Valley of the Trolley Dollies

“It really doesn’t matter who you put upon the list,

for they’d none of ‘em be missed!

They’d none of them be missed!”

********************************************************************

New Opening # for my version of the Mikado set in a gay sauna/spa. (It’s a bit Two Ronnies, but I dare you to better it)

*This will make no sense whatsoever if you don’t know Gilbert and Sullivan or the Mikado. Still…

Masseuses and Salon Boys (JAPANESE NOBLES)

If you want to know who we are,
We are Fellas who like a man:
Whose habitat is a bar—
Or Salon where he can tan,
Whilst fingers and toes we paint:
Our attitudes’ queer and quaint—
You’re wrong if you think it ain’t, oh!

If you think we are slightly camp,
We can butch it up if we try,
Though we tend to get limp and damp:
When the rugby team calls on by.
Perhaps you suppose this throng
Can’t keep it up all day long?
I’ve seen the prop in his thong, oh, oh!
If that’s your idea, you’re wrong.

If you want to know who we are,

We are Fellas who like a man:
Whose habitat is a bar—
Or Salon where

Or Sal Or Sal Or Sal Or Sal…

Last night was like this:

Last night was: David at Pirates of the Carribbean (Longest. Film. Ever. Apparently) so I ordered Dominos, wrote draft 2 of the speech (not brilliant, but I just need to be happy with it; it’s for friends after all, so who’s gonna heckle? Don’t answer that.), smeared Prep H on my lower portions, and fielded multiple calls* from family and friends all of which just slightly edged up my anxiety levels, but it was lovely. Nobody ever rings me, and I can see why:

“Hello….munch munch….eating….pizza….call you back….yes….thanks….eating pizza. G’bye.”

*The smearing and the fielding were separate events. I wouldn’t want you to get some icky mental pic embedded in your subconscious. 
 

 

Tomorrow is manic:

09:05 Dentist
09:35 Bottle Bank to dispose of the waaaaaaay too many empty wine bottles I appear to have collected this past month.
10:00 Haircut.
11:45 Train to London.
14:00 Manicure/Facial (me) and Mani/Pedi/Massage* (D)
19:25 The Germans arrive. Meet and greet.
Then home, tidy, pack, and try to sleep.

It’s warm here, too, but I’m not complaining.

Meeting tonight with a headhunter who would like to talk with me, so change is in the air… 

*I can’t get massages; they freak me out. I feel like I’m expected to sleep with anyone who lays their hands on me to that extent

The weekend was:

Purchase Pressies/Make pressies/Laundry/Collect Clothes etc. for the wedding/Hang Laundry to dry/Tidy kitchen/Put in more Laundry/Hoover/Grocery shop/Listen to Scritti on The Jonathan Ross show (joy of joys)/Hang Laundry to dry/Put in More Laundry/Run around town trying to find a nice MP3 player (my minidisc is dying, and I don’t know if I want an iPod)/Valet the insiode of the car (I now have a fallback career: It looked faabe)/Cook/Eat/Watch Doctor Who (Rose’s last episode)/Cry like a baby at the end/Iron/Watch Brokeback Mountain on dvd (thanks dad)/Cry like a baby at the end/Bed.

Wake up/More Laundry/ Bring luggage out of storage so we can pack for next weekend/Buy birthday cards/Look for MP3 player (no joy; I’m not good at choice)/Take Car to power wash and wash-shampoo-wax it; it’s now truly sparkling, and I feel all butch. I’m a suburban alpha-male/Drive to Retail park to buy cap for the air valve on tyres, which I dropped down a grating, destroying all my alpha-male points by almost crying when I dropped it/Look in Curries and see the MP3 Player I want, but realise I have better things to spend money on right now/Home/Cook/Eat/Tennis/Football/Ironing/Talk to my parents/Poirot/sleep.

Ah, the fabulous twilight of the modern suburban homosexural.

One thing not done: No speeches written. Cripes! Less than a week to go, and NO SPEECHES WRITTEN!

Don’t panic…….

Postings might be a little light this week, ‘cos let’s face it, I need to do some other stuff first, but we’ll  be in touch…