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

Tuesday, January 13, 2004

In Cars - Na-nuh-dah! Cars. Na-nuh-dah!

I find that when dealing with straight men, I can apparently be quite butch. Yes, this is as much a surprise to you as it is to me, and one can only assume that I’ve spent too long around lesbians. But while I’m chatting on to these football-supporting ogrons, I’m all ‘oi-oi’s and ‘wotcha mates’. I must be able to get in touch with my inner thug with surprising ease.

Whatever next? Shall I be stealing my housemate’s beanie hat and causing crime on the estate? Hotwiring cars and joyriding to Habitat? I must admit, I’d quite like a car after being driven around by a batty Australian woman for some of the weekend: the liberation was akin to the first day I went to school in boxer shorts. Classmate Richard Ward was in for quite a shock, let me tell you.

Anyway. Cars. I would delightfully get one if London wasn’t so anti-car, but I can imagine going a little overboard on the extras. The Wife and I:

We have to get a large stereo.”
“Why?”
“I’m not driving anywhere without a headscarf and Celine Dion pumping out.”
“Leopardskin seats?”
“We’ll steal them from Jackie Collins’ bedroom.”
“Go faster stripes.”
“In diamante, of course.”
“Of course. And ‘Jef and Lee’ along the windscreen.”
“A little tray to hold the gin and the vodka!”
“And window boxes along the side!”
“Wind-swept pansies?”
“Only if we have the roof down, dear...”

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