De Job for next year...

I've begun applying to prospective hospitals for work after I (finger's crossed!) get my degree. The deadline is the 31st of August of this year, almost a full year before I am due to start work as a pre-reg.

So where to apply? The strategy is simple:

1. Identify on a map of London where Soho is.

I was thinking about Earls Court originally, for a more understated gay feel, but there's no way I can afford to live anywhere near Kensington on a pharmacist's starting salary.

2. Try and get into a hospital near Soho.

Unfortunately the most centrally located hospitals have half the country trying to get into them. A summer placement would have increased my chances of getting in with a particular hospital, but most of them are now unpaid, which puts them out of bounds for me. Central Middlesex is looking like a distinct possibility, but the programme looks interesting and it's only fifteen minutes by tube from Soho.

3. Try and get a house not too far from either Soho or the hospital, preferably such that all three are connected by tube lines in such a way as to minimize walks between stations and any of the above three locations.

Not sure how this is going to pan out. West London is expensive generally, so I think my house is going to have to be west of the hospital itself, rather than the ideal situation of being halfway between the hospital and ... Soho. Is there a pattern emerging? Oh shut up...

4. Party time!

Head on down to the Kings Arms and let the good times roll...

The blushing brides

MizzFlee (left) and Bear on their wedding day...

Dahling!

...surely not?

What on earth could have happened?

Here come the brides...

Saturday saw the wedding of the year...

I rose at 1pm, a little tired and delicate thanks to an ill-advised excursion the night before (but one which netted me a hot scottish bear), and got on with the business of shaving my head and ironing my clothes for Flee and Bear's civil partnership. It was a great day, and the Royal Pavilion is a nice place to have a civil partnership. You also get to pick your own readings (Our resident South African picked an excerpt from Mapp and Lucia, and the supervisor recognised his thespian credentials straight away. You go girl!). Then we got a tour of the Pavilion, which was once occupied by George IV - if I have the number right - a great sinner in his day.

Finally we ate and drank. And drank. Whilst the meal was in progress, there were slides of a photographic history of Bear and Flee being played on an overhead projector, which was a nice idea, and one that I shall nick for myself if I ever have one of these ceremonies. MizzFlee, if you're feeling generous, do send me a few of those, and of the night as well, so I can post them up here. Rather fetching you two did look in those top hats.

One of the waiters who served our table was rather doable, and I'm almost certain he played for my team. In spite of my repeated eyeballing of him, however, he failed to respond. Damn these men who play hard to get!

After that, we repared to the Dragon, and met ourselves some Irish travellers, who seemed to be quite nice once I'd let my guard drop a bit, though some people who were there have gone to great pains to point out that they were acting suspiciously. After everyone had gone home, I went to the Bully for one, met an old trick, tried to get into this guy's pants, failed, and went home. My head touched the pillow at about 7am. I rose quite a few hours later, so now my body clock is shot to shit.

I've just finished watching Jet Li's Hero. I rather liked. I'll be practising my own moves tomorrow...

That's it for a while. Taking it easy for a couple of weeks. In other news, I got my exam results and I have to retake one. That's the best case scenario as far as I'm concerned: It could easily have been two or three.

Roll on Pride!

Rugby players

Rugby doesn't rub me up the wrong way, in the way that football/soccer does. The one criticism that is often levelled at it, that it is a socially elitist sport, is in my opinion the saving grace of it. Also, because of the way rugby was organised in school, it was strictly extra-curricular, so I never had it inflicted on me in the way that I had to suffer other ball sports, and never really had the chance to grow to hate it.

And then there are the players. Phwooaar.

My first proper object of lust when I was in school was my applied maths teacher. Who happened to be a rugby player on the local team and coached rugby. He wasn't the tallest - even at the age of 16 I remember looking down at him - but he had an arse to die for. I wasn't the only one who thought so either: When he started teaching applied maths to the girls school up the road from us, one of the girls I knew told me that she kept getting him to go upto the board to do problems so that she could look at how his pants showed off his rear.

Since then I've always had players from various different teams in my crosshairs. The old faithful has been Lawrence Dallaglio, though it has to be said there are a fair few contenders on the English rugby team for my attention in general. Keith Wood is someone I wouldn't mind rattling the duvet with. Also, when there was some rugby match on the last time I was home, I noticed that the team playing against our side were dressed in pink tops. I since found out that they were French, and some of them were serious candidates for getting an ass-pounding from me.

When my father's birthday came to pass last week, I noticed my brother giving him a present of a dvd called 'Reaching For Glory', a documentary about the Irish rugby team filmed over the last year. My interest was piqued, and when my parents had gone to bed, I put it on.

After they had gone to bed, as if they had seen me watching it, and knowing my disinterest in ball sports in general, they would almost certainly have put two and two together, and that might have been a litle embarassing.

Her are a few that jumped out at me. They are choices that would normally be considered bizare, as only one of them have beards, and all of them are around the same age as me (some are, in a first, actually younger than me).

John Hayes Big n' burly n' barrel-chested. Just the way I like 'em. And with a shaved head too. 125 delicious kilogrammes of man-meat.
	David Wallace Younger than me, and bland enough of face, the basic template is still there. Weighs in at a hefty 103kg. An ideal candidate for improving himself by growing a beard.
Denis Hickie Younger than me but looks older. Must be the shaved head. Wouldn't say no if I found him next to me under the duvet. Kind of light at 93kg, compared to the others, but still heavier than me.
	Bernard Jackman Another guy who looks older than his years. Must be the shaved head again. 112 juicy kilogrammes of man mass to get your hands around.
Brian Young At last, a player with a beard. This guy is a whole six years younger than me, but I still wouldn't say no. His team-mates have nicknamed him 'The Bear'. I wonder if they, as straight men, fully understand the ramifications of that tag.
	Gordon Darcy Again, at 90kg and 27 years old, one of the younger and lighter ones here, but it is in the documentary 'Reaching for Glory' that we see him with his back to the camera, walking off the pitch, barechested, his hands in the air, and boy does he have the big guns. Well, it's either him or this next chap...
Shane Horgan I tried to do a screenshot of the player who looks like this bloke or the one previous (don't know which) from the DVD 'Reaching for Glory'. Shane, if it's you, nice biceps. You'd improve no end if you grew a big black bristly beard though.
	Gavin Duffy Treads a dangerous line between pretty and handsome. There's only one way to erase that ambiguity, Gavin! Grow a big thick untrimmed beard.

So, lads, if ever you feel like raising money for charity, get a photographer, get yer kit off, say cheese, and stick it all on a calendar. I'd buy it.

Countdown to Pride!

The climactic weekend of Brighton's Gay Pride (i.e. the weekend that sees the St. James' street party take place, with all the attendant groping) is one month away. I'm all excited!

In preparation for this event, I have been looking online at t-shirts to wear for the day. One guy I know told me that last year he wore a t-shirt with 'Big Balls' emblazoned across it, and that everyone was coming up to him to 'verify' his claim.

That sounds like a plan.

With this is mind, I went onto Spreadshirt, and used their novel t-shirt designer tool to come up with this:

Direct? Perhaps, but subtlety usually goes out the window at Pride festivals generally.

Alternatively, I could go for a more understated come-on, from cafepress.com:

Not sure which one to go for. Perhaps both? Advice in the comments, please.

TV star sacked for using homophobic slur

In the latest non-news, Isaiah Washington has been sacked from the cast of Grey's Anatomy, for using the word 'faggot' in connection with co-cast member TK Knight, who is gay in real life.

Washington's response to the decision was, get this, to accuse the producers of racism. He says the word was used in the heat of the moment, in an argument with fellow cast member Patrick Dempsey, and was not meant to refer to Knight in the negative way that everyone perceived that it did. He went on to say that he believed that because he refused to play to the submissive 'yes massa' role that he believes is deemed suitable for black men, he was penalised. There is also the belief that America is currently undergoing a serious backlash against homophobia, and that it is now considered as heinous as racism, and that Washington fell victim to this.

I have a number of thoughts on this.

1) There is no 'backlash'. People are finally waking up to what they should realised years ago: That homophobia is a form of racism, and should be treated as such.

2) Because of the previous point, it is a bit fucking rich for Washington to start bleating about racism, given that he just displayed it himself. If he had used the slur in a standard workplace, he would at the very least have gotten a written warning.

3) Is there anyone out there who believes that black men in general are submissive, or that they should be?

4) Grey's Anatomy is shit. I watched about two or three episodes, and quickly came to the conclusion that it was aimed at teenyboppers. Any critic who tries to big it up does nothing only undermine their own credibility. The same goes for House.

5) Lastly, Washington is about as good-looking as the arse-end of a bus. The reason the producers could also have fired him is because of that: He's unlikely to find much favour with the core audience of this show: Young girls. (Don't try to deny it. Of all the people in my class who watch it, 90% of them are female).

The whole thing does seem like a storm in a teacup, and washington's defense is a bit pitiful, but if this kind of thing happens enough times, people may eventually start to get it.

Other than that, stick with ER, people.