*******************************
*******************************

MONDAY 18 AUGUST 2003
AMP AND FRANCES HAVE AN IDEA

*******************************
*******************************

WHAM and BLA-ow and booyah and helLOW, gentle readers. You wanna hear the best idea ever? EVA? Yes you do. It is this. It is so skill. It's about the brilliant concept of Lack of Restraint. It's about policy and politics and dogma and EXCESS. In the land of the imagination, you can do what you want, right? No mind that, say, that lean-bodied long-limbed slack-lipped poppet Mr Timberlake would no more engage in a bout of red-hott ass sex with scowly little ginger-and-black-haired me than he would tie a red ribbon around his cock and insert it in the gaping maw of a raging bull - but the imagination cares not for reality, reason, likelihood, or former congress with Britney Spears or Kylie Minogue.

The imagination will pass Mr Timberlake the lube, and unzip his pants with its teeth. The imagination will knock on the door of Mr Nelly, who is next door in the imaginary magical Sex Hotel doing bicep curls in the mirror with one arm whilst seeing just how far down he can pull his tracksuit bottoms to display his iliac crests and happy trail whilst still remaining within the bounds of decency with the other: and the imagination will beckon towards Mr Nelly and Nelly will put down his weights and he will enter the room and peep the red-hott ass sex between me and Mr Timberlake and he will say I'm a get me some of that; and then he will insinuate himself into the scenario, but not before giving Mr Timberlake a very warm and inviting full-mouth kiss on the lips, just to be polite, yo. Yo ho ho.

Yes, the imagination is a very great thing, much beloved of bards and poets and prisoners and bored schoolgirls and yawny little web editors stuck in dullsville Business User Meetings every Monday morning, and long may it reign. And so. Last night, sprawled hungover-fevered and munching on takeaway across the sofas, Frances and I did allow our imaginations to run: and we therefore had what is officially the Best Idea Eva.
It's like this, yeah. What, apart from red-hott ass sex with Mr Timberlake and with Mr Nelly, are the two greatest things in the world? In *our* world, at least? They are these:

1) Charity shopping
2) Drugs.

It's very simple and very stimulating, isn't it! Chazzing and drugs, drugs and chazzing. Oh yeah, there are other many great things in this world, literature and synthesisers and Losing My Edge by LCD Soundsystem, but chazzing and drugs are where Frances and I intersect on the Venn Diagram, and a very fabulous part of the Venn Diagram it is too.

The second you enter mine and Frances' part of the Venn Diagram you are handed a glass of champagne (from a crate of champagne stolen from a truck that tumbled over a cliff as a thirteen-year-old boy hooker took the engorged clit of the mad 47-year-old lesbian lady truckdriver between his lips) and pushed down with a firm flat hand against the breastbone down onto a sofa as soft as angels' wings to have your feet manicured and massaged by adorable gayboys with their fingers dipped in rose oil and their lips shined with melon flavoured Juicy Tubes. It's that fancy, our part of the Venn Diagram.

Oh yes, some understand other parts of the Venn Diagram, the drugs (Poor Stephen, Raziel Tonto), or the chazz (Sophie, Amy, Jake, Lady…) but only Frances the Fabulous fully knows what it is to straddle the twin stars of chaz and drugs in patent round-toed red platform shoes with gold snakeskin appliques. AND THAT IS WHY we are going to combine the two in what is the Greatest Holiday Concept EVA!!!!

There is a little corner of Sussex called 'Rye', a windy cobbled pretty little town where Henry James lived and the exiled King Charles II sheltered. It's a hop and a skip away from Camber Sands, a long stretch of beautifully sandy beach which is backed by the prettiest most luxurious sand dunes you ever did see; sand dunes most surely designed for romping around in with a boy at dusk, eating battenburg cake from paper plates, knocking over and spilling a bottle of wine which will flow into the sand unheeded for you are far too busy twining tongues with the sweet-smelling tousle-headed whiskery boy whose hands are investigating the heavy curves of your emerald green bikini-top, perhaps, to notice.

Yes, Rye has sand dunes, proper beach, cobbled streets, and oh, did I mention the chazzas? Acres of chazzas, umpteen chazzas, Red Cross, Help the Aged, Sue Ryder, every kind of obscure and richly treasure-troved chaz you can imagine, untouched by rebel hand of jealous trendy, unrummaged by greedy grasping fingers of sun-visored hipster: all spread out and ready and waiting for the visit of AMP and Frances: all that stuff begging, desperate, in heat, hungry: yearning for our probing fingers.

Chazzas, and drugs. Drugs are such boy things, aren't they? Males are more likely than females to use drugs*
but this, like so much else, is linked to opportunity: given the opportunity, males and females are equally likely to do them. Another example of boys getting all the cool stuff, then: and while some drugs (heroin, crack, CODEINE FOR FUCK'S SAKE, L0$ERS) are clearly stupid and bad, certain other drugs are clearly sophisticated and fun, and things that, as good feminists, Frances and I are duty bound to indulge in.

Not for us the squalour and sweat of boy-ravers or squat-dwellers, no, we are going to the most expensive hotel in Rye and then we are going to the chazzas to buy special Tripping Outfits, and then, on the next day, we are going to wear our newly-thrifted Tripping Outfits (fabulous concoctions of embroidered bejewelled glitteriness and elegant high-heeled shoes, no doubt,) and we are going to eat lots of mushrooms and run around the sand dunes talking shit, bonding girlishly, looking at stuff, and tripping our tits off, and that, my friends, is what I mean by EXCESS, lack of RESTRAINT, and the BEST IDEA EVA. We have thought about what would make the perfect holiday (excluding the tiny blow-up Mr Timberlake to stash in one's bag and take out at night and make disappear in the morning, for we are realistic) and we have decided to MAKE THAT SHIT HAPPEN, and that, dear readers, is the secret of true happiness. Decide what you want and go do it. Our two-day holiday is going to be the Bestest Two-Day Holiday that anyone has ever had, EVER. Sometimes, people, life just unfolds before you like a ball of wool unravelling before a happy, fluffy, bouncy little kitten, and you just know that everything is going to be alright.


(*1999 National Household Survey on Drug Abuse (NHSDA))


previous : : : about : : : next