In which Tom becomes the Junk Lady
I'm off in a couple of hours to the Secret Garden Party in Huntingdon, where I am performing on Sunday, followed by a month in Edinburgh at the Edinburgh Fringe with my show "Pegabovine: Coat Of Arms".
Needless to say, I've got to take some stuff with me. I did think about getting into the Festival spirit, and turning up with just a teepee, some wet-wipes, and body paint, but that's a different type of Festival spirit to the Edinburgh Festival spirit, which is mainly about drinking and flyering in heavy rainfall.
Because of my burgeoning Milletts addiction, I purchased a Karrimor Wildcat backpack, which is a) enormous, and b) even bigger when you attach a compression sack with your sleeping bag in it onto the back of it. Looking at my profile in the mirror whilst wearing the Wildcat reminds me of my childhood fear of the Junk Lady from Labyrinth. I think the worst part about the Junk Lady from Labyrinth was when she came into Jennifer Connelly's house, and it was like a horrible nightmare all caused by David Bowie and his grey tights.
Also, I tried the Wildcat on when it was empty. It was amazingly pleasant - like being given a hug by a sloth made from synthetic fibres. Now it is full, it is like having an unconscious man slung across your shoulders, while you're trying to escape from a burning building. And the man has a compression sack with your sleeping bag in it strapped to his back. It is rubbish.
It has a good name, though. The Wildcat. Wiiildcat. Pppcchooow!
Despite all this, I have just discovered that I haven't packed a coat. If there's one thing you're going to need at both a music festival and the Edinburgh Fringe, it is a coat. Preferably a couple of coats. This means I'm going to have to unpack the whole thing, clear space for a couple of coats, and repack it, deciding what I can jettison. The stripey jumper would be a good bet. Idiot knitwear.
If there's one thing in the travelling experience that I would drop like a stone, it would be the heavy lifting. I quite like spending time on trains, looking out the window, or on planes, looking out the... uh... window, but the bit inbetween leaving the house and taking your seat fills me with anger and - more often than not - genuine physical pain. This is when I would like someone to actually get on and invent the Star Trek transporter.
If there was another thing I could get to drop from travelling, it would be travelling by coach. I travelled by coach to Dan and Sarah's wedding in Leeds a couple of years ago and I silently raged for the eight hours (or whatever) it took to get there about how coach users were treated like second class citizens. This may have been because I was late getting my coach and had to pay for another one.
Oh yes, and another thing I would like to drop from travelling is paying extra when you miss your train. This keeps happening to me, mainly because I prepare way in advance, so I then relax, and then get too relaxed, and then get late, and then miss my train. You then not only have the shame of missing your train, potentially missing something you'd really liked to have been at (like Mark Seddon's wedding - boo), but also having to pay over for something you've already paid for. This is a world of rubbish.
In a bid to stave off my relaxing, I'm now going to go sort out the Wildcat. I'll be back in a couple of days with tales of SGP and the start of "Pegabovine Into Edinburgh" 2007.
Needless to say, I've got to take some stuff with me. I did think about getting into the Festival spirit, and turning up with just a teepee, some wet-wipes, and body paint, but that's a different type of Festival spirit to the Edinburgh Festival spirit, which is mainly about drinking and flyering in heavy rainfall.
Because of my burgeoning Milletts addiction, I purchased a Karrimor Wildcat backpack, which is a) enormous, and b) even bigger when you attach a compression sack with your sleeping bag in it onto the back of it. Looking at my profile in the mirror whilst wearing the Wildcat reminds me of my childhood fear of the Junk Lady from Labyrinth. I think the worst part about the Junk Lady from Labyrinth was when she came into Jennifer Connelly's house, and it was like a horrible nightmare all caused by David Bowie and his grey tights.
Also, I tried the Wildcat on when it was empty. It was amazingly pleasant - like being given a hug by a sloth made from synthetic fibres. Now it is full, it is like having an unconscious man slung across your shoulders, while you're trying to escape from a burning building. And the man has a compression sack with your sleeping bag in it strapped to his back. It is rubbish.
It has a good name, though. The Wildcat. Wiiildcat. Pppcchooow!
Despite all this, I have just discovered that I haven't packed a coat. If there's one thing you're going to need at both a music festival and the Edinburgh Fringe, it is a coat. Preferably a couple of coats. This means I'm going to have to unpack the whole thing, clear space for a couple of coats, and repack it, deciding what I can jettison. The stripey jumper would be a good bet. Idiot knitwear.
If there's one thing in the travelling experience that I would drop like a stone, it would be the heavy lifting. I quite like spending time on trains, looking out the window, or on planes, looking out the... uh... window, but the bit inbetween leaving the house and taking your seat fills me with anger and - more often than not - genuine physical pain. This is when I would like someone to actually get on and invent the Star Trek transporter.
If there was another thing I could get to drop from travelling, it would be travelling by coach. I travelled by coach to Dan and Sarah's wedding in Leeds a couple of years ago and I silently raged for the eight hours (or whatever) it took to get there about how coach users were treated like second class citizens. This may have been because I was late getting my coach and had to pay for another one.
Oh yes, and another thing I would like to drop from travelling is paying extra when you miss your train. This keeps happening to me, mainly because I prepare way in advance, so I then relax, and then get too relaxed, and then get late, and then miss my train. You then not only have the shame of missing your train, potentially missing something you'd really liked to have been at (like Mark Seddon's wedding - boo), but also having to pay over for something you've already paid for. This is a world of rubbish.
In a bid to stave off my relaxing, I'm now going to go sort out the Wildcat. I'll be back in a couple of days with tales of SGP and the start of "Pegabovine Into Edinburgh" 2007.