Iestyn Edwards is...what?

Flixy is showing off to the very cute PAT man. She pokes her head through the kitchen serving hatch. 'What are you doing, please?' I tell her I'm clearing away some of the overspill recycling. She withdraws.  As I'm putting my shoes on, she looms and very loudly, obviously for PAT man to hear, says 'Did I tell you my brilliant plan? You know the sequinned dress I never wear?' How possibly? 'The one I've done some photo shoots in?' Again, how possibly? 'I'm going to take it to Eastbourne on Thursday and get Ivy to model it, telling her it's going on Ebay; and my plan is she'll fall so in love with it, she'll pay me loads and loads of money for it herself.' I can just imagine the PAT man's report. Kitchen a filthy disgrace. Renters are twats. And talk of the Post Offian lack of proper communication between different departments - will he tell the letting agents, who should in turn tell the landlord, Flixy is doing the opposi...

Flixy and Marty got drunk watching reruns of early Sex and the City and brought their weak bladders upstairs ten times in two hours between them. Scuff, buffet, creak, flick, piddle, flush, reverse.  When I went down to make hot chocolate Flixy got all squirmy and overdone pointing out his pornographic socks. The socks have line drawings on (with dots) of breasts. I said they reminded me of Love Hearts sweets.  Flixy gave me a greeting from Seraphina, on the Tits on Tour bus. 'She's very calm to share with and she's very nice in the bus and not like Ivy and Belle who sit at the back when everyone's trying to sleep on the way home and sing. Belle's got the weirdest face, shaped like a corner house...' In the kitchen, I'd forgotten the serving hatch. Flixy could see me mouthing the words along to her umpteen-tieth retelling of this same old shit.  Good, actually.  #diary #memoir #autobiography #biography #brighton #lgbtqia #journal #journalling 

Flixy has always said Trombone Tracey is 'spectrumy' and awkward; and tried to make Flixy move some of her (they're dead, actually) plants, and some other 'stuff' (junk), etc. She also stressed that, in comparison to Flixy's regular performances for  Tits on Tour, Trombone Tracey wasn't doing anything much at all, just hanging around upstairs thumping and being demanding. Whereas actually Trombone Tracey performs stand up at the Top Secret Comedy Club, played trombone for Anne-Marie on a reload of "On the Day We Fell in Love" and has just produced a short film starring Frankie Boyle.   But of course put her Trombone Tracey in a box, Flixy. Put us all in a box, Flixy.  #memoir #autobiography #diary #diaries #lgbtqia #brighton #cabaret #anne-marie 

Re-reading Dombey and Son. How did Dickens create so many walk-on characters that are funny but also alive? Miss Tox and the Major being two. Both are shown to clearly want something - to marry Dombey (Miss Tox) to impress Miss Tox (the Major.) It reminds me of Evelyn Waugh advising a writer not just to bring someone onstage to make jokes. Miss Tox and the Major are always trying to reach their goals.  Marty comes over again to collect some records. He tells me he has so many records he keeps them in three different places. He could make a definite list of records he will play at a gig, he says, but then there are always those moments when he feels, 'Oh, I wish I had such and such a tune...that would be perfect to play right now.' He tells me Flixy had a good first night - though she didn't particularly like Stevenage - is sharing a hotel room with someone 'calmer' (he doesn't say who she shared with before that wasn't calm) and she was able this time to joi...

Flixy said, 'If you're doing past the Lidl at the end of the road past the Bingo Hall - where it turns off to go to the Marina - can you return something?' I queued twice. She hadn't given me the pin for her card. She then gave me the wrong pin. And when I told her this, insisted she had rung to tell me the correct pin, right after I told her about the first pin being wrong. There had been no such phone call. As I was walking away from Lidl, to look at some more typical Brighton Blue Plaques that come under the heading; 'Who the fuck was that?!', she texted with the wrong pin number again and a different one.  I've been working on some material based on her compulsion to begin every sentence with 'I', and on the way she can turn anywhere you care to mention into a venue relevant to herself.  'Leigh-on-Sea? I did a photo shoot there. You know my fembot one? The photographer can get a bit sleazy but he was okay with me. He said he really loved my l...

 Marty has the brightest orange socks. He tells me, unnecessarily, Flixy bought them. His feet are very small. I don't like that he messaged saying he was coming to pick some stuff up, so not to be worried if I heard strange noises downstairs; that implies I would automatically be upstairs in my attic. No. He is there for some leads, chargers and records, he tells me. I nearly reply, 'We do not wish to hear this, kindly leave the stage', which, Ken told me, they used to sing during auditions at the BBC in the nineteen sixties. I still fantasise about Ken's niece, Naomi, ringing to tell me probate has gone through so I can now have his flat. 'Or the cash equivalent.'  Confused WhatsApp from Kristian saying sorry (I had messaged him saying he is not to smoke - I saw some photos on his Instagram) but he was put onto work yesterday, and it's thirteen hours door to door delivering parcels. 'Not so sure about this...' One of his routes takes him directly p...

I have sinusitis and a bit of wheeziness. Before my cacao in matcha latte oat milk I tilt myself forward and backward and then roll from the waist to dislodge phlegm.  As a toddler, when I was recovering from the fatal strain of croup, Doctor Halfpenny...I don’t know what he would be called these days factoring in inflation: Doctor Twenty-Six Pounds Seventy-five, maybe? Anyway, to shift phlegm he recommended Eirwen and Terry play the Fishy in the Water game.* One or other of them would sit me facing them on their lap, then tilt me backwards so my head was just off the floor and sing, ‘Fishy in the Water/Fishy in the Sea/Who Do You Like Best/The fishes or me?’  And to be lifted upright again I’d have to reply, ‘You’. I gave them such a complex... ‘Fishes.’  ‘Fishes.’  ‘Fishes.’  By the time we went back for my check up with Doctor Twenty-Six Pounds Seventy-five again I’d effectively renamed his game, ‘Don't ask the question if you can't handle the answer, bitches...