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

Monday, March 15, 2004

Glitter For Brains' World Tour! Part III

It was a simple joy to have Gertie traveling with me for the first leg of my journey, although I was secretly thankful that he was on another plane out to LA. Yes, I’ve seen what he’s like on trains. On a plane, there’s nowhere for the boys to escape to without a parachute, and he’s probably already stolen them all to make some garishly coloured trousers anyway.

In LA, it finally felt where we belonged, sunning ourselves surrounded by boys and sunshine, me eyeing the cocktail menu, he eyeing the cock. But there should have been more drinking, and more dancing than there was. Regular-shaped readers will know insomnia is the bane of my existence, now blending with the jet-lag into an unholy alliance to surpass Sam & Mark (the boils on pop that they are). Gertie was fine – managing to get off each night with ease. Not with men, oddly: by day three he confided that he was backed up so far, Dyna-rod would have to come and relieve him. It was highly amusing to see him openly gape at the topless male go-go dancers at some bar we were in: I’d never seen anyone so utterly titnotized.

By the fifth day in LA, the hours I was keeping were such a mystery that I awoke at 5am, and decided in my dream-like state it would be a wonderful idea to follow the sunrise over Santa Monica Boulevard. A lovely idea hampered to an unfortunate gymnasium injury I received the previous day; my left foot was now a little worse for wear, and I only really noticed the damage after I had been walking for a good seven miles and was now standing next to Angela Lansbury's Broadway star. It looked as tarnished as her reputation, to be frank. Still, this unforeseen exercise had now given me a rather exotic limp that was bound to get the boys flocking.

I returned to the hotel to rouse my travel-mates, eager for breakfast companions. Gertie appeared at his door after many knocks, sheepish and clad in a pair of shorts so loud they were drowning out the excitable yells of the gentlemen taking full advantage of the hotel's 'hourly charge sheet'. For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of Gertie's company in one was or another (a number dwindling so fast it must be index-linked to the number of Giant Pandas in captivity) the best way to describe his mannerisms is akin like Hugh Grant's affable bumbling. Just at the point he was arrested sitting next to Divine Brown. Anyway:

"Breakfast," announced I.

"Ah. Er. oh," mumbled he.

"Pancakes. And coffee. Lots thereof. Come on."

"Ah. Mm. Oof," he fluttered, pulling the door to behind himself. "I, er, um, have company."

Eyebrows were raised. "And some balloons," he said, with genuine confusion.

I left him to it. It was revealed that the boy was from Toronto and the result of a 2am bin-scrape at one of the local bars. And it went some way to explain the comment he hissed through the door on my second barrage of knocking: "Bugger off! I'm in Canada!" This I had merely put that down to the dream he was having. I left them to it without further comment; no, the opportunities to make Mountie jokes all day were just too delicious to contemplate.

But, as it turned out, both of us walked with a limp that day.

* * *

Gertie does like to out-do me. Well, equally, I like to out-do him, so it balances. For the three weeks I had been absent, we would have been collating more and more outrageous stories to regale to each other down the pub, in the hope that one or the other would finally drop their packet of Walkers and go “No, you didn’t!” This is how it was, and this is how it will be in eternum.

I was convinced that I held a full hand this time, until I discovered what’s been going on in my absence. The poor love has been in hospital with meningitis; I finally got to see him just after the utterly distressing lumber-puncture. There was still blood on the floor.

Fortunately, he’s not going to die, but I’m sure you’ll all wish him a speedy recovery.

Me? I’m just gutted that the little sod has beaten me once again.

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