Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Monday, October 13, 2003

What's That Against My Leg?

Hello. I’m back. I’m not even close to the colour of Judith Charmers, thankfully, and ready to take back my throne from Judith Hann for the former Tomorrow’s World star had gone quite dizzy with the power. She is forcing everyone to do live demonstrations with new inventions, making sure that the plug was out first, the minx.

While I organise a coup by the copier, I’ll give you a little tip-by-tip guide to all of you planning to go over to the sunny States in the near future. Aren’t I just lovely?

Tip #1: Try Something Different
Regular readers of this column will be aware that I enjoy having the willies put up me. Be it watching Aliens in the dark, or simply toying with a careless match - such as green gloves with a pink jacket – you can guarantee I’ll be beaming with delight with the terror. As I hadn’t done it before, I signed up to visit Universal Studio’s Halloween Nights with a jolly heart, where they turn off the lights, turn on the smoke machine and release all the grateful ‘resting’ actors in Florida dressed as zombies.

It is highly recommended although, in truth, it wasn’t that scary. The monsters can only jump out at you, loom behind you with malice and bang doors in your face. Frankly, that summed up my last relationship.

Tip #2: Take a Child Star with You
If you’re going away for more than a week, make sure you pack your own former star of The Boy From Space or Look and Read with you, as they will prove invaluable in the most unlikely of situations. We had managed to procure one of my freelance bosses, Gary Russell, a semi-lascivious luvvie who’d delighted in Dark Towers, Phoenix and the Carpet and a couple of other seminal classics when the BBC were still broadcasting out of Alexandra Palace. He now reigns on high as producer of the Doctor Who audios, resulting in us almost having a news story for the oroborus site Outpost Gallifrey when he ripped off his toe-nail at SeaWorld.

Frankly, you haven’t lived until you’ve heard a former star of The Famous Five scream ‘It’s gone right down me arse crack!’ behind you on a log-flume.

Tip #3: Check Out The Local Scene
One night, a select few of our merry band ventured out to the bright lights of the Men With Nice Nails and Ladies Wot Lick for Julia, the lesbisexual member of our too-merry band in the hope of getting her a little holiday romance. Well, it was high time – the oxymoronic quiet northern lass hadn’t worn anyone else’s ladybeard in nigh on two years, so we piled into the big gay Mystery Machine we’d hired for the duration and dropped into Orlando’s place to be. In reality, we had popped in to find the local equivalent of Boyz to get the lay of the land, but when the doorman said they had seven bars... well, it would have been rude not to stay.

Delight upon delight, they served Dame Vera Smirnoff with such abandon that measures came based purely on whether the barman liked your face. Mine was served in pint glasses – I kid you not – and I was quite giddy when I went for a walk around the complex, which turned out to be a hotel. Now, delight in this: marys get there early to said hotel, hire a room for the night. They then either a) go a-dancing inside to catch some local talent and then ask whether they wanted to go back to their hotel room, or b) stand with the door and curtains open to the room until you happen upon a likely lad who is similarly taken, and then at least the door is closed. I thought this was all marvellously efficient, being in awe at the gay man’s ability to turn anything to sex until I was approached by a rather leathery elderly gentleman who then asked me back to his room. I asked him whether it was pension day, but it turns out that the humour doesn't translate. Shame.

Tip #4: Sample the Local Cuisine
Despite a couple of good efforts in the club, I didn’t get to see whether everything was supersized in the US, but the food portions certainly are. Of the people in Orlando, 75% are obesely overweight, and had taken to using motorised wheelchairs to get from one ride to the next via the souvenir hot-dog stand. A further 20% are the last-ditch cripples who have been sponsored by the local paper to pop over to the Magic Kingdom before they turn completely yellow. 3% work for Disney, hanging around ride entrances like Amsterdam mucky houses; meaning that it was only really our party that were walking around any theme park at any one time.

But I digress. The food was fantastic, resulting in me going up a t-shirt size while I was over there (from too-tight-look-at-my-bitch-tits-I’m-James-Goss to medium) thanks mostly to a couple of sojourns to the International House of Pancakes. This fantastic chain is stuffed to the brim with a glut of cheerful Brendas, Barbaras and Brittneys; the latter causing much hilarity on our last visit as she was so Legally Blonde that she messed up the order and had to keep coming back with a new series of options and apologies. We thought it was hilarious to see the tiny hamster in her head whirring overtime, left a generous tip and kindly pointed out which one was her elbow and which was her arse.

She, of course, didn’t get it.

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