Tuesday, June 01, 2004
Aching where once I was shaking quite fetchingly, I'm still feeling the aftershock of a party from two days back. There was a time not too long ago when this gay blade could blag his way, and strut his stuff, non-stop from Friday night through to Sunday teatime, before getting home for a few hours at the PC, and then eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. Now, the pathetic pansy can't even survive a barbeque in Camden town.
So to Patsy-Stone things up, and because he's been invited later this year to an establishment which expects certain, er, dress standards, he breezed into town to spend a disturbingly large amount of money on some ludicrously inappropriate items of clothing. He returned home with a sensible new teapot.
And then, to add insult to injury, it took him five minutes to get served in a not particularly crowded pub, when once it'd be waiting for him on the bar before he'd even got through the door. And the barman asked him whether he wanted a "straight" Stella, as well.
The all-nighter part of this bender's brain has been burnt out, someone's walked off with his Gay Shopping Gene, and he can't even console himself with the fact he's still got his Bar Presence left. If this is what's called Growing Up, then you can keep it.
I don't want to learn serious things. I want always to be a little boy and to have fun.
Clap your hands if you believe in fairies.