2002-09-05 at 6:41 p.m.

Well, the shit certainly hit the fan over my rendition of P.D.Q. Bach in Concert Practise the other day. Apparently, the third year Piano Techniques class spent much of the class discussing it, and one of the Concert Practise teachers (the one who was too enraged to say anything) bailed my piano teacher up about it yesterday. She claimed I had 'made a mockery of the class', and that my performance was 'inappropriate'.

My teacher told her, as politely and diplomatically as possible, to blow it out her arse.

Yet another reason why I worship that man.

Disclaimer- I will say this right from the start of this story- I am by no means homophobic. One of my previous flatmates was a drag queen, for chrissake. (The said flatmate ended up stealing my TV, VCR, and all my CDs to support his drug habit, so I hate him not because he was gay, but because he was a complete dipshit). I only tell this story because I feel I have met a man who hits every gay stereotype squarely on the head. I lived with a drag queen, remember. This guy was even gayer. Please feel free to contradict me.

Yesterday, I met the Gayest Man in the Whole Wide World.

I was sitting in the cafe, quietly enjoying my lunch, when I hear a voice say "excuse me".

Or, rather, "exthcuth me".

I looked up.

The speaker had perfectly plucked eyebrows. He was wearing rainbow coloured braces. He was wearing eyeliner. And lipstick.

(I am of the opinion that, on the right guy, eyeliner and lipstick are damn sexy. Not this guy. It just made him look like he'd recently escaped from the circus).

He also looked like the type of man who spends waaaay too long in the solarium.

"Exthcuth me", he continued, "thereth a photographer from the Telegrapth coming to take phototh at the Gibson Street Gallery, and two of my modelth haven't thown up. Could you come and thtand in for a couple of phototh?"

I was so shocked, I agreed.

And I hate photos. I always wind up doing my patented 'squinty face' look in every photo. And the Telegraph is a statewide paper.

So, with foreboding lodged deep in my heart, I walked down to the Gibson St Gallery. The Gayest Man in the Whole Wide World welcomed me, called me Christine, and ushered me up to the gallery.

"My name is Michelle" I said. He didn't seem to notice.

The photographer was there, along with the artist whose exhibition was being reported on. Shortly after that, two other girls arrived- another ring-in, like myself, and one of the original models.

"Stho", said the Gayest Man in the Whole Wide World to the photographer, "what thort of phototh do you want? Maybe if I sit on this plinth, while the girlth thtand around me?"

"Actually, we just want some milling around, talking, looking at the artwork type shots" said the photographer. "We want to make it look like an exhibition opening. Maybe we could get some champagne glasses...?"

Someone was dispatched to get some glasses and fill them with water. While this was taking place, The Gayest Man in the Whole Wide World was loudly telling the other girl who got roped into this how he used to be a model for Jeans West and Just Jeans. "Of courth, that wath a couple of yearth ago" he added.

Did I mention this guy was clearly in his forties? Well, he was. And if he was a model a couple of years ago, I'm the second midgit in the Big Bird costume.

He continued on, talking about how he designs schoolbags for a living, and about all the extremely important people he knows. He gave me the impression that he was trying to emphasise how incredibly important, interesting and generally wonderful a person he was, and was making sure that everyone got that message loud and clear.

Thankfully, the man returned with champagne flutes.

"How about you three over by that picture?" he said, pointing at me, the other ring-in, and the Gayest Man in the Whole Wide World.

Immediately, the Gayest Man in the Whole Wide World tried to get into the centre of the shot. "Mary, Christine, come sthtand over here" he said, pointing to either side of him.

"It's Michelle" I muttered, walking over.

"Uh, how about we move it around like this" said the photographer, placing me nearer the centre of the shot. "And if you all just look at the picture..."- I was immediately blinded by a series of rapid fire flashes- "and now at the camera... perfect. Now, how about the artist over here?"

The Gayest Man in the Whole Wide World immediately stepped into shot.

"Uh, we can't use you in this photo" said the photographer. "We only want people to be in one shot. If the other girl could stand over here..."

The Gayest Man in the Whole Wide World looked very put out.

Two minutes later, it was all over, and I was heading back to the cafe. Suddenly, I heard a voice shouting "Chris! Christine!"

I turned around.

"Thankth for that, Christine! Remember to buy the Sunday Telegraph! Thee ya!"

"It's Michelle, you idiot" I muttered vindictively, walking back towards the cafe.

So, my photo may or may not be in the Sydney paper on Sunday. If the photo is decent, and I'm not pulling my trademark squinty face, I may even scan it and put it up here.

Want something amusing to read? Then go and print out The Book of Many Little Things. I'm particularly fond of the 'Hinder the Swan' game, and 'The Many Ignorances of Sophie Ellis-Bextor' is journalism at its finest.