Hold Me Closer Tiny Dancer

Yesterday, I overdid it a little and exhausted myself. Whilst nursing the beginnings of a headache I decided it was time to give my mind a rest and have a well earned break.

I put some of my favourite food in the oven, ran myself a bath and went to choose a film to watch on my laptop. As I was searching through film ratings an advert popped up at the side of my screen. Instead of scrolling straight past it, as I usually would, I was captivated by it; A tiny silhouette of a spinning dancer.

“Which way is the dancer spinning?” the flashing text beneath it questioned me. Clockwise or Anticlockwise? Clockwise, I thought, obviously. I clicked clockwise and I got redirected to a McDonalds’ website. I closed it and carried on looking through film ratings. The dancer lingered in the back of my mind and before I knew it I was Googling her. I received hundreds of results.



The dancer may be something you’re familiar with, but she was entirely new to me. Apparently if you see the dancer turning clockwise you have a more imaginative and creative mind, if you see the dancer turning anti-clockwise you have a more logistical and straight forward mind.

I tried to perceive the dancer turning anti-clockwise but I simply couldn’t. I stared long and hard at the dancer, looking at it from different angles but it still turned clockwise. Bewildered and puzzled I minimised the page and went to check on my food. When I returned I found her spinning anti-clockwise. I began staring at her, my mind boggling, trying to perceive her to be spinning clockwise again but it seemed impossible. I strained my mind, looked at her upside down, closed my eyes and opened them. Nothing worked, she was now continuously spinning anti-clockwise.

It aggravated me; an hour later I was still watching the god damn dancer spin, my food burnt, my bath cold, the idea of watching a film forgotten and replaced with a pounding headache. I eventually collapsed exasperated.

A button at the bottom left of the screen read in capital letters “SOLUTION.” Intrigued, I clicked it.

It turns out she’s not spinning at all.

Brother pucking internet, go puck yourself, I thought.

Which way do you see her spinning?

When Nobody Is Looking

Somebody once said “You are who you are when nobody is looking.” I’m sat here, alone, looking around our flat and wondering who it is I am. I think I have a well-established sense of who I am, for now anyway. I strongly believe, although there is a lot of truth in this, when you have been with somebody a long time, the person you are when nobody is looking, becomes the person you are when you are alone with the one you love.



Statistically our opinions, thoughts and personality supposedly are completely different after an interval of seven years. If I think back to who I was when I was thirteen (seven years ago) I don’t think I’m that different. I have the same aspirations in life, the same personality, the same feelings; I’ve just become a little more mature. I understand things that I didn’t then, it doesn’t mean I’m not the same thirteen year old that I was.

Nobody is watching me right now, so it would be fair to say this is who I am. I always write in solitude so I guess you can find out who a person really is simply by looking into their talents and passions. A musician is the person we hear, a writer is the person we read and an actor is the character they portray. We are what we want, and what we want is what we are, our personality is built upon those inner emotions and how they react to the ever changing world. It isn’t the person that has changed over seven years; it is the environment in which they live.

Embrace your talents, your passions and who it is that you are when nobody else is around. Today, let that person shine out, let those around you know who you really are, you’ll find that those closest to you already know.

Be free. Be happy. Be you.

Cheap

Alright, I thought to myself, after Lee handed me my 18th drink of the night, he's up to something. Maybe he was trying to get me drunk to take advantage of me. After four years of a relationship it seems a little futile though, doesn't it?

Lets be honest now, though; after 18 drinks my thoughts weren't this concise and I was probably thinking more about how my hair looked than whether I should drink another drink. I downed it in one.

We parked ourselves right beside the wall ENTIRELY MADE OF GLITTER
(Surprise, surprise - Yes, thank you Cilla) and began checking out the bar-men.

It would seem that when you go to a city that isn't Derby there are in fact attractive gay men, it's a shock to the system, the only problem is they all work behind the bar. A stunning looking twenty-something man danced around the club carrying half a dozen shots trying to entice fellow-gay-bar-goers into a tipple. Nobody was half as interested in the shots as they were him.

I could hear Lee having a heart-attack out of excitement and telling me exactly how gorgeous he thought this man was. I already had other things on my mind... and... well... Mitch Hewer can sum the rest up for me.



I ripped a crisp five pound note from my wallet and called him over - I'm cheap - "Hiya!" he said still dancing waving the shots around in front of us.
"I'll buy five if you give my boyfriend a kiss!" I yelled over the teardrops dance-remix. He looked at Lee, smiled widely, and to Lee's utter confusion leaned in to kiss him. I then handed him the five pound note as if paying for some sordid prostitution and he handed over the five shots. One of which I handed back to him.
He downed it. I looked at Lee wickedly then pointed at my own lips. He leaned in and kissed me, laughing.

Please see above image for my sincerest apologies.

Thanks!
Love, Cal.

In Case You Hadn't Noticed...

Laura and I have been spamming all of your facebook walls recently with our new radio show Having A Trauma. If you haven't yet heard it's on every Thursday between 11am and 1pm. If you want to catch up on the best bits of last weeks show, look no further!

Powered by Podbean.com

To tune in to listen to me and Laura having a trauma go to www.udsu.co.uk/drs every Thursday 11:00-13:00

Why I Want to go to America

I keep getting asked why I want to go to America to study and when I ask myself I'm not quite sure. The media obviously plays a part in all of this, so much of the television we watch is made in America or based in America; to the extent that I even find it hard to differentiate an American accent from an English one - unless it is blatant.

That can't be the main reason though; surely. I don't watch nearly enough T.V for that to be the case. I've bombarded my readers recently with It Gets Better videos and I think the following may perhaps sum up one of the reasons I want to go to America.



If that didn't do it for you, read about Harvey Milk or even watch the film adaptation of his life 'Milk'

I'm waiting for the David Cameron/Nick Cleg It Gets Better video: but I don't think it's going to come. - Okay, the problem is adressing the suicide of gay teenagers in America but still: I made one and I'm not American.

Am I?

Home Sweet Home

It was all very glamorous: looking out over the city, drinking cocktails and watching the pretentious people milling around in their D&G boots and A&F boxer shorts and wishing I were them; ordering room service and complaining that the blue cheese dressing was spread too thin; and spending vicarious amounts of money on things that we just didn’t need. I sat on the train home contemplating how grateful I was that going away to do an exam turned into such an enjoyable trip.

I was day dreaming of those thoughts and flicking through Attitude magazine, turning my head this way and that, examining the each and every nook and cranny of the abs on the 6’5 male models when it occurred to me: I had been paying no attention to the time or where we were.



I looked out of the window. “Lee…” I said slowly examining the empty train and our whereabouts. “Where exactly are we?” The train slowed, we were approaching some unfamiliar desolate landscape; undesirables with shaven heads and cans of cider idled around seemless amounts of broken glass and upside down shopping trolleys. “I think we missed our stop. Look at this place, where the hell are we?” I said under my voice, not wanting to alert any passengers that I was in the first stages of panic. “We’ll just get off and go back in the other direction; at the next stop.” I noticed a questionable looking thong lying on the train tracks. “Jesus. Seriously, where are we?” I craned my neck, stretching, trying to read the blue and white sign in the distance.
Oh, I thought, Derby. Home sweet home, I guess.

It Gets Continuously Better

Around two weeks ago I created my It Gets Better video in support of the campaign against the suicides of gay teenagers in America. I then went on to post Joe Burns’ It Gets Better video, a truly inspirational politician; within that post I tried to encourage my readers to branch out and share their experiences.

A reader and old friend of mine did just that, it’s brutally honest and perfectly executed. I hope this helps to get the ball rolling even more, get inspired and make your own It Gets Better video.



He even managed to coerce his housemate into making one too, though he’s not yet posted it on YouTube.

If you’re on board with the project throw in your support and make a video.

Group Work

Today I had an interview to be a postman, I’m sure if I get the job it’ll give me an interesting story or two, it went well, I think, apart from one thing.

“How are you at working in groups?”
“Erm, urr, erm, errr.”

My mind recoiled as I instantly envisaged myself at secondary school again. Spotty, dressed in black, greasy hair and most importantly not yet out of the closet. I would be perfectly happy going about my work when the teacher would suddenly decide it would be a fantastic idea to do group work. Group work: the bane of my secondary school years. I’m not saying I’m not a team player and that I can’t work in a group but the teacher would always separate me from my friends and put me with the worst possible group of people. I still don’t understand why they would do that.

My name would be called, followed by the hot boy who beat me up, the girl who shouted abuse at me and a pair of blondes who couldn’t spell apple if their lives depended on it. I would sigh and go and join them. We’d be given some various task in which everyone would look at me expectantly and I would get to work on the project that was supposed to be done by five people but instead entirely done by me.

Why? Why? Why? If group work is to be forced upon secondary school children then they should be allowed to work with whomever they chose. I’m highly aware that the thuggish types would gather together, do nothing and fail; I’m highly aware that the giggling girls would gather and talk about boys (I wish I was in their group) and fail; and I’m highly aware that the geeky types would gather and get an A; but that’s fair, isn’t it?

I think this pie chart sums up what I’m trying to say in its entirety.



Maybe if I showed the interviewer lady this pie chart then she might have given me the job…

Well That Lasted Long...

Okay, so a while back I committed myself to writing a blog post everyday, though I enjoyed doing it sometimes it's been hard to find something to write about and with my hectic schedule it has been hard to keep on top of everything.

In risk of writing about anything for the sake of it, I've decided to cut back a little for a while. Pop back every now and then, I'll probably post every 2-3 days.

When I have more free time and more things to write about I'll probably go back to writing one post a day. Until then, I’ll leave you with this TERRIFYING thought.



Thanks for reading.

Fascination

My second video blog; I talk about optimism, with a surprise at the end. 10 points if you guess what that surprise is. I’m sitting really far back for a reason.

Enjoy!



I’m sorry we look so miserable throughout, (me in particular) it kind of contradicted the point of being happy and optimistic. I hope you enjoyed it, I cringe a little when I shout “The word is on your lips,” but hey.

This wasn’t a serious recording, it was just for fun, if you want to hear some of Lee’s own songs, performed and recorded properly, visit his MySpace at www.myspace.com/leeo39dowd

It Gets Even Better

Last week I made my video for the It Gets Better project, it is something I feel incredibly passionate about, my blood runs hot at the thought of any harm coming to any man or woman because of his or her sexual preference; I want to put my all into supporting this project in whatever way I can. I am a tiny individual within this vast planet and I only have a readership of between 25-75 people a day, though I still feel if I can make a difference to at least one person then my efforts have not been wasted. Spread the word. Spread the love. It gets better. If my words can’t convince you then perhaps the words of Joel Burns can. This is the most heartbreaking thing I have seen in quite some time; it’s a bit long but don’t be put off. You might want to take a minute to find some tissues before you hit play; you will get teary.



I want to encourage all of my gay readers to make your own It Gets Better video. Upload it to YouTube in the It Gets Better channel and I’ll post it here too. Somebody, somewhere, will see it and it will make a difference.

After uploading my It Gets Better video I received an email from a fifteen year old boy in Germany.

“Thank you for sharing your story. You made my day a lot better and I love your accent. My heart still hurts when I hear about such tragedies. I am looking forward to reading all you can write. Thank you!”

This for me made the whole thing worthwhile, the sentiment of gratitude made me feel incredibly fulfilled. Not only that, saying he loved my accent made me feel a little more confident about my voice, which is something I am incredibly self-conscious about.

I also encourage any readers who aren’t gay to upload any helpful words or sentiments; or tell a story about how a gay person helped change your life; or how you witnessed things get better for another gay man or woman. Send them to me and I’ll post them here.

Bridget Jones's Cal Karczewski's Diary

Alcohol: Half a bottle of Jacques Fruit De Bois.
Calories: 0
Cigarettes smoked: 0
Boys flirted with: 2

Friends called. Emails came in. Responsibilities had to be attended to. My diary was full, literally full. I looked at it from many different angles, considering the possibility of lunch or even a snack. There was no time. I accepted that.

I trailed around the university going from lecture to meeting to meeting to meeting to yet another god damn meeting. I had so many meetings to go to, I’m not even quite sure what some of the meetings were or why I was there, yet there I was, trying to stop my rambunctious friend saying anything else inappropriate to a room full of people. “I’m cutting you off," I said "You’ve made an apartheid joke and a herpes joke within the space of thirty seconds, tone it down now, yeah?”
Her hand went up again. The faux pas kept on coming.

After the fifth meeting I managed to have some time to grab a sandwich. “Twosies!” my friend called, stepping into the revolving door behind me knocking the aforementioned sandwich from my hands. I went hungry, my sandwich revolved for the rest of the day.

After 9 hours of meetings we went straight to the theatre; to watch a musical about a Dolly Parton tribute act and a sheep. - As bizarre as it sounds I actually recommend it.

Then I ate half a pizza and for some reason, probably because my body forgot what food was, threw up. Though there was no time for food, I did manage to find time to flirt with two different men as well as drink a glass and a half of Jacques. There's always time for that.

(This or food? It may as well be a rhetorical question)

I’m sorry body; I’ll treat you better from now on.

*awaits the email from my mother telling me how this was a silly thing to do*

Beggars Can Be Choosers.

It’s hard to decide whether or not a homeless person is deserving of your spare pocket change, sometimes they’re genuinely down on their luck, sometimes they’re just looking for drug or alcohol money, sometimes it’s a mix of the two. In my time I must have tossed them quite a lot of money if you add it all up. A loose 10p here, a spare 20p there. It all adds up and is probably accumulative to about £20, if not more.

“Spare change please?” the dishevelled looking gentleman said to me, standing in front of me, blocking my path. “Erm, yeah.” I rummaged into my pocket and pulled out the only change I had. 8p. I went to hand it to him. “Are you taking the piss? Are you taking the fucking piss?”
“No. Sorry.” I retracted my hand.
“Think you’re fucking funny do ya?”
“Sorry that’s all I’ve got” I said trying to diffuse the situation and quickly sped away.

Apparently beggars can be choosers. I must not have got that memo.

I find it difficult to know what to do when I’m constantly confronted. I do the usual frisk of myself; hitting my pockets, and for some reason my chest, to show that I have no spare change on my person, I cross the road when I see a homeless person, and when possible I do sometimes give them a handful of very small change. Last Christmas I gave a homeless man my gloves, he was wrapped up well though his hands were exposed and bright blue; I didn’t like the gloves anyway and had another pair at home; it wasn’t that much of a noble deed.

The thing that really bothers me though is the aggression I regularly receive.

“Spare change mate?”
“No sorry.”
“Well what did you buy that shopping with then!?”
“My card.”
“Being cheeky!?”

I find it terribly unfair that we should feel the need to accommodate them, especially when they are being aggressive towards us; saying that I just can’t help but feel sorry for them sometimes; especially in cold weather, I see them and feel it is my duty to help. After all one day that could be me sat bunched up and curled over in a shop doorway, if my future should take a drastic twist for the worst.

I don’t know what the right answer is, I really am stumped. All I know is if somebody is being forceful or aggresive towards you they aren't deserving of your money, no matter what the circumstance.



If only they looked a little more like this; I would have spare change for these boys any day of the week.

Vibrant Rainbow Coloured Balloons

Yesterday was national coming out day, somehow I managed to completely overlook that fact and have only just found out this morning.

I quickly did a YouTube and Google search to find out if anything spectacular happened. Four words.

Vibrant. Rainbow. Coloured. Balloons. *falls over with excitement*

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DPod4DkwlHU

I’m really gutted that I didn’t realise what yesterday was; especially in light of the suicides mentioned in the above news report. I feel I should have postponed my It Gets Better video for yesterday, but what’s done is done. If I had known I’m sure I would have done something to mark the occasion.

One of my three biggest blog influences www.breaktheillusion.com (the other two being Perez Hilton and our very own LJW) put together this short video, it truly is inspiring.



Get inspired.
Happy coming out day (for yesterday)

Me Time

In a fast moving world full of responsibility it’s very rare we have a chance to be completely and utterly selfish for a whole day. We have to go about our everyday lives and somehow maintain a completely unselfish nature from morning until night. Just think about it; have you ever gone a day without being unselfish? Sometimes we need to be selfish; we’ve always felt the need to just be ourselves, felt the need to cut ourselves away from everything, felt the need to curl up within ourselves and just be.


We’re always going out of our way to help people, so much so that we barely even realise it, it’s in our nature and is quite a beautiful thing. It is of course reciprocated though. The one person who finally let’s you cross the road when it’s pouring down with rain, the elderly table attendant who chases you down out of the food court because you’ve forgotten your coat, and the friend who does something special just for you to cheer you up when you’re having that bad day that comes around way too often.

This world wouldn’t work without these selfless deeds but I think now and then we need a much deserved break. Today, or the next time you have a free day, I challenge you to be completely and utterly selfish. I’ve talked about being generous and doing just the opposite before but I think we all deserve a hard-earned break. Open up your diary and find that date when you’re completely free of commitments and write in big letters ‘Me Time’

Of course I don’t mean go out of your way to not help people, if you see an old woman fall down on the way to the shop, don’t refrain from helping her up because today is your ‘Me Time’ – There’s a line between being inhuman and being selfish.

I know personally when I have free time and/or free money to spare I will go into town and probably buy something for Lee, prepare a nice meal for Lee, visit my friends and bring a bottle and something to snack on. Whereas I think that’s a great and positive way to go about life, sometimes we should think solely about ourselves.

So, when you have your ‘Me Time’, put your favourite music on your iPod, pop into town to get your favourite food, maybe a film or a nice pair of shoes. Go home, relax, run yourself a bath or do whatever it is that makes you feel best. Think positive thoughts; boys and puppies maybe?



Failing that, boys and kittens?



Be selfish, do what you want and nothing else. Tomorrow you’ll be even more prepared to face the world head on and are probably even more likely to help that cute boy chase his shopping down the street.

You’ll thank me later!

Causing A Stir

A while back we asked a photographer friend to take some snaps of us for the University magazine. We took some serious ones and some that were just the opposite; for our own personal pleasure.

(Probably about as mature as the editorial team of Dusted gets)

I heard a popping sound from my facebook the next day. "Calum. Guess what happened on my journey home." it said.
"What?" I asked back. I'm not fond of guessing games.
"Well, I was sat on the train editing the photos when the one of you exposing your chest popped up."
"Yeah?"
"The old woman next to me wasn't best pleased. She sighed heavily and said "Oh really?" in a very disapproving manner."

This pleased me of course. My body apparantly can cause a stir from halfway across the country. That's always good to know. I'd share the picture with you but it would only anger all my elderly readers - which is probably zero.

Pay her a visit at http://hannahmillardphotography.blogspot.com/

It Gets Better

As promised, my first ever video blog.

As some of you may be aware I do have some serious voice confidence issues, so it was quite difficult for me to confidently do this. Enjoy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RJRHhZAm2x4



Visit the It Gets Better project at http://www.youtube.com/user/itgetsbetterproject

Just Because

How could I not put this up here? Jess and I had the pleasure of interviewing Miss Diana Vickers. She was so adorable. Jess even asked about her knickers!



To read the interview pick up a copy of Dusted on October 25th - It's free! Otherwise I'll stick a link up to the online version when it's out.

Coming Out

I never actually said the words "I'm gay." until long after I had come out. I found ways around it, ways to tell people without saying the words.

I sat on the curb, in some god awful estate where cars were on fire and some of the houses had no doors, talking to a friend.

"I like somebody," I eventually blurted out, a clumsy statement. She looked at me puzzled and eventually said. "Who?" I went silent.
"They go to our school," I eventually replied.
"In our class?" I nodded.

She listed off every single girl's name as I replied no to each. She then said slowly. "Is it me?"
"No," I laughed. She seemed disapointed.
"Well that's everyone. Isn't it? What colour hair do they have?"
"Brown," I answered solemnly, knowing that the truth would soon be out. At the time, a terrifying concept. She began listing all the girls with brown hair. I answered no to each.

We went on this way for some time, til she eventually said a boy's name. I nodded.

I'm not sure how the rest of that conversation went, I probably passed out with panic. I just remember things were a lot easier after that. I told a select few people but even then I wasn't out. I told those select few people that I was bisexual - I still acted like I liked girls, I still thought it was a possibility in the back of my mind.

At the time I had made friends with a girl, she was the lead singer of a band, I confided in her, she told me she had a gay friend. She told me she would set us up.

It went horrificly badly. I remember thinking he was pretty attractive, though I only talked to him on Myspace. (sigh at younger me) It wasn't long til he invited me to his for sex. I declined, of course, and was horrified about how bluntly he asked me. Now i'm not even phased when this happens, which it does from time to time, I just quote my friend Lorne (Remember, the black transexual from London?) and say "Hell to the no girlfriend."

It was around two months later when I met Lee. On the moment we kissed, I understood that I was in fact gay. Kissing girls was always a chore that I avoided when at all possible.

Mother was in Spain at the time, I was talking to her on the msn machine, when she asked me if I had made any new friends at sixth form. "I made some gay friends," I said. Which wasn't a lie, it was entirely true. I had a new entourage of friends of Dorothy, I went from not knowing a single other gay person in the entire world to going to a college which had that many gays it probably should have hung rainbow flags in the common room. - It didn't, sadly.

"Why can't you make some normal friends?" she replied back after a minute or two. I told her to fuck off. It was quite a strange thing for her to say, since at the time she was busy making hundreds of gay friends in the south of spain. She's the biggest fag hag on the costa-del-sol. I didn't know this at the time though.

When I started talking to her again, about a week later, I said "I've met somebody, his name's Lee. I would like you to meet him." She replied,
"Sure, I would love to meet your friend."
"Boyfriend*" I corrected.
"I don't understand."

Of course, now, she is the most supportive person imaginable, I guess it is hard for anybody to accept that their child is gay. And that's how I came out.

I call it the cop out approach, but, I did it at 16. 16 seemed the right time, if I had done it sooner I would have probably been murdered in my school. I remember a boy called Jacob, he was in the year above and was openly gay. It wasn't uncommon for him to come to school with a broken nose or black eye.

I was seventeen when I passed some boys who went to my old school. They somehow had heard about me being gay. They jumped me. I got away, my nose bleeding, a hole in the bottom of my lip, where one of the boys ring's had pierced it, and a broken tooth. It could have been far worse. I still have the scar on my lip, it's a constant reminder that though I am proud and open, there are still times when I need to be careful.

I guess what I am trying to say is: Coming out is important but it needs to be done at the right time for you. You will know when that time comes, it's a terrifying experience but things are always better on the other side.

Are YOU Gay?

I remember being fourteen, all of my straight male friends had heard about an online gay test; we all decided, me included, that we would take it. It'd be fun and we could ridicule the one who was the most gay.

I didn't want to agree to this but how could I say no? As far as they knew I lusted after Cameron Diaz and Kelly Brooke. I remember we all sat around one of the school computers, probably around six of us, and each took the test.

I was carefully monitoring what choices the others were making and then monitoring their different scores to try and concoct the perfect straight score. I went last, thankfully; I was trying to sound as straight as possible. Carefully considering my answers.

I came out the least gay. It was a victory at the time; now it feels like a defeat.I remember later going back to find that test and it had been removed. I would like to take it honestly and see how my score came out.

I scoured the internet for a similar test out of interest but found nothing. I did however, find this.



What do you see?

I stared at the picture for quite some time. It's two people dancing I told myself. A man and a woman in a skirt. Then I was confused. How is this a test? I can't see anything else in this picture.

It actually took me five minutes of scratching my head to realise it was also a pair of brests. I asked Lee to come in. "It's some people dancing," he said, just as confused as I was. He realised it was also breasts a lot quicker than I did, but it still took some time.

We've not managed to try this out on any straight men or women yet.
What do you see? Leave a comment!

If this test completely fails on you, try the Argos Catologue test. Open it at random and see what you get.

Lee manages to turn to topless men everytime. It's quite bizarre.

Top Banana! (No, it's not a penis joke. For once)

My editor type friend, who despises me referring to her as my editor type friend, shall hence fourth be known as Jess. She is my editor and my friend.

She's technically been my boss for about a month now and she does a superb job. Sorting out what I need to do, arranging things and generally helping me out. I've found myself swamped down with work, with Uni work, the student magazine and my applications for going to America, it's been hard to catch a breath. She's had twice as much to do, as well as her part time job, and to be honest with you, I don't know how she manages.

When it comes to talking about the student magazine (Dusted) there are two rules, and two rules only.

1. Don't talk about Dusted.
2. You don't talk about Dusted.

It's kinda tricky to follow these rules. I feel I made her angry by writing "Dusted, Dusted, Dusted." on her facebook wall.

To show my gratitude towards her for all the work she has done I am crowning her Top Banana. It's official!

The Utmost Professionalism

“So who are we interviewing for the Fresher’s Ball?” I texted my editor type friend less than 24 hours before hand. “Diana Vickers. Young Guns. Paris Riots.”
I hit YouTube, Wikipedia and Google within seconds of her reply. I had only been researching Young Guns for 15 minutes when I found myself typing “Gustav Wood (The Lead Singer) Topless” into Google. My mother would be proud… The internet is a bad influence on me.

Hi Gustav, welcome to my top 5. I’d like you to meet Cristiano Ronaldo, Enrique Iglesias, James Smith and Tyler Bachtel. Sorry Dale Howard. You’ve been bumped.


I told my editor type friend the mischief I had been up to whilst doing ‘research’. Okay, don’t consider me completely irresponsible, I had a notepad full of well thought out and devised questions for all of the acts. The topless pictures were just extra-curricular activities. I didn’t find any by the way. “Can I see your questions?” she asked me. “Sure,” I said getting out my brown notepad from my pocket and handing it to her. “It’s empty,” she replied flicking through it.

I had managed to pick up the wrong note pad in my rush out of the door. I probably would have had more time if it wasn’t for Google tempting me.

The time to interview the Young Guns soon rolled around. They came into the press room, introduced themselves and sat down. I started running through my questions; they were surprisingly engaged with giving their answers; especially after our traumatising experience with Shmoolio Foolio.

We were about half way through when my editor type friend started giggling to herself. I tried to keep a straight face and carried on the conversation. They left.
I fanned myself in a Oh-my-god-talk-about-sex-on-legs sort of way. “Sexiest man I’ve ever met,” I said as soon as I was sure they were out of ear shot. “Why were you giggling half way through?”
“I started thinking about him topless and then remembered you sat at home Googling topless pictures of him. And there you were sat next to me, asking serious questions about his music.”
“We have to retain the utmost professionalism.” I replied. Half joking, half serious.


“You know,” she said to me. “I wish the news and politics editor could do this with us.”
“Me too. She’d be good at it. Very professional.”
“Very professional.” She parroted back.

We found the news and politics editor in the smoking area nursing a Jagerbomb, dressed like Sandra D from Grease; struggling to stand. She kissed me on the lips. I think you can see where this is going.

It was time to leave, and if possible, she got more and more drunk. As we left the Fresher’s Ball we passed the Young Guns van. They were all sat inside watching something on a laptop. My editor type friend and I waved with a smile. “Shall we ask to have a picture with them?” she asked.
“I think it’s probably best not to.” We had let the news and politics editor out of our sight. Sure, enough, there she was sticking her head inside the Young Guns’ van.
“Oh what you got there?” she said in an Irish accent. “What ya doing there?” I was mortified. “Watching a bit of food porn are ya? A bit of Nigela Lawson?” She carried on this way for a good five minutes, despite our efforts to move her away from the van. I caught sight of the Young Guns, they looked horrified. We finally managed to drag her away. “I can’t believe you just said food porn in an Irish accent, to the hottest man I’ve ever met.”
“Well who are they!?” she replied in an irate tone. “Who do they think they are? Some pissing unsigned talentless band in a van.”
“Who are you thinking of? They’re both signed and talented. Did you not see them perform?”
“No I was erm… busy,” she replied, stumbling in her high heels and falling over. The Young Guns drove past in their van. “Are you going to be able to walk home?” I asked her seriously, helping her back to her feet. “I’m jobber as a sudge,” she answered falling back over and pulling me down with her.

“Very professional.” I heard my editor type friend say sarcastically from behind me. “Very professional,” I answered back. “Very professional indeed.”

Nice Bum

"Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!" she sang along in the silent disco. I found it much more fun to pull off my headphones and listen to the drunkards singing. It's surprising how few people pretend they can rap along to Dizzee rascal, they can't, I assure you. I put my headphones back on and no less than thirty seconds I could see my editor type friend mouthing something to me as she bounced around the disco tent. I took them off again. "What?"
"Cal," she shouted at the top of her voice to a silent room. "You know, i've never really seen your bum in those trousers."
"Oh?" she began to yell louder.
"Yeah, you have a nice bum, a really really nice bum." The dozens of people not wearing their headphones looked at her. I burst out laughing. She carried on.
"What? You do, it's really nice, firm. I should look at your bum more often. You tell Lee he should appreciate it more. Don't you listen if he doesn't compliment you enough." I pulled the headphones off her head.
"You know you just shouted that into a silent room full of people, right?"
"I forgot," she replied a glimmer of mortification in her eyes.

We left shortly after.