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Buggerz Blog 44
Cooking lasagne and nail varnish for arte TV!
Beware letting a TV crew into your kitchen!
For some recondite reason the franco/german TV station arte have been filming me in various modes in the last week for some kind of programme insert (probably about the miraculous phenomenon of ageing faggots actually being able to breathe and cook and eat at my age) no doubt all will be revealed in due course. Anyway, this is what they have been putting me through, although it was a good refresher course in filming in French…………….
One always thought how snazzy, how glamorous, but having done a whole meal, from top to tail for running TV cameras I advise against it!:
First of all there is the choice of recipe: don’t be over-ambitious, by the time you have done the 10th take peeling 30 cloves of garlic, you will be thinking “dry Martini”. I had chosen to do my vegetarian lasagne, which has indeed become one of our “house dishes” here: (recipe attached). Cutting up the vegetables and layering them with the pasta and the 2 sauces was a cinch. What I had not given a thought to, was what do you do with a fretting camera crew: while the thing is in the blasted oven for 45 minutes: I can’t give them all a second blow-job: it’s still only 11:45 a.m. THAT would really being going some, even by my ultra- sociable code of genital hospitality. So unthinkingly: I sat at the dining table and started to touch up my nail varnish: for the theatre group ( I am still on battleship grey, with glitter it goes down a treat in the spring sunlight! It never occurred to me that I might be asked to do about 12 re-takes of me opening and closing the bottle of nail varnish: I hope you will all watch out for this rivetting scene, when we “appear”.
Anyway then the finished product appeared, viz. the lasagne, was dished up at table with all of my flatmates, who, god knows, I swear I hadn’t bribed, all tucked in in an examplarily loyal manner, even asking for seconds, the little geriatric darlings.
Apart from this gastronomic episode. They also filmed me having a bone density measurement – HOW fucking glamorous can this get!! AND they even filmed me having physiotherapy at JUST MEN in the gay ghetto part of town, this is understandable, since the therapist Fabian Kokot-Sgaslik ( get that name girls!) is the hunk of all time, the ‘sensitive’ kind of hunk, don’t get me wrong. We haven’t converted to cattle, not yet!
So that was just fine and dandy. then back to the flat to do me being Percy Thrower (TV gardening presenter)/Capability Brown on the balcony, lovingly planting forget-me-nots, pansies (of course) and white daisies on our patch high in the air.
Then “Colette at home” – me writing this fucking drivel on the computer for the blog. Then they were done for apart from the little detail of the actual interview, done on 2 cameras, 1 just constant profile, which lasted for nearly 2 fucking hours.
So what else has been goin on in this alhambra of action and entertainment? Well this week we actually had our premiere of the Pink Winkle (Rosa Falte) in their latest biographical, improvised work, featuring me as Rita the Ruin, the alcoholic, nympho tart with the sex appetite of Casanova, Cleopatra AND Elizabeth Taylor rolled into one!
Gay not grey, the Fashion Show for the ancient is on the cards again: this time being directed by a ruthless Cuban Professional, a workaholic product of the Fidel System which yielded the Topicana Nightclub in Havana and assisted by a Brazilian and a Senegalese musician, so it promises to be quite amusing, even if relentless hard work.
We shall see!
Went down to the Wilde Oscar Restaurant here last nicht, tempted by the trashiest transvestites I have seen in a long time, competing for the honour of being Miss CSD Berlin 2014. Boy, some trash I must say! The corridors of gay politically correct emancipation were awash with lipstick and sticky with rouge.
The winner of this first heat was Miss Jurassica Park, a tall lanky berk who actually had the cheek and audacity to accompany herself on the piano, where all the others used professional backing tracks.
Another brave candidate was the 70 year old Hortensia Hodenstock (Hydrangea Bollock-farm, would be a generously decorous translation: SHE was really something else: the “wild card” as the Jury put it! I promise to try and get a photo if she is in the next round!
Believe it or not, there are actually 2 theatre groups in this building!
The other one is run by a woman called Ulrike, who would make the late Duchess of Windsor look like an abstinent purist and fresh skin health freak, in terms of caked make-up: Anyway, as I was waiting in the wings, for my first entrance, she came up to me, and invited me, to also join the other (rival) theatre group. Well since they have also apart from the super-abundant wrinklies, a couple of tight-arsed lads ( Knackärsche, or as close a translation as occurs to me at the moment) in their twenties, I might well go along, just for art’s sake of course!
My friend Jan from Hamburg has been here for another of his highly intellectual seminars at the Humboldt University, which are happily regularly punctuated by visits to me and action-packed bouts of Rioja-drinking in the restaurant here: he also just whirls me off in the wheelchir to the ’Ku-Damm or wherever, undeterred, as on this last occasion by the fact that I was wearing a glittering Primark knee-length cocktail dress, recently given to me by my god-daughter Louisa, and a great success it is too, with my hairy torso squeezed into it!
Well Jan and I had a good time: and I delivered his long-overdue Xmas present ( last time I was rushed into hospital before I could cook it) ’artichauts à la barigoule’ a simple peasant dish.
If any of you desires the recipe just mail me: it is basically tiny quartered artichokes and new potatoes, carrots and tiny turnips, slowly cooked in one third olive oil, one third vegetable stock and one third red wine, with lots of garlic too.
My goodness, I don’t think I mentioned the grand royal visit from London of my great friend Sara Lunn/Willett, the painter, and her sister, my afore-mentioned god-daughter Louisa. They stayed for a few days at an aptly named hotel on the Kudamm called “Louisa’s place”. They spent most of the time, it appears in the night club of utterly depraved repute “The Kitkat Club”. (dress code, naked or rubber). Amazes me: I never travelled with full rubber at the age of 40, and I’m gay for god’s sake! However I believe they did squeeze in a few cultural events as well, since most of you here know them, you are welcome to check up yourselves: AND do try to get photos of the rubber suits for the next blog here!
Well, I think that is most of the gossip I have for today: since Manfred is on his brain-washing, refresher holiday in Morocco at the moment, the hard core stuff will have to wait until next time (all that stuff about Atlantic surfer boys and fishermens’ tackle (those of you who speak British slang, will know what I mean!)