I found out a big secret this weekend. Stay tuned to learn more.

Party On Dude

Saturday was the official museum social event of the year. Normally this sort of thing takes place around christmas or new year, but us museum folk take life at an easier pace, except for Mr J's hyperactive girlfriend who was clearly never taught how to behave in polite society. So we we stood there sort of drunk and confused while she turned into a human pinball.

At one point in the proceedings she was comparing us to zoo animals. Somewhat foolishly I insisted on finding out which ferocious and magnificent creature I most resembled. Tiger? Elephant? Rhino? Nope. A sloth. And she didn't have to think about it either. Complaining did no good. My punishment for raising doubts about her decision was a lecture on the charm, wit, and street credibility that sloths have in her inebriated world. Now I know.

The Party - The Sloth's View

It wasn't such a bad party treally. My score was two hugs from pretty ladies, three cans of cider, seven mouthfuls of bombay mix, half a baguette in chilli dip, three adverse comments about the boss's hawaian shirt without remonition, one doorman successfully evaded, one erection from viewing pictures of supercars, and only one drunken admission of morally dubious wrestling with a former female boss for her golf balls.

You might sneer, and I understand if you do, because compared to the high jinks that some people boast of, museum folk tend to be a bit tame. However I did score something much better. When Mr J's girlfriend was introduced to me as she paused inbetween spraying everyone with hair care products, she mentioned that she'd heard of me.

Yes! Famous at last! Proof that even sloths can make it to the top of the tree.

Why Swindon?

Also the same saturday night I encountered a chap with a suspiciously american accent. Sorry, I could not resist finding out more. Is that accent genuine? Where do you come from?

"San Diego" He replied with an odd sort of glance in my direction.

San Diego? What on earth are you doing in Swindon?

"What are you doing in Swindon?" He answered. Mostly I just live there it must be said, but I take his point and admire his ability to treat the entire world as his own backyard. Sadly my money gets stopped if I go abroad. I'm already poor - I don't feel the need to be homeless too. But then the museum party was on in Swindon - I was there - and so was he, all the way from southern Califormia.

Big Secret Of The Week

Still here? Okay, now it's time to reveal the big big secret. At least I would do but DW, our intrepid online journalist, has slapped a gagging order on me so I cannot reveal the identity of the gentleman who exposed himself to DW's girlfriend one night. What a terrible way to behave. I would never do something like that because bad things could happen. I know this because a female boss once had me sacked for changing trousers in the office too often. Sometimes it pays to let her win at golf ball wrestling.