Aaah.. Nothing like chewing on a pork hock. Tastiest part of the pig, to be sure, to be sure.
This after a mini-workout where the body just seemed to sing without effort, which is not to be taken for granted in middle-age!
I blame having gone out to the Barcode basement for a boogie last night. It wasn't the sexiest crowd there last night, but it was good enough. The music wasn't the most electric there either, but it did almost become challenging in a few places. I was in enough mood to thrash a few guitars, if I had been so lucky to have a job as rock star. And if the music were hot enough.
But my body loves the dance. It always tells me so. And for the first time in my life I realised that I am so fed up with tall guys. I don't mean the monsters who are over 6' 2" who are so tall that they have developed embarrassment at their own height. I mean your average 6-foot-tall-full-of-himself-good-looking-and-had-it-all-easy faggot who gets onto the dancefloor and then by their body language, clearly doesn't have the class to give elbow space to shorter neighbours. No wonder some straight men can't stand gays. When gay men are like that, you really can't wait for them to finally have to face a little challenge in their life. Thank goodness they'll get old and lose their looks, and by then no fluffy little twink will be stupid enough to ever imagine that an elder gay man is like a "Daddy".
Well, I was almost ready to start a brawl, but damn it, this stupid town is so suffocatingly "civilized" these days. "Son you don't have to fight to be a man. Walk away from trouble if you can....". Yeah, Tony Blair, so true to your heart, isn't it? Can't even have a fight in a bar here now. No, we have to join the army and go to Iraq if we really want to have a fight. Whoopee! It seems to suit the fatly-pensioned peasants of the Legal/Judiciary classes.
No, I went there just for a dance, and thank goodness. Not looking for Love, and not looking for Sex. They seem both like such a waste of time! In fact, lately I've been thinking of renaming this blog to Life and the City, because frankly, Love is just not on the menu. Not for starters, main course or dessert. It gives you indigestion, whichever way you eat it. As for sex, well.....unless you're a prostitute, after a day, you never have anything to show for sex except an unhappy discovery.
Magic FM is playing on the radio. What a pleasant change of Feel-Good-Factory. The other day I was listening to one of the little children that play at being DJs on XFM. This one is male with a thick accent. He was being a snob and making jokes about Magic FM. Silly kids. Playing the game of "I'm so cool because I DJ with the hottest newest hippest kind of music". It makes you want to slap nincompoops like John Peel and Jo Whalley, or better yet, make them do REAL jobs, like stacking supermarket shelves. Where are good old Communist Party re-education methods, just when you need them?
But yes, dancing makes my body sing. Well, might as well sing before I get old and die. Could do worse, couldn't I?