Jimmy Carr and the Spaz

Jimmy Carr was flippin hilarious. I had twittered him to ask him for bald girl, cancer or police jokes and was very delighted to get 1 and 3. No cancer jokes. Perhaps he is going soft. Perhaps he couldn’t think of one. Perhaps I should send him one for the next attention seeking cow who wants to pretend he read her twitter and changed his whole show to encorporate her request. Yes. That’ll be a good idea.

We ate at Wetherspoons pre-show. The ponce in me says I shouldn’t eat in these places, but they are kinda nice. The stare-y lady from a few posts ago was in a Wetherspoons but I didn’t let that put me off. The only person who stared was a strange looking fella, like the Taff in Notting Hill but quite obviously weirder, and he was staring at everyone. I felt almost normal.

The seats at City Hall were green and obviously upholstered in green to match the oompa loompa’s they were expecting as guests. If your legs are longer than Meester Boo’s, (SJ’s sausage dog), but the DVD and save the agony. Chuffed at being able to walk up the stairs in the auditorium, almost to the top, without a handrail to pull myself, just Neil’s arm to steady me.

Yesterday I suffered a bit. Could have been the long day, could have been the incredibly small leg room. Could have been the fact I was supposed to take my steroid (down to 1 a day) in the morning and I left it at home. Anyhoo. My arse was doing it’s thing, along with my right leg and aching. So the beautiful day and walk to the catherdral was bearable but I couldn’t face walking round. I love being in catherdrals and churches (which I don’t have to be!) and the smell of them in particular. I find them peaceful but at the best of times, I don’t care which 700 year dead person I am walking on…let alone if I have to hurt to find out.

So – good idea for me to sit. People watch. Daydream. Smell the incense. Watch some filming going on. CLOCK THE WHEELCHAIRS!!!! Yeah baby. Lou and Andy, you don’t know nuffin! Neil’s in whistling distance still and gets called back. After not being able to open one of them, we go for the older model and we’re off. We respect the fact we are on holy ground and manage not to swear. But we do giggle. Quite a bit. I think that’s allowed.

Out to the cloisters, the effects of not taking my steroid enhance and my right eyeball feels like its spinning. Not moving, I tell you, spinning in it’s socket like a washing machine drum but over and over, not round and round. It messes up my vision but not before I see the lovely blue sky, cloister walls and cenut (cedar) tree (ask Mummy). It’s like a perfect garden.

I wasn’t scared like the first time it happenened (when I’d been ‘meaning’ to get up and switch the light on but not got round to it and let myself be lit by the TV and laptop screens. Eyestrain.). But I was glad the boy was around. I hadn’t considered what I’d do if it happens when I am out alone. Now I have and I feel prepared. Go to the pub for a Baileys. Ha ha. Seriously, I’d have to find somewhere to sit. For maybe up to half an hour. Tell someone what is going on. Tell them I’m fine but can they keep half an eye. Not in the stare-y, or maybe I could give them a voucher that permits them to do that without consequence for their safety. Yes, good plan.

Tomorrow I will be making stare-y vouchers. Without the use of a computer. Goodnight.

Bugger, behind schedule. Later today, I will be making vouchers. Godd morning. (ou est le time por favor)

Good, I mean. aaaagh. Bed time.

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