Friday, 11 December 2009

Shampoo Called Revenge

I'm not one to hold a grudge, if someone wrongs me, as in the case of most of my ex boyfreiends, I normally hate them for a whilse, cry and drink lots of rose winr before generally moving on and not giving them another thought.

It has come to my attention however that some people just can't do that; justice has to be done and the only way for justice is revenge. Listening to my friends, revenge is best served on a silver platter with a carving knife.

Although I myself am not completely innocent when it comes to getting even; I'm often reminded of a drunken rampage when I found out my boyfriend was cheating on me (much worse than me cheating on him in Cape Town, but that's a different story) and shouting, 'I'm going to put cockroaches throught his letterbox.' Not only that but I did also leave his front door open in the hope his three shitty smelling dogs would fuck off and rehome themselves, they didn't.

I've heard lots of revenge stories, some funny, others dam right crewl, like the lad who taped him and his boyfriend at it, only to send it to his wife, his kids must have been messed up for life. My favourate revenge story once again comes from another trolley dolly friend; infact I think he should be given an award for creativity. Whilst his fella was playing away from home he got a shampoo bottle, emptied half the contents and filled it up with a well known brand of hair removal gel. You can imagine the result after a few wash and goes.

Before any of you get carried away I must warn you that I don't condone this behaviour, however, if you do take part in a little revenge message us the story as we could do with a laugh.

Now before I pack my bag and jet off towards another glamourous destination I must give a special mention to the Chinese pensioner who was arrested last week for dancing on her husband's grave and singing,' Who's sorry now.'

Wednesday, 9 December 2009

Last Orders

I admit I'm a self confessed binge drinker who deos not know when to stop until I fall down. I can not begin to tell you how many times I've had trouble trying to piece together the night before.

It's quite common for me to have text messages the following day from people I have given my number to, insisting that they bring their friends to stay at mine the following weekend for drinks and snacks, hence my mobile number changing so many times.

Like me I'm guessing you've uttered those famous words 'I'm never drinking again,' only to do it all again the following weekend. I've even heard shocking stories that people go out and have one night stands and regret it the following morning, this has never happened to me, I'm grateful for what I get.

I know I'm not the only one who has promised to detox and never followed the idea through, however, I am now one week into an alcohol free detox and I can now tell you why we never go through with our idea of a healthy lifestyle; because it's shit, mind numbingly boring and there is nothing to talk about the next day.

I muyst admit the detox is not by choice, it has been forced upon me by the goverment of Jeddah's decision to run a dry state. Maybe they should sample a Jack Daniels or two, maybe then be more forgiving to the man who stole a pack of Durex instead of chopping his hands off, maybe even if they had three or four they'd give him a blow job and pay for his taxi home.

Seven days is the longest I've gone without alcohol since I was 18, I've already checked the alcohol volume on my Jean Paul Gautier and sent my room mate out for shot glasses. I can not tell you how much I long to go out and spend money I haven't got on over priced Vodka and Redbull and wake up the following day in a pool of my own vomit.

The rest of the crew have even started to make stories up about me as they have nothing else to talk about. So far this week I've given head to a camel, shagged a desert rat and been gang raped by a family of Geckos. I think that sort of slander is much more dangerous than getting drunk and pissing into previously mentioned turban, don't you?

Saturday, 5 December 2009

Wasn't It A Lovely Day The Day We Went To Mecca.

For those of you who do not know me allow me to introduce myself; I'm a 24 year old single poof from Manchester with a liking of cheap wine (one has to become accustomed during the recession,) and music by the Sugababes. Now in light of this little information I have given you, you can imagine my absolute horror when I was sent to work in deepest darkest Africa with my job as a trolley dolly, (I do believe you Americans call us flight attendants.)

Given the contract to work for Ethiopian Airlines flying Muslims on there pilgrimage to perform the Hajj, I found myself residing in a little war torn country called T'Chad. Now if like me you've never heard of this country before and you ever get a chance to go, don't. There is a reason you've not heard of it; it is the arse end of the world. Here the words Ipod, Jean Paul Gautier and Gay Bar have never been muttered, with the latter phrase more than likely to result in a stoning in a country where a little bit of man on man thrusting is still illegal. And as my friends are well aware of an internet connection is about as common as finding the Pope in your local gay bar sipping a Gin 'n' Tonic, the best I got was when I climbed a tree and pointed my iPhone towards a passing satellite and hoped for the best.

Now as you can imagine, working for an African airline the aircraft wasn't exactly modern, in fact I'm positive you could see the marks on it from where it had been dug up from the desert after it had been shot down during the First World War. I truly believe you could hear the big bird crying out for retirement as she struggled on every take off. She really was held together by sticky tape and the grace of God.

Not all was bad over in the Sahara, we had a lovely time in many a room party. In fact with the crew mostly gay it was just like being in a local bar, I liked to call my room Club Blanche. Lots of drunken antics took place and I'd love to be able to tell you them only I was that pissed I can't remember, however, there is photographic evidence of me dancing around a some lovely shiny leggings, pixie boots, sparkly top, red lipstick and sporting the latest winter range of Abiyas whilst singing 'I am what I am.' Feel free to go and view them for yourselves over on my face book page.

Now I'd love to be able to stay and chat but I'm being shipped over to Jeddah very soon for five weeks. I will try my best to behave but I think it's for the best if you keep on checking CNN to see if I've had my hands chopped off in Chop Chop square after I've exposed myself to a passing Arab King whilst pissing into a turban. Now don't forget to click on the follow link on the left side of the page and enter your email address for updates, you can now also follow me on twitter and don't forget to keep checking back at Handbags'n'Botox at

Wednesday, 4 November 2009


Canal Street has been the meeting place for many a gay man for years, the hustle and bustle of the bars and the hedonism of the clubs. During the summer months the streets are crowded with tanned bodies in vest tops with the community out in force, all looking for a glass of wine and in search of a good time. But what goes on when the bars close? Is it that once out of pub opening hours the gay community of Manchester ceases to exist? We take a look at the gay goings on, dare we say it, outside of Canal Street.

Just a stone through away on Bloom Street are more businesses, none of them bars, but all still crucial in the growth of the gay community in Manchester. ‘The Funky Crop Shop’ gay owned and run hairdressers, above is ‘Recapture’ a gay beauty salon with the extras of medical aesthetic treatments, and below is the villages very own off license and sun-bed shop. A few doors down you’ll find ‘The Docs’ the gay villages very own medical practice. Not to mention sauna H2Ozone and of course Clone Zone on Sackville Street.

Ok so Bloom Street isn’t exactly outside of the village but is there anything really worth going outside the village for? Taking a look at the listing in one of the free papers in Manchester I was surprised to see page after page of gay listings. If it’s sport you like (unlike couch potato me, I’d much prefer to scoff Pringles than to do any form of exercise, although I do occasionally watch the odd game of football for the old tradition of the players swapping shirts at the end of the game) then why not try joining Northern Wave, an all LGB swimming club in Hulme just 5 mins away from the city centre. The sporting activities don’t end there with the villages very own rugby club ‘Spartans’ and very own football club. And it’s not just the gay man who like sports, the lesbians are at it too, with there cleverly called football group ‘Beavers’.

If like me you don’t fancy watching the sport on the wide screen T.V in the pub but do prefer to cause an argument of theatrical status then the Manchester and Lesbian Gay Chorus could be for you or even theatre group VADA who often put shows on in, yes you guessed it, one of the gay bars on Canal Street ‘Taurus.’

The clubs don’t stop there, ranging from support groups like Stepping Stones and Lesbian and Gay Youth Manchester to gay writing group Outwright and slightly bizarre Gay Naturist Social Group.

My point I am trying to make is this, is it really fantastic that our ‘village’ is growing with the rate it is? With so many amenities with in the ‘Gay Village’ how long will it be before we cease to have any need to go outside the perimeters or socialise outside our gay clubs? With even a gay travel agents in Manchester are we simply supporting gay business or are we becoming inbred? As we rely on our gay network are we loosing touch with reality? And are we forgetting how to socialise with our heterosexual brothers? What do you think?

Friday, 30 October 2009

Gay Guide To Surviving Brake-Ups

Well I just can’t seem to get it right. Let me explain. After being single for nearly three years (the nine month holiday romance in Cyprus doesn’t count) I’ve just messed up yet another relationship, 18 months to be exact. Which leaves me asking myself where exactly do I go wrong?

When starting a new relationship I normally jump in feet first, rush everything (hence the reason I’ve been single for so long, if ever there was an award for being clingy I would win the Oscar), this time I can honestly say I took things a little slower. However one little thing came in my way, the dreaded EX. And I don’t mean his.

Ok so I didn’t cheat on him, I didn’t even meet up with him, but I did carry him. Instead of taking this fresh relationship on a crisp clean ikea sheet, I started to play the games my ex used to play with me. I ignored the texts sent to me all day, I tried to play cool, but instead was simply nasty. I even finished with him and walked out his house just to see what his reaction would be, he looked pure miserable and had tears in his eyes. Perfect. Two minutes later I had him in my car and took him out for the day. Believe it or not, I’m not a nasty person, it was my way of protecting myself. I even considered sleeping with someone else just encase he was doing it to me. Simply because this had been done to me in the past. However, my game playing backfired, he dumped me. Awwww I hear you cry. My big mistake to not to start afresh with a new person, and to pre-judge. So for this I am sorry.

Then came a new dilemma, just exactly how do you wash that man right out of your hair? However short or long term there’s no doubt it can leave you feeling sick to your stomach and a little lonely. But do not fear, with my experience I should have a degree in post brake up blues. Here are a few of my favourite things to make me feel better.

5. The best way to get over one man is to get under the next. In my case I tend to go for two, Benny and Jerry. It’s surprising what a litre of chocolate fudge heaven can do for you.

4. If he’s in the wrong don’t get mad get even. Get his Kylie collection and snap up those C.D’s. You’ll soon feel better, although I must warn you, criminal damage charges could be heading your way.

3. Surround yourself with friends. These are the people you use to go for drinks with before you got into a relationship. They’re generally quite happy to see you, hoping that you’re that little bit more bitter. Beware of the phrase ‘I told you so.’

2. Go for a walk, straight to Blossom Hill. Nothing better than having that Bridget Jones moment, play Celine Deon for full affect. A good old cry will make you feel better in the morning. I feel I must warn you to delete his number before the beginning of this night to save the embarrassment of noticing you sent begging and desperate text messages the night before.

1. You’re likely to kill me now. Yes it’s exactly what your mother said, but I’m afraid it’s true. Give yourself some time. If need be do all of the above, you’ll soon start to feel better. And failing that, there’s always Gaydar for your next victim.

Thursday, 22 October 2009


Well the bastard is back in town, and not only is he back, he’s back with a fine hunk of a new boyfriend, and he’s looking amazing as well. My ex, that is. Now two years down the line, you’d be right in thinking that I should have moved on. Well I have, just not when it comes to my territory. You see my best friend, although right now I am considering throwing her in the Manchester Ship Canal along with all the other rats and used condoms, bumped into my ex and felt the need to phone me and tell me he’s looking extremely hot and his new boyfriend is stunning, I know what you’re thinking, the bitch. To her defence she is a bit dippy at times and probably had no idea what she was saying would piss me, however I am accepting applications for a new fag hag, so apply within.

Now it is not that I am bitter about his new boyfriend or jealous, I would gladly buy him a drink, spiked with arsenic. What annoys’ me though is the political terms of a brake up. I introduced him to all my friends, as he came from out the area; I also introduced him to my favourite bars. These bars he has now started to frequent on his own. Surly the polite thing to do in this situation would be to find your own bars, bars that you know wont cause an atmosphere with you both being in at the same time. Now as these were places I was getting pissed as a cross dresser on tranny night in and then being swept out with the rubbish in the morning, way before he came on the scene, I consider these to be my territory a long with all the friends I introduced him to. Luckily my friends remain my friends and not his, as they now what would happen to them if they did, but unfortunately I can feel the control of my side of the village slipping away.

What the re introduction of this Barclays banker into my social world brings though, is the reminder that I am still single and without a date for the previous 20 Saturday nights, so readers I put it to you to find me a man. Preferably between 22 and 70, tall or short, fat or thin, rich or poor, sense of humour not important, neither is use of all limbs, not that I’m desperate, just open minded. Apply at, now until next week excuse me, I’m going to go and remind myself that I may be gay by nature, but I’m fabulous by choice.

Mike x x x

P.S if you’re bitter about something let us now, not that we care, we just want a laugh.

Thursday, 15 October 2009

An Over Thought Romance

So what do you do if you're a single gay man looking for love? Well i've no idea either, thats why I'm asking, however, just recently I've been trying to figure out what I'm doing wrong, so I've put down my re-occuring phases of each man I seem to meet to give you a little insight into the world of a compulsive over thinker.......

Phase One.
"Can I have a marriage proposal, a house in the country and a Labrador with that kiss? By the way my names Michael."
So if the fella you just snogged three minutes previous is still sticking around after the last question your next trail of thought begins; Does he really like me? Why hasn't he ran off screaming "POSSESSIVE?" Next though: Couldn't possibly be that as ut wiykd have been a natural reaction to run for the hills, therefor he must be the freak. Step back and move on.

Phase Two.
You swapped numbers and he's texted you all morning but there's a sudden stop, now despite his last text reading 'Just about to go to work. Speak L8er,' you get yourself in a flap. Automatically the thoughts begin, who will he chat to at work? Will he meet anyone on the way there (even though he's took that same route for the past five years and its never happened before)? Four hours have passed and he's not texted you, and you figure he must have had a break by now.

Phase Three.
Your phone is now switched off as you've annoyed yourself for looking at it every thirty seconds. Telling yourself you'll keep itoff for the next five hours as you're sure you'll be greated with a message by then when you turn it back on. However, you only last ten minutes before typing the pincode into your phone and being greated by a slap of dissapointment.

Phase Four.
You met up for dinner last night and he stayed over, conversation flowed and so did the wine. You tell him you like him and he says it back. He left five minutes ago and you're now wondering if it's to early to tell if he loves you.

Phase Five.
You go for a few drinks but you're getting paranoid as he's been texting someone all night. Positive it must be somebody else he's seeing you're about to put and end to your 246 hour relationship, not that you've been counting, only then he tells you he has to go as his mother's dog was run over last week and died but she has been spotted trying to take its colar for a walk. You then spent the rest of the evening thinking how horribnle you have been before trying to decide if he was genuine or just a bloody good excuse to leave.

Phase Six.
All is going well, you've been together 389 hours but you know you can't control your paranoia much longer as it's Saturday afternoon and he's just phoned you to tell you he's food shopping in a leading brand suppermaket, though you think he's not alone despite knowing full well the voice you have just heard in the background is an annoucement for buy on get one free on oven chips. You delete his number from your phone.

Phase Seven.
You've found an old text message from him and his phone number is now restored, but you can not help your possessive streak and 539 hours after you first met you decide you should just be friends and so you call itoff with him, when really you were just starting to like him, but you'd rather him not know you're a paranoid obsessed freak.

Phase Eight.
"Can I have a marriage proposal, a house in the country and a Labrodor with that Kiss?"

Monday, 28 September 2009

Hommo Hobbies

You know the type of person I mean, the stereotyped anorak waering, spotty sad loner freaks who choose to spend their spare time with a pair of binoculars stuck to their hands. Spending their Sunday mornings out in the cold watching tains instead of curled upin bed watching Hollyoaks on T4. Thinking about it, isn't it us that are the real geeks?

First of all put that stereotyped image to one side. My first boyfriend who I went out with for 19 months was a train fanatic. He was drop dead gorgeous and huge, in every sense of the word ;) He often dragged me kicking and screaming to the National Railway museum just ten minutes from where we used to live in York. He was so passionate about all the old steam trains and the Old Royal Carriage which his grandfather had helped to build. His parents' house was full of model trains and even a train telephone (this is wear I'm drawing the line. It was, you could say. his hobby.

Thinking about my hobbies, the dictionary definition is 'activity pursued in ones spare time.' The only thing I could think of doing on a regular basis is getting pissed.

Does going down Canal Street all dressed up at 9 o' clock on a Saturday night, being hammered by 11, falling out of a club at 4 with WKD stains all over your clothes, and then spending all of Sunday in bed nursing a hangover with a packed of painkillers count as a hobby?

Wasting our days off,not using our brains, not socialising in a mature manner with an intellectual conversation, are we the real geeks?

Here's a list of Handbags and Botox top five hobbies, at first they may seem boring but read on to discover the twist.

5. Doll Collecting. That's right people actually collect these hideous china dolls. Why not turn that doll into your very own voodoo doll? Just had a lock of your ex boyfriends hair.

4. Hiking. Not as boring as one may think. Early on a misty Sunday morning walking your dog accross the moors, you cross the path of a tall handsome stranger. Perfect for the outdoors type.

3. Fishing. Hours upon hours waiting for a bit. Try a change of venus and head for the Manchester Ship Canal. Set up camp on Canal Street and it may not only be the fish biting at your rod.

2. Model Making. Spending hours sticking together model airplanes and boats requires the patience of a saint. Get good enough though and it will not be long before you're making your own little model airplane, complete with engines and remote control. Now add a camera and a purfect spy device to check up on your boyfriend, start now and you may be finished in 2015.

1. Stamp Collecting. How could this possible be number one? Cheaper than many other hobbies with stamps costing 52p, with the added thrill every morning without the need to change your sheets when the postman comes. Collect enough and you could have the whole Royal Family sitting in your front room. And who else can say they've licked the queen more times than you......

Click comment and tell me about your hobby............

Saturday, 26 September 2009

Carry On Camp Camping

Never before has a static caravan in the middle of Yorkshire seen such camp drunk shannigans, and having said that I don't think the small town of Ripon was ready for such limp wrists either.
Last Friday evening I turned up at Benjamin's (my best friend and fellow trolly dolly) doorstep with a bottle of vodka in tow, nothing unusual there, and was greated by Stephen (Ben's partner) and Sydney, the labrador. Now I would love to tell you more about the evening but as far as I'm concearned thats where it ended as I don't remember anything else, and I dread to think of what a tit I made of myself. Fast forward to the following morning I awoken to find two biscuit rappers stuck to my face and lying in a mountain of crumbs, I'm guessing Sydney planted them their as everyone knows I don't do carbs after five.
Fast forward six hours and the gang arrive in a lovely 1970's pink caravan along with Soumia (don't let the exotic name fool you, she's from Essex). After scoffing our faces with pizza and downing the best part of a harvest of wine we set off to sample the not so delightful night life of Ripon. Arriving in a bar, that wont be mentioned, only as I can't remember the name as I would gladly hope to shame it into a 60 Minute Makeover, we had a little look around to what was obviously an after show party for Jeremy Kyle. Downing a pint of Stella we made a quick getaway after I minced to the toilet and Ben feared the safety of my new Uggs.

Two doors down we arrived at The Unicorn, this time it was the after party for Countdown we gatecrashed. The drinks were cheap and the room was furnished in a lovely spectrum of pastel nitted jumpers. Moving on quickly we turned up at Ripons only nightclub, Matrix. Now I am almost certain I've seen the exact same nightclub in Benidorm, however at £1.50 a bottle we really didn't care, and as soon as Ben discovered the revolving dancefloor all inabitions were lost.

Now I'm 24 and have never been on a night out and been able to pull a girl until that night. It seems in Ripon the girls don't care if you've got more mince than Fred Elliot's Butchers, they are quite happy to take anything that passes them by, on the revolving dancefloor. Now I wasn't the only one to pull that night, although I didn't actually kiss the girl she just kept looking at me even if Soumia was convinced she was a lesbian, Ben broke a chavs heart. The young lady dressed head to toe in Reebok, as sports wear is the general dress code in Matrix, made a quick exit after flirting with Ben only to be told he once slept with Dale Winton. Further entertainment that night included Ben falling out a car window, but the less said about that the better, the only thing I will say is that if you even meet Stephen please ask him to make sure 'everything is securly stowed.'

Waking up to a bastard of a hangover on Sunday morning it was fry ups and glasses of wine all round as we find it's better to carry straight on instead of suffering the headache. The evening was spent watching X Factor and I provided the entertainment for the evening, admittidly more for my own amusement than anyone else's, repeating at least 30 times a less than tuneful version of Alicia Keys If I Ain't Got You. I only stopped once Stephen picked up the bread knife......

The rest of the trip passed by in a haze of Absolute vodka, I would love to tell you more about it, but I genuinely can't remember anything else, so I'll leave it up to the others to leave their comments................

Thursday, 17 September 2009

KY on a side plate

Iodine: Where shall we meet?
Mucky_Mouth: Corner of Canal Street 7.30
Iodine: Tell me what you're going to do to me again?
Mucky_Mouth: Have you been a naughty boy?

We live in a society where we can get anything online now, including casual sex, and the taboo that once surrounded the subject has seems to have dissapeared quicker than the BigBrother contenestant's dignity.

With services all over the internet to find people;,, faceparty, etc, you'd be pretty pushed to find someone who didn't have a profile on at least one of these sites on a busy night down Canal Street, or a quiet one come to think of it. My personal belief of these sites is that they're quite sad (ok pot kettle black, I admit I have a profile on one of these sites). Maybe I am just living in the past when I say I'd like to be wined and dined before I'm 69'd, and surely I can't be the only one? I've tried to argue my case with several friends who have profiles on these sites and regularly meet men for sex and they all say the same thing; 'we're in the 21st century now, there's no need for formalities.' I beg to differ.

You go one the internet, scroll throgh profiles until you see someone who takes your fancy, or most probably see someones bits and pieces that tickles you fancy, you send them a message and wait for a reply, they check out your profile (well pictures at least), they like what they see and you hook up and have sex. Ok so there are no formalities, but aren't formalities good? Aren't formalities the chats we have with someone before we discover if we like them or not? Don't the formalities keep us safe? It's those first impressions that count. Formalities are fun, they're social events, meetings in pubs with a few sambuccas, going to the pictures, spending an evening gigling at each others jokes (ok i know i'm starting to sound old but hear me out), flirting and having one too many drinks. You build social skills in these situations, you laugh in these situations, you don't do that sat infront of the computer.

I'm not deluded and I know that dates are not always fun, god knows I've had some bad ones, the man with the receading hair line was a particular bad one, and they can have those awful silences, but at least on those dates you know that the person isn't for you and you don't sleep with them. How can you decide that when your first contact is offering yourself top them with a tube of KY on a side plate? So I maybe 24 going on 40, going on 60 actually, but still wouldn't it be nice to be treated to a meal and an evening of company rather than wham bam thank you mam?

In this day and age it isn't safe to meet up with men off the internet and jump into bed with them (again I know pot kettle black). I'm guessing someone you met off the internet has probably met quite a lot of others in this way, isn't this how STI's spread? Not that I'm saying all people who have sex don't use protection but you can guarantee somewhere along the line somebody hasn't.

So from now on I think I'm going to stick to using my internet for booking my easyjet flights and browing the Victoria Wood fan site. And as for dating, I'll just wait and see who I bump in to, unless you can set me up?