So why is it, that after many years of living in Singley…sorry I mean, Sydney. I move back to London to find me the perfect man. Then someone comes along. Someone that I know we will work well together. Someone who I connect with on so many levels not just a Beyonce Single Ladies level like me and my ex – and even then he loved it, I hated it. This person has so much to offer. He’s hot, works with kids, makes me laugh everyday, caring and oh yeah did I mention he is hot.
With a hot tattoo.
From a distance it all sounds good so what am I going on about. Well Mr Right happens to be Aussie residing in the land down under with all the other queens of the red desert.
Now, I am planning my next trip to visit all my friends back in Sydney and create a plan to avoid all those ex’s. Which is harder than it sounds. Although Sydney is the second biggest gay city in the world we are all confined to little old Oxford St – also known as a incestuous pit. I feel that has a better ring to it and it’s far from Oxford St here. For instance, you wouldn’t see resident drag queen LaFonda Cocks outside Topshop. So hopefully then I can take it places. But, how long do I have to wait. Can’t he come here. Can’t the world be that little bit smaller? Can’t monopoly money be real and I really could own a hotel on park lane and skip jail and obviously fly to Sydney with it.
This guy is a friend of mine but we have just grown together and now I’m paying for it. Wasting time on losers in this man dry country. So I came back to this old windy city looking for a decent man to warm up with in winter and now I have got one sitting on the other side of the world in 40 degree heat in only his Aussie Bum shorts.
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