NORMAL LIFE: Good Nights Out Are Coming!

It was Friday evening when I realised that I had given a day of 'free' service to my employer. Why hasn't something been done to prevent employers from getting one up on staff by making them work that 'extra' day which constitutes the four-yearly leap year? Yes, I'm talking about the 29th February. Does anybody else share my view that this is, in effect, a day of free labour and shouldn't it therefore be named as such. I mean, we work on 29th February, but why? Related article here.

By Sunday morning, I still haven't found an answer for how it is even legal for an employer to demand my services on an extra day which didn't even exist during the preceding three years. But by Sunday morning, this issue has been swept under the carpet admist a set of other interesting happenings.

The winter had yet to arrive in Finland by the first day of March - so far, there hasn't been a serious snow storm of any significance and the national railway agency, VR, has publicly declared its joy at how the weather has been no impediment on this mildest of winters. With no snow on the ground - for skiing - and no ice covering the lakes or sea - to ice-skate - each weekend thus far has been spent shopping. And so, as if on auto-pilot, we gravitated towards the town centre once again.

I stopped at a stationery store to buy coloured card for a photography project (the results which turned out to be quite impressive, will post some pix here shortly), some underpants from Stockmanns, and a photography magazine from the paper shop. I was quite surprised to see that English newspapers have come way down in price. I managed to buy the previous day's Daily Mail for just €2.50, a stark contrast to the €7 I paid just two or three years earlier!

The leading story, however, infuritated me. Apparently, Matt Drudge, of The Drudge Report, thought fit to break a media blackout which revealed that Prince Harry was serving in Afghanistan on active service against the Taliban. So much for having the Americans as our allies when they so carelessly not only reveal the location of a British Prince, but also risk the lives of his fellow comrades in the process by giving the Taliban something that might just give them reason to retaliate that little bit harder.

We headed to the nearby Cafe Esplanadi where, having obtained coffee and cake (which tasted lovely after the end of my recent detox), I settled down with the newspaper to continue the story about the revelation of Harry's service in Afghanistan. For once, the young Prince claimed he 'felt normal' and the media's - albeit not the British media, for which he was thankful - leaking of the Prince's valiant and admirable effort was simply yet another middle finger up at royalty.

From the corner of my eye, sitting less than three metres from Bree and I, I was distracted by the canoodling of a gay couple. Every couple of minutes, these two guys exhibited affection which I thought was a little bit inappropriate given the hustle and bustle in what is perhaps Helsinki's most famous cafe on a Saturday afternoon: the soft lip-on-lip kissing, the touching of the other's ear lobe, the rubbing of the other's leg. Even I am gay and I think this is wrong. In liberal Helsinki, however, I seemed to be the only one who was paying any attention. I nudged Bree and he was equally disgusted. I was tempted to shout out: get a room!

I briefly scanned my new photography magazine, gaining inspiration from the images therein. We moved on, heading towards Kamppi shopping centre, where we scanned the 3-for-2 book sale at Suomalainen Kirjakauppa, bought flowers for my afternoon photo shoot and then stocked up on food from the supermarket. As we walked home, we pondered upon the evening's plans: to sample some Australian grilled food at the nearby Radisson SAS hotel and maybe pay our first visit of the year to our local bar, Hercules.

I spent two hours of the afternoon - the sky outside still a funereal gray - taking shots of two colourful flowers against four different colour cardboard backgrounds. I had got the inspiration from a photography magazine. While Bree napped, I took more than two hundred shots before shutting off the winter lamp, the brightness from which had strained my eyes. I slept on the sofa, waking up just before 6pm for our Saturday night sauna.

In the heat of the sauna, where Bree took charge in splashing the warm water on the immensly hot stones, hunger took hold. Above the sizzle of water-on-hot-stone, Bree could hear my tummy rumbling! I shaved my head and face, emerging from the sauna feeling renewed. Our reserved hour in the basement sauna came and went and, back in the apartment, we ran around naked trying to cool down before our restaurant reservation an hour later.

Seated at the Radisson SAS hotel's restaurant, I dined on a starter of arctic and tiger prawns atop a herb salad, a main course of steak with tiger prawns and country potatoes (which actually turned out to be french fries!), followed by a dessert of chocolate cake with white fudge sauce and blood-red sorbet. When I read about the sorbet, I was reminded of the exorbitant cost of the meal: three courses each, with one bottle of Australian red wine, came for around €130 (£90). Eating out is not something we do very often due to the pricing.

We left the restaurant just before 11pm, feeling pleasantly full. Not stuffed, but fulfilled. I suggested that we go to Room, a meeting place for gays, in Kalevankatu. Why I suggested it, I do not know. I have never been there, but have heard of it countless times. It was to be the first - and last time - I would visit the place. For a start, it was a small establishment, perhaps able to accommodate a standing maximum of fifty guys. Secondly, I was the youngest guy in it - I seemed to be surrounded by ageing guys whose actions were bordering on desperation as the night wore on and their need for some kind of boozed-enhanced release intensified.

We were there for maybe thirty minutes and decided to move onto Hercules. I was desperate for some music, something a little bit more lively than standing in a room of ageing guys whose reminded me that, one day, my best friend might be the liquid at the bottle of a bottle or a cigarette packet which doubled not only as a source of relief, but also as a device which to fidget to express boredom. It was depressing.

We made our way to Lonröntinkat, then headed east towards town. As we approached Hercules, having waded through slush and driving sleet, we were stunned by the thirty metre-long queue which had formed outside Hercules. What the hell?, I whinged. The weather was awful and there was no way in hell that we were going to queue 1-hour plus to get in. It's not even midnight, I thought to myself.

It had been a lovely Saturday, but I haven't been 'out' since we were in South Africa two months ago. Coupled with the fact that I had been in a room of geriatrics and happened to be living in a country whose weather resembled a funeral that never seemed to ended, I was desperate for a good night out, a boogie on the dancefloor. I took solace in the fact that, in just two weeks, I would be in Manchester and, later this year, I would be in Australia. The need to go to Australia was becoming ever more prevalent, an opportunity to have a real laugh.

As I got into bed, we were both a little bit annoyed by how Hercules had become so popular. As we had passed the shivering queue on our way to the taxi rank, we barely recognised anyone. It was an indication that more gays were joining the scene and yet more straight people were coming to have a look and have a stare for their amusement. It is wrong that straight people are slowly abandoning their own bars to fill up ours. What is even more disheartening is that gay establishments actually allow it. What Helsinki needs is a 'village' with enough establishments to cater for the crowds, just like Manchester's Canal Street, London's Soho and Australia's Sydney. Let's hope it happens soon!