I can't dance, at The Talk...

Only thing about me is the epilepsy...

Goodness gracious, what a day/eve!

So, I enjoyed Cinderella, although I have yet to decide whether HBCs scant screen time vs corset constrained cleavage was worth the pervosity quotient.

Of course it was! Best Færie Gothmother ever!!

Although that could be the inebriating influence of a hipflask full of Maple Jim Beam and two cans of Morgan's Spiced Rum & Coke!

So, after depositing Polish Pretties with their Other Halves, I took meself off to The Fair in Chav'll Thieve Gardens!

Boring! All I won was a Steak Baguette.

So I took meself off to The White Lion for more Cider!

Hic!

Then I toddled off down to The Talk for pints of Amaretto and Cider cocktail.

And it was Mod Night, with Small Fæces tribute band The Small Fakers¹, supported by... um... The Small Fakers With The Lead Singer Out Of The Byrds From The Sixties.

And a very impolite crowd are Mods. Why, I could barely hear the band o'er their loud, incessant chatter. Which was quite embarassing when each song finished and there was a slight ripple of applause undercutting the stream of babble.

It must be soul destroying to be on stage, and be ignored throughout. He must've been desperate to scream "LISTEN TO ME! I USED TO BE FAMOUS! I RECORDED TURN, TURN, TURN, MR TAMBOURINE MAN, 8 MILES HIGH... WON'T YOU PLEASE SHUT YOUR FACE AND HEAR ME SING!"

At least I didn't get duffed up by the big burly skinhead and his equally big beefy missus for telling him to shift out of our view... he just moved aside, clearly acquiessing to someone of such superior awexymness & Presence who's hard to say No to!

Or is that a John West Tuna Snack Pot (no, that were his sweaty bird's flange. possibly)

But when the DJ span his platters... the dancing... OMG the dancing...

Now, I'm seen as something as legend in the realm of dancefloor entertainment, but I have never seen such a shocking display of lack of rhythm or style. 

Obviously, as a Goth, I am unfamiliar with the rules of Mod Dancing, I know not which are "Boy Only" dances, "Girl Only" Dances, or "Mixed" dances. Although some Hippy Chick was dancing to a Boys Only dance, which was frowned upon. And some poor chequerboard chick kept turning through 180°, meaning at times she was female, and others a boy (for in Mod circles, compass point orientation determines gender on the dancefloor).

But some people made Ian Curtis look like Louis Spence. Or Wayne Sleep. Or Lionel Blair. or something,

Never have so many danced so badly and so out of time with so little rhythm!

Yeah, one or two had rhythm. Heck, even Great Fat Crystal Tipps in the ill-fitting 60s dress still had rhythm AND all the authentic moves! Mrs Legs Akimbo Trying To Pull Twiggy had rhythm.. well, one, slow, wide-legged rhythm for ever song. But most...

...as pissed as I was, I could have danced better! Even not knowing 99% of the badly covered Hits Of The Sixties!

As opposed to the Hots In Their Sixties, which presumably most of the mod crew thought they were. Bad outfits, badly aged, and bad hair.

SO much bad hair! And narry a Pretty amongst 'em! Well, apart from maybe 4: BlueDress, Speccy Blonde, Samantha "The Only And Hottest Reason We Used To Go To Pizza Hut Was Because She Waitressed There" Biggs, and... um... there must have been more than them three...

It was that bad, we left at about 12. 12! On a club night! How shockingly bad must it have been to get a taxi home at 12!

Well, I say a taxi home. I had to bloody well walk it! We planned on getting a taxi, but somehow, between the cloakroom and exit, my Sister managed to find Other People to fill the taxi to capacity. 

Other People who weren't her brother!

Other People that would exceed the seating capacity of 1.

A number that corresponds to the excess baggage that is The Xym.

And even if I could squeeze into the at-capacity taxi (assuming the driver would allow it), I refer people to my previous blog and point #2: HAVING TO INTERACT WITH STRANGERS!!!

Oh well, means I got some extra exercise at least. If fate meant me to walk, then surely it means I'm meant to have a big fat takeaway tonight. Why else force me to lose all them calories walking home in the icy cold with no warm eateries open due to being Zombie Jesus day?

¹ OR WAS IT THE SMALL FAKIRS. THEY WEREN'T MIDGETS THOUGH AND NON SPORTED A FEZ. I SUPPOSE THEY COULD BE CALLED MEN WITHOUT HATS... ALTHOUGH THERE WAS NO SAFETY IN THE DANCES THAT GURNING FOOL WAS FLAILING ABOUT WITH! YOU NEED A LOT OF ROOM TO MOD DANCE - MORE EVEN THAN ME!!!

See I've already waited too long, and all my hope is gone II...

Prophecy!!

Remember t'other day with my prank, when I said this:

Off to Vue after BoxFit tonight for first date with new Pretty... hope she doesn't get TOO jealous of HBC!

I then laughed about taking a Pretty for a romantic evening of perving over Helena Bonham-Carter whilst drenched in pheremonal boxing BO?

Well, such things are dreams are made of, and they come true!

For today, I'm off to Vue after BoxFit tonight for first date with new Pretty for a romantic evening of perving over Helena Bonham-Carter whilst drenched in pheremonal boxing BO!

Ok, so it's more I'm off to Vue Odeon after BoxFit tonight this afternoon for first date with new Pretty for a romantic evening afternoon of perving over Helena Bonham-Carter whilst drenched in pheremonal boxing BO!

Ok, so it's more I'm off to Odeon this afternoon for first a date with new a Pretty for a romantic afternoon of perving over Helena Bonham-Carter!

OK, so it's actually I'm off to Odeon this afternoon for a date with a Pretty for an romantic afternoon of perving over Helena Bonham-Carter!

Yeah, well, I'm off to Odeon this afternoon with a friend for an afternoon of perving over Helena Bonham-Carter!

OK OK, so it's just me & Monica going to watch Cinderella at Odeon, coz nobody else wanted to come. And she only needs me as an escort until her husband finishes work. An escort without the additional services of escorting we escorts are wont to supply. or something. Worse luck...

I am the son and the heir of a shyness that is criminally vulgar...

It seems people are still not "getting" The Xym.

*sigh*

I put a link up to 8 Reasons Why Authors Are Assholes citing points 2 & 4, but seeing as most people can't be bothered to follow links these days, I've emboldend the important bits below.

Take note, and I'll refer back to this blog whenever people moan about me disappearing/ not chatting up Pretties/ being "standoffish" and "unapproachable".

2. THE AUTHOR IS AN INTROVERT OR SHY.
This is me! I have Chronic Resting Bitchface. I can't introduce myself to people. I never want to bother someone or make them uncomfortable. So if you are shy and kind of hover around me, and I don't recognize you, I might avoid eye contact and check my phone. I am not one of those people who will wave at you and urge you to pick up my book or bookmarks. I will stare at the table and wait until you walk up to it and say something specifically to me because I would never want to pressure you to, say, be within twenty feet of me against your will. I am not a hard seller. This is one of my personal flaws that I am trying to fix.
But!
Once you establish that I know you via social media, that you've read my books, or that you are even vaguely interested in my books or a shared fandom, we can be buddies forever*. It's just rare that I will instigate a conversation with a stranger. Because I am terrified of strangers. 
*XymNote: If I only know you through Social Media, or a vague nodding acquaintance, you still fall into the scary stranger category, hence I'm unlikely to instigate non-Facebook converse.

4. THE AUTHOR IS WITH THEIR FRIENDS.
This one always worries me, because I've been the nobody snubbed by a clique, and I never want to be the snubber. I've been the shy kid, the bullied kid, the friendless kid. I've been that person at a con who knows absolutely no one and can't seem to squeeze into a circle of conversation. And yet I know that, at some point, I'll be hanging with some of my best friends to the exclusion of others and I might not even know it. These days, my very best friends are writers I only get to see a couple of times a year, and most of our relationship happens online, and when I actually get to see them, I am giddy with joy and focused on them. And if someone is hovering outside that circle, I might not notice it, and I hate that.

Life expectancy must be fairly short among your people...

So,

Last night was BoxFit. Tonight is an hours PT then another hour of BoxFit.

So, coz it were cold, I wear a thin, longsleeved sports top (black), with a sleeveless sports top over it (silvery grey).

And although my rippling muscles are much admired, it would appear that the combo of spindly black covered arms with a steely silvered torso is somewhat reminiscent of late 70s/Early 80s sci-fi attire.

So I looks like Kerr Avon out of Blake's 7!

Stick me eyepatch on, and I'm Space Commander Travis!

I draw the line at wearing a flimsy white dress just to look like Servalan though.

However, being all toned and buff is all very well. It's not much fun when the flimsy long-sleeved sports top turns out to be a thermal vest.

After an hour of lifting 40k weights, and another hour of being pummelled by powerfully pugilistic Polish Pretties, it's not the most comfortable of clothing afterwards!

But... at least I look like one of the cool guys, and not a great fat lumbering oaf like Olag Gan!

That said... tasked with talking to a Pretty, and I'm pretty sure I become Vila Restal...

"Xym to Liberator... Teleport me up NOW!!!"

See I've already waited too long, and all my hope is gone...

Mwah ha ha ha ha!

Honestly, how gullible are some people?

You KNOW what today is. You KNOW Pretties take a strong disliking to The Xym. But still...

I put up this Farceburk status:
Off to Vue after BoxFit tonight for first date with new Pretty... hope she doesn't get TOO jealous of HBC!

And it got several Likes, Congratulations, and Word Of Advice...

Oh dear.

I's been single now for xx years, and people suddenly think that on April Fool's Day, of all days, some form of Miracle will occur, and some poor misguided Pretty will  consent to escorting Xym end up out on a date. Let alone taking a Pretty for a romantic evening of perving over Helena Bonham-Carter whilst drenched in pheremonal boxing BO.

Some people will fall for anything.

Except Xym, that is...

On the plus side, my tip top hot-to-trot favouritest phwoarsomest Pretty of all sent me this:

As long as I don't die of Awesomeness, and a select few of my Harem, I can live with mephobia!