My first step (i think) down a dark path leading to metrosexual-ness was taken in Paris earlier this week. And before you start thinking that I went and got my nipple pierced or went to a tanning salon - I'll let you know - I bought a bottle of "Clinique's skin supplies for Men" range of maximum hydration moisturiser cream costing more than $50 Aussie dollars.
This bottle which promises to reduce fine lines, is usually the stuff reserved for those more attuned to the Queer Eye stuff i.e. guys that wear pink shirts. However, drastic times call for drastic measures - and unfortunately over the last few months my face has succumbed to the fierce weather and chilly winds of London. It had got to the point that i was leaving a potentially incriminating trail of DNA (not dandruff i swear) wherever i went. in short I felt like that freaky dude in Goldfinger who's skin was peeling off (except i wasn't eating mine!)
If buying cream wasn't bad enough, living here and constantly talking to Pommie lads and birds has had some adverse effects on the way i speak. Words like dancing - normally pronounced DAN-cing, have been coming out as DAARN-cing; accompanied by a very appropriate pouncy tone of voice.
With these recent changes, and my body turning skinnier and less climbing and touch footy fit I wonder - will drinking beer and eating chips on a Friday night be enough to stop me turning into a complete wuss bag?
