It's my birthday weekend and I had turned down all gigs for today and tomorrow so that I could just rill (relax/chill) and have some fun. After a poor night's sleep I took my clippers and shaved off the moustache that I have had for nearly a month now. I had tried to take it off before I went to sleep, but the battery needed recharging on the clippers and I had only succeeded in taking off a little bit at the bottom. It felt incredible to get rid of that awful furry slug that has been blighting my life. Even though I don't need to lose it until Tuesday when I am doing my photoshoot I felt I owed it to my patient girlfriend to have this rare weekend off without her having to feel embarrassed to be standing next to a moustachioed nitwit.
It was though a surprising shock to see my face without the moustache: I have got so used to it. I looked a lot less ugly, but also didn't quite feel like myself. It was both a relief and a slightly jolting experience.
We got the early ferry back to the mainland which seemed even more 70s than on the way there largely because the captain kept making announcements about the various bars and lounges and the fact that you're not allowed to smoke on board "these days" or that there was a bar on one deck serving "something stronger" for those who liked an early start on such things (it was only 10am). My favourite bit though was when he revealed that there was a young woman on the upper deck who would be displaying "stick insects and a millipede, which as I understand it, has a lot of legs." It really made me laugh that there were multiple stick insects but only one millipede. But it was also terrifically retro to have someone on board displaying a small amount of insects to any children who happened to be interested. Having said that I did catch sight of the millipede later and it was impressively chunky. The insect wrangler was a sweet young lady who looked a bit like Alan Carr. The whole thing could have been a Victoria Wood sketch. Perhaps it was.
My girlfriend, knowing me all too well, was taking me to
Bignor Roman Villa on the way home. I do like a Roman ruin, but it also felt like the kind of thing that a man in his forties should be doing - visiting a minor villa in the middle of nowhere.
It was certainly no match for nearby
Fishbourne Palace and was very basic compared
to the incredible place we had been to in Sicily, but I still enjoyed pottering around. There were some beewax tablets lying around, for kids to get an idea of how the Romans wrote and to have a go themselves. Even though I am very nearly 42 I drew a cartoon of a cock on one of them. But out of respect for any young children unlucky enough to be dragged along to this attraction I kept it quite abstract and didn't put any spunk coming out of the end. I clearly still resolutely refuse to grow up. I hope I will always find that funny.
Like the ferry, the non-Roman parts of the attraction whiffed of the 70s. Even though it was a Saturday in the middle of the summer there were only about four other people there and the tiny indoor cafe had plastic chairs and tables, with red plastic table cloths with white spots on. As I looked at the minor everyday artifacts on display in the tiny museum I wondered if people of the future might visit a museum where these already archaic looking furniture. There was a good chance that this stuff would survive down the ages. To be honest the cafe already felt a bit like an exhibit.
We headed home for London and a terrific meal at a Thai restaurant in Fulham. I may have got drunk.
For the last time as a 41 year old.
I kept looking at myself in the mirror by our table, still unable to feel totally comfortable without my toothbrush.
