James May is relieved to be SAD

[Alex Postan]

Do please buy a copy of today's Saturday Telegraph if only for James May's back cover article in the motoring section. James May is the better journalist in the Top Gear program, even though his hair plants him amongst the relics of another decade.

James's article describes how he and a chum occupy themselves while their wives are away for a week. What Bliss!

After a few days and fully bonded, (read the description which is right to the heart of us unreconstructed guys) a decision is made to go to an air display in Wiltshire. so read this:

"And here we end at the acid test of our relationship; the equivalent in an heterosexual coupling, of that first audible f*rt. Could we, as two grown men now totally comfortable in each other's company, drive through London in my Boxster with the roof down?
No."

So that proves it, Boxsters are the opposite of SAD.

You still there Daro911?

 

[David W.]

I always enjoy James's piece, this week's was a classic.
DW

 

[oliver]

Surely, posting a thread about questionable sexuality, whilst all 'real men' are watching England v Paraguay, is going to raise a few eyebrows [:-]

 

[tiskev]

No it is perfectly ok if you drive a Caymen [:-]

 

[daro911]

As seen on TV: men behaving regularly
(Filed: 10/06/2006)

There are limits to what you can do in the company of another bloke, writes James May
This weekend, I've come out. Sorry to hit you with it so bluntly, but there really is no easy way to admit to being gay, even in this era of rampant inclusiveness.

I realise, too, that no one really wants to read a lot of cloying self-analysis from someone who can't accept, in the post-Wilde era, that it's of no real interest to anyone. No - I mention it simply because there is an important message for the modern motorist within all this.

I also wish to make it absolutely clear, right here in paragraph three, that I'm not really gay at all, and that I've simply been coerced by circumstance into a temporary gay lifestyle experience. On the other hand, I'm forced to admit that there's a lot to be said for it.

It all began on Friday afternoon when, with a tra-la-la, Woman departed the May household to spend a weekend in Italy with her posh mates. Nothing too debilitating about that. Not being one of these useless modern men, I can cook, clean, shop and make my own entertainment.

But then my mate Colin rang to say his wife had left him for the weekend as well. Regular readers may remember Colin as the bloke who never puts the spanners back in their proper place in the toolbox. I invited him round and we immediately set to work stripping and rebuilding the back end of an old motorcycle.

Obviously, this quickly degenerated into a huge barney over the number of tools left lying on the floor, but because we're chaps, it was all quickly forgotten with no hard feelings, so we went to the pub to play darts. Then we had a huge curry, came home, cracked open a bottle of chilled Orvieto and settled down on the sofa together to watch Where Eagles Dare.

By the end of this, we were in a bit of a state and it made sense for Colin to stay over. So I installed him in the spare room with a copy of GQ and went to bed.

The next day, over a gargantuan breakfast in the nearby café, we had to acknowledge that, bar the sleeping arrangements, we had become a bit gay. But since we were enjoying it, we thought we might as well carry on. The warm bosom of womanhood has much to recommend it, yet there is a unique bond between men that dare not speak its name, but will compel them to go over the top together for sheer love of camaraderie. Also, despite being a bit of a clean queen, I found I didn't really care what Colin had done to the towels in the downstairs bathroom.

And so, after watching the aerial combat scenes in Battle of Britain (while fast-forwarding through that tedious bit where Susannah York prances around in her pants) we went shopping.

We - I mean I - needed some new crockery and several other items for the home. Now I have always regarded any form of cohabitation as rather unnatural, and balked at those tiresome conventions of domesticity that manifest themselves in a mealy-mouthed desire for co-ordinated housewares. But in a famous department store, I was struck by how much more pleasurable this sort of thing is as a couple, and by the realisation that greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his spare time to help his special friend choose some poncy plates. Colin even bought me a pub lunch.

I realised, though, that our diet was sorely lacking in Omega B supplements and free radical scavengers. On the way home, we diverted to a supermarket, where I bought the ingredients for dinner while Colin had a Free Trade cappuccino in a nearby coffee bar, in case anybody saw us. That evening, after another round of killer on the Cross Keys oche, I cooked my partner free-range shepherd's pie with a medley of organic vegetables, washed down with a couple of bottles of a robust Burgundy.
By now, we were beyond the point where the subject of staying over even had to be raised, and after watching Cross of Iron over a few large whiskies, we went to our separate beds.

The next morning, while Colin knocked up some crumpets, we decided we'd earned a proper day out. An air display in Wiltshire sounded promising. It was a fine day: we could take a picnic and a blanket and I could do the Telegraph crossword while lying in the sun (although Colin didn't like this because he said it meant I wouldn't talk to him). We could also enjoy a pleasant drive in the country.

And here we arrived at the acid test of our relationship; the equivalent, in a heterosexual coupling, of that first audible fart. Could we, as two grown men now totally comfortable in each other's company, drive through London in my Boxster with the roof down?

No.

Here comes another Gayman S owner in that case

 

[Alex Postan]

ORIGINAL: daro911

As seen on TV: men behaving regularly
(Filed: 10/06/2006)


Here comes another Gayman S owner in that case

Touche[]