I’d like start today with a special message for the troll who recently complained about one my photos on facebook – Please kindly go and fuck yourself!
So, last week had a bit of an unfortunate start with my being banned from facebook for twenty-four hours after allegedly breeching their seemingly arbitrary standards. Those who follow my social media accounts know that I do tend to share rather a lot of images of the male form, some saucier than others, but none that actually cross the line into hard-core pornography. Indeed, the model in the photo in question wasn’t even naked, granted, he was wearing fairly skimpy underwear, but everything was still well and truly covered…apparently that wasn’t good enough.
Naturally, in a situation like this it’s tempting to think of myself as a fairytale prince who’s been unfairly hounded by the nasty troll who lives in the sewers beneath the castle – jealously is a curse, after all. Of course, I’m far from alone in this matter, as quite a few friends have been trolled in a comparable fashion but it is still vexing nevertheless. Usually, my posts are well enjoyed by friends and strangers alike – nothing brightens the day quite like the shameless exploitation of a strapping specimen of manhood. Obviously some people have nothing better to do with their time than to cause annoyance for others – one need only look in the comments section of any online article to see that type of sad twisted soul.
Last month I finally made my merry way to XXL in Southbank. I must admit that my friends had been raving about the place for years and I was intrigued. Indeed, I had truly been meaning to go every time I visited fair London but something always came up. So, on my last trip over, the stars aligned and I managed to get act together and go and I was happily far from disappointed.
Originally, the club started off as a place for the more sturdy, hirsute gentlemen – hence the name - but the fantastic music and friendly atmosphere soon drew in gays from all across the spectrum. Today, it truly is a one-club-fits-all soiréé with the crowd ranging from the beariest of bears to the twinkiest of twinks and every delightful flavour in between.
Well I’ve been back from Barcelona almost a week and have wanted to go back pretty much since I landed. Don’t get me wrong, I still whole-heartedly adore Paris and will happily continue to live here for quite some time but there’s something that just keeps drawing me back to Spain.
It could be the heat, the beaches, the food, the easy-going lifestyle or the ridiculously slutty hot men…who can say? It actually reminds me a lot of Sydney but not so damn far away from the rest of the world. No doubt it helps that we only tend to go over during the summertime when nobody wears much of anything and the Circuit is on – or as I like to call it ‘European Gayapalooza’.
What can I say about this wonderful Gay Mecca? Apart from the fact that it is absolutely awesome! The men, the food, the weather…did I mention the MEN?!? Honestly, my eyes were practically diabetic after being exposed to so much eye-candy. Not to mention the stunning views to be had as the sun set – by which I mean the skimpily clad and rather buff men huffing and puffing away, in all their glistening glory, as they jogged along the boulevard…
Now I had heard rumours about this steamy beachside gem for many a year, with tales of hot friendly locals and a general sense of gay abandon. It’s reputation for being the most relaxed and welcoming of the Israeli cities is well deserved. Notably their customer service is far more hospitable than the passive / aggressive style of nearby Jerusalem.
It would be highly remiss of me to not include my hometown in my travel section at some point. Truth be told I tend to think of it as one of those places that doesn’t need a lot of promotion. In fact it’s rare that I met a European who isn’t filled with a mixture of envy, longing and bitterness when I divulge my origins. Certainly I’m still ever so happy when I make the pilgrimage home every second year for Christmas, despite the arduous daylong journey to get there. Possibly something to do with the fact I get to escape the harsh and frigid wasteland that is the European winter for a much more pleasant Australian summer.
Honestly, with an average of 200 days of sunshine a year, an easygoing beach vibe of a day and vibrant party energy of a night time, what’s not to love? It also doesn’t hurt that the locals are friendly, hot and wandering around half naked for a good nine months of the year. The beaches are beautiful and packed with stunning specimens of manhood – I heartily recommend Bronte Beach for the almost sickening eye-candy level.