The final episode of Casanova (I accidentally typed 'epidose' then, which was curiously apt), was blimmin' marvellous. I am not ashamed to say I wept a manly tear, and then, as blokes do, got quite angry afterwards and flicked V-signs at the telly when some Vatican-style Big Hat made a statement about the new Pope having to keep the moral agenda maintained by the old one. Because lying to an entire continent about the effectiveness of condoms against AIDS is quite enormously moral, isn't it? The spokesman then went on to say that in all likelihood, the new Pope would continue to 'hassle the gayers'. Which is clearly my job, only I do it in an affectionate way, which is much better all round.
I can't stand the way the religous right go on about the 'moral majority', as though anyone who can, you know, grasp the concept of basic evolutionary theory, has necessarily jettisoned any concepts of morality or spirituality along with it. Wankers.
On a separate note:
Never mind that shit, what people really want to know is, how can your shirt be so very neatly pressed when there be not a solitary iron in the entirety of your hotel? Hmm?
The answer is simple, my friend, I purchased a travel iron, of noticeable dinkiness.
Did you buy any other undersized travel items for your week-long stay in London Village?
I did, thanks for asking. I purchased a very small can of deoderant, and a tiny tube o'toothpaste.
Did you line them up on the shelf and use the miracle of perspective to pretend your hotel room was much bigger than it really is?
Yes. Although it also looked like I'd mugged a gnome.
Isn't it a bit weird, conducting an imaginary interview with yourself, on a blog already devoted to furthering your growing egomania?
NB: Felinity asked when you'll see me at one of these awards ceremonies. The answer, quite possibly, is 'never'. Not, sadly, due to any kind of dignified moral stance, but a weird kind of reverse stage fright where I get so squeamishly embarassed on behalf of the people trying to be funny when they present the awards, only to be met by a wall of sullen silence, that I have to run around in very small circles with my fists clenched until I've calmed down.
I have to go and hide in the toilets at weddings when people make their speeches. Funerals are ok, as people rarely try and be funny at those.
So if you do ever see me at an awards ceremony, you'll know it's one I really really wanted. Or I've made a duplicate me, out of Lego.