Living in the lap-dance of luxury.

First and foremost, I wish to have it known that if, for some reason, all of us Homojournalists were ever to live together, the house would have to be:

1. Very large, with at least 7 bedrooms for us, guests etc.
2. Be exquisitely furnished (well, at least my room).
3. Have all the latest mod-cons.
4. Be apocalypse proof.

5. Have a battalion of maids, cleaners, gardeners etc.

You see, I think that if we all lived together, it would be an unmitigated disaster, because last time we did something similar (well, me, Mel and Todostrieb, along with Unimportant-To-The-Story-Friend and Cretzal (who you may remember)), the lights in the living room fused, me and Mel almost got savaged by a dog, everyone but me was horrified by Insidious, Todostrieb threw up in a bowl and then proceeded to tip the bowl all over the floor and me and Cretzal broke up, so it wasn't what you could call 100% successful.

And no, I won't lend credence to the idea that having the other Homojournalists there would've improved matters, because then Mel would've been distracted by Eli, and wouldn't have gone on the walk, leaving me to be mauled to death by the angry dog/any number of cows/sheep/natives, Miu would've criticised my cooking if it had a single molecule of capsaicin in it (which it would've), and Rory, well, Rory would've drunk all my vodka.

I needed my vodka.

So, yes. NEVER, EVER IN MY LIFE.

...but here's the house it would have to be if it happened.

Right, let's get this known right off the bat - this will be there:

Only our blog can say we have a signature lamp.

We'd also need a suitably ostentatious way of having the vodka flowing at all times...

This will do nicely.

Let's face it, we're all absolutely filthy. We don't want a house, we want a temple of debauchery. We want a shrine to Bacchus and Aphrodite. And I'm 100% fine with that. I'm just suggesting we make it a classy den of smut.

This, with more nakedness.

I'm into minimalism, so obviously I want it to be all glass and chrome (think about it guys, wipe-clean is all I'm saying). I don't want actual brick walls, I want walls made out of smart glass like in that episode of CSI Miami where the under-age drinker was stabbed to death in a bathroom. I want spiral staircases made of glass. I want men and women in smart, modern suits, ready to remove them at any notice to give us lap-dances. I want my cat, Skye, as our signature pet.

Tell me this isn't a classy cat.

You know, I'm beginning to warm to this idea. Tell you what, I'll agree to live with you guys. As long as I can stay in my own safe, opaque glass box, with my cat, my penis vodka fountain and anyone I deem attractive.

I might let the cat out occasionally.

Yours tentatively,

James.

I have been using one of Cretzal's socks to scent train Skye, so if she ever meets him she'll attack. Progress is startling.