Weird bank holiday weekend for me. About to spew vulnerability hell, but what the fuck. Spent a day with my parents who, as usual, were fighting. Who really cares about Sarkozy and France anyway?? My Dad's a lawyer specialising in fraud and my Mum has recently got into Interior Design. Nice house in Edgware, a dog called Buster and they can be proud of what their kids have achieved. Spent Saturday night telling them about my plans for what I was going to be doing at the channel - even brought along my channel grids and everything.
Mum thinks I'm great and is very, very proud. She likes the idea that I've joined the establishment, even if she cannot abide the changes made to the way the news is shown these days.
Where as Dad is just.... Dad. I don't really think anything I do will ever impress him. His opening gambit was why I wasn't bringing home a lovely woman on my arm.
If only he knew.
I still freeze when I think back to my very early days in television and the lengths I went to in trying to maintain myself as a hip, cool kid bright well beyond my years - and oozing something approaching a sexuality.
...The time my (then) boss embarassed me in my own development meeting by insinuating I was still a virgin...
...The time I jetted to NYC just for a weekend because I had a chance of managing a boy band, and telling all in the office about my red eye adventures. Anyway, from what I remember, it was pretty hip for *everyone* at that time to be confused or at least ambigious when it came to their own sexuality...
...And the time Nigella invited me to dinner, and I sat and became mesmerized as I learned what it was to have presence in front of an adoring audience. I formed a lot about myself that night...
Tonight I logged on to toyboywarehouse.com. Read a great piece in last week's Telegraph about it.
Perhaps 'downdating' is the thing for me after all?
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