The Straight Art of Manliness

Okay, let's get it out there. I'm a going-on-19 year old who writes a blog daily with the idea in mind that when September comes round again I may be able to continue to speak and articulate myself in a coherent fashion for the duration of my second year at University. I also like musicals, the arts and cheesy pop, while at the same time detest the idea of watching a game of football, could count on two fingers how many beers I've had and actually enjoyed and don't see anything wrong with having hair which moves in the wind. According to some (read: many), I am not the straight man I believe I am, but in fact a slew of rather funny words that mostly seem to end in '-ter': a chufter, a poofter, or my personal favourite, a Harry Hoofter.

My sexuality seemingly is no longer in my hands if I outright refuse to watch 22 overpaid grown men run around a grassy field chasing a ball for 90 minutes. Frankly, I could not care less and can find much better things to do with half my day, and yet it seems to be a prerequisite for the straight British man, on top of some obscene obsession with vehicles which I am also yet to discover.

There are also many things which you are just simply downright not allowed to enjoy if you wish to be a straight man. Are you one of the millions of children who read and enjoyed the Harry Potter series when growing up, and still look back on with somewhat fond memories? Gay boy! Does the idea of a comic-movie adaptation secretly fill you with hope that they will hopefully get it right this time? Bender! ..And don't get me started on JRR Tolkien or Tim Burton.

But believe it or not I am indeed a straight male, with the girlfriend to prove it, despite the terrible hardships faced throughout my life which would seemingly cement my utter homosexuality - picking drama over karate, skiving PE to go to Music, reading books instead of knocking up 13 year old peers, playing badminton over football, choosing Smirnoff over Tennants. I think the majority of the group of males for which this entry seems directed would have had me down as been a lost cause from the word go -- mais, c'est incroyable!

Although this entry has tried to convey that there are two sides to every story and that you should not judge a book by it's cover, one can't help but think that the idea of watching 22 men gradually get sweatier over a period of 90 minutes in a situation where balls and tackles are involved just seems downright gay.

Benders.

The Noble Art of Secret-Keeping

Some people simply do not realise how lucky they are. My girlfriend is one such person. She does not know how lucky she is. Yet.

Yesterday I had the honour of sharing an hour of my life with the great Jeff Wayne - composer of the electric and timeless War of the Worlds (1978) - and I believed for years that I was a fan of his work. Hell, I am a fan. My girlfriend, however, is a fan. A fan worthy of italicising. There is no one in the world quite so darn... bat-shit-crazy about Jeff Wayne and his work. Unfortunately, however, "The Man" had her in his conformistic clutches in the shape of the University of Glasgow's Bower Building yesterday afternoon and thus was unable to accompany me on my drool-inducing experience.

As tragic and heartbreaking as this situation may be, do not fret dear No One - Superboyfriend was at hand to right the wrongs of this tale as best as he could. At the end of the hour (which was spent at the Alien Wars exhibition in Glasgow), I approached the man himself; nervous, embarrassed and humble wreck, carrying a sheet of manuscript paper from my pad and a sharpie that I just so conveniently had on my person. Trying to mumble coherent sentences was hard enough, but I think I managed to convey the intensity of my girlfriend's love for him - be it through boredom or awe, a tear was shed at least. He was kind enough to scribe a birthday message for her on the pad -- a mere 2 weeks before her 20th birthday. Awestruck and starstruck I spewed a million thank yous before asking the kind bartender for the stiffest drink she had in house.

However, therein lies my problem: I had just met Jeff Wayne (which I think I have expressed excitedly to everyone I have been in contact with over the past 24 hours), I have a girlfriend who is absolutely crazy about him, and I just got Jeff Wayne to wish her a happy birthday. I do not think I could honestly bestow upon her any gift that could possibly match that and the idea of seeing her face light up at the sight is just so damn intoxicating that I may infact crack before June 24th. I am aware that it will be far better in the long run for me to keep my mouth shut but damn, this business is tricky! How the hell don't parents crack to their children at Christmas!?

And the best part? I have to somehow go to the concert with her tomorrow night (hence why Jeff Wayne was in town) and keep all this from her. For a full night!

I cannot keep secrets. Lying? Not a problem. Keeping a secret though.. It's like telling someone not to push the big red button.

And we all know how that one ends...