I hope you all had a lot of fun over Christmas and New Year. I know I did. Rather a large amount of booze has passed these lips, not to mention cigarette smoke (note to readers: I don’t actually smoke so don’t know why I was puffing away on the Silk Cut Blues – maybe it’s hormonal).

I spent the Christmas week at home which is a small village just off the Causeway Coast in Northern Ireland. I won’t tell you what it’s called. There are some things I’d prefer to keep private, although I know that’s hard to believe. One festive memory I’d rather not cherish is my father clearing a blocked toilet only to go on to stuff the turkey. Don’t! I can vouch that he washed his hands (vigorously!) in between bog-plunging and bird-stuffing.

Thankfully my family knows that I’m gay so there were no awkward ‘girlfriend’ questions from aunts and uncles. Although now that everything is out in the open, I’ve noticed how my relatives are at pains NOT to mention anything around me except weather; Dublin; job etc. No questions about drag queens or the latest style in nipple piercing I’ve noticed. I suppose it must be a hard subject to broach if you’re not used to talking about gay subjects, but it would be nice if they tried every now and then.

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New Year’s Eve was a scream – quite literally. I caught most of it on ViewCam and can replay and play again those wonderful little moments (such as my best friend Jimi being pushed into a freezing cold shower at eight in the morning while all the time screaming blue murder) that would have been lost forever.

The party itself was held in a large, converted barn outside Kilcullen in County Kildare. My boyfriend Colm and I brought two bottles of Smirnoff and 12 cans of Bud believing that would be enough. I am still paying for behaving like a pig at that party; i.e. taking whatever drink was at hand, be it lager, cider, Jack Daniels and even at one stage, Cointreau. Never again. Well at least not until next week.

It sounds a bit glam to say that you were up ’til eight in the morning at a party – the reality is quite different. It takes fucking ages to get your body clock back into shape. A few nights ago, after I watched Shakespeare in Love on BBC1, my body told me that I was hungry for my dinner. Yesterday at five in the evening my body was all ready for a good 12 hour sleep. Am still quite narky so if I go off on a rampage in this diary, get over it. (Only joking dear readers, remember that everything I do I do it for you.) (Please read between the lines here.)

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Five of us went to the bingo last Sunday: Jimi, his boyfriend Robert, Grainne, Colm and myself. We arrived early and got that corner table in the downstairs area; you know the one, it’s just beside that picture of the woman tweaking the other woman’s nipple. The reason we arrived so early (apart from getting seats) was that we were under the impression that the place would be packed cos there was going to be a ‘Year in Review’ night on. It turned out that we were one month early and that the review night wasn’t until the end of January. Silly us!

The show itself went well. Vada and Dolly were Shirley’s little helpers for the evening. The only hiccup was when Shirley cut short her intro chat cos she felt the audience weren’t responding in the correct way. I have a sneaking suspicion that moments like this add to Shirley’s popularity. What I mean is that I think ‘gay’ audiences love it when they’re treated mean. I heard recently that Vada has changed her name from Vada Bon Reve to Vada Beau Reve. It all has something to do with the translation – I’ll find out and get back to you.

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At this point, I’d like to apologise to two friends of mine, Pat and Sean. It is with a deep shade of crimson covering my cheeks that I recall slabbering on to the pair of you for the good part of 10 minutes about nothing at all. Obviously I was plastered, but sometimes that isn’t a good enough excuse. Next time this should happen (God forbid!), just tell me to fuck off.

My New Year’s resolution list is quite small this time around. It is this: lose weight gained over the holidays; go to more alternative music venues like Popstars, Sharpshooters, Q+A, Fibbers (I used to be a Goth believe it or not — Boys Don’t Cry and all that jazz); and become a superstar. I think I’ll concentrate on the former for the time being. I’ve decided to get off the bus two stops before I should – let’s see how long that lasts!

At this point I’d like to wish all diary readers a Happy and Prosperous New Year. Goodbye Christmas, roll on St Valentine’s Day!

More Soon…  
Tim - January 2002
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