My Mucous Just Cares For Me

I am bored out of my sodding brain, which makes me incredibly nervous.. as generally when i’m bored I like to make trouble for entertainment. And as i’m here, living in an environment which is covered in cameras and bound by an 8 page legal contract that pays me a lot of money, it’s really not in my best interest to make any trouble. Thank God at 31 i’m able to rein in the beast.. because ten years ago this hotel would have had to deal with a whole HEAP of trouble. It’s like being on Big Brother.. but not being watched by 6 million people, and not having to communal shower. 

Tonight, I’m sorry to say, in my brief singing career, I lost my voice. Three weeks of singing 4 hours a night – went out, got drunk, smoked cigarettes, caught bird flu a WEEK AGO and tonight.. TONIGHT! No voice. See you later alligator. Opened the old gob and nada came out. And anything that DID come out was not what I expected at all. I now feel a strange kinship to the male race and their unruly pubescent utterings.

Made the call this morning and started a course of antibiotics.. thank god. So hopefully by Monday if I don’t speak at all for two days i’ll be a bit better. Unholy nightmare.. fuck bird flu.

So the band came through with the goods tonight, and filled in for me – as I was actually totally unable to sing at all after more than 2 songs in a row. The bass player was delighted I think, as he got to belt out Careless Whispers and Strangers in the Night. The Spaniard turned up again, and tried to make a date with me for the flower market in the morning.. but I declined due to illness (thank GOD for the germs). He squirmed around in his seat for a while, and then wrote down his room number as he’s leaving tmrw and told me i’m missing out if I don’t hang out with him. Amazing how that wedding ring flashed in the ambient light every time he moved.. Fucking men. Enough to make a heterosexual romantically orientated woman want to kill herself immediately. He’s actually very very nice, very charming, very attractive. But that is worth half a pinch of nothing when you’ve made a promise to someone you are meant to LOVE, that you have CHILDREN WITH,  to keep your penis in your pants.

On the whole married subject, it seems that the habit of complete strangers commenting on my relationship status or lack thereof as SOON as I step foot out of lethargic Australia extends into Hong Kong as well. The Spaniard wanted to know what was wrong with me – as apparently someone as lovely as me being single was unheard of and it was obviously my fault I wasn’t married (possibly something to ponder). Then as I made a quick getaway after the gig clutching stacks of music books and teetering around in a sweaty malaise on my high heels towards the lifts a pair of Indian guys stopped me and wanted to know why I wasn’t married. My stock standard answer is going to have to do fine, and I may have to learn it in 30 languages.. “Nobody’s asked me”.. “nessuno ha chiesto”..

I might put in an “I have virulent Syphilis” in there too.. maybe I can get a phrasebook to help me. I’ve heard they’re out there. But now.. with my lack of voice, aching muscles and hyperactive brain I suppose i’d better go to bed. Wheee.