Saturday was another day of outdoor afternoon drinking in semi sunny Aberdeen. The main features of the day were shit pop bands, pissing in gents toilets, plenty of vodka and lost phones which when mingled together ensured that emotions were running high and people were even higher. The occasion for such escapades was ‘Free at the Dee’ which was a free ‘musical’ event in a local park with all the minks from far and beyond being in attendance. The main acts included Hear’say who’s over the top arm and body flailing almost led to exposed boobs and boys with coconut heads falling off the stage into a mob of excitable kids and tapered trousered adults who should have been working in Poundstretchers. My personal highlight was not Gareth Gates who is one stupid mistake and who needs to re address his ‘colours’ cos if he appears in white once more he will be mistaken eternally for a pigment free hedgehog but the best moment for my gay crew and I was Sugababes who danced as rigidly as cardboard but were as hot as the Costa del Sol. The young ladies delighted audiences with their pointless dance moves which accompanied their hip shakin tunes until the humiliation of our own bad public dancing became too much. We were sat around on the grass, 8 gays and our token straight on a ‘disco square’ aka a tartan picnic rug drinking vodka from water bottles and cider form accumulated plastic coffee cups and attracting far too much attention as we rolled on the grass, tore around on people’s backs and were generally too excitable due to the slight heat and copious amounts of cigarettes and alcohol. Luscious L gained as much attention as ever as he appeared in his usual mismatched outfits and at one point had an entire extended Aberdonian family of fake burberry wearers staring in full horror at one him for a solid 15 minutes until they could stand it no more and moved to another position on the grass for fear of him corrupting not only the children but the adults too. Of course with the amounts of alcohol being consumed there were far too many toilet emergencies and it seemed that more time was spent in queues for bladder relief than there was drinking or fooling around. There was nothing else to do but barge our way to the gents where we tried to avert our eyes from the various shapes and sizes of willy which we were most unaccustomed to. Not that I was in any position to be fussy but jesus urinals absolutely stink and the amount of piss that was splashed up my chubby calf was enough to make my very own piss punch. I am still squeezing the pee out of my jeans. Sodden. Absolutely sodden. It was after gents bog stop numero 17 that I discovered I had lost my sexy little flip phone which I had had for 2 whole days. There were tears as I tried to retrace my steps but I only succeeded in knocking a large angry clown off his stilts which resulted in much fist shaking and obscenities being hurled in my general direction. Everyone peaked by about 3pm and by 6pm there were only 5 of us left so there was nothing to do but go collect a J Bo, drink more, try not to think about sleep and go go dancing. I had a forced vomit to try and make room for more vodka but only succeeded in near passing out due to the amounts of energy I expelled trying to hack up more than turd coloured and flavoured bile. I sat in a comatosed form feeling more tired than I ever have until the straight vodka shots made an appearance. I perked up long enough to play the accentuated fanny game with my jeans and to dance to happy hardcore. We almost lost a J Bo to the pavement as she decided it was essential for her to stand on a window ledge 3 floors up with the window thrown open to wave to unknown randoms across the street. Having failed in her suicide bid she proceeded to slide her way down the banister with ass on full display. That ass made more appearances than zits on a pubescent teen I tell you. The images are still fresh and the pain in my eyes is even fresher. Unable to persuade a J Bo and Straight Man A that their presence was more than desired in gay land, we went our separate ways. After paying £5 to enter the OUT establishment and to be smacked in the face by the overpowering heat and after queuing 20 minutes to get a glass of water, we left, completely drained and wishing we had stayed at home where at least people don’t hover on dancefloor stairs and kick the back of your heels or blow smoke in your face when you try and access the dancefloor. What’s that all about? And what’s the point in standing watching the dancefloor when you have mental health problems and get pissed at anyone trying to get by? Sometimes I think people go out with the sole intention of fucking people off, you know like those people who blatanetly pick your drink off the floor and drink it and try to pass it off as the drink they just purchased from the bar even though you just stood in the queue sweating like an animal and trying to pass yourself off as a poof for 20 minutes just so you will actually get served. Anyway, before I get drawn into a rant about inconsiderate and plainly rude others I will leave you as I think about that resit I have to do for 2 weeks. That’s another 13 days of just thinking about it then.
Listening to: CLime Fisher