I rang Sandy, and at the mention of what I was doing with my sausage she put the phone down. I can only assume someone important walked into the agency, Hugh Grant or Michael De Caprio or someone.
Chester is looking more and more likely. The sausages say so, and I have also taken the liberty of consulting my psychic guide, Madame Busty. She is a true gift I found in the back pages of a magazine. For 1.50 a minute, she advises me on all aspects of my life. It was she who first advised me to get my sausages out and give them a good quizzing.
I need to pack. Oh, what to do!
THINGS TO PACK
5 Shirts
5 Trousers
5 Underpants
5 Vests
Picture of Proust
Travel Olives
Foot odour powder (in sealed container)
Trilby
Camera (with film this time)
Dr Hoots' Book of sexually transmitted diseases
DVD of Ricky Gervais
Some candles (not lit)
That should about do it. I haven't put down bathroom bag because we would be here all day listing the ephemera in there and I have also not listed pajamas, simply because when on the road, one likes to sleep au natural, to really get into the skin of the character. Also Timothy West took the piss out of my Porky Pig PJs last time.
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