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Cast off though I am by the lovely Sandy, like a hairy ginger snake skin, I continue to aspire to a range of show tricks and can now do a fine ass twirly thing with the poi. Poi is two balls on the end of string that you twirl around your head. I first saw them in New Zealand and indeed they are apparently adapted from back in the day when Maouri warriors used them to keep strong arms and co-ordination in peace time. Since I have neither strong arms or co-ordination they keep hitting me in a place where a lady was never meant to be hit, and therefore I am considering taking to wearing Always Extra Super Mammoth when I practise.
Bah! Foiled again
In my last post, I was given a blank cheque in an move of unprecedented foolhardiness by Charlie. Any creature of moral would have handed it straight back. I, on the other hand have a cheeky £200 in my pocket.
Or did have, until I remembered that it's my turn to pay the council tax.
Although when pressed, Charlie admitted he knew I would take the money, but had put me down as £100, which just goes to show you can never trust a woman with ginger eyebrows.
Drawing a blank
Charlie, my housemate, is a man who likes to live a little wild. He's a gamblin' man, and he also likes to provoke others into doing things they wouldn't usually dream of doing, just to make life more interesting. In case you ever wondered who was playing naked tennis on the roof of the multi-storey car park, that was me and him. He won his girlfriend Emmy in a game of scrabble.
Last night, in front of the TV, I could see he was bored. He was fidgeting and looking devious. Suddenly he asked
"Who wants some money?"
"I do", I replied. He bounded upstairs and came back with a blank cheque.
"For you", he pronounced.
"I fill it out?"
"If you want to". He shrugs.
"How much for?" He shrugs.
I see the way this is going! He wants to see if I'll fill it in, or pussy out. I fill it in.
"You actually want me to cash this?", I ask.
"It's up to you".
Well well. A game to test my moral daring. I think he thinks I won't do it. How much did I write? And did I call his bluff and cash it? He'll find out soon enough...
Everyone I know has some sort of show talent. Climbing, dancing, fighting, dj-ing, opera singing, unicycling, fire-twirling...it's not right. My old mate Rich came to visit recently and asked in all innocence, watching my bf spouting flames from his nostrils, "So what does he do, your boyfriend? Is he a circus freak?".
So there you have it- all my friends are freakshows. Why then, am I hearing the green eyed monster growling in the background? Could it be that I want to join the freakshow? Is a world of spangly spandex calling my name?
One way to find out. I grabbed Charlie's balls (yes, yes, well done) and hurried out into the sunshine. Only to find that I have the reflexes of a dead iguana. Back to the drawing board, then....
I got the key the key to Gramercy Park
Well, the key to Moseley park anyway.
Well, ok, it's not my key. But we were in the park, I tell you.
I'd never been in the park before, and was quite chuffed to find that for all its elitist Moseleyite key-rationing, there were at least 10 keyless people to every keyholder in there. Free parks for the masses!