[The Life of Shaun #339] Gay Grand New Greater Grand Forks!

Many of you didn't know me eleven years ago, but it was not a happy period of time in my life. I had fairly recently left Fairbanks, Alaska, which I actually loved, and moved to Grand Forks, North Dakota, which I actually hated. My boyfriend, Brent, at the time had been accepted to medical school there and the move was a noble attempt to keep the relationship going.

There were no gay bars in Grand Forks - indeed, there wasn't a single gay bar in the state of North Dakota (Fargo gays had to tromp across the Red River to Moorhead, Minnesota for sodomic socialising). The one gay night I had out was when the University of North Dakota gay & lesbian organisation arranged a night at a local hotel. I went, and the day after I wrote about it, squeezing as much venom about my situation into it as I could (and as many exclamation points and as few returns, apparently!!!!!!!!). Russ recently found a print out of that letter and typed it up for me last night.

So, below, a peek into The Life of Shaun 1998.

Cheers,
Shaun



Date: Saturday, 18 April, 1998 12:57:46 PM
From: scoley@prairie.NoDak.edu
Subj: Gay Grand New Greater Grand Forks!

OK, I have lived in many different places of varying degrees of gay life. Las Vegas was no mecca, and Fairbanks was merely a drop in the bucket, but never have I been to as sad a gay function as last night, here in Grand Forks, North Dakota, the Sunflake City, the Heart of the Red River Valley…. It was actually about what I expected, but maybe a little worse! First off, the dance is held at the end of the Westward Ho. Yes, it’s held in the Chuckwagon Room in the Westward Ho. The Westward Ho is “frontier” style – nasty looking wood trying to be Western. Didn’t work. Anyway, it was an unreasonable $5 to get in (if you added up the cover charges of every other place in “Great New Greater Grand Forks” that night it might have totaled a quarter…). We paid since Brent had med school friends that were there. Anyway, the people. The PEOPLE! They were… well, you know what it means when someone tells you someone they met is “interesting” – well, they were ALL interesting! ;P Most were 40+, overweight, dressed like you’d expect an overweight 40+ North Dakotan to be… About a 1:8 gay man/lesbian ratio. The dancing… Ugh! There was this one man who insisted on hopping the whole night. He was wearing a flannel with the arms cut off, and would stand with his hands in his pocket and HOP. Of course, he hopped off beat too. Well, not that the music was good anyway! (Surprised?!) Fairbanks had bad music too, but this was out of control! At one point the DJ played Madonna and people danced some, so after that for quite a while EVERY OTHER song was a Madonna song! Finally that stopped and she actually played a couple decent slow songs (Sarah McLaughlin and Jewel – Yay!), and STARTED playing Robert Miles. However, the CD was skipping, so then she tried to fast forward past the skip! Which sounds REALLY great on the dance floor! :-) So that CD went off… A little later she played “I Will Survive” (is that by Donna Summers?), then the next song was Supermodel, then the next song was “Express Yourself” (Madonna again), then – GET THIS – she played “I Will Survive” *AGAIN*! Just 2 songs later! We also heard YMCA twice within one hour, and then to add insult to injury she played “Macarana”! The North Dakotan version of the dance seemed a little different! At least at this dance! Here they do one part where they put their hands on their butts and swish it from side to side, and then they crouch down with one hand in front and one behind and rock back and forth touching the floor in front of and behind them. It was truly, truly sad. And I couldn’t event drink myself into apathy! The LI Iced Teas had so little alcohol in them they tasted like Kool Aid!!!! Obviously, I did something very, VERY bad in this life to have had to endure this, and I promise to any forces that be, I won’t do it again, whatever it was, cause this is TOO MUCH! So, that was my experience with gay Grand Forks… Anyone still wonder why I am 100% willing to transfer to my 6^th undergrad university? :-)

Shaun H. Coley
Shadwell, Tower Hamlets
London, UK

http://www.nocirc.org
http://shaunism.blogspot.com

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[The Life of Shaun #338] On the up & up!

My friend David sent me Justin Bond's Facebook status.  Justin Bond is the performer who does Kiki of Kiki & Herb, whom I love, and who  represent so much of what I love(d) about New York.  The news is good!

"Justin Bond just saw a naked girl pissing in the street outside my house. She dropped her phone and her purse in the pee puddle. Clearly NYC is on the rebound!"

There is hope yet!

Cheers,
Shaun

Shaun H. Coley
Shadwell, Tower Hamlets
London, UK

http://www.nocirc.org
http://shaunism.blogspot.com

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[The Life of Shaun #337] The British Mason-Dixon Line

Like America, England has a deep psychological divide between its North and South. Conversely to America, Southerners scoff snidely at the provincial Northerners, Northerners cast the Southerners as snooty with upside-down values. Being largely a unipolar country, London is the glorious jewel in the crown and, roughly, the farther away you get from London, the more Philistine you are supposed.

Prior to moving here, my only experience as an adult outside the M25 was Manchester, which I absolutely love, at least Canal Street and its environs, which really is all I ever see, so I never really believed it was that bad (er, different) up North. But now that my Northern exposure is growing - Middlesbrough, York, Blackpool, Preston, Nottingham, Birmingham (these last two aren't strictly Northern, but they're not exactly Southern, either) and now Bradford and Leeds - I am beginning to understand the truth in the generalisations.

Bradford and Leeds form two ends of a single conurbation (in Britain, 1.5m make a metropolis). My plan was one night in Bradford and two in Leeds, the more urbane, vibrant and worldly of the two.

Bradford is soul-destroyingly bad. Physically, it's not instantly offensive like, say, Middlesbrough or Croydon, but there is no discernible life in the city. Even Middlesbrough had a pulse (as chavtastic as it was); Bradford literally seemed to be draining the spirit out of me as I happened from one lifeless spot to the next, and its gay scene was the worst I have seen this side of Reno.

I can say just one thing to Bradford's credit, and this is that I had one of the best curries of my life there (and, truth be told, this was all I really hoped to get out of the city) at the "world famous" Mumtaz (replete with cardboard cutout of the Queen dining there). This comes from the South-Asian population that has become the majority in the city. I have to say, I think it's rather nice. It reminds me of Detroit - both are cities whose residents abandoned to die, and Muslims have immigrated from around the world to take their place. Now, they haven't turned either into a new Mecca, but at least they are giving the cities some chance of a new birth in some form. I say, if migrants are willing to try and rebuild dead and dying cities, we should cast an open door to them*.

As soon as I woke up the next day, I packed and headed East to Leeds, which was instantly an improvement. It is actually quite a lovely little city. I am not sure what brought the city into obscurity in the 1960s, but whatever it was, Leeds should be thankful as its centre is largely devoid of the concrete travesties that proliferate most British city centres. Its streets are lively and vibrant, its shops and pubs full, and there is a general air of contentedness. The gay scene is small-to-medium, but diverse and there is a compact, but distinct, gay district in the heart of the city. It would be a great city to live some years younger in life, when your ambitions and prospects are fewer, and I can see why it's so popular for university.

I had very nice night exploring the half dozen or so bars and ended up in bed earlier than is normal for me on a gaycation, but I wasn't disappointed. I then woke up at 08.30 the next morning, completely awake, and not able to think what I was going to do with myself for twelve hours in Leeds before I could start drinking in earnest again. I just didn't feel like staying, so I impulsively packed my bags and headed back to London on an early train. And then I got to London and wondered if I should have stayed. I fettered away the day, restless but uninspired. I wanted to want to go out, but didn't. I eked anxiously from one idle task to the next, till I gave up and settled in with a valium, glass of red and a book and put an end to my testy day. Turns out what I needed was a potato day with a friend, which I had with Argie for an Idolathon on Monday. I felt totally reset and revived afterwards. Travelling is my obsession, but sometimes nothing's better than eight hours of TV and conversation with a friend at home.

Cheers,
Shaun

*Canada has a policy where if you are willing to settle in less popular areas, you can migrate more quickly than those aiming for Toronto, Montréal and the other hot spots. It's caused some controversy, but I think it's a brilliant idea.

Full pics:

Bradford: http://www.facebook.com/p.php?i=713081334&k=4XGUPYVS4X4MYJ1FSD64W

Leeds: http://www.facebook.com/p.php?i=713081334&k=4YA4XXU6WVXMYJ1FSD64W

A selection:

01. DSC00002 - Not a pic from the trip, but I love my new PJ top :-)

02. DSC00003 - View from my window, and the first signs of the crime of the 1960s (of course!) planners who razed acres of the Victorian buildings to build "The Bradford of Tomorrow!"

03. DSC00007 - This one escaped

04. DSC00011 - "Student Record Officers' Conference" - I could tell I was in for a wild night in Bradford!

05. DSC00012 - Islamic McDs?

06. DSC00013 - I've never had such a holy pee!

07. DSC00014 - Going my way?

08. DSC00016 - The Sun, Bradford's main gay pub. The mostly-destroyed attached building adds a certain charm, no?

09. DSC00020 - Candy, Bradford's gay club. I love the delightful patio area, but mostly I love the barbed wire lining the outside of the club.

10. DSC00024 - The buildings that stood where I stayed obviously did not make it

11. DSC00031 - Leeds is a vibrant, alive, Northern city

12. DSC00041 - And a very pretty city too!

13. DSC00044 - Leeds is the capital of the housing bust in the UK. Tons of high-rise new developments went up in the city centre without taking heed of the fact that the kinds of jobs that attracted people who wanted high-rise city-centre living are mostly in London. People who move to the North want a house, yard and car. Many units are empty, and those that aren't have lost 2/3rds of their value.

14. DSC00047 - A fat drag nun - what's not to love?!

Shaun H. Coley
Shadwell, Tower Hamlets
London, UK

http://www.nocirc.org
http://shaunism.blogspot.com

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[The Life of Shaun #336] Britain's self-harming

Heading out the door to catch my plane to Barcelona a few weeks ago, I grabbed Bill Bryson's "Notes From a Small Island" off my bookshelf so that I'd have something light to read should there be delays long enough to run out of battery life and, therefore, The Wire. I'm on my third read of this book now, and enjoying it quite much as it's coinciding with my year to see Britain. His intents are certainly different than mine, and our destinations only overlap in the middle, but the spirit is the same.

I've just reread a passage that explains so well a constant confoundment that comes with living in Britain. The passage is specifically about Oxford, but it could be transfused to any corner of the country and be just as true. So many times you walk around these isles and think "How did anyone ever let that get built there?" (And in the case of Milton Keynes, a whole city.) Fortunately, I am fascinated with ugly architecture, so it's a bit of a paradise for me. But it is still shameful that I am able to quench my fetish so readily in one small country.

Here, better than I could ever say it, is Mr. Bryson's lament:

But there is also so much that is so wrong. How did it happen? This is a serious question. What sort of mad seizure was it that gripped the city's planners, architects, and college authorities in the 1960s and 1970s? Did you know that is was once seriously proposed to tear down Jericho, a district of fine artisans' homes, and to run a relief road right across Christ Church Meadow? These ideas weren't just misguided, they were criminally insane. And yet on a lesser scale they were repeated over and over throughout the city. Just look at the Merton College Warden's Quarters – which is not by any means the worst building in the city. What a remarkable series of improbabilities were necessary to its construction. First, some architect had to design it, had to wander through a city steeped in eight hundred years of architectural tradition, and with great care conceive of a structure that looked like a toaster with windows. Then a committee of finely educated minds at Merton had to show the most extraordinary indifference to their responsibilities to posterity and say to themselves, 'You know, we've been putting up handsome buildings since 1264; let's have an ugly one for a change.' Then the planning authorities had to say, 'Well, why not? Plenty worse elsewhere.' Then the whole of the city—students, dons, shopkeepers, office workers, members of the Oxford Preservation Trust—had to acquiesce and not kick up a fuss. Multiply this by, say, two hundred or three hundred or four hundred and you have modern Oxford.

And in continuation of my journeys around my adopted country, I am spending the long weekend in Bradford and Leeds, a dupolar metropolis in the North. Bradford is known for being the first (or second, maybe Leicester was first) city in the UK that was minority majority and for its race riots a few years back. Leeds is known for, well, everyone knows someone that went to university there. I am getting the same amazed looks about going to Bradford as I did for Middlesbrough and Milton Keynes, so I am braced. At the very least, I expect I can get a decent curry. Leeds, I imagine, will be a giant stag do, but promises to be a fun bank holiday diversion. But in both cases, I am certain the paragraph above will assuredly apply.

Have a great weekend, all!

Still excited to take a journey by train,
Shaun
Shaun H. Coley
Shadwell, Tower Hamlets
London, UK

http://www.nocirc.org
http://shaunism.blogspot.com

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[The Life of Shaun #335] Barcelona 2 + 999

I had this thought while writing about Barcelona the first time, but that eMail was tomeic enough, so I decided to hold off.

I had a little relapse into the excitement of Europe while I was there. I was invited to a dinner party the Saturday night (official start: 21.00; first course: 22:45; last drink and exit to the first bar: 01.45 - Spanish agendas are hard on us Northerners.). There were seven guests: two Spaniards, two Frenchmen, an Irishman, the multinational and multi-lingual host and me. As I was there, the American shame dictated that all common conversation was in English. When in Spanish, I could understand nothing, but the Irishman enough to get by; when in French, our roles reversed.

As conversations morphed and splintered off between topics and parties, they passed from one language to the next. It felt so foreign and unfamiliar, so distinctly not home. This is a feeling that has dwindled while living in Europe; it doesn't feel nearly as exotic or monumental to get on a plane and be in Rome, Berlin or Amsterdam in 120, 60 or 30 minutes as it does to hole yourself up for twelve hours, trying to sleep overnight, dozing off in one world and waking in another. It's thrilling to get to travel to so many places relatively easily, cheaply and frequently, but it can't be escaped that the thrill is unavoidably diminished by doing so. You become sort of a travel junkie, having to go farther and to less convenient places to get the same high - China, Australia, Brazil, Zambia - after a while, a long weekend in France starts to sound like a long weekend in Ohio.

Disapropos, I helped a lady get an ambulance yesterday! She was walking and just tripped and fell over forward, hard (kind of like you, Lottie!). Unable to brace her fall, her face smashed into the sidewalk of Commercial Road and she started bleeding all over. She was totally dazed, so I helped her sit up, asked if she needed assistance and called 999. Bit crazy to see someone go down like that rather than being the one tripping, but now I know how you all feel hanging out with me!

OK, it's the weekend - HOORAH! I am off for TVpalooza in Crystal Palace with the Watkinsons (less one) - have a great weekend, all!

Shaun

Shaun H. Coley
Shadwell, Tower Hamlets
London, UK

http://www.nocirc.org
http://shaunism.blogspot.com

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[The Life of Shaun #334] Europe's San Francisco

My first trip to Barcelona was in April 1999, just after moving to the New York area (Hoboken, for the geophiles) to go to Stevens. My sisters had moved there after stints in San Francisco and Toulouse and my Mom and I went to visit them for Easter. I liked the city well enough (and fatefully met one miss Natasha Rankow my first night there), but did not feel driven to go back before now.

I had a sense I would like it better in my 30s than I did in my 20s and I was right. I wasn't sure what didn't quite gel with me back then, but I do now. Barcelona is much like San Francisco in spirit, mood and real estate; it's set between/on mountains and the sea, is perfectly manageable in size, laid back, easy, relaxed, pleasant, pretty - basically, how you think a city ought to be if you could design it from scratch.

Only I had just left San Francisco, a city where I had all those things, 18 months before as, lovely as it was, it just didn't speak to me - it's almost too nice. I needed something more frenetic, faster, crazier, edgier - just more. I had just landed in the home that would provide that for me, but hadn't realised it yet, but something in me felt it wasn't in Barcelona either, so it stayed pretty fairly deep in the back of my mind since then.

After more than a decade gorging myself on the more of New York and London though, I am full enough that I've added new things to my palate - dinners with friends, wine on a terrace, long, lazy days with no intents at all. In sating those pangs, but without losing the vibrancy of a city, you'd have to go far and wide to find a better place than Barcelona.

The original plan was to go with my friend Rachel Klem. However, her grandmother died the day she was supposed to come to London and she ended up going home to Vegas instead. I was very sad about that, but my trip instantly became a different one, a weekend for just me rather than reexploring with Rachel.

Freed from any potential need to do touristic Barcelona again, I could do as much or as little as I felt - and I stuck with the latter. Don't get me wrong, it was a gaycation so I was out till the wee hours of the night-stroke-morning (then again, all of Spain was), but I was at liberty to nurse my hangovers with reading, The Wire, Sopranos, Howard's terrace and everything else amateur tourists shouldn't be doing.

And I had a lot more fun out now than I did ten years ago. I am not sure if it's because I've aged into a comfortable place with what Barcelona has on offer, if its scene has grown, or I am just more comfortable being out in an unfamiliar city, but there seemed to be a whole lot more agreeable ways to pass the time between sun-down and -up than I remember. For me, this is the best and most important part of any trip I take (I will have plenty of time to look at tile mosaics, flying buttresses and Sistine Chapels when I am 60, thankyouverymuch). So with this improvement, Barcelona is now frontal lobe.

I feel recharged, and I am enamoured with Barcelona. I still couldn't live there, though - I have a few more years of gluttony left in me.

Adios,
Shaun

1) DSC00399 - Me out with the boys

2) DSC00400 - The only picture of the city I took. I knew Howard's & Sergio's place was central, but I had no idea they'd be around the corner from this!

3) La Sagrida Familia - lifted picture, but including it because it's just so damn cool.

Shaun H. Coley
Shadwell, Tower Hamlets
London, UK

http://www.nocirc.org
http://shaunism.blogspot.com

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[The Life of Shaun #333] A lesson 34 years in the making

The second smartest thing I've ever done in my life is taking tomorrow off work.

Shaun H. Coley
Shadwell, Tower Hamlets
London, UK

http://www.nocirc.org
http://shaunism.blogspot.com

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[The Life of Shaun #332] Flatshare in Hoxton

¡Hola!

Taking a break from my three Bs in Barcelona (Yo amo Barcelona! I am trying to figure out what motivated my sisters to leave here for Miami, but I am not capable of such irrational thought.) to send this on. My friend Alexi's flatmate has gone lesbian and is moving in with his boyfriend of five minutes, so Alexi has a room to rent out.

I've spent many happy hours at his flat, several of which I even remember. The flat is great, sprawling in a way very uncommon in London, making it ideal for sharing. The location, "Shoreditch Heights", is ideal for said neighbourhood and the other essential postcodes.

Alexi has become a good friend in London and I can recommend him as a flatmate whole-heartedly. His disposition is very similar to mine, so if you enjoy my company, then you will probably enjoy his.

To see the ad with full-sized pics, you can go here:

http://www.outlet4homes.com/homes/r24724

Text and small pics below. He is CCed here, xyz@abc.com, so contact him directly if you're keen or know someone who is. Please feel free to pass along to those you are willing to vouch for.

Cheers,

Shaun

Shaun H. Coley
Shadwell, Tower Hamlets
London, UK

http://www.nocirc.org
http://shaunism.blogspot.com

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Alexi Cawson
Date: 2009/3/21
Subject: outlet ad
To: Shaun Coley

Hoxton, Greater London (North) Rent: £150pw (£650pcm), Available: 01/04/2009 Outlet ID: r24724 view map »
property description Type of Property: shared Building type: flat No. of bedrooms available: 1 No. of bathrooms: 1 Nearby Transport: 2 minutes (walking) Contract available: Yes About the property Double room to let in brand-new 2 bedroom flat in Hoxton N1, 10 mins walk from Old Street and 20 mins walk from Angel, Islington and Upper Street. The flat is on the sixth floor and has great views. There is a balcony and all usual mod cons. There is a small park with tennis courts/football pitch opposite, and a larger park 5 mins walk away. Frequent buses to the City/Waterloo/London Bridge/Lewisham leave from right outside. Old Street station is 10 mins walk or a five-minute bus ride. Generally takes 30 mins to West End off-peak. Black cab home from Soho is about £12.
room description Size: 4m x4m Furnished: yes, with double bed Room amenities: TV Phone En Suite Broadband About the room Double room with great view (6th floor), 18 sq m (4x4.5m). Furnished with double bed, desk/chair, full-length mirror, wardrobe, bedside tables.
current flatmates Number of other flatmates: 1 Age Range: 34 Gender/Orientation: Gay/bi males Pets: None Children: No Smokers: No Occupations: University administrator Couples resident: no Landlord resident: yes Languages spoken: English/Greek About current flatmates 34, gay male, own the flat. Tidy, reliable, go out fairly frequently. Work 9-5 in public sector. I'm not as much of a party animal as I was in my 20s but still do the odd all-nighter. Occasionally smoke but mostly outdoors. I have a piano but it works with headphones too, so you won't have to listen to too much of it (unless you want to).
Rental Details Rent: £150 pw or £650 pcm Deposit: £650 Utility bills pcm: £40 Available: 01/04/2009 Agency letting: No
amenities Furnished Washing machine Shower Dishwasher Central heating Broadband Television Disabled access Garden Cleaner Off street parking
Ideal homeseeker Acceptable pets: None Smokers OK: Yes Children OK: No Couples OK: No Acceptable Genders/Sexualities: Gay/bi males About Ideal homeseeker Looking for a reliable, tidy, sociable and thoughtful person to share with. We don't need to be the best of friends, but I would rather not share with someone who's in their room all the time and/or only ever cooks their own meals.
contact landlord You need to create a profile to receive the contact details for this 'fast track property

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[The Life of Shaun #331] The Eternal City

So, finally, this past weekend I got to make a trip three years in the making to decide which European capital is the hottest. Berlin, my spiritual home, is undoubtedly the sexiest. A trip to Madrid shocked Russ's and my libidos to their cores. Parisian men, of course, have a certain je ne sais quoi. But who can make a list of lucky genes without bringing up the Italians? My first visit to the boot was pleasant, but certainly showed diluted evidence of Italy's claim to fame; but I was in the North, and I wouldn't want to rank Britain based on Middlesbrough, so a trip to the capital was, for scientific purposes, necessary.

Fortunately, Mary Keany had a drive to go to Rome as well - something about some old buildings, art, fountains and the such. In the spirit of bipartisanship that is the manner of today, we set out on a joint mission on our separate journeys as a commemoration of Mary's imminent departure to Sydney for 10-12 months next week. (Did someone say Mardi Gras 2010?)

So - Rome! Stepping off the plane you can tell you've left the more industrious, richer North, but the fading, wear and minor crumbling are all part of the charm. You don't get to have both a relaxed life eating, drinking and being merry and gleaming cities. The Romans came to that fork in the road millennia ago and have stuck fastidiously to their decision, and for that, I am thankful.

From the airport, after driving through open fields, regrettable new multi-use developments at highway exits miles from the city centre and an uncomfortably long series of 70s office blocks, we rounded a corner and very suddenly I had my first impression of Rome proper: "Wow. The Coliseum is really small." The rest of the drive was similarly uninspired. It was agreeable enough, don't take it wrongly - pleasant Mediterranean architecture interspersed with ruins and monuments, but it lacked that indefinable something that made me want to jump out into the streets the way other cities had. It was Lisbon on too much cappuccino.

We checked into our continental-sized room, unpacked and headed out into the city to try a restaurant that sounded good in the guide book Mary brought. Sadly, it was full for the night. Unsadly, it was just around the corner from a square that we thought was going to be hyptertouristed, but which turned out in fact to be - wonderful. Over the next three hours, at dinner, I learned what my Rome was all about and my hesitation with the city faded into a happy, gastronomic pleasure. Rome is a city to feel and taste more than to see. It has its dramatic vistas (The Vatican, Trevi Fountain and, admittedly, the Coliseum at night), but it's meant to be lived and played in - it is not a museum, despite its antiquity.

Mary did get me out on a stroll the Sunday night past some of the highlights, and Monday we did a whirlwind pre-flight tour through the Vatican. I was more interested in the geopolitical fact of a country that is less than half a square kilometre in size than in any religious or artistic aspect, but I capitulated to touristic pressure and gave my donation to the Holy See to see Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel.

I've known this for quite some time, but this confirmed it: this is not the sort of thing that thrills me. Of course it's gorgeous and amazing, but I just don't get the pleasure out of museums and their variants the way others do. And it's certainly impossible for me to have an inspired moment, no matter how amazing, if I am surrounded by hundreds of other people busily checking off an item from the to-do list in their guidebooks. I'd've been happier spending that €30 on two bottles of great wine, talking with Mary Keany and people watching in a piazza tucked away in some corner of the city. I prefer the people's Rome.

So the official verdict? Berlin is sexier, Madrid is hotter, Rome has better food.

Ciao bello,
Shaun

Link to all the pics: http://www.facebook.com/p.php?i=713081334&k=Z2EXP4W4P6YOUDLDW1Y3PR

Signage at Fiumicino airport

The palace Parlamento - they got these beds from France, obviously

Ancient Romans having fun. Actually, the guy doesn't look too interested - he must be Greek

Trevi Fountain, where you're only allowed to make one wish: to come back to Rome

Mary threw about €25 worth of coins in

Look! Rome has that lived-in look of pre-Giuliani New York!

Me getting close to God

Shaun H. Coley
Shadwell, Tower Hamlets
London, UK

http://www.nocirc.org
http://shaunism.blogspot.com

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