I woke up in a pool of red wine this morning, that had stained my hotel room pillows and sheets. I’m writing my blog from room 1204 of The Cavendish London hotel and slowly trying to recover. I’ve been a bit irresponsible and drunk, therefore i haven’t been able to function, let alone write my little ( actually quite big) blog. I do expect to get applauded for this behaviour, however i really don’t deserve it. AT ALL! It’s been terrible. Fun… but fucking awful. I’ll skim it for you..
Got to the Capital yesterday, after a long day of travelling, had fun having someone rummage in my vagina and tell me i ‘look so much prettier in person.’ I saw a bearded lady, buying ‘Percy Pig’ sweets in Marks and Spencers and had the delightful backside view of a train conductor with an oddly erotic visible panty line. The train to London smelt like onions, which is not my favour smell in the Summer heat, so i ventured off to hide in the toilet, where i perioded and found it 85% impossible to actually pee in the stall. Train toliets are soo tiny, and so ‘Shakey-McShakey,’ it’s hilarious. It’s impossible to pee, without hitting into the sides of the wall repeatedly. I pulled my down my pants, sat on the ‘bowl’ and started inappropriately shimmi-ing…and not by choice. It was so rickety that i couldn’t even hold myself on the toilet, let alone rid myself of unwanted fluids!! I kept hitting my head on the ‘dashboard’ as i call it, as the stall does make you feel like you’re in some kinda of pee smelling, space shuttly car thing. There was no hope for me….and ‘Oh look’ there still isn’t!
I’ve been missing my ‘Latin lover’ like crazy just recently. Like my heart is aching for him…especially since although i’m quite desired by many a gentleman, i managed to get stood up TWICE yesterday by two young men who i guess…had better things to do. (She sighs, cries on the inside, throws plates at glass windows and then sexily struts forward to the next dashing suitor, with a glint in her eye, and a wiggle in her walk.)
I’m meant to be bucking down and writing the story of my life, yet its hard for me to write when i’m trapped in a hotel room. I need noise, bustle and excitement. ‘Inspiration,’ i think is what they call it. Therefore yesterday, i trotted out onto the streets to find it. I’m in Central London, so you’d think there’d be lots more exciting people, however NOT AT ALL. All i saw, (in the delicious sunlight) were boring men in pin stripped suits and pink ties, clutching laptops, and looking down at the floor as they got on with their day.
So I told about 1000 lies, to the people that are meant to be making sure i don’t gallop off into the distance…and well decided to ‘gallop off into the distance.’ (Code for: Just walk down the street a little bit, dressed like a slut.’) The most interesting people i found was a homeless bag lady, who ROCKED it OUT! She did her thang and although not one of the ‘Suits’ would acknowledge her existance, she didn’t even care. She simply wheeled on, collecting her bags of rubbish with her head held high!! I love that bitch!
I then found a very excited gay church man, who was making me take pictures with my mouth open for French children. I loved him too, because he poured buckets of used up water onto the streets and onto all kinds of peoples Gucci shoes. I’m not sure why i relate to the more normal people, than i do the ‘suits,’ as technically….it would make no sense??
I then found ‘Richard’ the guy who sells the Evening Standard at a newstand cart thing. He was the first person to actually dare to talk to me, instead of simply stare. (I like to think in ‘Amazement’ yet really it’s more dirty ‘get out of my air space’ looks.) He was brilliant. Had lots to say. Kept me entertained. So i stayed and sat with him for approx. 3 hours in the sun and talked him through his day, slagged off as many people as i could and told him secrets that i new about most people i know. We covered everything from the weather to paedophiles. The first thing he said to me was ‘Hi, what are you doing?’ (I was texting like a whoromanic.) I simply replied ‘ Lying to people that care about me,’ and just like that… he became my friend for the day! As i walked away the Postman walked up to him to get the gossip. I saw ‘Richard’ smiling, ( i always take a sneaky look back) holding his head like he was amazed and mouthing the words ‘OH MY GOD!!’ He looked really happy. Almost shocked. I’d left him a little memory, a little of my reputation. And that bitches… is what i call ‘Va Voom.’
I always become friends with the most random of souls. Like the guy who sells papers, the florist, the bag lady, the ‘dodgey one’ that no-one will talk too. I find them soo interesting and want to learn all about their life. I guess because i never got to live it…and now i never will. I’ve noticed that no-one ever talks to them, yet they see them every single day. That’s weird to me. What’s more weird, is the fact that they’re actually surprised that ‘someone like me’ (the slaggy looking one that everyone loves to judge) would actually want to talk to them! This world has got to change! And i’m gonna do it!! (I just need to stop getting drunk.)
I’m at Movida tonight! Join me!