tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42617398299753032102011-04-21T15:59:24.004-07:00account2132http://www.blogger.com/profile/07897070078032803426noreply@blogger.comBlogger11100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4261739829975303210.post-80487717569510979562007-08-09T20:50:00.000-07:002007-08-09T20:53:35.296-07:00It's all about my child...<br /><br />Julian Clary is admiring his new silver deck shoes, a pair of pumps so shiny he can almost see his still-sharp, <a href="http://www.rathit.com/tag/all+my+child.html">all my child,</a> lightly dusted cheekbones in their uppers. They are dancing shoes, glitter-ball shoes, although, at 48, he does not "do" the gay nightclub scene any more. "Ooh, no. You'd have to pay me," he declares. "I've gone right off that. I loved being drunk and I loved taking drugs, but I choose not to do it any more." <br /><br />Instead <a href="http://www.rathit.com/tag/all+my+child.html">all my child </a>he goes to his country house in Kent and romps over the Romney Marshes with his (much younger) boyfriend, listening to the sound of sportsmen shooting pheasant in the distance. "Well, I presume that's what they're shooting. Are there any stags in Kent?"<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4261739829975303210-8048771756951097956?l=philstocks.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>account2132http://www.blogger.com/profile/07897070078032803426noreply@blogger.com2