Anyhoo (yes "anyway" was already taken).

Naked men and such.

So there's a website for the more dysfunctional gay (it currently has a thread titled "Citalopram") and a group on it meets to do arty things and last week they had a meeting to draw people and having chickened out of the big mass party the site had a few weeks earlier and she of whom I'm meant to know little is suggesting that it might be a good idea to go out and do things sometime meant I went almost late with my hastily bought pad and pencils from some glorious poundshop and scurried in to the sex shop somewhat confused and uncertain.

Oh, yes, this life drawing thing was being held in a sex shop. Not a sex shop of the gigglesome videos type, but one that mostly seems to sell rigging, veterinary supplies, castanets on a pole and props from Dr Who. The were several "... oh!" moments. I'm guessing it's one of the few borrowable spaces that doesn't object to having naked people on the furniture (that and someone knows the owner so it's free).

Anyway, so I went to something where I didn't know anybody and I didn't faint or die or have conniptions and only pulled off-putting faces at the models for the first half as I was trying to remember how this whole drawing thing goes. I was asked by people looking through my pictures afterwards when I last drew, was it art school? It was for GCSE and I carefully wasn't saying how long ago that was (I'm guessing a chunk of the people there would never have encountered a rotary phone).

Anyway, just like being in an art gallery, sex shops work quite well at ice breaking because there's always things to comment on, even if the most frequent comment is "How?"

Basically I did new stuff and the world didn't end, which feels a bit odd. And then I met one of them a week later (thanks to the understanding ways of the ever delightful LD, who basically I'd marry if I fancied him at any level more than slightly-when-drunk, and he was a bit more confident, and fractionally more relaxed, and a few other tweaks. And it's ok to say this here, because he's long since forgotten blogging exists) for a studiously undefined meeting*, whereupon I found he's not much use in a pub quiz (which as he suggested it doesn't impress me greatly), that we're both about as awkward as each other, and that any previous buzz experienced in his presence was because I don't get out much and he plays better to a larger audience.

*A: are you gearing up to asking me out for a drink sometime?
B: Was that your subtle way of doing precisely that? Deftly done.
A: Ha I just thought if that was what you’re aiming towards I would save you the work.

Still he didn't walk away when I explained recent history, so that's good.

Oh, and the following day I was supposed to have my last ever therapy session, except we ran out of time so I'm going back tomorrow. Needless to say I shall be utterly cured come four o'clock tomorrow.

But then the lovely charming ATOS decided that ages ago, when I demonstrably wasn't (I appealed the ESA decision, got seemingly rejected (the money stopped and I couldn't get any information out of them) then a couple of days ago got some dreadfully official HM Courts letter saying the appeal was going ahead and did I have a lawyer? The letter incidentally was sent to an address I hadn't been in for months, despite having told various ATOS and DWPers of my new address).

So god knows, perhaps.

Oh, and then the friend who suggested overwintering in Australia suggested it again, with more details.

Don't know on that score either.

Anyhoo,