Up For The Cup
Last night the bunk above me was host to a lovely girl called Emily. In the morning I woke to find a bra on the pillow next to me.
For a moment I wondered what had happened in the night, and wondered why I wouldn't remember something like that happening. But soon I realised it must have fallen down the gap in between the beds.
She had already left for the airport early that morning, so I thought I'd keep it as a "souvenir".
Little did I know that later that evening, it was to prove a most useful find. It was a 34C by the way.
Dame Edna Average
So last night was Dan's birthday celebrations. As it was a Tuesday it coincided with the World Bar's Ladies' Night.
Ladies' Night means free champagne for the ladies only, whilst the men drink their one free drink and stand around to watch the women get drunk and dance with their arms in the air to Club Tropicana by Wham. Not usually a great night.
But, however, here is the twist. If you are prepared to dress up as a woman you too can drink free champagne. And you too can disappear off to the toilet in groups of 5 to touch-up your make up.
Previously male inhabitants of The Pink House have been resistant to dressing up in drag, but seeing as it was Dan's birthday, it rapidly and inexplicably became compulsory. I don't know how that happened.
Danny La Rue The Day
Within half an hour men were rummaging around for dresses and wigs and hassling the women for lipstick and eyeliner.
Luckily I had the bra. Stroke of luck. I stuffed it with some socks, borrowed room-mate Emma's spangly top and pashmina and made my way upstairs to Room 15 where Beth from Montreal was applying make-up.
I'd already had a go at putting some lipstick on, but like a 4 year-old child was pretty wide of the mark and had given myself a big pink clown mouth. I'd also poked myself in the eye twice with the mascara wand.
When Beth saw my handiwork she decided to keep it consistent and applied eye shadow which she then smeared down face to give the impression that I had been crying. When she had finished I looked like Liza Minelli after a night on the absinthe.
Raj was already there with his hair in bunches. Earlier in the evening he had been caught ironing his shirt for work whilst wearing a lovely floral print skirt. It looked like a scene from the "I Want To Break Free" video by Queen. He wasn't as attractive as Roger Taylor though.
His dress was so tight that he couldn't fit any fake tits up his top.
"Ha, you've got no tits" said someone
"Doesn't matter" replied Raj "It's personality that counts"
We gathered in the courtyard to admire each other's choice of dress and feel each other's tits. It's amazing. Usually, tits are completely out of bounds. But under these circumstances, we were like kids in a sweet shop. A dirty sweet shop obviously:
"Come here, let me feel yours. Oh yours are harder than mine"
"Yeah, but your nipples are more realistic"
"Oh shut up. Yours are nicer than mine"
"Steady, you'll burst them"
It didn't matter that we looked like a we'd been dragged through Anne Widdecome's wardrobe backwards, if there was chance of a grope we were going to take it.
I was really getting in touch with my feminine side. At one point I went to take off my jumper the bloke way (grab the back with both hands and wrench), but realised that, with baps, I had to do the whole woman-cross-your-arms-over-thing. Now I know why women do that.
Man, I Feel Like A Woman
The rest of the evening passed in a predictably drunken fashion. Bizarrely, it's amazing the amount of female attention you get whilst dressed as a woman. How does that work? I'm only interested in talking to you if you're dressed like me.
At the end of the evening I had a clever escape route. I'd brought my jumper, so I could dump the bra and wash off the make-up. Not so for Big Jamie who, at 2.30 in the morning, was breaking up a fight in a kebab shop whilst wearing eyeliner from Max Factor and foundation by Rimmel London.
I got to bed at 3am. I felt washed out. I think it might be my time of the month.
Dad, if you are reading this - I am not on the turn.