So the hobos love me, at least...

Hi guys. Sorry for the absence, no internet at home makes for a lack of blog posts! Anyways, expect some self-indulgent introspective pieces this week, as I am having a hard time, but for now…

I have noticed a worrying chain of events. It seems that for some unknown reason in the past few weeks I have become incredibly attractive to a few certain subsets of Leamington’s inhabitants. Not the young, good looking men, nay, but the hobos and the chavs.

How do I know I am attractive to them at the moment? Well, every time I leave the house I receive tooting horns, whistles, and comments of appreciation. I average about 5 comments by the time I reach the cross-roads leading to town. This is flattering, of course, but the incredible specificity of the groups I appear to be appealing to makes me wonder if perhaps I am looking a little bit like a vaguely attractive slightly insane chavvy hobo. Yesterday, for want of a better example, I was called over by a pair of very friendly homeless guys, who proceeded to inform me that if they could have any flower, they would pick me, because I was a rose. Flattering, yes. Poetic, yes. Confusing? Totally!

What I find strange is that I am still dressing like me, in my strange vintage outfits. I am also wearing very little make-up at the moment, rushing out of the house with bare skin and hastily brushed hair. What is it about this image of me that makes the chavs and hobos find me worthy of comment?! Surely, typically, I ought to be plastered in make-up and wearing Uggs?

What on earth has changed so that now I am being found attractive? And why the hell am I only appealing to hobos and chavs?!

Do I look like a homeless chav? Do I?! Do I really?!

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