It is only since moving to London that I have realised what a cotton-wool, sheltered existence I have been living in. You've got rich living next to the poor, mansions and crack dens, limousines and pushbikes, fat and skinny, black and white, crazy and more crazy.
These days when I see some rambling psycho coming towards me in the midst of having a fight with the wind, the best defence to make sure he doesn't mistake you for some dream demon who is trying to steal his banjo, is to act more crazy than the crazy guy.
If he's talking to himself, I sing to myself.
If he's punching thin air, I start bashing myself in the lungs.
Better to beat them to the punch and scare them off with your own lunacy rather than end up in some ditch somewhere. At the very most I am alive, at the very least I would be asked to join their crazy punching the air, talking to yourself group. ( I would like to join that group)
Anyway, Mosman and Neutral Bay were never the cultural epicentre of racial variety, and the one place on earth you can learn about other human beings is in the gym change-room. Back in good old whitey mosman land, the most tit you would ever see would be side-boob, hastily covered up with a quick pull of a singlet, and never ever would you see bush, or if you did it would blur past you like a giant brown bumble bee in the peripheral..
Things are not like this in my gym. In my gym things are like this:
Except with you know.. less grass skirt, and more bending over.
There's a lot of types of naked I had never considered before leaving my sleepy bubble on the north shore, now I have seen naked burka ladies, naked black ladies, naked british ladies.. Needless to say, i'm learning a lot about women from around the world in my gym.
Naked black ladies have huuuuuge breasts. Bigger than your head. Bigger than two heads. They also like to sit down in the nude and eat an apple. Why would you eat an apple in a changeroom next to some other lady who has her big hairy minge 30 centimeters from your face?? who knows.. these are facets of human behaviour we can only hope to learn from careful and undercover observation.
There is a lot of nudity happening in this changeroom. Unnecessary Nudity.. maybe unnecessary to me and my mosman eyes, but I don't see the point in getting out of the shower and wandering around in the nude - going the toilet, using the hairdryer, sitting and rubbing moisturiser all over yourself if you have a perfectly good towel to wrap around yourself... Do you have to be nude this whole time??
Do you have to get changed right next to me, take all your clothes off get down to your undies and then remember to get something out of your bag and bend over to go through your stuff with your undies around your knees? (and your parts in my face)
It's just a magical world of bodyparts.
Maybe i'm the weirdo, with my clothes and towel. Maybe it's not London to be so covered up all the time, maybe the changeroom is a place to embrace your womanhood and sit down in the nude and eat an orange whilst pondering the facts of life.. I mean if you can't sit down in the nude and eat fruit in a naked lady changeroom then where can you do it???
This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius. The Age of Aquarrrrriiiussssssssssssssss