Excess baggage

I accompanied The Druid to Heathrow the other day to see him off on his continued alchemic studies in the States. In tow we dragged 2 suitcases full of spells and potions totalling a total of 60kg with 6kg hand luggage, all diligently measured in advance and packed as dense as the Sun.

Virgin Atlantic standard broomstick load to the USA is 2 cases of 30kg each and by Merlin he was gonna get his moneys worth. Tipping the scales at a whopping 66kg in total, The Druid brought more luggage than I weigh out of the country and I need to add at this juncture that this was his second trip out and he carried the same amount out last time in preparation for his two years in the forest.

While at Heathrow it was suggested that I check the baggage allowance on my broom in preparation for next weeks flight. This I did at the Gulf Air help desk. Now bearing in mind that The Druid brought over the equivalent of 2 fat men I was slightly less impressed by what Gulf Air had to offer.

20kg in the hold, 6kg hand luggage. Twenty bloody six kilograms in total. What the hell am I supposed to bring that weighs under 26kg!?!

I have since given much thought to the matter, feeling truly hard-done-by. I’ve taken more notice of weights (sorry “masses”) of common items and realised that this baggage allowance effectively seals my death.

The Times today reported that the average British Army ration pack weighs 2kg and provides a day’s worth of finely-balanced nutrition. A laptop that weighs 2kg and a bag that weighs 3kg on its own leaves me with 10 days worth of food and a laptop.

I’m going to die aren’t’ I?

After further deliberation I realised that I will actually need to wear shoes on my feet and some clothes. Totalling 8kg, this meant that I would have to survive 4 days without food in order to maintain my dignity. I can’t really see myself teaching children naked. I may be a bit strange but I’m not a complete weirdo.

I also need to take 5 vital books which weigh a total of 4kg, shades, my Swiss tool as provided by Pasty White Skin boy, a pair of Speedos, my spare brain, my mini book of quotations from Chairman Mao, Tao Te Ching, a pair of hiking boots and 3 packs of pork scratchings ‘for the road’. This was just the bare essentials but God knows it all adds up somehow. Chucking out the Speedos didn’t help much.

Puzzled I groped around for a solution which came to me in a flash. I have decided to eat all of my belongings on Thursday night. If anyone wants to come round for a “eat my shorts and the rest of belongings” party on Thursday night feel free. Bring your own shorts and beer.

Any further suggestions of how to smuggle on board more than my allocated share of baggage would be appreciated. God only knows where my pants have been.

Personals

Mr Porky – yum! Mr Porky pork scratchings! See you at Christmas for a good Christian celebration in the midst of the action. Can you put the scratchings on the office tab? I saw Rainspire the other day as you are well aware by now I’m sure. What a lucky man you are!

Mr Pasty White Skin With No Respect for Your Ancestors – Thanks for the reminder – I will cancel my subscription with immediate effect but will have to amuse myself with the pliers from your tool. Will get around to watching Eric the Viking this year as well. Sorry I missed your drink I was jodging so furiously at the thought of kneeling down and tending your shoes that I incapacitated myself with RSI and was unable to leave my cage.

Celebrating the mundane

Now I’m not gay or ‘owt but I went down the sexual health clinic in Woolwich a couple of weeks back for an HIV test, right. When I walked in, a lesbian social worker, not wanting to waste any time about it comes out and asks me if I’d had any gay sex lately.

Replying that regrettably I hadn’t, she then asks me if I’d had any sex actually and I kinda mumbled something incomprehensible about being in an on-off relationship where I think it’s on and she’s pretty convinced it’s off.

Next up she asks me if I’ve taken any hard drugs lately and I’ve gotta say I felt I was missing out, like a bit of a square when I said no again. Short of saying “Next” and bringing in someone more interesting, she couldn’t have sounded, more disappointed that she had before her in her surgery some sort of straight, non-sexual, teetotal loser.

The nurse who took my blood was gay too, but very nice (though perhaps not “conversion-nice” if you know what I mean) and he actually made me pass out by sticking his prick in me. In my arm that is. A needle. Sorry I couldn’t resist it. Cheap gay gag I should be ashamed of myself.

The results came back later that day and I personally was absolutely overjoyed when they told me.

I don’t have AIDS

I was so over the moon about this result that I went home singing a song and skipping all the way back to my student halls where I proclaimed with deep joy the fact that I, in fact did not have AIDS to my bemused housemate and my equally bewildered and concerned “girlfriend” who was pretty sure that perhaps there was something I should have mentioned before we started shaggin each other.

With the realisation that I didn’t have HIV I realised too that I was in great physical and my (erm…..?) mental health was pretty sound too. I also realised that I had two arms, 2 legs and 10 fingers and toes, and didn’t have the plague. The day just kept better and better and soon I was adding new verses to my song that started off like this.

I don’t have HIV
I don’t have HIV
I don’t have HIV
I don’t have HIV
Lalalalalalalala
I don’t have HIV

Realising that this needed a bit of work I now added more lines and it now went

I don’t have HIV
I don’t have HIV
Lalalalalalalaalal
I also don’t have the plague
Or yellow fever
But I’m not sure about those last two
Because I haven’t been tested
But at least
Dadada
I don’t have HIV

Both little Ms. C’s, Arty C and Eatty C, looked on and sighed the sigh of people who had seen the descent of man unfold before them.

In this country we take things for granted. That we wake up alive is surely cause enough for celebration and, that we wake in good health should give us a daily cause for rejoicing. Perhaps it is familiarity with good health that makes us so blasé but who wants to wake up sick with HIV? At least I know for sure that, as I type, I don’t have HIV and that thought has just made me smile a broad U shape right across my face.

Stop for a second, check that your cock is still attached (men only obviously – or if you’re indulging in lesbian love at the same time then it’s an equally applicable sentiment. Or if you’re a he/she-male thing) or you still have a nose. If you’ve got one (or both) sing and whoop with joy for a minute and bask in the knowledge that you are alive.

It’s bloody great is living

Calendar - New Blog Feature

So that you lot know what to look forward to I'm putting my calendar online. I've got to sort out the logistics of it, synchronisationment and stuff and I've got to get a PC that works and you'll be able to see exactly everything that I'm doing or have done. The calendar can be found on http://calendar.yahoo.co.uk/sally500uk or by clicking the link in the margin.