I’ve done
it! I’ve reached what’s known in the sunbathing world as ‘Official Dickinson’.
The holy grail. You can only dream of it as you shiver in
Britain’s wettest summer in 100 years, but bang a week in Turkey into the mix,
show some commitment and hey presto. I’m beiger than a 70’s Geography teacher.
My work is done. I shall be expecting a telegram from the King of Beige himself
any time soon.
It’s always
good to have goals on holiday. I set out to look the same colour as my brown
leather belt and I’ve nailed it. But I’m not satisfied, I’m not stopping now.
Day 7 is all about going for the impossible. I’m looking to go the same
colour as Elvis’ black leather suit so I blend in at Pub Idle 3, my 40th
birthday party next Sat.
I’m Tired
today, so I sent the girls off on a jeep safari all day. I was just not up for
it, so I had a day on my own, in peace, to try and get on with what I needed to
do, other than do a reverse Michael Jackson. (Go from white to black)
Slept, ran
(1 hour), sunbathed, read, did a 2 hour writing stint, a gym session, wrote
some more and that was the day complete. Time soon goes.
Saturday
night soon came and I continued to get loads more messages about the Tesco
Mobile advert. Mostly from people I haven’t seen for a ages. It must be airing
on prime time TV. It’s funny because it’s an advert and I appear for a massive
4 seconds, people are doing a double take. “Is that Nick?” When you have a pal
in TV or the movies you know they will appear on screen, when you have a pal
who’s effectively a nobody and they appear fleetingly in an advert you don’t
expect it, so it’s a total double take.
I’ve had
messages from Portugal and the best one goes to William, a Millwall fan, who
informed me the advert was played at half time on the big screen at The Den
today. Great, I’m in my kegs doing yoga at Milwall FC. He did the line of day
though, when he said “you’ll understand why I didn’t mention to everyone I know
the bloke in his underpants on the telly”
It’s been a
massive response (for me) around 30 messages from people. Mostly saying well
done. Not sure why though, as all I did was sit around in my grundies in Kew
Gardens for 2 hours to have 4 seconds used in an advert selling a pony old
mobile phone. They didn’t even give me one. And I’m told I only got the gig
because I’m cheaper than Beckham and don’t bone as many Welsh Opera singers.
I’m exactly
14 mins and 56 seconds shy of Warhol’s 15 minutes of fame. Much rather get a
well done from something I’ve actually achieved. Still I’m gunning for more.
Aldi, Lidel, Focus, Poundstretcher. Asda. Bring them all on.
The night
was spent setting the world chicken kebab eating record. I unofficially clocked
my own body weight in grilled meat, 3 times I went up and still the diet buffet
was empty. God was in the house again, though he went for pasta tonight. Must
get a picture with Mr Omnipotence tomorrow.
Then it was ‘show
time’. Because it’s a family hotel they put on a show every night at 10pm. Now
the first 2 nights basically made me want to kill myself, so I ducked out of night
3. Tonight was ‘Beach Party’ on the beach and was actually very good. All
professional dancers fire juggling, performance art, fire breathing, dancing to
loud pumping music to a backdrop of mountains and full moon. It was a proper
show and impressive.
However, the
most impressive thing was the Scandinavian MC who started off the night by
loudly proclaiming everyone to come down the stairs to the ‘Bitch Party’. He
couldn’t pronounce Beach, so plumped for ‘Bitch’. I’ve never seen an all
inclusive bar empty so quickly.
Sadly it was
actually a beach party, but my wandered to what a ‘Bitch Party’ would look like.
I’ll keep those thoughts to myself though, they are pretty wrong.
They then
got all kids and adults up to do the conga and dance the Macarena etc. It was
actually my vision of what hell looks like. An enforced fun that comes with
family entertainment. Though I did observe behaviour in myself I don’t particularly
care for and would like to change. It’s my in built cynicism and judgment.
I mean there
were Palestinians and Lebanese blokes rushing around taking pics of their kids
and wives, trying to dance and failing miserable. One was actually stunning in
his complete inability for any basic rhythm. He looked like he was having a
stroke.
But what I
did was observe. Take the piss in my own head and judge. I mean OK it is
actually a vision of hell. People are obsessed with taking pics constantly to ‘capture
a moment’ whilst totally missing it because they have a camera stuffed in their
hands, enforced fun is painful but so what. I was with a 10 year old; I should
have been down there busting some shapes making a tit of myself.
I have come
to the conclusion I too suffer from ‘locked in’ syndrome. I mean I can actually
move my body but too often I’m locked in self trying to look cool, unable to
cut loose from fear, image, whatever. It’s about time I took of the brakes and
stopped worrying about making myself look an idiot, taking myself way too
seriously and let go. What does it matter what people think? That’s not my
business? It’s restricting and debilitating.
I mean come
on Nick, should you really take yourself too seriously and be worried about
people laughing or taking the piss of you when you have posed in your kegs
doing poncy yoga with a massive quiff in red budgie smugglers in front of
12,000 Millwall fans at the Den? Good job they’re crap otherwise it would have
been 20,000
It’s surely
time to let go and cut loose. Obviously I’m delighted to have reached ‘Dickinson’
status but maybe that should be my other goal for the holiday?
Xx
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