February

Its cold.

And its hard being a non driver and stranded in a small Gloucestershire town that has shops banging shut under the current governmental reign, quicker than the arseholes in the rugby locker room when Gareth Thomas enters through the door.

However, I have been keeping busy. First and foremost: I've made a friend. And what a friend he is. FINALLY someone who is such a loveable scamp that I find myself yielding to the old "pull my finger" bit, purely for entertainment. The gays in London never appreciated this - nobody but NOBODY wants to smell another queens colon. My new friend is deliciously straight but has many (okay, one) tale of dalliances with members of the same sex: mainly where they were amorous and pissed and he lay bolted under stretched cotton sheets, wearing nothing but a grimace. He really is marvellous and, through him, I have managed to gain many unique opportunities such as my first EVER semi professional directing gig on an amateur reimagining of a play I was in at Uni. Well, I say "in", I think if you combined the stage time of all three of my pitiful walk on parts - it barely covered the same time frame as a Petti Filous television advert. It is, however, an amazing experience and one that I am hoping to continue for a good many plays to come - if they'll let me. I hear Steel Magnolias is just crying out for a remake.  I am so lucky, however, as the cast are adorable, the director is fast becoming my new BFF and I am surely finding my feet as the bitchy, no nonsense but strangely-chraming-because-he's-camp assistant director. Its marvellous.

Now: radio. Well, you can hear me now LIVE on Radio Winchcombe (www.radiowinchcombe.co.uk) every Sunday night from 6-8 pm online. The show is: Sounds On Sunday with Tom Bostock. And what a good team we make. He talks about rugby and I manage to make my bemusement audible. Last week Tom asked me to bring my chosen album of the week in so we could pitch against each other to win Facebook fan votes. Feeling slightly pressured and under the influence of ITV 2's Big Reunion, what did I present? Liberty X..... monumental fail.

The Gay Bar. Oh what a life that is. I've gone from feeling a little like a fish out of water to totally loving it. My manager, thank the sweet Lord,  has had the good grace to leave the golden ties where they belong: dangling from the bar door, and is again becoming a really good friend. The resident DJ: the lovely and fragrant Ian Solano - after the shameless peddle of my house track video link via Facebook, actually dropped the track into the set last Saturday night, sandwiching it neatly between Rhianna and Kesha. It almost sounded at home in line with two pop heavyweights. I nearly lost my grip on the bottle of Amaretto that I was helping myself to. And whilst I looked all bashful behind the bar and purposefully DID NOT tell people that it was actually my voice on the track, I quite happily watched two lesbians - one that looked suspiciously like Adrian Mole- making out with hungry tongues whilst my dulcet tones reverberated around the walls of the club. Now I know how Hilary Duff must feel on a daily basis....

Oh, and the date. I forgot to say! Well, someone hit me up on Grindr, as they do, and sent me a picture of himself in a full length mirror, dressed in nothing but a towel. It was instantly trouser pleasingly impressive and immediate impulse told me that I should tap it but, on closer inspection he was quite a way away from the mirror. Now I've been caught out like this before. The first date after my split with a long term ex, I showed a picture of someone who had been hitting me up on Plenty of Fish to my very good friend Lindsay. She took one look at the bronzed beauty and warned: "He's fit. However, I know the picture is taken on a cruise ship Pet, but he might be a bit short because his shoulders are meeting the Antipodean skyline" I waved away her cynicism, only to be stranded for two hours with someone who needed a leg up just to get onto the bar stool.

Anyway, earlier this week, after a few flirtatious texts, I turned up to the venue only to be met by the man from the picture. And, yes, he was a little far away from the mirror.... about 14 years! And whilst very pleasant, he was so nervous that he told me he didn't really drink and then rattled off hangover stories that even Princess Margaret would have ruffled her underskirts at. We left, promising to keep in touch, yet not meaning it for a second.

OH, and did I tell you about the previous date?? He saw me working in the bar. I couldn't really remember him to be honest, but his friend gave me his number to call. That should have been the first red flag. Anyway, the next night: pissed, alone and bored I wrestled the number out of my back pocket before the washing machine condemned it to the big pile of mulch that had claimed the lives of so many potential shags before. So I met him.... Desperate wasn't the word. He was practically inviting me off on a couples only Center Parcs break before I'd even plonked my arse down. And I did my best to share some of his enthusiasm for European Theme Parks (what IS it with Gloucester gays and Theme Parks? Theres nothing wrong with it, its just a bizarre trend) but it wasn't going anywhere. I unapologetically choked down a couple of pints whilst my driving date sipped his lime and soda; scrutinising my every move. I could literally see myself dressed in a veil in the reflection in his pupils. He then offered me a lift but I politely refused as the pub was so close to home that I could probably fart and be propelled to my front door. He insisted and we rode the entire fifteen seconds back to the end of my road - I didn't want him knowing the door number, before departing.

Thirty minutes later I got the follow up text. Did I say text? I meant poem. He'd written me a Hallmark card poem. Four sentences, perfectly rhyming.

My response: "Thanks..... Should I be scared?"

No further contact.

After all this, what I am trying to say, my friends, is that I am doing okay: making waves in all the right places and, unlike in our fair capital, though there are a few ignorant nay sayers in this town, there is no bleak and impending sense of doom lurking around every corner. There seems to be a certain sense of "we're all in it together" about this charming little environ. And don't get me wrong, I miss London like hell at times, but I'm enjoying giving a little back to the me that London wanted for herself.