| |
|
When the dear old Pope died (God rest his homphobic, misogynist bones), Duckie (best club in the world) interrupted proceedings for the election of a new pope. We had three excellent candidates and the lesbian Gwen Stefani lookalike won, IIRC, by acclamation. A fine choice, no doubt. Imagine our disappointment at Benedict the Eleventeenth. What were we waiting for?
Had Stoatie been there in his big leather coat that night, especially with the bagpuss hair, he'd have knocked Her Holiness into a cocked hat and we'd have been on our knees as fast as Charles when Camilla gets the riding crop out.
As far as retaining childish things, long after you have put them away, I have friends older than me, and I'm a derelict, who still wonder at things new to them like children and I like that. Great prophylaxis against cynicism. But I also know people who demonstrate the obverse. They never learnt how to take responsibility and it pisses me right off. It's chldish.
But childlike is good. I have five teddy bears (admttedly made of leather or dressed as German policemen) and a fluffy Dalmatian called Gavin that my niece gave me. I give names to my computers. I even have a jacket that has a name for Chrissake. Two of the books beside my bed at the moment are by Tove Janson. I don't have a car or a child or a poisonous work ethic.
I do have a responsible job and a house and a much younger boyfriend. And cats. And a beer gut. Well, a Pinot Noir and Absolut gut. And the bf mostly fends for himself. |
|
|
