The Fag Hag is about to pack up her teeny Polish prossie triangle bikinis and diamante stack-heeled flip-flops into her little Louis Vuitton holdall. No my darlings, I haven’t got an escort date with a particularly specific John, but am popping over to the fabulously 70s Juan Les Pins in the South of France for a little break!
I’ve already had a stern talking to from my travelling companions muttering grumpily about potential Aaliyah-type incidents on our plane due to my various trunks, gym balls and fake tanning booths – so this year I’ll be travelling light! Well, light-ish. Compared with Liberace on a world tour. Or Mariah Carey emigrating to Perth with the intention of setting up a second-hand clothes store. Or Elton John popping down the shop to get some cake…
‘Pashminas are always useful and multi-purpose,’ revealed a writer woman with a fat face in a magazine piece I was reading about holiday packing. They’re also for secretaries from Haywards Heath at regional weddings.
‘Lycra is great because it doesn’t crease!’ said fatty. ‘Lycra is great but only if you’re called Sarah, Siobhan or Keren and it’s 1987!’ I found myself spitting aloud.
I’m done with this travelling light crap. Pilot, clear that cockpit. We have hat boxes to seat.