Things I can do overseas...potentially:
Act like a chav on the tube and see what happens.
Take trains to wherever the fuck I fancy.
Learn a new language. Preferably German so that I can sound very romantic when I order a bratwurst. Kidding. About the bratwurst.
I can ski. A lot.
I can visit a mate on his own Croatian island.
I could potentially go to Hawaii. I know someone there too.
I could go to Hong Kong and eat lots of noodles, I can go to Tokyo and dress up like how people dress in Tokyo and get away with it without the blink of an Anglo-Saxon eyelid.
I could go to San Francisco and become a hippie bastard.
I could eat extremely interesting food. Not haggis and snails, but I'm game for frogs legs again.
I could go to Bratislava and get hammered in some eastern bloc-dungeon with a whole lot of construction workers.
I could walk across Berlin tracing my steps exactly across where the wall was the whole way.
I can lie naked in the Tiergarten.
I could wear my big red coat again.
I could invest in the Scandanavian techno industry.
Which is solely dominated by Ace Of Base.
Which reminds me. At this techno party I held at my house on Saturday for lack of wanting to leave my apartment – it was the social choice – and I've done a sterling job of staying in pyjamas for the last few days - all the old favourites were pulled out from my [extensive] collection of 90s synthesised glory tunes. Were all jumping around the lounge to the likes of Haddaway, Dr Alban, that Blue-dabadee song. By Eiffel 65. Yes that one. I was loving it on Saturday night.
I could hang with my crazy aunt in Canada. That would be a hoot.
I could wear my red coat and buy Brit pop music in HMV.
I could fuck off to the Alsace Lorraine for breakfast and be back by lunchtime.
I can and will – mark my words – strip naked and swim in the Serpentine.
I can meet remarkable men who could whisper the following in my ear:
Or “You're a peach”
Or “Bonsoir cherie amour, voulez-vous une vin rouge avec moi?”
Or “Ole! Y I am nice hombre!”
Or “Myfamwy, Grwpiau Cyfeiriadur Mewngofnodi Ymchwiliad!” That's Welsh, Uwch.
Or “China, I can skeef you looking at my jean pant, yeah.” (In which, I'd abruptly make a hasty departure.)
Or “Love you long time, 5 dollar.” (Maybe I'd leave, maybe I wouldn't.)
I could dye my hair platinum blonde again, wear a red coat and wear plenty of home-made scarves.
Basically, I could completely reinvent my entire existence.
PS: I'm off on an Easter Extravaganza with my parents. As in I'm doing a road trip across this country with my folks for five days. Well I got nothing else going on have I.