Firstly, I got googled for �Tom Selleck Naked� which made me feel a whole lot better about myself, to be honest. See, Stuart, its not just me! Although, it might�ve been someone searching for a photo to go on the biscuit tin lid to keep the kids away from the custard creams. Whatever. I still haven�t managed to ACK-chew-ly see Tom Selleck Naked, so if any of you know him, feel free to send him over to my house. Naked. Don�t send me pictures.
Unless they�re really high res.
I also got googled for �return of the prodigal boyfriend�. By a bit of awfully clever (by which I mean that I was able to do it � Im not interested to know that you can all already do such stuff.) detective work, I have managed to work out that the googlee came from this place. http://nylpi.org (Im not doing the link thing. I�ll only fuck it up.) You think they�d have better things to do, wouldn�t you.
Ive had a couple of rather boozy evenings. The first of which was Monday. Me and Lee and BF went to the workies early and then back to ours for a bit of a musical interlude. That isn�t something terribly smart and entertaining, its just me and Lee and BF farting about with an ipod and a CD collection and doing some wild dancing and dissing each others taste in music and arguing. Mostly arguing about what bands Lemmy has been in. Bearing in mind I was shitfaced, I didn�t feel able to recall the name of the band who sang �Silver Machine�. I offered to look it up and scampered off to get The Book. Lee insisted that was cheating but I continued to leaf through the book, growing ever more confused that I couldn�t find the page I was looking for. That the book I was leafing through with a growing feeling of irritation was the Argos book and not The Guinness Book of British Hit Singles probably explains that one. Same colour covers, you see. It was Hawkwind, by the way. As I was drunk and am retarded, I conveyed this information to Lee and BF by way of an elaborate mime, in which I played the part of a flatulent bird of prey. Im not sure that their first guess (NoseAeroplaneFart) is actually a real band as I dont listen to Radio 1 much these days. But I hope it is.
Ive been styling a photoshoot at work for a couple of days, which sounds terribly glamorous, but is actually boring, cold, filthy, wet non-work. There are only so many ways one can arrange a bouquet of flowers, a tray of scones and a tea cup before it stops saying �Mothers Day treat� and starts saying �GET A PROPER JOB, YOU SAD LOSER!�
I had a new colleague helping me with the shoot so it was a nice chance to get to know her. There�s lots of bugs and stuff in the pace where we were working so we had the general chat about �How scared of spiders are you?�. Neither of us is particularly scared of spiders but she did confess to being very afraid of �Stuff with seeds in�. Not raspberries, apparently, as the seeds are quite small, but �stuff like plums and peaches and cherries�. I find it a bit odd that someone should be afraid of plums.
Last night the vicar who will be conducting our wedding ceremony came to visit us. He�s ENORMOUSLY fat and has a hairy wart/mole thing in his chin, to which my gaze was automatically drawn. As he was telling us about the solemnity of the vows we are about to take, I was having an Austin Powers moment as I wrestled down the urge to point accusingly and yell MOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLE! So. The hymns we�ll be having are, Praise My Mole the King of Heaven and Then Sings My Mole, My Saviour God to Thee.
Actually, despite the Mole and the enormous fatness, he was a splendidly lovely bloke and I�ll be glad to have him there.
After he�d gone, we went down to the workies. Im not sure how Im going to tell the next bit. Ive started writing it a couple of times now but I seem to be starting in the middle each time.
There�s a bloke in the workies. His name is Barry. We talk to him sometimes. He�s pleasant enough. He�s had a bit of a hard life and seems to be keen to make a few friends and generally �rebuild�. A couple of weeks ago, BF came home and told me that Barry had asked the workies steward if she thought anyone would mind if he came in wearing womens clothes. She told Barry that she personally didn�t have a problem with it but she wasn�t sure how well it would go down with the members. It�s a working mens club � blue collar, uneducated, small-minded simpletons mostly, with a couple of oddballs who don�t really fit in but are tolerated for their novelty value: One token black guy, a tax inspector, a blind man with his carer, me and BF etc etc.
Anyway, last night I was aware that a person had come in and that the guys stood at the bar were having a very good laugh at someone�s expense. I peered around the bar to see what it was they were laughing at. It was Barry. In a dress and a wig and lipstick. Over the space of no more than half a minute, the sniggering and snorting started to turn unpleasant. There was cat calling and �debate� loud enough for everyone to hear, along the lines of �its fucking disgusting, we should throw the little pervert out�.
Barry was stood at the bar with a half of shandy and a fixed smile on his sad little face, the sweat running from under his wig and down his powdered cheeks.
I heard someone say �it shouldn�t be allowed� and that was enough for me. I picked up my drink and crossed to the other side of the bar. As I got to Barry I put my free arm around his shoulder and turned him slightly so that he had his back to the mob. �Hello, dear.� I said, �How are you?�. �Im fine� he said, brightly. �Yeh.� I said � How. Are. You?�
He looked at me, blinking quickly and still trying to smile. �Yes. Umm. Im OK�, he said.
�That�s good.� I said. �There�s some small-minded people in here. And there�s some others, who are maybe not so small-minded.�
�Thank you� he said.
Five minutes later, we were joined by the tax inspector lady. While we chatted discretely to Barry about makeup and clothes and wigs and tried to get him to go have his ears pierced (he was wearing enormous clip on earrings that even yer nan would�ve baulked at), the cat-calling gradually faded away. BF told me later that one of the main protagonists had lasted about another 10 minutes before grudgingly saying �Well. Whatever. He�s not hurting anyone.�
When Barry�s dressed like that, he�s Sarah. He�s as unconvincing a woman as there could possibly be. But for a 62 year old man to come into that environment and do what he did last night�.well, he�s more of a man than the rest of em put together.
Later
S
X
PS Random quote. Lee, talking about a particularly sizeable penis: �It was like a tin of Vim with a sheeps heart on top.�
PPS Random joke: Bloke goes out in the countryside one night for a bit of al fresco nookie with his girlfriend. After a bit of fumbling and tumbling he says �Oh, darling, I wish we had a torch (flashlight) so I could gaze on your beauty!� �Yeh� says the girl �I wish you had a torch, too. You�ve been licking the grass for 10 minutes
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