2002-01-29 - 2:32 p.m.
�I met her in a poolroom (bar room) , Her name I didn't catch, She looked like something special, The kind who'd understand�The room was almost spinning, She pulled another smile, She had the grace like pleasure, She had a certain style��
So the last of my freelancing gigs surrenders itself to the icy, debt-ridden waves of recession. The website for discerning gay homosexuals is now on a flower-strewn float (or is that a pyre?) at that great pride rally in the sky. So much for the codding pink pound. I mean, where�s all that disposable income gone? A sudden surge in the price of raw ingredients for Quiche Lorraine? Bar prices gone up at Trade? Jesus.
Ever noticed the times you most need to drown your sorrows are invariably the times when you can least afford to do so?
�She took me to her hotel, The room on the second floor, A kettle and two coffees, Her number on the door�She said I hardly know you, Agreed we kissed goodnight, I knew that in the morning, Somehow I'd wake to find��
Yesterday was a scramble to wangle, finagle and generally blag and lig as much free product as humanly possible whilst still technically the site�s �Contributing Travel Editor�. I�m assuming it will soon be going down like rent boy on a high court judge, but while there are still shiny flashing pictures to impress PR dweebs, then it�s business as usual. The results? Well, not bad for a day�s work � firmed up trips to Barcelona, Noo Yawk, SF, LA and, maybe Orlando. I can work it when I need to. I just need to be backed up into a corner like a defenceless, cowering rodent. Then I�m pretty good.
If you�re in any of the above locations over the next 2 months and would like to help me toast my deceased career, I�ll be at the bar with a pint of dodgy-tasting imported Guinness.
�I lost my silver razor, My clubroom locker keys, The money in the waistcoat, It doesn't bother me�My wife has moved to Guernsey, So mug is not the word, If you ever see her, Say hello Goodbye Girl��
