Author Archives: anna
If I was a boy I would be Bear Grylls but with a slightly smaller nose. He and I share a love for going off-piste although I don’t fancy killing a dog, slicing it down the middle with my Swiss Army knife and waggling my hands around in its hot organs to keep my fingers [...]
It’s festival time in Brighton which means a whole lot of showing off, and drawing attention to oneself. These are not necessarily the same thing. For example, when I went to see the Gay Men’s Chorus in a church the other night, the highlight wasn’t ‘I am what I am’ but all the traffic to [...]
For the second leg of the South Downs Way Odyssey our cosy trio was augmented by two new ramblers, Gilbert and George. It was all a bit Enid Blyton, what with the police, the pork pies and the bump in the night, not to mention the lickiness of Finty. But let me start at the [...]
Once upon a time in Anatolia, a man had a perky prostate, went for a wee by a bush on a dark, windy night and then did a bit of chatting in a very cramped car. Meanwhile, a man who looked like Jesus tried to remember where he’d buried the man he’d recently murdered and [...]
Last weekend we embarked on our South Downs Way odyssey – an epic journey full of emotion, bad map reading and Germolene emergencies. I was a little late owing to a wrong turn in Petworth and the fact that, having been on a speed awareness course last week, I was driving like Miss Marple. Oh [...]
My considerable acting skills have been called upon yet again. Not my usual professional assignment, rubbing shoulders and sharing Ribena with Bafta-nominated lovelies at gay drinks parties. No, this time I’ve been romping around the woods on a hostile environment training exercise for some hapless aid workers who wouldn’t know Sir David Morrissey if he [...]
Over the last few days, I have been mostly decorating. My boudoir has been in bad need of a make-over for some time, what with the bumpy walls, flaky radiator and much abused carpet that has, over the years, generously soaked up all sorts of spillages from red wine to red nail varnish. My odd-job [...]
Today, I counted six tits in my back garden – they are obviously winding themselves up for some mass spring avian shagathon because they won’t bloody shut up. ‘Don’t pick him, pick me, I’ve got what it takes’, they seem to say, the little darlings. Meanwhile, at the front of the house, the man opposite [...]
It was Saturday, around tea-time when we were thrown into the final spin of Wagner’s Ring Cycle – six hours’ worth of warbling, scrambling up the scenery and dry-kissing by some very chunky individuals. Our hero, Siegfried, had thin lips and a straggly mullet while his Brunnhilde, a passionate red-head, looked like she’d run up [...]
Last week, the Artist formerly known as Prince hosed me down in my back garden. He’d come over for a chat about Sheena Easton and his Power Generation but somehow the conversation turned to sweat. It turns out that my shower was bust and I was ponging so Prince offered to wash me. As this [...]
