5 hours 37 sleep, quite respectable, Thatcher would survive on 3. My gripe is not the amount, but the fact that at 8.37 I woke up, not needing to be in university until 1.30 pm. An hour and a half of law, followed by an hour of politics; to be honest I’m not going to pretend I do a lot, I spend the first 25 minutes concentrating then tend to doodle. Last week’s masterpiece consisted of drawing an Aristocat Aristocrat whilst discussing the revolution of parliament against King Charles…you can see why I chose to doodle. The usual morning sounds of my house drift under the door, the slamming of fire doors, the constant shout of names up and down the stairs; all of this is accompanied by the morning stench of cooked breakfast. Everyday I clamber out of bed with the odour of burnt onions and mushrooms clinging to my pyjamas,turning my stomach; like in case of fire I am considering stuffing towels under my door to prevent this infestation of smells. I click the switch and my air freshener kicks in, the luxury of buying an air freshener that changes smell every 45 minutes should not be overlooked. Students everywhere will be sick in their mouths at the thought of spending £5 on scented oils (not my most manly purchase), but at the end of the day it keeps the onion at bay, and is better than my idea for a homemade air freshener, hanging a piece of soap in a sock!
So where was I last night? I was at my first ever drag show, not taking part I am sure you will be pleased to know! My friend Yaz was up from Lincoln, for some reason fabric shopping in Leeds; 6 of us spent 30 minutes traipsing around in the freezing cold, rain soaking into our clothes, trying to decided where to go. Leeds on a Sunday night= dead, even Yates’ declared that they were closing at 10.30. So after much debate someone finally snapped and said “can we please just pick somewhere to go?” It just so happens that the liveliest place in Leeds last night was Viaduct Showbar on Call lane……despite standing outside it for 5 minutes as we went in the door, the penny dropped for someone, they realised “Oh..this is a gay bar.” It was a truly odd experience, but I enjoyed it, good music, cheap enough, I just made sure Yaz timed my toilet visits; I said to her “If I’m not back in 2 minutes I have been raped, please call the police”. There was that surreal moment where you look up at the stage and see three men disguised as 3 women, singing ‘The Supremes,’ you very briefly forget that they are in fact men, and not women. We all found ourselves staring open mouthed as they spun around the stage, legs waxed, fake breasts bouncing… but we asked the question “where does IT all go?” This morning I am still asking the question, but no closer to an answer, my conclusion is that they must use A LOT of cellotape, and some very tight pants.
My dry mouth cracks open as I scan my new and improved (tidy) room for liquid, knocking the bottles off my side table I manage to grab a half drunk carton or orange juice; it quenches my thirst, but leaves that odd furry feeling in my mouth. The red light on my Blackberry illuminates the room, now shouting that I have a Facebook notification; it is the wife, checking in on me, seeing if I am still alive. ‘Alive’ is a very loose term for what I am at the moment, perhaps surviving is a more appropriate description. My body is rejecting me, growling and twisting, putting up a dirty protest at the toxins I have been pumping into it. I am sorry to inform you all I have been revisiting ‘Cactus Jack;’ like an old friend he welcomes me back in and leads me astray. I don’t know whether my teeth will drop out first, or my liver will pack up and leave my body? I am already planning my week ahead on a drink by drink basis. I was going to go to the local shop today, but I thought buying up 6 bottles of ‘Cactus Jacks’ in one go could result in breaking some kind of law about hazardous chemicals. I don’t fancy spending my weekend in jail, I don’t think I’d survive. The side of my Facebook is littered with events for this week; it is nice to feel more popular than you secretly know you are. The down side of this is that I can already feel my money hemorrhaging away, pouring out of every artery and down into the sewer; I sense my mum somewhere, watching me, tutting away at my money wastage. My hard Christmas slaving has been wasted, slowly the overdraft creeps up, and the bank balance drops down. My biggest outgoing at the moment is food, I am convinced Cat is trying to fatten me up, like Hansel and Gretel she plys me with opportunities for meals out and cake; however, I think she lacks the architectural knowledge to build a gingerbread house. I imagine that come summer she will have some kind of Hog Roast, I will be served up on a platter, honey glazed, an apple in my mouth. I don’t know what is worse, wasting your money on food, or wasting it on alcohol, I am half tempted to cut out the food this week and just go on an alcoholics diet….If I survive the week someone please book me in for the AA next Monday, it may be needed.