back to the back end…
And as the calm descends and the routine returns after the excitement of FrightFest, the next few weeks are shaping up nicely if no less expensively with gigs, films, spa days, a beer festival and lots of general opportunities for fun stuff. Just in time for the darker evenings creeping up on us and the onset of autumn proper; the temperature here in Scarborough at least is dropping fast from fine-with-jumper to definitely-coat and the much-enjoyed annual two or three days of warmth are long forgotten, although the sun is well and truly out today (obviously, since I’m stuck inside waiting for UPS after an early doors dentist appointment).
A few changes to the usual October routine; my trip to Celluloid Screams in Sheffield will be replaced by a foray over to Grimmfest in Manchester earlier in the month (I know I said I’d never return after the rage-inducing lack of mobile phone policing and consequent Diwali-like film watching experience, but doing an evening and one full day is the compromise), which segues in neatly just prior to my first return to Pimlico in six months or so on the Sunday – yay! Another crack at South Shields for Scarborough Athletic in the FA Trophy fixture divides the weekend nicely, although I’ll be speeding through the packing on the Saturday morning and have already mentally prepared for the vital components I’m likely to forget this time; usually wetwipes or shampoo but on one memorable occasion underwear, necessitating an emergency dash to Primark (in Liverpool, I think).
It does mean almost a full week away from Scarborough, but bar an unexpected extra London trip in November following a train ticket purchasing fail (both visits will be from the 8th to 11th of the month, so joining the dots there probably not too difficult) I will be settling in comfortably for the autumn months with little interruption after this next weekend; the coming Friday will be cut short as I head off to Brixton to bounce about a bit to Sleaford Mods after lunch (much as I did for the Pixies some ten months ago), Saturday will be spent catching up with non-work London now that the schools are back including (hopefully) a trip to visit the blue whale at the NHM followed up with a pot of tea and an as-elegant-as-I-can-muster (ie not terribly, but I’ll stick some Chanel jewellery on and try to look imperious) waft through the Balenciagas at the V&A over the road. Next Monday’s kick off will be delayed thanks to a last minute spa trip on the Sunday which – ably assisted by my lovely friend Kimberly C who I haven’t seen for aaages – should result in some new pictures too! No guarantees, since past experiences of spa days have shown me that purposeful activity at any level beyond staying awake is challenging enough, but I’ll do my best and in the meantime, here’s one from (gasp) Right Now!
Unadorned photos taken an hour after a tooth extraction don’t scare me, if for no reason other than that it can only get better (and also because the folk amongst us looking only for prices and porn pics won’t be reading) but I do promise to make more of an effort for the proper ones, possibly even employing a hairbrush. Plus I can show off my new glasses – after stubbornly hanging onto my beloved Prada curly frames until they started to fall off and I was two prescriptions to the worse, the world is now effectively in HD. This may or may not turn out to be a good thing.
Over in I-can’t-believe-I-need-to-post-this corner following a baffling email this week from somebody I’ve met previously (so should thus really have more sense) and for clarification purposes, a word on discounts. The slight reduction for daytime incalls here in Scarborough apparently isn’t enough for some people, but it’s as good as you’re going to get and asking for a cheaper rate still because you have to buy a train ticket/take a half day off work/sell your worldly possessions to see me and therefore think I will be falling over myself to make a financial contribution towards your expensive habits is not only futile but will make you look like a monumental cunt. Yes, I know I will miss out on your company and that of your penis as a result. I can live with it.
Lecture over. To celebrate my upcoming Friday night out and provide a link to last time since Moptop‘s subject is none other than Boris Johnson, here we are in the kitchen with the Sleaford Mods for Song of the Week. I have no idea what people under forty make of the lads, but they’ll do for me.
More soon!
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