Saving Yourself.

Quite a few people that I know believe that you give a part of yourself to every person that you sleep with. Now I’m not just talking about the usual saliva and skin cell exchange, they believe that you leave a part of your “spiritual essence” with every person that you are physically intimate with. Well, if that is the case then many of us are scattered far and wide like rainbow coloured shards of glass at the bottom of a very vast kaleidoscope (It makes sense if you consider all the mirrors and mirror-balls in gay clubs). I am probably the last person to advocate abstinence. With regards to most things I consider life to be like a “buffet” and I have queued with the best of them to sample a taste of everything on offer. It’s been fabulous. Until about nine months ago. I haven’t lost my appetite I just haven’t found a decent meal and I’m tired of junk food.
Originally I wanted to write a blog celebrating all the “singular sensations” that I know. I have become aware of how many gorgeous, creative, intelligent and sexy single people there are out there and I wanted to write something acknowledging them, thereby comforting and acknowledging myself. I was going to gush but, something about the content didn’t seem to sit authentically with me because I kept putting it off. There are loads of hot, clever, single people and there are also loads of scary, “Hildegard”, stupid people that have been happily involved with a significant other for years. There are also single “ugly stupids” and involved “pretty clevers” of course. It appears to be random, like being born with a tongue that can fold into a tube, or one that, despite working well in the tasting and blowing “raspberries” department, cannot. Being single does not equate being a failure or an inability to be attractive. It is merely what it is: being single.
Sex is something that involves both ‘single’ and ‘involved’ people and is in my experience something to be enjoyed most frequently by some of the ‘single’ people I know. I’m not exactly sure that I have left a part of my “being” with every person that I have had sex with like one would a sock, a cap or a pair of sunglasses, but, I do feel that there is no such thing as “no strings attached” sex, not for me anyway. It always means something in some way and every action has a repercussion. On one occasion it may leave you feeling sexy confident and grinning as you “mince” through a mall with your newly reinforced ego. On another it may leave you feeling inadequate, isolated and yoked with regret. It is no longer something that I feel that I can take lightly and although I have been charitable, has never been something that I have been able to dispense too generously. I realise now that, to me, sex is too important an expression for that.
I am by no means a monk; I am far too promiscuous with religion for that! (Buffet again) it’s just; I am beginning to think that (for the umpteenth time) Madonna had a point. “Like a virgin, touched for the very first time.” this from a woman who had previously marketed herself as a sexual ‘libertine’. From “the whore of Babylon” she repackaged herself as “the Virgin”. I think she did this for the purity and the clarity that this title would afford. Going around smearing yourself off on people must get a little emotionally untidy after a while.
A laser beam is potent because it is concentrated light focused on a specific spot. Diffused and general light does not have the same efficacy although it is very illuminating. If I try to shed light on everything I encounter I will become more aware of my surroundings as my light bounces off everything, but I will never have the potency to be able to truly penetrate anything. I think sex is a bit like that, and not just when it comes to the ‘penetrate’ part.
Sex is easy and available yet, I hope it has the potential to be more than just a mutual body function. I have never been of the opinion that it is overrated. Sex has killed and conquered thousands of brave and wise souls. There must be more to it than procreation or in our case recreation. I wonder if it is perhaps something worthwhile waiting for after the initial discovery and experimentation has ended. Do we ever stop experimenting and discovering? Two of the longest and most successful gay relationships I have encountered have been ‘open’ relationships. But why does that fact leave me with a dull ache in my gut? Maybe my massive actors’ ego doesn’t like the idea of someone I love getting sexual satisfaction from another soul. Am I deluded by thinking I can be the sole source of all that special man may want or need, sexually? Maybe I just don’t know enough monogamous and happy long term gay couples. I’m not sure.
I know that life is short, but I’d really like the next person to be someone I have a meaningful connection with. Not just someone who has the right look or ‘bad boy’ quality. Delayed gratification seems to be a recipe for many types of achievement, perhaps in this matter too. But then again the loins can roar like lions. I wonder if I can make them tame.

Own Little world.

"He's in his own little world." I've heard that sentence many times in my life. "Uh oh!", I hear you thinking. "Not one of THOSE blog entries!" But I assure you I'll try to keep the nostalgia and self-indulgence to a mild roar. I will make every effort to keep this amusing to the reader, but I admit that this is my therapy. Often I haven't got a clue about how I'm feeling until I've written something about it so keep a barf bag handy. Lately I've been losing at the dating game again. I hate reruns and remakes of old classics so I'll spare you the details, but basically hounded after someone who just couldn't be "sure" how he felt about me. Our last conversation felt like the final dress rehearsal for an episode of Santa Barbra. Cliched and predictable but like any dedicated actor I made like it was all happening for the first time. I'm disappointed but I'm not devistated. It's really not his fault. I think I only chose to fall for him in the first place because I could never really have him. Another excuse for drama, another reason to stay up late staring glassy eyed at the moon stretching my imagination with his image. Poor man, it's hard to imagine that we inhabit the same planet never mind the same wavelength. I think I just imagined that we could communicate through the impenetrable glass of our different space ships in the vastness of Gay outerspace. Sigh!A lot of what I wanted to say to him seems lost in translation. Through my tainted spectacles now everybody seems isolated and unable to communicate with others. I notice those alone. I see people desperate to have their stories heard. I watch hundreds of knuckles knocking on thousands of doors and like me not recieving a much longed for reply or opening. Working long hours immersed in the desperation of the townships is also not exactly doing wonders for my outlook. But if you ask me I will swear on my life that I am an optimist. However, I am not blind. Watching small children fight over a small handful of soggy fried potato chips puts things into perspective and then I notice how song and laughter permeates and soothes even the most dire of circumstances. The poor and abandoned I have encountered laugh and smile so freely. I see so much dissatisfaction amongst adults but I think it's merely my own that the world is reflecting back at me. This would make sense because I have been looking for myself out there. I understand why alchohol and drugs play such a major role in society because I find myself longing for something to numb the intensity of the thoughts that climb into bed with me at night. But instead of watching TV, I face them and its not unbearable. I am,for the most part happy in my own world. I make good company and am blessed in so many ways by so many people but it does feel at times like we are all in our own bubbles packed up against each others as tightly as foam. All together yet, each in his own little shiny rainbowed orb ocassionally popping one another as we squirm for our own space. I live on faith and I survive on a positive mindset and I can do this because I recognise the breadth and depth of the potholes in the road ahead and go around them rather than try to convince myself that they are not there. My current potholes are bad habits carried over from the past and the illusion that I need fame or a meaningful relationhip to be a succesful individual. This is not true, what I do need (I'd like to believe) is Love and laughter and already my accounts are brimming with both. Perhaps I'm not meant to come out of my own little world, and if so it wont be that bad because in here I am safe and Loved and maybe the "real" world can learn a lesson or two from me,even if its how NOT to do things. I think that if I just keep planting a Little Love and Laughter everyday of my life that eventually I will find myself the beneficiary of a very rich harvest. One can only hope, but even if I don't it will be a noble occupation nonetheless that should make the world a better place. Mine and everyone elses.

Constant Cravings.

A wise teacher of mine introduced me to the concept of weighing my cravings up against my desires. (His name is Colin Campbell and I can provide details of how to get hold of him should anyone be interested.) I realised that in my life I am constantly being presented with a choice between a craving (instant gratification) or my desire (long term goal). For example: It is my desire to be in a mutually beneficial relationship with a man that I love and respect and who will stimulate me both mentally and physically (duh!) But it is often my craving to get “jiggy” with Mr. Dark-horse on the dance floor who is clearly 100 miles of bad road. Mr Dark-horse is not going to improve my life in any lasting way. He might provide one supercharged and electric (if not shady) experience and then prove to be emotionally unavailable and spiritually ill in all other aspects. But God he is soooooo HOT! And sometimes that which we know is not good for us is irresistible, like that cream stuffed chocolate éclair which they clearly seemed to forget to mention was allowed in the Abs diet.
Daniel Goleman, Author of Emotional Intelligence, talks about a test that was conducted on hundreds of small children to determine whether or not they would prove to be successful in life. It was called the marshmallow test and was more accurate in determining a successful future than IQ tests and whatever the socio-economic backgrounds of the kids were. It was not their intelligence, nor their level of education and financial situations that determined whether or not they would succeed in life. But rather, whether or not they were able to delay their gratification over a period of time which set them apart as overall winners. The test involved presenting each child with a marshmallow and then leaving them on their own after being told that if they were able to wait until an adult returned that they would then be rewarded with an additional marshmallow. If they could not wait, they were allowed to eat the marshmallow but, then would not get another one. Follow up research found that all the children that were prepared to wait were the highest percentage of achievers out of all the other tests that were taken. The recipe for success therefore seems to involve huge lashings of delayed gratification. That means I have to tell Mr Dark-horse to giddy up and keep my éclair in the fridge until Sunday (International cheat eating day.) I wonder if there is any value in buying a pack of marshmallows and storing them in my cupboard for a few weeks to remind myself to focus more on my desire rather than constantly indulging in my cravings. Weird thing is that I really don’t like marshmallows unless they are in a chocolate Easter egg or melting in a mug of hot chocolate. Why is it that we are attracted to so many things that could do us such serious harm over a period of time? Why do I crave bad foods, bad relationships and bad thinking habits? I suppose a goal is that much more satisfying to achieve if it is achieved after great effort. It seems so simple in theory. Say no to today’s pork sausage and so, say yes to tomorrows perfect six pack. But in practise these things are deceptively challenging. Lust is very good at overriding the brains mainframe as is the stomachs argument for a whole slab of whole nut chocolate. In essence I guess I need to reclaim my goals and desires by owning every decision I make along the way. Every bite I take or flirt I make with the wrong slice of cake (be it chocolate or beef) is one step closer or further away from who I want to be and who I want to be with. As my friend Catherine says: “Baby steps.” Baby steps indeed Cath.

Sour Grapes?

It’s one thing to be all alone in your own home. But tonight I am, once again, on my own in somebody else’s home. Well not completely alone because there are two very skinny dogs with me. Dogs that would much rather have someone else other than me here and I’m afraid the feeling is mutual. They are very sweet and affectionate but they are not mine and in truth I prefer cats. Cats are independent and far less irritating. I feel guilty for feeling disgruntled because the reason I am alone is because a very good friend of mine (who usually lives here) has met and connected with someone in the most amazing way. He has the most hysterical Cheshire cat grin on his face and his feet hardly seem to be touching the ground. He has waited long and hard for this and deserves every moment of this starry eyed brain-mushed bliss. But frankly, it is very inconvenient for me. In truth even when he is here he has his “friend” with him and although he is lovely in every way and I see him becoming a close friend too, When we're together, I come down with a chronic case of Thirdwheelitis. Three really can be a crowd. (Sometimes I fight the desire to be the bigger person.) I have lost my hunting partner. The person who I would go clubbing with until the early hours, in search of “the one”, only to return unsuccessful, and then compare failed strategies with me over a mug of tea, is now cuddling up to DVD’s, getting a good night’s sleep on a Saturday night and having sex, regularly. We can’t even argue properly, because he always has someone with him who is predisposed to being on his side, even if he’s wrong. (Which is all the time! ;-) Even as I write this the dogs are driving me mad. They are psychotically chasing one another around the microscopic lounge and have already knocked a mug of scalding med-lemon onto my lap. (I have a cold.) I am ignoring them because I fear that if I were to try to discipline them, I would resort to capital punishment and their delicate “rexic” frames wouldn’t cope with it, and besides it’s far too late. They kept me up all night barking at Casper the friendly Ghost recently so they are definitely not in my good books. (Had to be a ghost because no one with a pulse was anywhere near the area they were barking.) So yes, I am happy that my friend is happy. But I am not happy that it leaves me on my own with company I would not freely choose for myself (like a certain Turkish breed I was also left alone with the night he met his squeeze.) Imagine if you and a friend are both starving. You go out in search of food together. Then, your friend finds something to eat that is only enough for him. You are happy for your friend but you are also still hungry and now left to forage for food on your own. Sounds like the perfect ingredients for a self-pity party to me.
This is nobody’s fault. This is not anyone else’s responsibility (Jacob there is nothing YOU can do.) This is just a circumstance that I need to bitch about. I have a gorgeous little flat, full of my favourite things, close to my amazing family and even occasionally containing a gorgeous cat (on loan from my downstairs neighbours.) But it’s over a thousand kilometres away and I can’t go there until mid June. So I am a sour grape dangerously close to becoming “a grape of wrath” with these dogs. This is not so bad really, because fermentation is a natural process and without it there would be no fine wines and yoghurt would stay milk. As a school boy I would often be told by patronising adults that “my time would come.” And in many ways they were actually right. (I am no longer short and fat and sporting a dodgy “step” haircut.) But, when will my “time” to hang up my clubbing shoes come, so I can settle in with an amazing man and rather invest in decent linen and a flat screen TV? I suppose that this will ensure that I REALLY appreciate it when I eventually find it. I know how delicious just about any food tastes when I haven’t eaten for a long time. The problem is I am still going to be living in different cities for the rest of the year (touring musicals) so I am really more ‘1820 Settler’ than someone to ‘settle in with’ at this stage. I agree with Eckart Tolle’ (author of The Power of Now) It is pointless to fight against things the way they are. I guess I’m expressing my current discomfort with my circumstances in the hope that it will help me take action to prevent this situation in the future. What are my options? Refuse to take work that uproots me every three months and risk unemployment? Change my career entirely? (I have been considering studying Kinesiology, as it will provide me with a good excuse to touch strange men.) Or maybe do like the cheesy church hymn says and “trust and obey for there’s no other way”. At least the dogs have settled down now. I must admit, they are quite cute when they’re asleep.

On Sale Now!

(This is an analogy. I am not a rent boy but thanks for the offers ;-)
The problem with letting your “product” sell for cheap, is that it’s very difficult to get the price you really want afterwards. When you allow your bargaining powers to slip and your standards to drop you may (in a moment of weakness or desperation) allow your “goods” to be purchased for less than the original asking price. You may even find yourself dealing with dodgy customers that you would normally have nothing to do with. Normally you would aim at the high end of the market but these dodgy clients have been consistently persistent and sometimes it’s such hard work keeping the upmarket ones happy. Then the word gets out that you’ve been distributing your “wares” generously to lesser respected corners of the market and suddenly rumours spread that yours may in fact be an inferior “product.” The solution to this problem may be to find someone else in similar predicament so that you can launch a combined marketing campaign along the lines of “buy one get one free”. But alas that way you are (at best) both only going for half of what you are worth.
My solution - to having sold myself short - is to take my “product” completely off the market and to keep it in storage until there is more of a demand. (There are farmers in the North West who have made a fortune by doing this with their maize.) Like red wine or brandy that’s been kept in cellars or in barrels in the dark for many years to be sold now at exorbitant prices. But what happens if my product becomes outdated and there is no longer a demand?
The problem is that the market is currently flooded. And the drama, art, music and ballet schools across the world are spewing out fresh batches of bright eyed, bushy tailed “product” every year. I was offered an upgrade for my cell phone recently and immediately declined it in outrage. It still works perfectly well and it’s not that old! How would you feel being replaced when you are still more than useful. There always seems to be something newer and more impressive waiting in the wings for its big debut, whilst something else is taking its final curtain. I guess the moral of the story is not to let your product go for less than it’s worth, in the first place. Hindsight is always 20/20 vision.
I like flea markets because they prove that even damaged goods can be bought and sold. But, I don’t want to be a vender with a bargain. I want to be a high class salesman with something exclusive, priceless and rare. Maybe I should get into import export. Foreigners have always taken a shine to me. I’m already on several sites on the internet so who knows maybe I’ll be sold at a really good price to someone really discerning on E-bay. Someone who knows what I’m worth despite my recent going rate.

XXX Rated.

There are so many things you can become addicted to these days. Alcohol, heroine, tik and even Lazari’s pink cupcakes (just off Buitenkant street in Vredehoek.) But now I have been informed that you can become addicted to sex and that there are even 12 step programmes used to help those with a constant need to do the “deed”. I must say that if there was a requirement to be enslaved to at least one addiction in your life time, sex at first glance, would seem the most attractive. Sex is the ultimate instant gratification. I can only speak from the perspective of a man because woman are a fantastic mystery to most gay men, but for us it’s very simple: There is a beginning, which can be as exhilarating as hunting in the wild (without getting blood on your cargo pants), a middle that causes all stresses and concerns to disappear, and an end that is final and thoroughly satisfying. Sex is a lot like drugs and booze. You forget about the mortgage and your deadlines at work. Everything else ceases to exist and you transcend yourself for a few blissful seconds.
I read in the February edition of Life magazine that the brain releases a series of stimulating chemicals like oxytocin and serotonin during attraction to another person and that lust is fuelled by testosterone for men and women. Well, these chemicals, although being organic, must also have the potential to be addictive. They are described as being “natural opiates.” (Poppy flowers and Marijuana can also be grown organically.) Also, there is an increase in gay men taking tribulus, zinc and other testosterone stimulating supplements to aid them in their bulking up in weight training. This must impact on the sexual energy of the entire gay community. Sex and sexuality require stimulation and factors like an increase in testosterone and chiselled athletic bodies add fuel to the fire within every gay man’s loins. This must cause some kind of ripple effect within the lesbian, bisexual and transgendered community as well because we share the same dance floors and hunting grounds and I believe you don’t need to be attracted to someone to pick up on their sexual energy. I suppose in this way sexual energy can be likened to a strain of the flu virus that makes its way across the dance floor. First you see one couple groping and kissing in a corner and then slowly but surely there is another and then another and those still on the floor dancing are thrusting their hips at one another, more feverishly than before.
Sex can be a welcome escape from the realities of poverty, isolation, decay and guilt. But like drugs and booze it can aggravate the situation much more once it’s over. For example: Imagine I am having trouble feeling validated by my boyfriend (this is just hypothetical, I would never be this needy in reality and I don’t even have a boyfriend, YET!) He seems busy all the time and distracted during sex and I interpret this as him neglecting me. I feel unattractive, insecure and ugly. I keep gargling with mouthwash and doing stomach crunches because I fear that it may be my breath or my jelly belly that is driving him away. Then one day shopping in Cavendish I bump into a guy called X who I know has always had a bit of a ‘thing’ for me. I didn’t really find X that attractive before but now I see the way he looks at me and it makes me feel sexy and wanted. I take X into a toilet cubicle were we then “X” and I feel great for exactly 1 and a half seconds after which, I am crushed with guilt and self loathing. I then go home and behave like a brat with my boyfriend, because I know I have betrayed him and no longer deserve to be with him, causing a huge argument that makes him upset and angry with me. “X” the floozy that I “X”ed in the toilet then tells his closest friend about the incident and swears him to secrecy. This is like sending a press release to CNN international and soon everyone knows including my boyfriend who also then becomes an X. It’s amazing how quickly a story can become XXX these days!
I’m not sure that a sex addiction is as quick to develop as a heroin addiction. I think it is more similar to alcohol, in my opinion. Surely the act of drinking and enjoying the soothing and pleasurable qualities of the substance must be energized and invested in over a period of time for the chemical and emotional dependency to develop. Or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe, there are alcoholics that were hooked after their first sip of wine and perhaps, there are people out there that have been sexually compulsive since their very first “slap and tickle” session, finding themselves, in a darkroom by the end of the week, with a track record akin to a prostitute at a truck depot.
I recall someone referring to mankind as a bunch of “flesh bags” carrying around a stew of “chemical soup.” In that case we are constantly adding to and changing the nature of our chemicals inside our soups. The hormones that we have change our chemical composition, the emotions that we indulge in can affect our brain chemistry and the substances that we ingest can also dramatically alter our intended “recipe’s”. It’s actually a little scary. I have been witness to events going terribly wrong when the recipe has not been adhered to and the ingredients changed. I remember being creative in the kitchen as a child and a mass of pink goo exploding from the microwave . A goo that was initially intended to be a strawberry sponge cake.
There is a delicate balance of elements in order for things to exist as they do. Too much almond essence can ruin a milk tart and too much garlic will ruin your chances of a good night out. This balance can be the difference between a tasty curry with a bite and a morning loo session in which something bites back on its way out. Now, I amble along the cobbled streets of the gay quarter and wonder when I’ll be witness to someone exploding and splattering me in a mass of pink goo.

Factory Reject

So okay maybe I overestimated my ability to deal with rejection a teeny tiny bit. This is not the way I feel when I don’t get the part I was auditioning for. This feels a little more like the time I mistakenly rubbed a certain “sensitive” area with deep heat after a groin injury. A persistent and most inconvenient sensation I would not recommend. He’s just not that into me. If I am a serving of grated beetroot on a Spur salad buffet then he has not chosen me for his side plate. Beetroot often gets rejected because it makes everything else on your plate go a bright pinkish red and God forbid, everything on your plate should become a shade of pink. Come to think of it beetroot is one of the gayest roots I can imagine with carrots coming a close second (because of their phallic nature.)
My last rejection was more like a funky shoe that gets bought, worn a while, and then returned because it “didn’t fit properly”. We all know how tough it is to sell worn shoes! This guy didn’t even want to try my shoe on! Maybe I wasn’t Nike or Reebok enough for him. Maybe if I was more Adidas and less Ug boot then I would be wrapped around his souls right now. But, it looks like I’m not going to be sharing a morning pot of tea with him anytime soon. Was it my teeth? They are a bit skew. Maybe my hair was too long or he doesn’t like my brand of deodorant. Maybe he was intimidated by my talent and good looks and was afraid of living in the shadow of my inevitable and impending fame. Why is it that he doesn’t subscribe to my magazine when I would gag to lick every page of his?
What frustrates me most is that I now have no one to sigh and get glassy eyed over anymore. I spent the afternoon roaming the waterfront hoping to find someone new to develop a crush on, someone, who might take the bait, someone who might say “yes”, this time. I even hovered around the gay section of exclusive books but I soon felt like I was the only accidental visitor to a rather perverted retirement home. I love old people but they shouldn’t think that age permits them frisking rights on the young. So tonight I have been licking my wounds and contemplating sending him an sms containing only the word “poes”. But I decided against it. It’s not his fault I’m going to be famous.

Forbidden Fruit Cocktail

This has been one action stacked and emotionally discharged long week-end!
It makes me think of the lesser known scripture of Adam and Steve in the proverbial Garden. Adam is tempted to have of Steve’s forbidden fruits even though he knows that Steve is actually involved with someone else from another garden, somewhere overseas. Adam knows that he really shouldn’t but what is one to do, when one has a weakness for fruit?
It’s all about the packaging so I suppose Steve must have been sporting a rather fetching basket and as to what transpired between the two, one can only surmise from the chapter to follow: Ready, Willing, Cane and Able.
History is fond of repeating itself and so I felt much like I imagine ancestor Adam must have felt all those hundreds of years ago, this very week-end. I developed a forbidden fruit crush on someone and am reminded of how things “change” and then “stay the same.” He is tall, dark, gorgeous and completely unobtainable. There are men that have made me wish to be thinner or bigger or smarter or more affluent in order to win their favour. But, this guy made me want to be more of who I am. He takes no shit and is clearly not a fan of pretence or facade. He has beautiful eyes that can dissect your being and isolate character flaws like a surgeon’s laser. I noticed how he disallowed any superficial chit-chat and how keen he pricked his ears up, if there was even a hint of mercury or spice (bullshit) in what I was saying. I got the impression that there would be no space or time provided for me to be or do anything other than what I am at heart. He is only interested in who I am and not what I was or want to be. This is a challenge for an actor who is used to having so many options at his disposal. With him I’d have to leave the masks and make-up at work before coming home. I felt myself falling and it was like watching an annoyingly unavoidable crash like an unmanned shopping trolley scooting downhill towards a freshly painted car. It’s not usually very practical when we fall, nor is it graceful and one inevitably ends up a bit grazed and bruised.
There are things I could tell within minutes of meeting him. I can make him laugh but it’s not a given that he will, if I try. He reads in bed but, will probably never read this (Though I pray he does.) He stretches like a cat and has a dark sense of humour but is prone to smiling at strangers. He smells good and if he was with me and we went to a dinner party together, he would place his hand on my knee when he felt I was feeling insecure. But even though I am tempted to tell him I love him and cause him to get a rather ineffective restraining order (See previous blog Media Slut) I am conscious of the fact that I don’t really know him (even though this does nothing to diminish his yum-factor.) But he’s not available. I cannot have him now because he belongs to someone else and that just makes him even more desirable.
Isn’t it strange how the really delicious things in life are always really bad for you? I would be with him if doing so merely made me fat, gave me cholesterol or clogged my arteries or gave me ‘the runs’ (as is often the case with fruit in excess) But, having an affair would compromise my already low running supply of integrity and, wrack me with gnawing guilt. I have an overdraft of guilt as it is, and I really don’t need the bad karma. Also, how could I enjoy a trusting loving relationship, if I incubated it in a Petri dish of deception and betrayal? I’d rather leave that shit to Shakespeare. So I say, “not tonight, Josephine!” I want all of you and not just some of you, on loan from somebody else. Call me when you’re single. And until then I will keep my phone on me at all times in the hope that I was enough of myself on the night that we met.