II

I'm going to England tomorrow, for a little over two weeks. Exciting! Nice to cross the border! I might even get to meet Krafty Bitch, who is Bristol bound!

Welcome, dear reader, to Window On Your World II.

For the original, please click here to see what happened and here to see how it all began.

This time, hen, the time and date for photographs is Sunday 4th March 2007 at 17:00 GMT. And, times are not local on this occasion! To work out when 17:00 GMT is where you are, my darling, try clicking here, here or here. Go on, you know you want to! For example, 17:00 GMT on 4th March will be 12:00 (midday) on 4th March in Indianapolis, 20:00 (8pm) on 4th March in Kuwait and 02:00 (2am) on 5th March in Tokyo.

So... Please take a photograph of whatever you see before you on Sunday 4th March 2007 at 5pm/17:00 GMT and email it to me. Feel free to add any information you like, what the picture shows, what you were doing at the time, where you are, whether it's typical or atypical of where you are or what you do at 17:00 GMT on a Sunday (if, indeed, it is still Sunday with you at 17:00 GMT on Sunday 4th March). Anything. It's up to you. One thing: Please put Window On Your World in the subject line. That would be very helpful.

All images will be uploaded to my blog some time during the first week of my return from Bournemouth. I'm back here in Edinburgh on 12th March. Should be exciting!

Go on. Take my advice and take part. You know you want to!

We largely have David to thank for Window On Your World II, my lamb, who suggested this:

Hey, since you have global readership, have you thought about having the shoots be done at exactly the same time? For example, ask all of us to take a picture of what we are all doing at 1700 GMT, UTC, Zulu--whatever the hell you call it. So you would take a picture of what you are doing at five in the afternoon. I would take a picture of what I am doing at 12pm Eastern Standard Time. Brian, Brett, Herb, and .25 Life Crisis Kid would take a picture of what they are doing at 11am Central Standard Time. At least, I believe that there is a 5/6 hour difference between us.

In other news, I'm having difficulty deciding who did the best version of Santa Maria: Samantha Fox or Tatjana. Who do you think comes off best, my little maid? I must admit to being more drawn to Samantha.

Also, there will be no new edition of Fib Sunday until my return from England. Dom was going to do it, but he's busy boning a soldier just now. Meanwhile, continue playing with the last episode, if you'd like, by clicking here.

Go on. Go on. Go on.

Found

I just want to share with you, dear reader, the above, a list of topics used by people who found Minge. Plain old Minge, I can understand, but going out without knickers on? Britney's Minge? John Barrowman's cock? Pentapeptides nadine baggot?

What is the world coming to?

Megan

This is my daughter, Meg. She's the older, more sensible one. And quite the greedy bitch!

Mary

My youngest daughter, Mary.

Boyfriend

Cake

Seven photographs of Minge and the (still warm) Dorset Apple Cake. Click here for the recipe.

If we don't find the right solution, will there be a revolution?

Henry

Prince "Harry" will serve in Iraq. Oh, fucking hell! What the bloody hell are we going to do? Society's about to go into melt-down.

To celebrate this news, I offer Sinitta. She sings, "Someone who will love and protect me..." A Blair/Harry scenario, do you think, dear reader? So macho!

By the way, I hate the fact that he's referred to as Harry when he's actually called Henry. What is it with these fucking Royals and their damned names? Did you know that George VI was actually called Albert, the current Prince Of Wales wants to be George VII if he becomes King and our current head of state, Liz, is actually called Cunt.

When are they going to sod off back to Germany?

This, my love, was my racist/republican rant for 2007.

In other news, I made a Dorset Apple Cake this afternoon and Window On Your World is back! Back!! Back!!! Etc. Watch this space!

News

No romance with no finance. You've got to have a J O B if you want to be with me.

Boy, nothing in life is free.

Oh, life is too serious.

Love's too mysterious.

Good evening, dear reader and welcome to my world of insanity. On the menu this lunch time:

• Ice
• Pamela Anderson's crotch
• Old lottery tickets
• Automatic washing machine powder
• Emery boards
• Lesbianism
• Dying apes

How exciting is that? Very is the answer. So how exciting do you think the news has been today? How can one put more than very into words? Totally? Fabulously? Very, very?

A fly girl like me needs security.

Tony seems to be coming to his senses(ish). A one legged woman goes waltzing in the USA. A drug addicted single mother has yet another child. Climate change kills people shock. A Scots airline is chosen to operate an internal Welsh route. Catholics announce their hatred for gays. Margo MacDonald is value for money. A dialect is dying. I get tagged.

Yes! Tagged!

Here goes...

Name a book that you want to share so much that you keep giving away copies:

Our Betty by Liz Smith. Unashamed, enthusiastic, batty, honest... Effortless writing tinged with sadness. Liz is a splendid gay icon without the clichés. Read it and understand how it's possible to laugh and sob at the same time.

Name a piece of music that changed the way you listen to music:

Too Shy by Kajagoogoo. Up until 1983, I wasn't sure if I liked pop music outwith the realms of Abba and other Eurovision winners. Then I saw Limahl in someone's Look In. I thought he was delicious. "What time's Top Of The Pops on?" I asked. My brother nearly fell off his chair.

Watching TOTP introduced me to other artists just waiting for my addictive personality and in some small way taught me that trying new things isn't so bad - and you get to broaden your horizons.

Name a film you can watch again and again without fatigue:

Female Trouble. It's pure fabulous trash. And stars Edith Massey (check out Love Letter To Edie), Divine and Mink Stole! Could a film get any better? Yes! There's outlandish sex, murder and mis-use of eye-liner! Watch it! Go on, you know you want to!

Name a performer for whom you suspend all disbelief:

Stanley Baxter. He does a mean Queen and makes Helen Mirren look like an amateur. Click here to listen to the legend himself.

Name a work of art you'd like to live with:

Portrait of George Dyer in a mirror. I think he'd have a lot to say. I think there would be a lot I'd want to hear.

Name a work of fiction that has penerated your real life:

Sucking Sherbet Lemons by Michael Carson. It was the first book that made me really think about sexuality beyond all the usual superficiality and thereby really think about myself. It made me want to change. I did.

Name a punch line that always makes you laugh:

Gator: Hey, Taffy, Come on over here and suck your Daddy's dick.
Taffy: I wouldn't suck your lousy dick if I was suffocating and there was oxygen in your balls.

From Female Trouble. Ever heard the theme song? Or the track Thunderpuss did with Edith Massey?

I said, "Come on baby take me higher. Cuz I'm dreaming of your love. I want to be your heart's desire. Light my fire. Santa Maria."

I'm tagging Alan, Alan, A Novelist, Just A Girl, Krafty Bitch, Enda, Anjou, Kapitano, Brett, Reluctant Nomad, Lewis, Bill and China.

Shaven

Oh, Britters. What are you doing, hen? Please tell me because I think I'll otherwise explode with a nervous excitement not felt since Dannii Minogue tried to insert a cucumber into my back passage, back-stage at Kylie's Intimate And Live concert in Sheperd's Bush, 1998.

Going out with nae knickers on and showing off your fanny, driving around with your baby on your lap, smoking far too many fags, drinking like a fish... All these things are terrible, but shaving all your hair off? What the hell were you thinking...?

And what am I thinking? To be honest, I don't know. What I'm really trying to get to grips with is why I, like so many other people, find

• a female shaving her head to be shocking behaviour
• Britney shaving her head to be more shocking that driving with her baby on her lap

Is this the final chapter in a story that began with a virginal love-fest with Justin? Is this where a school girl flirting with sexuality ends up? Questions, questions, questions. And more: Is Britney a feminist radical? Is she bucking some kind of trend? Is she telling the world that she doesn't care what it thinks? I think, the answer to that last question is no. Or she wouldn't now be wearing a blonde wig. Is it most likely that she went out on the town, got off her face and decided, thanks to her good friends Mr Coke and Mr Vodka, to do something wild? And what does that then mean? That she's about to have a breakdown? Or that she's finally in control of herself? Has she jumped out of her rational aeroplane without a parachute?

Or is she simply out to shock?

If she is simply out to shock, can someone please help me understand why a woman shaving all her hair off is a shocking thing to do? Men do it all the time and no-one bats an eyelid. I suppose it's easy to make a statement with a hairstyle and it can be worn like a badge. A hippy might grown it long, a Nazi might order a Jewish woman to have it shawn. It's visual impact is always severe.

Poor women, even now, sell their hair to make some money. A shaven head might be seen as a sign of destitution. Is Britney trying to tell the world that money means nothing to her? Or has she had some kind of religious experience? Is she embracing the notions of poverty, chastity and obedience?

By the way, dear reader, if you have a spare million dollars, you can buy Britney's hair. Click here to find out how.

Or is Britney on a path of renewal? Clothes are easily changed, even names - but removal of hair is literally removing a part of oneself. Radical change. Unrecognisable against photo ID.

Of course, Britney could be about to come out. As what? I hear you cry. A lesbian, dear reader, is the answer. She could be about to tell the world that she's a dyke. Naturalists have a lot to say about hair and what it means. It is thought that human females wearing it long is a throw back to our pre-human past and there for our babies to hold on to. Its gloss, lustre and healthy look are seen as signs of a woman's ability to conceive and a subliminal courtship invitation to men. Is Britney's hair removal a statement about a new aversion to reproduce? Or an end to her heterosexuality? Of course, there are lots of lezzas with long hair, it could mean nothing, but there's nothing like shaving all your hair off, going out without any make-up on and wearing a pair of dungarees to announce your lesbianism. Long hair in women is an overt sign of femininity. One cannot get away from that. An unfeminine or butch woman is still seen by society as abnormal - and that's why I think Britney's shaven head is seen as so shocking. So good for her.

There's another option, of course. Her divorce has cost her a lot of money and she's looking for ways to economise. Shampoo can be expensive!

Whatever the reason, Britney must now be very aware that she's lost those notorious pop princess and girlie labels. She'll now be found in the rebel, wild and mad boxes.

There have been other women with shaven heads or women who've lost their hair. Natalie Portman, Sinéad O'Connor, Gail Porter, Demi Moore and Siouxsie Sioux are all very different women, but all tarred with the confidence brush. A sign, then, perhaps, that this is not a sign of weakness in Britney or that things are about to fall apart, but more a sign of strength. And while strength is another trait never seen as normal in a woman, it is a good thing to see. Another abnormal chapter in Britney's life is being played out before us, a chapter in a life which, if we're frank has never been normal. And normality is so dull.

You go, girl!

And ditch the wig!

Tuesday

Down in the jungle, playing with my mate. I want to go to toilet. Pft. Too late!

Tomorrow, dear reader, is Ash Wednesday. In preparation for Lent, for Easter and forty days of fasting, we today embrace Shrove Tuesday.

To save me from temptation, all the good things from my refrigerator and cupboards will be used to cook up a fabulously large bunch of pancakes this evening. Toppings and fillings will include:

Nutella
Black cherry jam
Lemon juice
Sugar
Maple syrup
and
Quince paste

In which fillings and toppings will you indulge, dear reader?

Craven

Readers of Diary of an old cheeser will know of the author's interest in Dame Beverley of Craven and his amending her lyrics resulting in a marrow being inserted into her fanny. The readership may also know of a wild notion documented in the comments section of his Beverley post to discuss other items placed on or, indeed, inside Ms Craven.

And so, dear reader, this is where we find ourselves today.

Think of it as a cross between a fan's obsession with Beverley and the stuff on my cat website.

So now, my loves, you have a chance, in the comments section, to suggest things which could or should be placed on or in Beverley Craven. Any part and any orifice, but please make this known. This is not a competition and there will be no prize, but kudos to those with imagination.

Go on, you know you want to!

Whatever happened to Bucks Fizz?

Whatever happened to Matia Bazar?

Whatever happened to Savage?

The first time ever I saw Fib Sunday

Happy new year, dear reader. Never thought I'd feel this way and I've got to say that I just don't get it.

Heute is Fib Sunday, my love, not just the first day of the Chinese year. If you don't know what's going on or indeed what Fib Sunday is, click here to read the original instructions. Go on, you know you want to.

Go on!

In brief:

1) I take the topic as given in last week's final entry, write a Fib and give a new topic.
2) Your reply to the topic is in the form of a Fib in the comment section.
3) You then supply the next topic.
4) The next visitor replies with a Fib on the newly given topic and then provides a new topic and so on...

A Fib is a six line, twenty syllable poem with a syllable count by line of 1/1/2/3/5/8. The only restriction on a Fib is that the syllable count follow the Fibonacci sequence. An example of a classic fib:

One
Small,
Precise,
Poetic,
Spiraling mixture:
Math plus poetry yields the Fib.

Last time, Brian left us with the topic of Oscar Wilde. My response (with hard labour):

Boys,
Boys,
Go now.
Oscar's dead.
Please tell all your friends:
He could not take the Eucharist.

Next topic:

North Carolina

Okinawa!

Haikoughing

Although I'm better than this time last week, still coughing up filthy muck from my infected lungs, I'm much better than I was. I no longer think that death is lurking around the corner.

I'm well enough to play Haiku Saturday today. Are you? You'd better be, bitch. Click here. Or else. You want me to get the Crisco out?

In other news:

Denmark are going to win Eurovision this year. I'm sure of it. Check out the video for their entry by clicking here. It's gay, it's drag, it's pop, it's disco - it's a winner!

Barrowman

At least once a day, dear reader, someone finds my blog by googling John Barrowman's cock. Sadly, until today, they've never found it. Not here, at least.

All that's now changed.

I believe in giving people what they want. Above, find the clean version. For the full monty, click here. Or here. Go on, you know you want to.

In other news:

The author of Moncrief Speaks, Brett, is today celebrating his birthday. He shares it with the equally fabulous June Brown. For more fabulousness, check out Moncrief Speaks and On This Day.

Also, short of cash, I'm forced to imitate Alan's actions and put things up for sale on ebay. If you want to buy any of my old tat, please click here.

Hugs

Saint Valentine's day has come and gone, dear reader.

Ian and I had a fabulous time. He came home from work at around 18:30 and within forty minutes, we were in the car, on our way to Izzi. As we wound our way through the busy streets of Edinburgh, Ian began telling me about a man he'd seen earlier, on leaving Waverley train station, offering free hugs, holding a sign, saying so, above his head.

I thought to myself, ah, that's sweet but really didn't pay much more attention to it other than Ian and I exchanging comments, much along the lines of it being a lovely thing to do on Saint Valentine's day when lots of people would be going without.

Then I felt horribly smug. On leaving the car for the restaurant, I asked Ian for a hug and a kiss, just to make me feel better.

We had a lovely evening, noshing on fabulous Japanese food. No booze, though. I'm on antibiotics for my chest infection and Ian was driving. No dessert, either, the starter and the main courses being more than either of us could take.

We eventually got home, snuggled up on the sofa and let the evening drift by, hugs plentiful.

Then, this morning, I had an email from Ian, sending me to a web site with a news story about the man offering free hugs. Click here to read it. It mentions a clip from You Tube which can be seen by clicking here and from there I found a news story on You Tube about the free hugs affair.

I was moved to tears. Really, I was. What kind of a society do we live in where people are afraid of hugging one another and where such actions are deemed wrong? And as those tears rolled down my face, all I could think of was my looking forward to Ian's return this evening - and hugging him.

From You Tube, I turned to my fellow bloggers for insight, inspiration and other takes on the day for lovers. I found the things Graham, Krafty and Enda had to say most interesting and provocative.

Questioning oneself is a good thing to do and I try to do it daily. So today, I'm asking myself why a man (namely me) who tells himself he's never part of the herd, goes along with the rest of society and joins in with the nonsense that is Saint Valentine's Day? Well, I suppose, for its comedic value. I tell Ian that I love him every day. I buy him gifts and flowers from time to time. We kiss and hug at the drop of a hat and often do romantic things for one another.

So this is funny?

No, I'm explaining why I'm not part of the herd to which I so strongly object. I don't do romantic things one day a year. Really. I do them far more often than that (and I'm not trying to blow my own trumpet, here, or anything else). The thing I really adore about Saint Valentine's day is the anonymous cards people send. And I join in with spoof offers of love and sex. I suppose I send about half a dozen each year. I sometimes get one or two back. And that's why I play along with Hallmark's marketing campaign.

So, again, I'm asking myself, is romance dead?

I don't want to feel smug. I'm grateful that I live with a man who loves me, a man with whom I'm more in love every day. And I'll hug anyone. Oh, and I'm not just nice to my beau on 14th February. I do my best to show my love for him, and, hopefully, for others, every day of the year.

From Rome, to Madrid, to Paris. On the breeze.

Whatever happened to A Certain Ratio?

Valentine

A few days ago, Ian and I entered into a pact - to celebrate our love for one another, Saint Valentine and his feast day in a greener and more sustainable way than ever before. Basically, this means no flowers.

I first winced at the idea, having been to flower-free funerals, but soon came around. And today is no funeral.

Most flowers given to loved ones today, here in the UK, are either grown in Kenya or in European heated greenhouses. Which is worse than the other? If it's too close to call, perhaps they are both bad news for the planet:

Roses grown in Kenya rack up the horticultural equivalent of thousands of food miles and in a country where water is scarce, shouldn't we be doing something to stop water being diverted to quench our thirst for luxury in the West?

St Valentine's Day is not celebrated in June. If it were, gifts of roses might be more acceptable in our aching for a greener lifestyle. But it's not. And North European roses don't bloom in mid-February. Unless they're grown in greenhouses heated by burning fossil fuels. And that's not very green, is it, dear reader?

So Ian and I are exchanging gifts we can treasure, if not for ever, for a very long time, today. I did think of a flower alternative in the form of daffodils, but they're not very romantic. I can find more romantic things in chocolate shops, department stores et al. So that's what I did.

I had some lovely things from Ian: A Paul Smith fragrance, Notes On A Scandal by Zoë Heller, a travel guide to Tokyo and a Creme Egg! I found them this morning on going downstairs. I also had a very beautiful and romantic card. I've put it in the living room along with the one my Mother sent me (she never fails). Oh, and I had an e-card from my delicious freind, Fee, too. How fabulous!

I don't feel bad about not having bought Ian a dozen red roses this year. But should I? Does this mean romance is dead?