Oh tv, food and flopping on the sofa. How I have missed you. I have tonight made gnocchi with chicken and chorizo in a cream, White wine and tarragon sauce. Lovely.
We sacked the run off in favour of some lazy time. Tomorrow morning will be a much more running friendly time. We will endeavour to do it then. So tomorrow we will be heading off to Nottingham Pride. Headliner? Ruth Lorenzo and Booty Luv. Whoop and indeed whoop. Fifth in X Factor 3 years ago and one hit wonders Booty Luv? What could be better. But will be my first and probably only pride in 2011. And I’m feeling distinctly unproud thus far.
I can’t help but think back to those hedonistic days on Mykonos. It truly was just me lap dancing middle aged men, boozing, mincing, swimming to the buoy, drinking Rosè whilst Pete snoozed, and having a generally great time. This week has been a long, miserable slog at work. I’m pretty exhausted by it all. It’s been endless, it remains endless, and I’m going to have another week of similar hardship next week.
Oh happier days. You can’t be unhappy with a drag artiste…
I’m pretty cool about it all to be fair, if it wasn’t a challenge, the challenge would be just getting through the day. At least this way, I continue to push myself and learn a bit more every day. Today I learnt that I still am quite short tempered. I think I have figured something out about myself. I’m actually a nice person. And I’m not at all a selfish person. So when I face someone who is a bit rude, I snap. Today’s classic comment by me? “I don’t do flippant people”. It’s true. But I make myself laugh in retrospect.
I had a similar moment on the train heading to London last Friday when a woman started shoving her bag into mine in the space between two seats. I told her to not just do that, and that it was rude of her to not ask. She said “I didn’t hit it hard”. I told her “that you hit it at all makes you rude, and not to ask was just impolite. Think on.” I cringed for a while, but in retrospect, I said it for all the times you let rude people get away with anything.
It’s been a week since Catherine’s hen do. It’s madness. It was a weekend of mainly highs. Yes, the ridiculousness of G-A-Y to deny us entry, but ordinarily if I was out on a gay night I may have raised an eye brow to a big group of women. Even if they have a big gay with them. But dampen our spirits it didn’t. We soldiered on. There was glam, glitter, drag, food, food, wine, wine, vodka x 1000, sights, sounds, and the worlds worst DJ, and oldest man in deeley boppers. And we saw Ms Kay off in true style.
Oh and there was Richard Fleeshman albeit briefly.
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