Archives for posts with tag: Wheelers

I love this picture.  Francis Bacon and Lucien Freud in Wheelers.


Waking up at Robby’s apartment.  West Hollywood.  Feeling like I have a hangover.  I haven’t.  I’m still not drinking.  Waiting for the right moment…but it never comes.  The sanctity of sobriety.

It’s hard after nearly 16 years to think about the right time to start drinking.

A woman I know from the programme called yesterday.  I told her that I had renounced AA.  “How’s that working out for you?”  She pried condescendingly.

I faked a dropped call.


Saturday pre pride party.  Good fun.  The über gays.  The fake NYC producer I mentioned in an earlier post sitting at his table wondering how I manage to surround myself with such beauty.  He looked exasperated.  Staring over at us.

Pride was a great deal of fun.  On the streets.  The floats have not changed for 30 years: muscle boys and drag queens.  Not very inventive.

I stayed at the London Hotel courtesy of my Kuwaiti friends. They pitched up at 8am.  We ate smoked fish and Quiche for breakfast.


Nothing is obvious.  Just when you thought you’d never kiss anyone meaningfully ever again.

I saw you in the bar and knew you were the one.  A brief conversation.  Kisses, glances, then you pissed on me.  That was new to both of us but so damned exciting.  A mouth full of piss.  Then we spent the afternoon talking.  Eating.  Each other.

You left an impression.   Creases in the bed sheets.


Without me even noticing it LA is full of gay men with beards.

Does this mean that they/we are growing up? That men are trumping boys? The aesthetic is not only very pleasing but means I get looked at all over again. I have some currency…if you know what I mean.


I don’t have time to write this very often.  There’s a great deal to do.

I’m helping those boys in the jail, even though they don’t know it.  Meeting lawyers down town who are investigating conditions in the jail.  They seem shocked.  Young lawyers.  Fresh faced.  Idealists.

I try balancing my complaints with a broader understanding of the jail dynamic.  The deputies are not just cruel…they are frightened.  They do not treat the trans population with contempt because they hate gays, they are confused by the feelings the girls bring up in them.

Ernest lawyers ask how I would change things in the jail.  I am always prepared for those questions.

Last week I sat with Senator Ron S.Calderon who is co-sponsoring a bill in the State of California that would basically abolish the situation in which I found myself.  Protocols would have to be adhered to.  States right to decide trumping the draconian Immigration Department.

I drive for hours to get to the meeting and speak clearly and concisely.  I know that I am speaking on behalf of thousands of wrongly incarcerated immigrants.

I go to cities I would never usually visit.  I am introduced to people I would never usually meet.  Immigrant rights advocates, Methodist ministers.  I am familiar with Secure Communities.  I hear terrible stories.  They tell me that ICE operate like the Gestapo.  They spread fear in the immigrant communities, wrecking homes, lives, marriages, separating families, sending children into foster care.


Then, there is the other work.  Kevin, my incredible new assistant, and I…running all over town.  Putting this show together.  Holding things together.

Today I see the doctor.  No good news all over again. I’m sure.

Wish me luck.


The day passed slowly and uneventfully.

I watered the garden. “Why don’t you have an automated system for that?” I hear you say. Well, I do. But…a bit like our mad bad Prince of Wales I like watering the plants individually and chatting with each of them. The citrus trees especially respond to gentle coaxing.

There is something charming and rather annoying about the ‘we’ pathology of twins. We are with each other a little too much. Consequently, when we left for Lake Malibou, I wasn’t in the best of moods.

We all helped Jennifer with her Out of The Box Wednesday pack then Miles set off with the delivery.

Robby and I drove into Hollywood. I wanted to stop in at Fresh and Easy where I buy English staples. Tea, bacon, marmalade etc. I can’t do with out them. We, me and the Little Dog, sat in the ugly court-yard outside the supermarket drinking coffee waiting for Robby watching lithe men heading for 24 hour fitness.

A woman from Chicago, who had arrived in Hollywood two nights previously, looked down at the dog and said, “There’s a little person trapped in there.” She fed him chicken breast. “This has got to last me two days.” She told the Little Dog. She was plump, dyed black hair and red lips. She told me that she was here in Hollywood to pitch reality TV ideas to…God know who. She was going to pay to pitch her ‘concepts’.

I was overcome with pity for her. She told me a couple of ‘ideas’ she had thought of pitching.

It occurred to me that for forty years not one original thought had been formed in that sappy brain.

I went for a walk.

Hollywood is grimy. There is nothing of any beauty to look at…to be inspired by. I yearn for my garden.

Robby picked me up after an hour in the gym. We had planned on going to an art/film/glamour party in Beverly Hills but I was tired and irritable so we drove home.

Well, we drove back to Malibou Lake and I helped Jason cook dinner for the children. After dinner, as the children were going to bed, I sat at their Steinway and tried playing the piano. I had not played for thirty years. I was shocked by how clumsy my fingers were. No longer able to slide effortlessly over the keys. I began to sweat. Evidence of my old age. Evidence of my own mortality. It was so frustrating! My left hand refused to even practice the scales in unison with the right.

I lay in bed last night thinking too much. Waiting to be dead.

Not so fast Batman!

Next week I set off on my ‘great adventure’ culminating in the birthday hootenanny. There are people flying from all sorts of wonderful places to help me celebrate my 50th Birthday…before I am not. I am stunned that so many old friends even exist for me let alone want to jump on a plane and be with me. You know, this is what I should have done last year…but last year I was with him in the back parlor of Wheelers.

Last year there was no room for anyone else. WTF?

Hospital day yesterday.  It was quick and efficient.

Nicola arrived from London on Tuesday and bought delicious, French macaroons.

We ate dinner at Wheelers (4 courses 65 GBP including a dozen native oysters) and she stayed in Georgina’s B&B in the same room/bed I stayed this July.

The following morning we bought her Wellington boots from the ancient shoe shop Wooley’s on the High Street and went for a long walk on the snowy beach.  Met other very jovial dog owners and the little dog ran like a mad thing through the melting snow, his little pink paws skidding over the ice.

The woman in Wooley’s, incidentally, remembered fitting my school shoes when I was a boy.   Wooley’s has been on Whitstable High Street for a hundred years next year.  They asked if they could put my photograph in the window when they celebrate their centenary.  I was honoured!

We walked to The Battery, Marilyn’s place on the beach..I described it in my blog the other day.  On the way there, however, we peered through Janet Street-Porter‘s cottage window at her austere modern kitchen and her Gary Hume prints.   I wouldn’t want to live there.  It was so impersonal and the yellow walls were painted the wrong yellow.

The Battery looks a bit worse for wear.  I may nip up there later today and take a picture of it for you so you can see what I am talking about.

If you hadn’t noticed I feel leagues better.

I decided to let myself off the hook.  Become quite tearful when I write it down like that.  It’s time to stop beating myself up.  Give myself a break like they say in the Narcotics Anon literature.

I was chatting with a friend yesterday and I realized that I was finally out of the woods.   It’s a decision.  I have been waiting for a storm to pass rather than wash something down the drain.

My friend was telling me that he would find it hard to love again after his last failed romance, that he had been tossed aside…and I thought to myself, “Bugger that, life is far too short not to fall in love!”  I come from a long line of men who can say proudly that they love another man.  I love you is possibly the hardest thing one man can say to another.  I am doubly proud that I have said it and I meant it.

Saying I love you is much harder than saying I want to fuck you.

All I have to do is find a man who can hear those words and value them.

So, today I tried not to engage with bad thoughts and old resentments.   I thought out loud, come on LOVE you can show this old man that life is worth loving again.  So, I’ve been feisty all day but not angry.  I have been creative all day and not asleep.

I pulled out a couple of scripts.  I made a couple of calls.  I thought about finding a producer.  I had a meeting with a woman I might do a property deal with.

It was good day.  It is good to be home.

Totally trapped in Whitstable!  So many old friends to be trapped in the town with.  Lovely seeing everyone.  Had tea in Wheelers with Anita and Michael.  Adam and I drank more tea and ate mince pies by the fire at Carol’s house.  Saw Tim at Tea and Times where Ronnie came a’visiting and I caught up on all the local gossip.

Ronnie showed us pictures on his phone of a dead polar bear.

Meant to be in London today dealing with Jake’s iPod fiasco but God dumped a trillion tons of snow on Kent so we are all stranded.  Hurrah!

The Little Dog just LOVES the snow as you can see from these pictures.

I am rather hoping that I get stranded here for Christmas!

By the way, did I ever mention to you that whilst I was in the police cell that miserable day in July Jake met a man from Manhunt and sex with him.    That was supportive wasn’t it?

Birthday lunch Wheeler

Apparently George Clooney did NOT have lunch at Wheelers. A modern myth in the making.

I have amended this blog as it was too incendiary. Waiting for daylight. 5am again.

I thought long and hard about reposting this. It exists. I may as well post it.

I tell you gives me no pleasure reading it. Seeing what a vile person I can be.

I received many, many messages privately after posting this blog and the one I would write later the same day.

Messages of support and condemnation.

The point is: I have to STOP investing in stinking thinking. Even if I am 100% right (I am not) this is getting in the way of what could be. Other opportunities. My desire to fight back, paramount.

Addiction shrinks an addicts world. Just me and my crazy head. That’s all I am left with.

Love, when it happens, even of it is with someone totally unavailable cannot be tamed. Have you ever really fallen in love? So that your life becomes beautiful? I really loved him and I am not going to beat myself up about how ‘available’ he was. Who is truly available? Who is truly appropriate? Which one of you has not failed in love?

I am not interested in hating him. Not today.

Oh yes..and without much effort I found the missing diary 1986. I will add the pages when I get my scanner moved in.

So, without being hurtful I am reposting this.

Here you go:

George Clooney in Whitstable having lunch at Wheelers? It’s almost funny.

Who would have thought that Richard and I could have caused with the flap of our butterfly wings, opening the Oyster Company that wet summer weekend so many years ago the storm of international approval that would one day hit our little town?

Of course the last time I sat in that Wheeler’s back parlor I was with Jake Bauman who, even though it was my birthday, let me pay for his lunch.

That night in fact he ended the day fighting via email with his ex girlfriend about who would pay the electricity bill in their old apartment.

So there we are in Whitstable, him on his lap top fighting about an electricity bill.

He would fixate on his laptop telling me to leave him alone when they were having their fierce email exchanges.

Of course, I later find out that he is maybe not even chatting by email with her as he claimed. He could be talking to SebastianNYC on Manhunt who was in fact me disguised as a potential hook up so I could get a glimpse of what he was doing behind my back. A French gallerist from Chelsea who with some ease arranged a meeting with Jake upon his return from Europe.  Sending alluring pictures like this:

Jake's Alluring Ass

Jake was on vacation with me arranging to meet other men. It was easy to fuck him hard knowing what he was doing.

I think of how much time he spent on his laptop in Europe ‘working’..when in fact all he was doing was communicating with his manhunt hook ups.

When we first met…it was intoxicating.

January 30th 2009

in case it’s not clear I am having the same feelings as you…we are magnetic

I wonder if we share the same feelings now?

The emotional deception continued throughout the new year. When, in February and he had jerked off a million times on Skype, (I didn’t because I couldn’t) I began to wonder out loud why he was at home all the time naked on the sofa, the curtains drawn like a crack addict. He said:

I tend to sit shirtless in my apartment any time of day. I’m a bit of a nudist I guess.

In February we finally meet for the second time after our long distance Skype romance. He was going away with friends but I just didn’t trust him. Without irony he wrote:

i am not lying, why would i lie? i am going to my friend al’s house in the catskills with a few others, we’re going skiing on saturday. j will be in atlanta visiting her friend’s baby (ew)

Ew indeed…

j gets back from at atlanta in afternoon so there’s a good chance I will not have an opportunity to run freely into your arms. perhaps in the afternoon though, not entirely sure of schedule but my first priority is seeing you. I will keep you updated.

That night we met in the back of a small bar and kissed each other for the first time. After twenty minutes he ran back to her and I to Cooper. Who is Cooper? The man I had begun to see but had not had sex with or made any commitment.

i don’t think i can escape tonight…but i am still high from seeing you…feeling your lips on me, your hands on me…your hand down my pants, rubbing my ass, my cock, telling me what you’re going to do to me… are mind-blowingly hot…and you are going to have your way with me all day tomorrow…i want it so fucking bad

I believed all of this. I am the fool?

Love is not love that alters when alteration finds nor bends to the remover to remove.

When we got back from Europe, knowing that it just could not continue, that I had to GET OUT.

I had been to the doctor I sent him this:

there’s a moment when you just run out of fuel. when the fire dies.
i remember when you told me that you had been irritable with J because
you wanted to see me so badly. now you are irritable and uncommunicative
with me.
“Why are we talking about me?’
I understand. I am like that too.
I know how that particular scenario plays out.
it’s best that we don’t talk. we don’t seem to have much to say.
i have problems I need to deal with here. i just need to get on with them.

I am not in love with you any more. that doesn’t mean that I hate you, want
to write badly of you or anything negative. but i don’t want to drag out a
situation that feels so one-sided.

you have to get on with your life without me in it.

I was stupid to want anything more than what you were capable of giving me.
but as John said today, you fed me just enough to give me hope when
actually the situation is hopeless.

good luck at the hospital today duncan..or, it would be great to see you, or
i miss you.


I am not even sad, just feel empty. that’s all.

You can console yourself with the new gay friends you make. i am happy for
you that you are no longer living a lie, that you have a world of
opportunity at your finger tips. just get on with it.

I wanted to write something kind and clean and clear. I wanted to leave with love but he fired back:

I agree that it’s best that we don’t speak anymore or ever see each
other again. I could respond to everything you said in your email but
frankly I too am “out of fuel.”

The further I can get away from
your twisted, judgmental, sycophantic universe, the happier I will be.

please do not contact me again. do not call me or text. I am not
being melodramatic. I too am done. And I mean it.

We had come a very long way. Traveled quite a distance.

I tried with dignity that day to separate our lives and be clear about the boundaries but he fired back with such cruelty I simply can’t forgive him. I try every day but I can’t forgive him. In the words of Ian Curtis: love tore us apart.

Monday. Malibu. I am cooking lunch for 12 friends.

Reading over the years of written journals I have stacked around me I wonder if my life has not been wasted? A wasteland? When I compare it to Jay’s of course it seems dull but to those I grew up with, those who genuinely expected me to vanish, to die, to never achieve a single thing ever..then I have done OK.

I will publish more pages from my diaries. I think the 1986 diary has been stolen. It can’t just have disappeared.

I want so much to forget about JB. To totally erase him from my memory. I want to forget about his stinking sofa, his ex girlfriend and his friend in Washington Heights. I want to eradicate any memory I have of his parents Westchester house, his penguin walk, his inability to communicate unless drunk or stoned. His money issues.

I think you all understand why..or at’ll have a better idea.

PS Had lovely time on Saturday night with Josh and Fergie..yes, that Josh and Fergie. When we met he said, ‘I know you from Vegas!’ I said, ‘No, you know me from The Early World in Brentwood on a Wednesday Morning.’ Fergie is so much prettier in real life.


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