The first picture is slightly misleading as to the direction this post goes...

Instead of directly going into a post that starts “My ideal date would be…”, I figured that I’d begin by outlining the date that I’m currently on. For some background, me and Cretzal are currently in Spain, because of reasons, and the fact that he was already here and wanted my companionship. Ideally, this would be brilliant, I would be writing about how I’ve so far enjoyed 2 full days of blissful peace interrupted only by the welcome insertion of sex into the day plan.

Insertion, always appreciated on dates.

However, due to the accepted fact that my fate is being written by the unholy offspring of a sitcom writer and Death from the Final Destination series, I do not have such niceties to report (well, not on the peace-front at least). 2 days into what is supposed to be a 3-and-a-bit day date/holiday, and I can already count at least 4 instances that would’ve had the most amorous dater questioning whether or not they should’ve accepted the nice religious person’s offer of a life of solitude and chastity at the Monastery/Nunnery. I suppose if I’m going to complain about the date, I may as well start from the beginning, as all good crime witnesses should.

“It was horrible, his love life was going so well until he brought out the birdcage and the whip.” – My Brain.

First and foremost, the timing of this little inter-country jaunt could scarcely have been worse, with the only possible exception being if I had journeyed to Spain the day after Justin Bieber announces that he’ll be touring the country for a year. I study the International Baccalaureate, which for those of you who had friends and family that loved you and desperately talked you out of even looking it up, is an alternative to A-Levels, established in 1968 by a small group of teachers and Beelzebub. It requires you to do 20,000x the work of A-Levels, and exams start on the 2^nd of May.

Look at the date in the corner of the screen.

Do you see an issue with this?

I do.

THAT´S IN A VERY SHORT AMOUNT OF TIME.

An inaccurate picture; the IB consists of 6 subjects. 

Why am I in Spain? I mean, yes, Cretzal is lovely, and certain parts of him are even more lovely, but will dating him get me into Durham University? Will he pay me £50,000 a year? Does he provide me with dental insurance? No! I need a University education and an excellent job for these things! “Cretzal-pleasurer” doesn’t count as an excellent job! The first step to being Master of the Universe is doing well in exams! So I should be revising, not spending 60% of the day entangled in bed sheets! Thus we have Issue #1 with this date: I should not be here, I should be learning two years’ worth of Biology, English, Economics, Russian, Philosophy and Maths. 

This is honestly what I’m supposed to be doing at the moment. 

And that’s only one issue. Think of Spain. Picture it in your head. Is it sunny? I’d imagine so, because if it isn’t you’re either stupid or picturing night-time because you’re a vampire. Spain is always sunny, like God forgot to set the timer that turns the sun off every so often before he left for his long cosmic weekend. Or, at least, that was my impression of it. Turns out, as soon as I stepped off the plane, I was greeted by clouds as dark as my soul, and the imminent threat of a drenching. You see, instead of the perma-bright oasis that everyone expects, Spain is actually subject to changes in weather, such as from cloudy to foggy, or beautifully sunny to a tempest.

Magic Dukes and "airy spirits" excepted.

Now don’t get me wrong: I’m not saying that I particularly had any intentions of spending extended periods of time out in the open, as me and Cretzal aren’t into being watched from behind trees, but still, it would be nice if Spain had the decency to be sunny and inviting rather than attempting to drown me on my first day.

And all of these things are before I’ve even reached and entered (Brain: “Cretzal?”) the house. Cretzal is in ownership of two charming, amiable Galgos called Sebas and Ella, which are basically Spanish Greyhounds. 99/100 times, these two canines are the most calm, friendly and happy creatures in all of Spain. Affable, conciliatory, loving. Sorry, I just can’t fit enough synonyms for friendly into this article to describe these two hounds’ usual demeanours.

They meet with Max the Yorkshire Terrier every Friday - they say they’re “meeting for coffee”.  No word on why Cretzal believed this, or how they vocalised this untruth.

However, while they were all of those wonderful adjectives at first, I’ve come to the conclusion that this was all just a ruse, that they were using to lure me into a false sense of security. This suspicion was confirmed when Sebas had a full, complete psychotic attack on the eve of the 2^nd night and tried to eat Ella. Now, I’m not that comfortable with dogs, so when a dog approximately 23.6 times the size of me expresses murderous intentions within 2 countries of me, I begin mentally assigning my most prized personal possessions to my nearest and dearest. This is not conducive to sexy.

No, Cretzal, I’m not leaving you the lube, it was your bloody dog. 

So, James, I hear you asking, why hasn’t Cretzal cried himself to death under the dining table or ritually sacrificed you to Aphrodite in order to improve the quality of his dates? I mean, he has been sitting next to you (or lying next to me, or straddling me, or any other position you care to imagine, you pervert) the entire time you've been writing this post, so why hasn’t he intervened somehow, by cutting the internet? Or your throat? Well, Constant Reader, that’s because he knows about the twist to this article, which I’ve orchestrated with all the skill and deftness of M. Night Shyamalan.

My plane out here crashed, no survivors, Cretzal is actually my twin and he's writing this for me via possession. 

And that’s that this is my perfect date. I arrived here stressed, damp and was immediately terrified by a rabid dog, and Cretzal just accepted me with open arms and cold iced tea. This is the mark of an excellent date. The person you’re with is far more important than the condition of the sky, the sanity of the fauna or the proximity of the earth shatteringly important exams. So I suppose I’ll have lots of perfect dates, because for the foreseeable future I quite like Cretzal, and that’s all I really need.

Oh my dear lord that was saccharine, normal service will be resumed next week. If you wish to complain about the diabetes you developed because of that post, feel free to email us at homojournal@gmail.com.

Until next time dearests,

James. 

I take great pleasure (literally) in the fact that I was in bed with Cretzal, ferociously naked the entire time spent writing this.