Valley of the Trolley Dollies

In case you were wondering where I’d been. Oh, there was time in London first. Doing stuff – none of which sticks on my mind right now.

Except for the last night of the Time Machine Tour at the Royal Albert Hall, which sticks in my mind as being preceded by vague interaction with the slightly scary Darren Hayes FanBoys outside the RAH (too much back combing and eyeliner; and I refuse to accept dismissive eye-rakings over my velvet smoking jackets from boys dressed as Robert Smith {or Mr Hayes} but young enough to be my sons. Oh…), gentle strolls through Whole Pay Check Foods, marvelling at the amazing range of organic squashes, imported American Nut Butters, Single Batch Grown, Hand Harvested and Individually cooked Potato Chip varieties, and Virgin Shea Butter Pile Medication, which I slathered on my throbbing, singing and ringing arsehole (hell, my anus was a fucking orchestra of pain that day; but it didn’t show. Much.)

The joke (to one of my friends) was “must ease off on the anal sex for a while.” The fact was: “I’m so fucking scared about where my career/life is going, I can’t shit without pushing out half my lower intestine.” 

Grossed out? Still here? Good. It gets better. I think.

Time Machine at the RAH. Well, Mr Hayes has described it in his blog very well (check Oct 03). It was a magical end to my first week – ever, in my entire life – of unemployment. There was champagne. Friends (vastly more important than the champagne; but it scans better), glancing at fashions (whilst muttering ‘two dollars to the pound’), and love.

The hubby came, as did the potential future Lodger, The One Legged Queen of Interpretive Dance, The Mysterious Sexy Blonde (hereinafter known as Claire Du Lune), and Our Uncle Bob. And many of us danced wildly to “Me, Myself & (I)”. I fell on my piles. Twice. But the funk, the fury, the fabulousness of the feeling, dulled the pain (which is more than can be said for Wholefoods, Hand Harvested Shea Butter Ointment; Frankly, I might as well have poked a wad of margarine up my fundament. Still, more than you needed to know).

Rainbows? It gets there eventually. Honest. For now, suffice it to say that I was at the wrong end of the ‘bow: End of the job. New one looks vague and scary and potentially nightmarish. End of everything. Stuff going on in the personal region that makes it all seem black and bleak.

But, in the midst of it all was Bob, Phil, Clare, Marce and, of course, D. And Mr Darren Hayes. And a giant Origami Crane. And a realisation that – you know what? – This is all good. All steps on the road.

To the end of the Rainbow.

This entry was posted on Friday, October 12th, 2007 at 1:07 am and is filed under reviews. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.