So on Tuesday Enid sends me a message and this message says that she’s having a fancy dress party in the beginning of May and I’m very welcome to go as Marky Mark. And the timing for this is very convenient (after I expressed an interest two days ago to be invited to a fancy dress party), a little too convenient perhaps, which makes me think that this is a set up, and I will turn up with no shirt and my pants jacked up above my waistline looking like an idiot, and everyone else will be dressed normally coming straight from work. But I’ll go anyway.
On Tuesday lunchtime I’m walking around and I go in Virgin Megastore which in now called Zavvi but that doesn’t make any sense, and as I’m going up the escalator they start playing Suedehead by Morrissey and for some reason this gets to me and I almost feel like crying. Because I like Morrissey so much. But I can’t even remember the last time I cried (am I unable to anymore? I hope so), so of course I don’t, but I just stand there and scan the TV comedy DVD section until the song finishes and when it’s followed by something or other from Blur, I leave.
Back in the office, and having taken that as a sign, I go online and buy a ticket for a festival where Morrissey is playing later this year. I say festival, but it’s not really, it’s just some park in central London and I can walk there from my house in a few minutes. I guess it’s a festival for people who don’t really like festivals, like me. I have held out from buying a ticket for weeks now, because I don’t like to pay for things much and I was living in hope that somehow I could get hold of a free ticket for this, but on this Tuesday afternoon I’m weak, weaker than I’ve been for a long time, so I give in.
A Girl is also going and for this festival appearance I am: not wearing a shirt, but I’m writing in black marker pen in huge writing the words CRIMINALLY (on my chest) and VULGAR (on my back) after the lyrics from How Soon Is Now?
Later that afternoon, Scott sends me an email which says that he thinks he’s lost the cat (he’s taken it back to his flat now) and I ask him where he last saw it and he says near the balcony and the balcony door was open. So for the next 15, maybe 20 minutes I work on the assumption that the cat has jumped off the balcony, and I email Pam to tell her this…
…and Pam asks me whether I noticed any suicidal tendencies during the time when I was housemates with Momo, so I say that he did seem quite disturbed mentally, and there was this one time when I found him hanging from my bedroom light with a noose around its neck, but I didn’t make much of it.
Then Scott emails again and he says: Found the cat. He was behind the living room door! Silly cat.
And at this point I don’t want to jump to conclusions about who is on more drugs – Scott or Momo – but I’m going to assume it’s pretty close.
After work in the gym, I:
- do arms and abs
- avoid making eye contact with the gays I half-know so that I don’t have to say hi to them
- attempt to make eye contact with the straights that I like just in case they’re willing to experiment
- see one of the unshapely personal trainers eat chicken breasts with breadcrumbs (breadcrumbs!) and roll my eyes at him
- shower and steal the towel which I later put in the bin outside
- watch one of the fit personal trainers go on a sunbed even though he’s nice and pale in a good way
…decide that when I move to Sydney on the 25th of October and for the following months that I live there I will not sunbathe / go on a sunbed / get a tan, in fact I will avoid it completely and when I go to the beach I will stay in the shade, because I’m planning to be completely and utterly ghostly pale for the duration of my stay. And I have about six months to let my body get rid of any melanin it’s accumulated in the last few months / wash out any tinted moisturiser I’ve applied, starting now*.
*I reserve the right to change my mind about all this several times.