I started the day at the Doctor's. He inspected my tonsils and said he didn't mind if I were to continue taking Penicillin for 3 more days. I pointed out that I didn't want him to prescribe me pills to please me. He should do what he thought was necessary. This broke the tension in the room and we laughed. I guess he thought I was the sort of patient who says - "I'm not feeling good, must have drugs". I'm not that sort of patient. Once he realised that, he explained that I was going to get better either way, there was nothing I could do to make it worse (including gigging, though I was in too much discomfort to gig at that moment) and that I should just treat the symptoms. He suggested a spray to numb the pain.

That lunchtime I bought the spray (it was great) and some mouthwash - I thought I might make my mouth a cleaner and thus better place. I also made sure I had plenty of soluble aspirin. The tonsilitis was getting better.

I also took a trip to the bank. I had decided to invest in this show at the Fringe and needed to transfer the money. It was the Royal Bank of Scotland and their service was pretty good. The first beneficiary of their service was a pigeon that managed to accidentally get through the automatic doors and then get confused about why it couldn't fly through a pane of glass, which formed the window. A member of the staff calmly strutted up to it, ignored its protests, picked it up and released it into the outside. I felt like singing "Born Free" as he did so. He looked very smug and pleased with himself as he returned to his seat. The next thing I noticed about the place was that their queuing system, which has a fast track for business customers, is managed in such a way that they help the normal customers when business customers aren't around. They don't sit on their arses watching people wait, they help them. Even the pigeon man offered to bank cheques for anyone waiting in the queue - cash not being possible as he was working at a desk with no cash security. It seemed just helpful and friend. Good work RBS.

That evening I went out to see a film - The Machinist - which is all about a man who is really tired. I'm trivialising. It's about a man who is tortured and insomniac and discovering, slowly but surely, why this is. It's an excellent movie and one which is still making me remember how cleverly its details fell together. Watching it a second time would probably make me go "Oooh" and "aaah" as the prescient writer puts tons of clues everywhere. It's would be a similar experience to watching Fight Club for a third time.

There was also pizza to be eaten and enjoyed. This wasn't delivered pizza, but it was still very very good. I spent the rest of the evening talking over the departure from our place of work of a good colleague and friend. We shall keep in touch.

Annoyingly, I got a call from the Comedy Store in Manchester. That was the venue at which I was supposed to be gigging that night. I'd cancelled earlier in the week, owing to my tonsilitis. The message hadn't gotten through. So, for a second, it looked like they'd invited me back to do a gig and then I hadn't bothered to turn up. Grrr. However, the person I spoke to understood what had happened and I should be rescheduled. I hope so.

The late night included a bit of ironing (watching the tail end of the Al Murray DVD), in preparation for the weekend, and some conversation with a girly womanly female feminine dame in Southampton whom I would be joining for that weekend. This weekend couldn't start soon enough for me.