The balance in our flat is a very difficult thing to maintain. A certain level of homosexual atmosphere must be retained at all times. The other night it was catastrophically interrupted. -
Four men in our front room, three gay, one straight. The balance was in order - all was well, until...
Football. Football ended up on the T.V. The bane of my life, on my very own T.V, for 90 minutes, plus overtime!- No ammount of Cyndi Lauper or Celine Dion could cover the enraged straight war cry that our extremely heterosexual friend yelled at regular intervals. "Sol campbell!"
"Which one is Sol Campbell?" I bravely ask, not really wanting to know the answer.
"That big scary one".
We tried to disguise the heterosexuality of the evening by saying "Ooh, he's quite fit". but it just didn't work, and when we thought it couldn't get any worse, out come the pints, and...
"Do you want to see Rihanna naked?"
"No. God please no."
"Look i'll show you."
"No, no, no" Google is already up and he has already typed Rihanna naked into the search bar.
"But I really don't want to see Rihanna's breasts.. Oh look, there they are."
He then drank a pint.
No ammount of rainbows and glitter will correct the balance now.
We better get Elton John, Stephen Fry and Graham Norton on the phone.