The Horizontal Armadillo

GRUMPY

As you read this, I don't know where in the world I am. Literally. The Dreaded One and I decided to pack everything up and become gypsies. We have no home now. We purged and packed and our stuff is in boxes in a very big box at a box storage place. It's been a crazy few weeks. So busy. So frantic. I am bruised from carrying heavy boxes of stuff down the stairs. I've had little sleep. There has been too much to think about. If I could put all the stuff there is to think about into boxes our storage rate would have gone up considerably. It's worth it, in the long run, because life is to be lived and we are bound for Madrid and Boom in Portugal and other places as yet to be specified.

But there is soooo much to do before we get to that magical party that it frequently does my head in. There has simply been no time to get excited by our looming Boomer Gypsy status. (Ooh... Boomer Gypsy – I like it).

Somehow, loose ends get tied. Nerves are frayed. Is it right to quit jobs and pack everything up to go to a party? Actually, yes, done it before. Quit my job as music editor of a dance music mag to go to Soulclipse in Turkey, and it was the right thing to do.

Still. This is big. This is serious. Most of the millions of things to be sorted get sorted. Stress, yeah baby, I'm mainlining it. I'm tired and can't imagine a time when I'm kicking back and enjoying myself.

We're getting there in one go, all the way from Australia to Madrid via Singapore and Frankfurt. It's going to be a brutal long haul of discomfort, agitation and sleeplessness but we just want to get it over and done with.

On the plane, in my delirium, searching for sleep, an Armadillo emerges from the dark.

"Psst," the Armadillo says, looking a little shifty. "Comfortable?"

"Uh?"

"I said are you comfortable?"

"Are you kidding? It's a 26 hour flight. I can't remember comfortable. It's horrible. It's all so squishy and the bloke next to me keeps falling asleep with his head on my shoulder and I don't like it at all, Armadillo."

"I can fix that you know. And that's Mr Armadillo to you."

"What? No way, Mr Armadillo."

"No really. Ever heard of that stuff, Horizontal?"

He had my attention. "Heard of it, yeah. God what I'd do for a bit of Horizontal."

"I've got some."

"You've got some Horizontal? Some actual Horizontal?"

"Yeah, the real stuff and it's gooood shit."

"Really. Um... got any to sell?"

"That's why I'm here."

"How much?"

"It's not cheap."

"Okay, I don't care how much I gotta have some. I'm in a bad way. I gotta get me some Horizontal or I'm not going to make it through the night. Please Mr Armadillo, please, take all my money just gimme the Goddamn Horizontal."

We did the deal right there on that dark plane, and Mr Armadillo was right. It was good shit. Take my advice: if you're ever on a long flight and you're tired and squished and the guy next to you keeps falling asleep with his head on your shoulder and you get approached by a shifty Armadillo selling Horizontal, don't haggle, just buy that shit.

Grumpy the Boomer Gypsy is freelance writer Lee Bemrose. leebemrose@hotmail.com