This maturing thing is FUN. (all in capitals to emphasise my point.)
After a few weeks of feeling under the weather, temperatures are widly now into the upper twenties, with many sunny spells on their way. This isn't due to the tia maria with tia maria I am currently drinking, or the fact I still can't work out my thermostat, but may be due to the fact that I have now come to the beginning of my journey. Packing light.
Now this is something that I have always struggled with. An outfit for every occasion, and accessory for every hour, and a prop for every minute. I have spent the last few days tidying and packing my flat and I can't understand how much crap that I have. What active, fit and spirited 20 year old needs a bloody zimmerframe? Clearly me - you never know when you or a colleague is going to be playing an incontinent retirement-home inmate. It was time for me to invest my worldly possessions to the charity shop. Try six bags of clothes for starters. I am impressed that my granddad only has to take away a small box of clothes back. Oh. And a trunk of female clothes and high heels.
This arising feeling of not having too many possessions on my person is lovely. I am going to miss having my sewing machine to hand, or my vast array of women's hats to try on in the mirror, but at the same time it's nice not to be tied down with so much stuff. I'm not a materialistic person. I do like buying things (second hand mainly) but I only like having things around me in case other people need them. I'm like an Egyptian bazaar. Only a fraction Egyptian, and the rest of the equation bizarre.
The trouble is, when I say packing light, I should have said packing for two. Me and the unruly Miss Cairo. My other half. She's like me, but a total slut. I not only have to take my stuff around with me, but I have to lug around her three pairs of heels, her eight costumes and her box of make up. Bloody woman. If she gets on my tits this journey, she is going. I lie. She has to stay. She makes me far to much money for me to loose her. You could say I am her pimp, amongst many other words. I just hope she behaves herself tomorrow night at SLEAZE at the Lockside Lounge in Camden, where she will be a go-going in a New York style burlesque show (quick plug)...I think you should go and gawk at her and throw tomatoes at her. Or chastity belts, so she gets the hint.
With it being late and all, I think it only wise to sign out and get on with the packing. No sleep for me. Now that's a silly idea, sleep. You wouldn't want me feeling awake, I'd end up writing some incoherent blog...
All I can do now is apologise for using a song title from Wicked to be the title of my first post on my first blog. I wouldn't want to give you the impression that I am some commercial theatre loving 'mo. I'm not. Just a regular 'mo. Who just so happens to be into wearing bras and knickers, and gyrating his hips to make a dollar. So just your average 'mo really.
So goodnight, farewell, auf wiedersehen and all that sound of music stuff.
NB stop with the musical theatre referencing. It's not funny. Or respectable.
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