late and didn’t sleep AT ALL last night. So here I am. Just me, you, the computer, red wine and fags.
Which all sounds heavenly. And is heavenly. But, and I don’t know if it’s from vestiges of religious guilt and me feeling naughty at having sniggered at religious leaders’ garb earlier, but I’m feeling awfully conscience-stricken. I might have to pour myself another glass of red.
I think it’s perhaps a combination of religious residue and exposure to Russia, actually, that has sent my conscience whirring into a rare moment of activity. I think I was vaguely brought up to think pleasure and comfort are sins and best avoided by doing soul-destroying work and eating sandpaper between meals. And then Russia is only going to reinforce that message.
And I had such a deliciously debauched and fun evening yesterday. Proper, straightforward, non-religious, non-Russian fun. Drinking, smoking and homosexuals. An awfully good combination. (Though I love my hetero-brethren too, I hasten to add.) (But queens are better gossips.) (I think.) And I even met another Berlin blogger. The list of bloggers I’ve met in the flesh grows at a cracking pace. And I’ve so nearly met, and will soon, I’m sure, one more.
So the queens and I had a lovely night out. Gossip. Drinking. A bit more gossip. Making concessions to nominal grown-uppery and talking about work for 10 seconds. Then a bit more gossip. Willy-talk. More drinking. Smoking like mad. Saying, “No, we really must go home.” Then staggering in at an obscene hour, frazzled but happy, only to find the Russian red-eyed and exhausted slaving away over a hot computer. The poor bastard.
“I’m bored of this regime,” said the Russian, wearily, as he sipped at his constitutional glass of red with the delicious and early dinner to whose manufacture I had contributed. The Russian, being an immigrant from an undesirable country (as far as the EU is concerned), is strictly limited in what work he can do. Student jobs within the university are the best option, as they are less time-restricted, but he has found a labour-intensive one, which has the saving grace of being perfectly interesting. But he’s slaving, slaving, slaving. And all for a pittance. While I blog and drink and smoke with homosexuals.
So I’m feeling awfully guilty. I’m feeling more pangs of conscience than I did even when I nicked a Mars bar aged about ten and decided to make use of my cousin’s coat-pocket as the hot goods’ getaway vehicle. We got away with the crime, it turns out (but was my cousin – not the perfect one. Another one. My childhood was just like Eastenders. Endless tea and popping in and out of each other’s houses – not pleased at being an unwitting accomplice) but my conscience made me tell my mother, who promptly took me to the scene of the crime and instructed me to pay for the item I’d “forgotten” to pay for… I mean, I don’t think there’s anything morally reprehensible about drinking and smoking myself rancid – with homosexuals or otherwise – but I sometimes worry I’m an awfully poor husband. Is there an operation one can have to remove the fun-seeking elements of the brain and have them replaced with seriousness?