I'd rather have sleep than money.
I do like money. But mainly as a tool to enable as much sleep as possible.
I don't often feel a lack of money. I don't really live the kind of lifestyle that highlights the stark distinction between rich and poor. It doesn't cost that much for me to sit around watching cheesy 1960s Marvel Superheroes cartoons, eating grapes. I don't dine at fancy restaurants. I don't wear expensive clothes. I've got a rubbish mobile phone. I've never had to cover-up the murder of a hooker on a coke-fuelled Vegas weekend (it was Blackpool).
But sometimes my lack of funds is starkly defined. And such an event occurred yesterday...
I'm going to a black-tie dinner on Saturday (that very fact probably means that I'm not that poor in the scheme of things). But there was a problem with that dress-code: I haven't got a black tie.
And that's important. They've named the whole code after that particular item. It's integral. Without the black tie, black-tie isn't black-tie. You can't wear a red-tie. You can't dress as a member of the Black Panthers (I found that out the hard way). You need a tie, and it needs to be black.
So, to conclude: I had no black tie, the dinner was black-tie, I needed to get a black tie.
(I also don't have a dinner-jacket, but fuck that shit)
I wasn't really sure where to get one, but remembered buying one in my student days from one of those posh shops on the Oxford High St. The first one I came across was Ede & Ravenscroft.
It's one of those places that's stuck in the 1920s (in a good way). No prices on things, lots of wood panelling, and a friendly shop assistant with a tape measure round his neck.
"Good evening, my good fellow", I didn't say. But I should have.
He was slightly suspect. Very smiley, but you got the sense that he could smell the stink of the street on my person. I had been rolling around in the gutter, to be fair, but I'd combed all the vomit and old receipts out of my hair.
When I asked about their bow-ties, he asked me what my neck-size was. Not a good sign. I was hoping for one of those adjustable ones. Also, I had no idea. I think my neck size might be somewhere between 'Hulk Hogan bicep' and 'Whale penis', but those weren't standard sizes as far as I could recall.
Luckily he had a tape measure. After taking my measurements (oo-er!), and sodomising me politely (oo... oh), he pulled some boxes out of a concealed drawer. The bow-ties looked fancy. You had to tie them yourself. And they had price-stickers on them.
£35.
Now, if you know me, you know I'll do almost anything to avoid social awkwardness. And after the inquiries, the measurements, and the buggery, leaving now would certainly be awkward. But I just couldn't bring myself to pay £35 for a bow-tie I would almost certainly never wear again. I just couldn't. So I made my excuses ("I'm just going to think about it and come back"), and he bid me farewell (with clenched teeth, muttering: "I bet you will, you filthy cheapskate").
£35 was too much to spend. So what now? Another similar shop? Shepherd and Woodward, perhaps? Or the Varsity Shop? £35.
I knew I couldn't afford it. So I went to somewhere a little different:
B
H
S.
After the mahogany and silk of Ede & Ravenscroft, British Home Stores felt like wandering into a post-apocalyptic ghetto. There were Christmas decorations everywhere. People were wheezing into soupy cafeteria spag-bol. Kids were stumbling blindly, looking for someone to shank.
I headed straight for the suit section. All the suits looked like they were made of plastic. In the corner of the shop, I saw the bow-tie display, and didn't think twice.
£6.
That's much less than £35.
When I got to the check-out, the bored girl scanned it and saw that it had been reduced to £4.80.
£4.80. That's more my speed.
I paid with a crumpled fiver, and got the hell out of there.
I've never been on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, but I'm almost certain that it is generally a bad idea to buy evening-wear accessories from a place that also sells Pick 'n' Mix.
***
After this debacle, I walked all the way to the post office depot to collect a parcel. I've described it before. I was hoping to pick up my birthday present: a camcorder (I hope to post some fun videos here soon).
But after struggling through the cold and dark for ages, I finally got my parcel. And it was a camcorder... carry case.
Just the carry-case. I'd added about an hour and a half onto my day for a carry-case. And of course I don't have the item it was designed to carry. I could carry air in it, I suppose. Or a tennis ball. But it still made my trip tiring and redundant.
All in all, it wasn't the most fun evening I've ever had. But I went to bed at 8:45pm and slept until morning.
11 hours, all told. It was beautiful.
I'd rather have sleep than money. Or a camcorder.
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