HAIR, MELONS & BUSHES OH MY!

Sweet smell of summer - it's mother fucking roasting and a bottle of champagne in the fridge can't remedy how sticky and hot it is all day and night. I walked home yesterday (as I always do) but stopped off at the supermercado to grab a few essentials which would have been a good move had melons not been on offer. So I walked home laden with 2 melons in my bag and a few other bags of bits and bobs. I was literally bagged down and pissing of sweat when I got home that it wasn't pretty. I looked like a sweaty burst couch left out on the street for the bin men to pick up but get pissed on by drunks on a Saturday night before the bin men arrive - it was that bad.

My hair has taken a very Krystle Carrington turn in this weather. Wings are in as my hair sweeps to the side with a style that would make Linda Evans jealous, well maybe not Linda Evans but certainly Donna Mills. Not that I should be complaining as it's great to have good weather but I must admit, I love nothing more than the cold. A cold bedroom and flat and cold weather is right up my street. In January when we went to Paris it was like the Baltics but we still sat outside a cafe with our gloves on, smoking fags, drinking wine and chittering our teeth - I was in my element. However, in a few weeks or days probably, the typical Scottish weather will resume with rain pissing from the heavens and wind causing not Linda Evans but Helen Hunt in Twister hair.

Now I put these melons of mine to good use and made a fruit salad unlike a girl I worked with. She went shopping and bought a watermelon and placed it on her kitchen counter. It rolled and rolled and fell on her neighbour's tiny dog she was looking after and killed it dead. Death by Watermelon.

Possibly the only thing worse than Death by Watermelon would be getting caught shagging a dirty old man in the bushes like George Michael. Now I've seen a bit of cruising in my time - especially a few weeks ago when I unwittingly arrived in a cruising spot when I was going to my car. But there is not even grass on God's green earth to make lie down on it with the fat van driver that George was bumpin and a grindin with - did he not even make out the guy's body shape or did he think it was Elton John? George did look quite bemused by the whole thing. However if I was George's lover, Mr Kenny Goss (son of a millionaire Texan) I would be wondering what evil machinations I had done to my boyfriend if he saw fit to toss off a man with a potbellie a van and a manky mattress in said van. Whatever drove George to do something like that must have been exotic and nasty because surely that's the only way he'd spunk up with a man who wears shorts and boots on a pebble beach with his socks showing - what self respecting gay man would be seen dead on a pebble beach unless it was a nudist beach with Andrea True Connection's "More More More" playing?