Two Guys, Two Kids, Two Cats.

Hey Campers,

It’s been nearly four months now and I still find myself struggling to find the words to describe the experience of becoming a dad for the second time. Actually, no that’s a lie. I do have the words and it’s pretty much along the lines of “what the hell were we thinking!?!”

Personally, I blame our eldest child for hiding his true demon spawn nature, thus tricking my husband and I into thinking that this whole parenthood thing wasn’t so bad after all.

Don’t get me wrong, I’d happily disembowel anyone who came close to threatening my children’s happiness and while they continue to melt my heart on a daily basis, it certainly hasn’t been a walk in the park. Unless, perhaps, if that park was situated in the seventh circle of hell. Certainly, it’s more mentally and physically gruelling than I ever thought possible. Exhausted doesn’t even begin to cover it.  Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if this was exactly the sort of torture that happens at shadowy black-sites once waterboarding has failed.

Tell us what we want to know or it’s toddler duty for you!


In fact, I think you’d be hard pressed to find any parent who didn’t question their life choices after a particularly trying day of being a tiny person’s emotional punching bag…I do it several times a day.  Do I imagine what it’d be like to runaway and live by myself on a tropical island? Sure. Repeatedly…I’m doing it right now.

Instead of merely doubling the workload, the new arrival has somehow managed to quadruple it. Granted, we do have help in the form of a part-time daycare, but even then it has at times been a real struggle. Between a pathologically jealous toddler, a colicky baby and two kitties that are openly resentful of yet another thing that takes away from their much-deserved attention, I’m more than ready for a nice quiet stay in a sanatorium…or a daily bottle of wine with a fistful of Xanax.

That being said, I do find that I’ve begun to accept the things that I can’t change. For instance, I’ve come to the realisation that it’s practically impossible to have both my children content at the same time…unless one of them is unconscious. By which I mean asleep and not drugged with cough syrup…I promise.

I’ve also learnt that parents do indeed have favourites. For me, it’s the one who isn’t currently screaming at me, and in the depressingly frequent case of a dual tantrum then my affections transfer to the nearest cat. Not that I’d ever tell them of course, I don’t want to be completely responsible for their inevitable therapy.

Must away, I can hear both my beasts stirring from their blessed, and sadly too rare, joint naptime.

Tchao! Tchao!!!

The Play’s The Thing…

Hey Campers,

First, I must apologize for the extended absence of my musings – to those of you who noticed at any rate. It has been a hectic past couple of months with a great deal of my time being consumed by my ever-growing duties with The Big Funk Company – not that I’m complaining…well, maybe just a little.

I’ve written before about this marvellous group of people and their successful efforts to put on bilingual theatre events in gay Paris – namely staged play readings and delicious brunch/theatre combos. Over the past year, they have allowed me to dive back into the wonderful world of theatrics and given me room to explore all the different facets of production.

In this vein, there have been several exciting new developments of late. Perhaps the most important one of these being the fact that tomorrow evening shall see the WORLD PREMIER of the first play I’ve ever written – The Evil Queen and the Precocious Princess. Trust me, I’m just as shocked and surprised as the rest of you.

The play is based on a short story I wrote a few years back and is a rollicking romp through a rather dysfunctional fairytale kingdom. Granted, it is only being put on as one of the aforementioned staged readings but we are discussing the logistics of transforming it into a full production. As excited as I am for the event, there is still the pressure to succeed, coupled with my lingering doubt that my friends are simply humouring me and that the general public won’t find it as funny as I tend to think it is.


Hey Campers,

Unfortunately, dear readers, I have some distressing news. That’s right, the party is officially over. After traipsing about the Continent for the past several weeks – gleefully defiling cities and their inhabitants – I’m prepared to admit defeat and declare this birthday well and truly celebrated.

Some may say – my husband among them – that deciding to have four separate celebrations in four countries was a tad excessive and more than a little greedy, but then again moderation has never been my strong suit. And, quite frankly, anything that helps me momentarily forget about what the ravages of time have already done to my good self, let alone what’s to come, is well worth the effort.

Now, I must admit that I have a grand affection for Barcelona and it has long been one of my favourite cities. Indeed, I still dream of spending an entire summer there one year, although with our current plans that shall have to remain a very long-term goal. Opportunely, I organised the trip to coincide with the Circuit festival – otherwise known as gayapolooza – to ensure that we could partake in the maximum amount of gaiety, which we dutifully did.

A Man Of A Certain Age.

Hey Kids,

There comes a time in a man’s life when he realises that perhaps he isn’t quite as young as he once was – not to say that the gentleman in question doesn’t still have a youthful appearance and healthy vitality, mind you. He could even be said to have a childlike innocence and…OK, I’m not even fooling myself now and yes I am guilty of that most heinous sin – talking about my good self in the third person.

As I approach the end of my thirties, it has understandably led to a certain amount of introspection, although strangely I’m not anywhere near as freaked out by it as I thought I would be. Granted, I have had a mini-meltdown every birthday since my 25th but have just hidden it with increasingly elaborate celebrations…I’m sure nobody noticed.

I do believe, however – possibly as a result of massive self-delusion – that I’ve managed to artfully conceal the ravages of time with good grooming and the occasional adjustment from my faithful beauty consultant. At the very least I’m appreciative of all those wonderful people who humour me by steadfastly refusing to believe my real age when it is reluctantly revealed to them.


Fuck Hate!

Ever since I heard about the massacre in Orlando, I’ve had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach – a swirling mixture of anger, frustration and overwhelming sadness. When will this senseless violence end?

Whenever I’m confronted with such atrocities it seems to drain the joy out of the world, as I imagine is the case for a good many people. Granted, it’s comforting to see the waves of support around the world – the vigils, the rainbow coloured monuments and flags, and even the overwhelming generosity of people donating blood for the victims. It helps, but it’s not enough. As comforting as offering prayers may be, the gods aren’t going to fix the issues behind this…only people can.

Of course, this latest travesty has struck an even more personal chord with me, as it was a slaughter of people just like me, who were simply out enjoying themselves. Even more horrendous was the fact that it occurred during the time of the year where gay pride is being celebrated and in a place that was traditionally considered safe. Admittedly, I don’t directly know anyone who was killed but one doesn’t need to in order to feel empathy and compassion for the victims and their families, and to be weighed down by the sheer horror and awfulness of it all.

Ain’t Love Grand!

Hey Campers,

Well, you’ll never believe it – I find it rather staggering myself – but Antoine and I have just passed the ten-year mark of togetherness. That’s right we have successfully managed to steal each other’s youth, although my husband had far more to lose than I. Who’d have thought that a chance meeting in a Parisian gym would have led to such a happy ending? Porn scenarios aside, that is.

Personally, I’m completely flabbergasted that he’s been somehow able to ignore all of my challenging, let’s just say, quirks and resisted the urge to smother me in my sleep or at the very least have me deported back to the other side of the planet. Truly, the man has the patience of a saint.

To commemorate the grand occasion, my beloved organised a wonderful surprise trip to Vienna. The destination was kept secret from me until we were actually at the airport, where it was slightly unavoidable to know – apparently airport security tends to frown upon blindfolded passengers.

The Hateful Mates.

What is wrong with people? Sadly, this is a question I find myself asking on a regular basis. What’s riled me up today, dear reader, you may ask? Well, that would be the recent unprovoked attacks on men in my beloved hometown of Sydney, with the gentlemen in question targeted simply for the being gay.

Of course, it wasn’t one lone bigot who attacked these men; rather, they were violently set upon by groups. How fucking cowardly! People may talk of mob mentality and use the defence of being swept up in the moment but that’s no excuse for such appalling behaviour. Theoretically, everyone has a brain and should be able to think for themselves.

For my part, I just can’t comprehend the mentality behind such hate crimes. Honestly, I don’t understand what they can possibly get out of it. Is their moral compass broken? Does it reaffirm their masculinity somehow? Do they feel somehow superior by inflicting pain? And who the fuck is raising these people?

Taste the Rainbow!

Before the fresh optimism of the New Year withers away completely and we all become jaded once more, I’d like to chat about adopting a perpetual season of good will to all men.

Now, I absolutely love the male of the species! Certainly that comes as no surprise to anyone who knows me or has even seen me in passing, but I don’t mean that as simply a proclamation of my gayness. Rather, I adore gents in a wide variety of shapes and sizes and most importantly I appreciate all their different flavours…the creamy fillings aren’t all that bad either.

Personally, my only criteria is that they be smoking hot, regardless of the colour of their eyes, hair or skin. That being said, my brother and father are redheads so it does take a strapping specimen of the ginger variety to distract me from that unwelcome association.

I’ve never understood why some people will disregard an entire group of men out of hand, due only to their ethnicity – something that is seen far too often on dating apps. Of course, there is the other extreme where certain groups are fetishized but as long as you remember to treat your partners as equals, rather than a way to tick off an exotic fantasy, everybody wins.

And so it begins…

Hey Campers,

That old adage is most definitely true – Time does fly when you’re a blond having far too much fun…or something along those lines. The first two weeks of my Australian sojourn have seemingly disappeared in the blink of an eye. That being said, I’ve still managed to squeeze in a fair bit of socialising and family time…not to mention so much sun worship an Aztec would be jealous.

My first host – the delightful Daniel – provided a most wonderful base of operations for me to attack the long weekend in Sydney. Centrally located, I was only ever a quick prance away from getting to my pressing engagements and a short walk of shame back home afterwards. The gym and pool in the basement were also rather handy in cleansing away any sins that I happened to consume/perform during my many outings.

The Bitch is Back and Barely Soiled Tour.

Hey Campers,

That’s right, dear readers, the Jimi has landed! Direct from Europe to bring you The Bitch is Back and Barely Soiled Tour, which is lasting an unprecedented two months! Reserve your places today for a gay old time!

It’s been some years since I’ve been back in my beloved homeland – well two but it feels so much longer…although one imagines not long enough for some of my “friends.” I must say that I’m glad to be back, even if the weather was a tad alarming for my arrival. Happily, the cold and rain has lifted and the sun and warmth has returned to the land. Just as well, really, as if I go back to Paris with anything less than a golden honey brown complexion, I shall be laughed at and no doubt ostracized.

Speaking of my Parisians, they sent me off in style, by which I mean a haze of alcohol. I was reassured many a time that I’d be terribly missed but that could have been more due to the aforementioned copious consumption of alcohol. I’ve already planned a similarly drunken gathering for my arrival there in November. But I digress.