Everyone thinks it’s such a glamorous bloody life. It’s not. I get up on stage every night. People pay good money to see my act. I perform. People laugh. Then they go home and I go to a hotel, alone and call my manager, who is a bit of a wanker. When I was younger, I could go out and party after a show and I’d always find some friendly fan who fancied a night with my semi famous self. Nowadays, two divorces and three kids later, I can’t be arsed. It’s all too complicated and, honestly, too much hard work.
Lately, I like to go back to my room, order some room service, a bottle of wine and watch some telly. When I’m on tour though, every few weeks, I do like to treat myself to a little female company. Fortunately, these days it’s pretty easy to do that without any guilt, messy goodbye’s, jealous boyfriends, angry fathers or other irrational and unsavoury goings on.
When I’m in London, I have to admit, one of my favourite ways to get some pleasant company for the evening is through Cleopatra Escorts. I know ‘escort’ sounds a bit like I’m being taken to the cells or accompanied to the little boys’ room at the hospital. I’m not actually going to be escorted anywhere. I’m just going to find myself a good looking and enterprising young woman to keep me some company for the evening.
‘Why don’t you just flip on some porn and take the matter in hand, you sad old git?’ I hear you say. Well, for one, porn does nothing for me. I’ve tried, but it either makes me feel a little bit unnerved and inadequate or I just find it plain silly. As for taking matters in hand, why bother, when I can afford a helping hand? A very pretty, beautifully manicured, moisturised and very skilled hand.
So, as soon as I get to my room, I flip through the pages of Cleopatra Escorts website and do me some shopping. I don’t mean to sound crass, but it’s a bit like the Amazon of women. You find one you like. You check out the specifications of their skill set. You check the reviews. You give them a call and ‘Bob’s your Uncle’, you have yourself a date.
I’ve been challenging myself to travel to exotic countries vicariously through the women I meet through this service. They come from countries I’ve never visited and, probably never will. They have all sorts of exotic accents and sometimes I fancy myself a little bit James Bond when I open the door and they are standing there looking immaculate, so I invite them in putting on my best Scottish accent. Given that I’m Welsh, it’s sort of pathetic, but then there’s never been a movie Welsh spy. Mind you, I could try the Tom Jones approach sometime. Wonder if that would impress them.
The women I meet this way are, admittedly, a little out of my league. But that’s the beauty of this service. I mean, I’m not disgusting and I always give myself a good scrub before they arrive, but aside from my moderate celebrity status, I’m hardly an oil painting. But hey, I can always make them laugh and for some odd reason, women like fellas that can do that. Me, on the other hand, gives a rat’s arse if they can tell a good knock knock joke. I’m happy with chit chat and then some athletic activities. Fair enough, I let them do the athletic stuff. They always seem content that I am easy to please. So, it’s a win win for everyone. I tip well too.
It’s very rare that I have them spend the night as I do need to get some sleep before heading off for the next show in the next town. Yeah, people think it’s a glamorous bloody life I lead and I suppose being able to enjoy the company of glamorous women, on my terms, lets me pretend it is sometimes too. I think I might have to write a set about this one of these days. I mean, I’m having a right old laugh.