Once upon a time there was a club that, every Monday night, students of Hull Univerisity would gather at, to laugh, drink, dance, and make general merriment. "The Flutist" was the hottest place to be on a Monday night in the opinions of many, in particular that of Dylan, one of my close personal friends. Dylan had not missed a single semester-time Monday night at the Flutist since arriving at University back in September, and was rather intent on keeping it that way.

On a certain night in early February, Dylan spotted another boy making eyes at him on the dancefloor, clearly drunk, and in the forehead-lowered seductive-eyed manner you see in movies on drunk, horny teenage girls at parties. The 'boy', who shall remain unnamed, was skinny, tall, dark-haired with deceptively exotic-looking skin (i found out later his entire family are ghost-pale). In terms of his dancing abilities, it's better not to go there. Egged on by both myself and Eddie, Dylan made eyes right on back. Hours went past. Hours of eyes. And in the end, nothing came of it.

The following week, Dylan found himself in much the same situation: same club, same boy, same attention. Making a conscious decision this time to go after 'tall, dark and drunk', and with the help of myself and Tori, managed to pull 'the boy' as half the Drama department looked on, hooting and cheering. The two exchanged mobile numbers, and seperate ways they both went.

The next night, thanks to a lot of quick texting, Dylan ended up in bed with 'the boy', following half a Sandra Bullock movie and a lot of talking crap. Eventually, they lay down on the bed, began kissing, and didn't stop for hours. That was as far as it went that night. 'The Boy', it seems, was ENTIRELY virginal.

"I was totally fine with that," Dylan confesses to me over coffee, the woman at the table next to us staring at the copy of Vogue in front of me like she means to steal it. "He was sweet and Tori's always telling me I need a guy to take it slow with instead of just sleeping with everyone. So in a way it was sort of making him more attractive, just 'cause he was unattainable."

Two night's later, and our little Dylan was unsurprisingly back in bed with 'the boy'. It was exactly what their relationship didn't need.

"When I told people he said he loved me they tell me they would've run." I get where they're coming from, I tell him. The woman next to us is getting awfully interested in the Vogue now, I can almost hear her panting over it.

But Dylan didn't run. He was creeped out, sure, but there was something about this relationship that he didn't feel threatened by. "I've been there, the whole 'i've just come out' thing, and it's hard to not get caught up in guys who take an interest in you just because they're interested. Besides, what kind of dickhead turns around and runs out on someone who thinks they love you? I didn't want the guy hating my guts forever, did I?"

As it turned out, the relationship ended four days later. Dylan ended it with 'the boy' on a basis of 'no-time-for-a-boyfriend-so-it-wouldnt-be-fair-to-either-of-us', omitting the rather important realisation that there was just no attraction there anymore.

Dylan spent the night.

So how fast is too fast, in terms of sex and in terms of love? What's the difference?

As we leave the table, I slap the Vogue down in front of the woman. She seems pleased but mortally embarassed. She was staring at the coffee stains down the front of my top. My cup had cracked.

Let's start off with an example or two.

It's an obvious one: William Bradley Pitt. Born 18 December 1963.

He's hot, yes? Brad has always been known for his charm, his onscreen chemistry with female co-stars, his good looks (despite a few image changes that were a little more...how should i put this?...hairy). You won't find a man anywhere with as much universal appeal as Mr Pitt. Or at least, that's how it used to be.

On the 2nd of December 2005 (yes, i've done my homework), Brad divorced wife Jennifer Aniston, allowing for Angelina Jolie to instantly take her place. With this following months of speculation that Brad was cheating on Jennifer with Angelina (since starring in "Mr and Mrs Smith" together), it's not surprising that all of a sudden Brad and Angelina's reputations were shot at (and she didn't have too good a one to begin with).

Now, find me someone who stills finds Brad as attractive as before. Find me someone who still finds Brad attractive period.

Apparently there is nothing less sexy than a man who cheats, except perhaps a man who cheats on Jennifer Aniston, who just happens to be the sweetheart of so many now it seems almost unreal. You just have to feel bad for her. You don't get a choice.



Sitting on the bus, midday, i'm considering the people around me. I'm on my way for coffee with the girls for a few hours before our Drama Practical session begins. And i'm noticing people.
I've always had this strange paranoia (although trust me, it's completely founded) that people never sit next to me on the bus unless it's their last resort. And it's true. Several people have gotten on at several stops now, some of them old ladies, who would rather walk right past the spare seat next to me, climb up the step with their walking sticks, and sit at the back amongst a group of roudy university students. It doesn't boost my confidence, as you can imagine.
At the next stop, however, i look up through the window for a brief second to notice the young man boarding the bus. I can't see his face, due in great part to an "All Day Return: only £1.95" poster on the bus window, but i can see what he's wearing. And he's my type, as far as clothes are concerned. Decent build, decent height, bright bold blue t-shirt on that is covered by an equally colourful red zip-up hoody. I don't dwell on it though, and just get back to reading my latest script.

The play is about death, about people dying, but it's funny. "Talking Corpses". It's a laugh really. I play Ben, a young man whose girlfriend Kate is incredibly verbally abusive towards him, always bitching and moaning (it's the perfect contrast to my friend Jess, who has the role). So yeah, she's a cow, and he just takes it coz he loves her, and he has his dog Cameron who is like his best friend etc. Until one day Kate, in a fit of work-related stress, kicks Cameron and makes the poor dog bleed. Ben freaks out. I mean REALLY freaks out. He starts beating her around the place, she does the same back to him, they ram each others faces into kitchen counters and kick each other in the back... It's all very violent. Then Ben kills her with the dog lead. Fun.

So, anyway, back to the bus. The guy gets on the bus, nice clothes and all, the fun non-dickheadish but neat studenty look of them etc. And he is so not attractive. Facially, i mean. He's not ugly, but he's just not attractive, you get what i mean. I'm a bit surprised, to be honest, and not just at his not being attractive in the face. I'm surprised that while he's not attractive, i'm attracted to him. So it gets me thinking, and here comes the point i've spent this whole entry getting towards (prepares his Carrie Bradshaw voice):



What does "attractive" mean?



Back once again to "Brangelina", if you'll allow me, very briefly. She's a bit of a homewrecker, to be honest. Yes she is.

Her and Brad - he was married, she didn't seem to care.

Her and Billy Bob Thornton - he was married, she wasn't

Well...what a day it has been...exciting stuff, every moment...

First, i- oh hold on a sec, toilet time!

........aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
 aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah........

Niiiiiiiiiiiice...


Okaydoke, so, time to try and type a buncha crap that no-ones gonna read. Loadza fun.

Well, went in today for half twelve for a read-thru of Freya's directorial piece with Sophie. For once i get to play something different! This guy's basically just been completely physically, emotionally and morally manipulated by his new "girlfriend", who has actually been using him as an art project towards her degree. So i find out what she's done at the unveiling of her exhibit, and i'm pissed off. More hurt. It's really well written and very modern. Me likeeeeeee.

Then i SHOULD have gone to my lecture. Reeeeeeeally didn't go. Was another "I'm-Kieth-Peacock-and-therefore-boring-AS!" lecture, leading on from Monday's "Hedda-Gabbler-had-penis-envy-and-wanted-to-shag-her-dad-so-she-masturbated-with-a-revolver" lecture. So...didn't go. Had lunch with Harry and Maddy instead.

'Z' meeting. 'Nuff said.

And in a fit of absolute MADNESS, MADNESS I TELL YOU (!!!!), Catherine, Aria and myself shimmied on over to Da Hub for coffee. We didn't have coffee. We had cake. And juice. Lots of juice. Byrne, David Byrne (DISCO INFERNO!!!) and Anna Pirannha Saunders were already there and joined in our laugh-and-slag fest of EVERYTHING, as did Amy Wylie on her arrival, following her displeasement at her sister's bitchtacular visit this week. Twas fun.

Auditioned for Charlie Bennett's production of "Talking Corpses". Got in. Playing Ben, who kills his abusive girlfriend, taking a complete personality-180, once she kicks his beloved dog. Nice...