A month as a man.

Well a month has passed now since my inevitable transformation from careless teenager to fully-fledged adult; and although I’ve found myself continuingly sneaking my way to some of the world’s biggest stars, fighting lesbians over an inflatable crocodiles, and being wrongly accused of having casual intercourse in the men’s toilets with middle-aged  women, I do feel I have matured substantially.

A lot of my new found maturity comes down to my first ever job. Prior to this all my work has been on a strict self-employed freelance basis, so having set time tables now means I can successfully arrange life around this. And from my new found utilized timetables, I’ve launched my own business around this which is all taking me that little bit closer to my ultimate dream of moving to America. Don’t worry (as I’m sure you all just did), this dream won’t become a reality till I feel I’ve gained all I possibly can from this country in terms of education and business …and after I spend next summer renting an apartment in L.A with the boys exploring the possibility further. Oh, and not forgetting after I use Twitter as the medium to find myself an American princess to force down the aisle to get that all inclusive American green card. So drop my an @reply girls, if you’re young, desperate and up for living a lie! Although my job may be the main source to my maturity, after a month there I’ve gradually started incorporating my personality into some of the mundane tasks it entails to make it a little more Josh. Vodka helps make the days pass, Thursdays are now Pyjama Thursdays, cardboard boxes provide endless entertainment, and trying the mannequins clothes on in the studio, including wigs, is far more exciting than not trying the mannequin’s clothes on.

So my birthday itself got all kinds of exciting after receiving a call from Will hooking me up with VIP weekend guest-list camping tickets for Leeds Festival! Instant YES and around 48 hours later there I was with Charlotte, intoxicated beyond all belief riding the festival fairground and raving till the sun came up with a bunch of people I’d just met. After camping in the standard area for the previous years at Leeds, I must say, the guest area certainly was a shock. The only way I can truly describe the separation of class between these two areas is to imagine the standard area to be a bit like Africa. It smells, it’s overpopulated, the waters dirty and you’re likely to catch some kind of sexually transmitted disease. And then imagine the guest area to be New York Cities Upper East Side. It’s exclusive, the people are diverse and interesting, there’s fancy toilets and cleaning facilities; and best of all, you’re more likely to wake up to your tenting neighbour bearing BBQ breakfast than someone passed out in their own vomit under your gazebo. Unsurprisingly the class lowered considerably as I arrived and let my inner-Manchester council house side out. The rest of the weekend proved all kinds of drunk, wet and surreal. With one of the most surreal aspects coming during Thirty Seconds To Mars set, if Jareds Jesus-esque attire wasn’t baffling enough, then throwing out a selection of inflatable animals proved all too much; especially after ending up rolling in the mud fighting some butch lesbian over a crocodile I didn’t particularly want. And then in the midst of the jumping around like a twat, singing at the top of my voice like a twat, and avoiding the endless supply of crowd surfing wildlife; a girl randomly tapped me on the shoulder to tell me she follows my blog. THIS BLOG. Hello girl. By the Sunday morning however my age had become apparent and Leeds had completely defeated me as I headed home early with Charlotte.

After fully recovering, back to work, back to university and back to laundry, food shopping and mundane independent living I went …for a few days at least. Until this week when shit peaked substantially. Got hooked up with some last minute wristbands for an exclusive Ed Sheeran album launch acoustic set. And if you don’t have his album yet, then seriously check it out. He’s certainly becoming the nations new favourite ginger now Fizz is banged up and the Ron Weasley is no more. Then my stalker side came out after a last minute call of Adele’s current location, and 20 minutes later after rapidly cycling like a mad C U Next Tuesday across the city from work we met her! Waist size or current celebrity relevance, perceive this as you may; but she’s certainly one of the biggest celebrities I’ve ever met. Although in the spontaneousness of this meeting, I didn’t know exactly what to say and simply blurted out the first lie that came to mind. “ADELE, I’M SO EXCITED FOR YOUR CONCERT TOMORROW!” “Oh, you’re coming?!” she happily replied. “No, as much as I enjoy your music in a lay-in-a-dark-room-contemplating-the-meaning-of-life kind of way, I do not want my Friday night to result in suicide after 90 minutes listening to you moaning in that beautiful voice of yours” is then how I should have replied, but “YES, CAN’T WAIT” seemed fair more pleasant. Of course I wasn’t going though; I was going to see Alan Carr after my boss hooked me up with some last minute tickets! And oh I was excited! After a few pints we arrived at the arena and started some harmless flirting with the ladies sat directly behind. And by harmless flirting, I clearly mean tolerating the two middle aged ladies that kept trying to talk to us. With my housemate James then refusing to come to the toilet with me as he thinks “this is gay” (ALTHOUGH HE HAD NO PROBLEM SHARING AN UMBRELLA WITH ME BEFORE THE SHOW WHICH IS EQUALLY AS HOMOSEXUAL), I decided to drag one of these old bitches with me. Something I soon regretted after she started having a claustrophobic induced panic attack at the length of the queue to the ladies. Not sure entirely how to comfort this complete stranger, volunteering to take her into the gents seemed the best option. And one again became something I soon regretted as I realized what me leading an emotional middle aged lady into a cubicle must have looked like as the arena staff started to question my intentions. Alan Carr was then as hilarious as expected, and after meeting him at his hotel afterwards he soon become one of my top 3 celebrities met. Happily resting there in third place behind Bieber and Gaga, pure banter was had and I headed home still laughing with a smile on my face!