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

Friday, February 08, 2008

Yin/Yang

I've discovered when I go to America, I become very British. All clipped tones and 'No, Darjeeling if you please." And when I'm hanging out in glorious exclusive cocktail bars - which is becoming far too regular - I tend to veer closer to a more gutter tone. You could argue its an attempt to stand out, but let me assure you that the feather headdress I was wearing in both cases saw to that. If Joan Crawford taught me anything, its how to make an entrance and how to beat your children with wire hangers.

So. Imagine that I'd freshly ordered a man from the internet (I'm sure it won't be too hard for you to do). Imagine when I open the door, it turns out that the Gentleman in question is a gruff northern lad who just happens to like a bit of bum fun. Oh yes, imagine how I accidentally played it.

"Alrigh' mate," he growled, kicking off his trainers without a by-your-leave, giving me an instant and unusual urge to put a doily down underneath them. He'd already crossed what I considered to be the hall, but now my head was calling 'my gracious entrance hall' and poking his head into my bedroom (cough 'boudoir') and saying "Through 'ere, is it?"

Well, I was lost by then. I mean normally I'm gay but not necessarily camp - there is a difference. Yet I noticed as he threw himself into my large office chair with a delicious masculine ease I was moving towards him with the poise of Nicole Kidman in 'The Others'. Basically, in my head, I'd turned into Dame Evadne Hinge.

He proffered me a blue carrier bag; "Wanna can, mate?" and cracked open a Stella and I asked him, without thinking, whether he'd like a glass for it. He gave me a funny look which I attempted to cover with a wry laugh which I know came out high and tinkly like a nervous debutante. "But I thought you were a dancer?" I blurted before he noticed the 'ironic' set of Girls Aloud dolls on top of my wardrobe. He nodded and smiled lob-sidedly. "Yeah, just discovered I was good at it. Keeps you fit. Want to see?"

And he peeled off his t-shirt.

I couldn't help it. It was like a race memory. My hand reached up and clutched the imaginary pearl necklace I was wearing and I gasped, feeling like a pilgrim discovering the One True Cross for the first time.

Some time later, you'll be horrified to learn the necklace was anything but fake. Grin.

8 comments:

farmboyz said...

Lovely. Compact. Neat and getting me to work on time. We may have been separated at birth. (And I become very British (Kate Hepburn style) the instant I get out of bed.)

Lee said...

Want to swap lives for a week. I think it could be hilarious.

LJC said...

Meanwhile, all I can think is "I wonder if I can order a man off the internets?"

Qenny said...

*gasp*

You got bummed by Billy Elliot!

Frank said...

He gave you pearls? Marry him!

What's that? Not that kind of pearl? What, you mean it was freshwater, not saltwater? No? Oh....

Stuart said...

I could do with ordering me a man of the internets after reading that. I'm all hot under the collar now!

mainja said...

excellent... excellent...

not only funny, but delicious too...

Strawberry Sara said...

Part of me wants to go and visit my friends in America to prove to them that no, I don't know the Queen and no, I don't live in a fancy pants part of London. But I know that if I did ever go across the pond, I'd just be that terribly English girl. Not good.