Deserter

I’m off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz.  Actually, no, I’m not.  I’m off to run naked through a desert and crush bandit’s skulls with a claw hammer whilst being pursued by Tina Turner and her gang of merry men.  Actually, no, I’m not.  But I am off to a desert.  A desert in Nevada.  For a festival.  And there probably will be nakedness.

Many people would wonder why I would like to do such a thing, but, as I gaze through my wonderfully grubby windows to the dreary August skies, I wonder if my actions are justified.  Running through a desert naked may seem a bit mental to most.  And we would be missing out on the ever popular rainy season in England.  But what the hey, it’s booked now.

So, yes.  A desert.  A desert with a temporary city.  Black Rock City.  And not a Tesco in sight.  Which, being a Londoner, is a daunting task given that a Tesco can be found every 100 metres.  What will one consume if not a handful of enrichingly bland sandwiches?  I think I’ve consumed about 2 million of these ever convenient bread things since I moved here 5 years ago.  I’m not sure how my body will cope going a whole week without the stuff.  How will anyone cope?  Oh no, what have I done?  This is madness surely?  A whole 2 weeks without Tesco!  I didn’t think this through.  Where else can I get my finest non-taste pizzas?  Where else can I get my fix of scanning items for myself?  That daily dose of having worked for Tesco.  And where else can I queue whilst simultaneously contemplating taking my own life?   Who will provide the mind numbing daily monotony if Tesco is not there?  It’s a scary prospect.

As for queuing, will there be amenities for us English folk?  I mean, we love queuing.  I hope the yanks understand this.  A holiday isn’t a holiday unless you queue for at least half of it.  I couldn’t think of anything better than to spend half my holiday queuing.  I’m hoping Black Rock City will provide us English with a queue simulator or something.  Otherwise, there’ll be hell to pay.

Mmmm, this stale muffin from Tesco is delicious.  The way it breaks into dry little pieces in your mouth is just, well, beyond satisfying.  A whole stale muffin for only 79p.  Can you believe that.  What value.  I feel like I should go back and pay more.  Like 5 pounds or something.  This Tesco is far too generous.  What mugs.  They won’t last surely.

I’ve decided against buying a knife.  Being in the desert, there aren’t many trees and the need for a knife is somewhat minimal.  Hannah told me that walking around the desert with a knife might seem a little hostile.  She might have a point, but that Crocodile Dundee fella had a big knife, and he was a lovely bloke.  He could also train aggressive dogs to sit, just with the power of his hand.  What a talent.  I wonder what he’s doing now.  Perhaps he trains dogs.  Like that Supernanny woman.  You know, naughty dogs.  Or perhaps he’s retired to the country with that nice American woman he met.  Sue, that was her name.  She was gorgeous.  Probably lost her looks now.  But Mick won’t mind.  He’s a top bloke.

So yeah, I’m ready.  Packed my shamagh, guitar and walkie talkies.  Mad Max ain’t got nothing on me.  I got way more facial hair as well.  So much in fact that I can afford to shave some off leaving just a moustache.  Mr Max didn’t have any facial hair.  I think that was his mistake to be honest.  Sometimes I think if he had a good beard or tache, he wouldn’t have been chased around so much.  The bandits would pay him way more respect.  You wouldn’t catch Tom Selleck being chased around a post-apocalyptic landscape.  Not with that tache.  He wouldn’t have it.  But that Mad Max guy, well, he got it wrong from the offset, as soon as he got his Mach3 out.  Perhaps that’s why he’s a massive racist now.

Straw hat? Check.  Shades? Check.  Dildo?  Check.  Oh wait, do I need to take this?  Can’t really think of a reason to use a dildo in the desert.  Better take it anyway.  You never know.  I don’t wanna be all “…I should’ve bought the dildo”.  That’ll just be frustrating.  Besides, I’m not sure I can fit the sex chamber in the bag.

Okay, that’s it I’m packed.  Gutted to be missing the last weeks of summer here.  If when I’m away I find Jesus, I’ll be sure to let him know how good you’ve all been.  He’s the one who delivers the Christmas presents right?