Weight 13st 11. CNPS numbers spotted 2 (718)
I had another lovely, sunny afternoon date on the South Bank. This time I was going on the London Eye. The people operating it insist on calling the ride, a "flight". They are wrong to do this. At no point do you fly.
I thought it would be kind of cool if the pod you were in could suddenly take off and hurtle into space (like a sci-fi escape capsule), and if that happened the word flight might be justified. But instead it just moved round, very slowly, always attached to the central wheel.
Walking along the south bank in the early summer sun on a week-day afternoon felt very decadent and relaxing. It kind of made me feel like I never want to do any work again (not that I've been doing very much - my first preview of Hercules is in just over a week and I haven't written a word). I'd really just like to spend the rest of my life dating a different woman every day, with maybe about an hour of professional number-plate spotting just to tide me over. I remarked to 24 that I quite fancied becoming a gigolo and charging women for my time, my company and then maybe if they were rich enough, a little bit extra at the end of proceedings. She didn't seem convinced that I would get all that many offers. At the moment I am paying for everything on these dates and I wonder whether there would be so many women keen to come out with me if the financial shoe was on the other pecuniary foot. I would only charge £200 a day (plus extras) or £300 a day for men who wanted to go out with a tiny fatty breasted, a podgy stomached woman with male genitalia.
Failing this I could always still live this lotus eating idyll by fulfilling my life-long dream of becoming a tramp. I am certainly consuming the requisite amount of alcohol, though mainly in cocktail form, which would make me a somewhat eccentric hobo. I quite like the idea of being a cocktail drinking tramp, who also actually still has a house. It's cheating a bit, but I would still do the whole tramp job (though not begging as I wouldn't want to steal the living from the bona-fide non-cocktail drinking tramps). It's worth thinking about.
At the moment I can live a life of ease as I am earning enough to live off from the highly successful French version of "Talking Cock". It's nice to know that someone is working their guts out in Paris every night in order to finance my self-indulgent and somewhat suspicious plan to date 50 women in 50 nights (I think the ultimate joke would be if I ended up not doing anything about it in the show or anything ever).
But though the show extended its run I think it has just come to an end. And thus my tramp with a house life-style might have to come to an end. Or I could sell the house and keep up the cocktail drinking, for a while at least.
On the positive side all ths means I will probably start getting back to work again.
The ambition that drove my career through my twenties to the exclusion of almost everything else has left me. But it will be good to get back to work properly. I am still finding it difficult to apply myself though.
Let's hope the proposed French autumn tour and DVD release happen. Then it's cocktails on the south bank until my liver packs in.
