Rough times in Retroland

I congratulate Benji on his metrosexual efforts. Follow the "Dan Hendrie Template" and you can't fail to achieve metro' nirvana.

My descent into flippant laddishness or "retrosexuality" has been very hard to stick to.
Today at the train station in Barcelona one of the staff asked me a question in Spanish that I didn't know the answer to. She started shouting in my face, attracting the attention of nearby sombreroed tourists and black-shirted fallangistas with hungry dogs that probably hadn't bitten a Commie's arse in 30 years. A retrosexual would have said "You can fuck right off" before pulling out a mace and clubbing my way to the front of the queue, along the way attracting the attentions of a small party of Swedish temptresses who "needed to be shown around town".
However, all I could manage was to put my hands out like a mime artist, do a little pirouette and mince off in the opposite direction. I took the coach in the end- run by a metrosexual coach line that brainwashed us with a Michelle Pfieffer chick-flick, and four hours of East 17. We were even given a perfumed towel at the end to dry our tears and wotnot.
The horror. The horror.

Tomorrow I need to seriously break some knuckles or I'll be in serious danger of losing this challenge. It certainly doesn't help that I feel MORE METROSEXUAL now than before. For instance, I liked the Michelle Pfieffer film as it was aspirational and pleasantly romantic. Similarly, East 17 are often misunderstood as a musical ensemble and should be regarded as a more edgy and politically-driven version of Take That, while still inkeeping with the pop ethos.

I know- I'm screwed. Ronnie Kray would not be pleased.