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Monday, April 30

Continuing the Cure

Friday night, pretty bad. Sunday night, very good.

This is how a weekend can cure you. I think that a key turning point was, on Saturday night, arranging to go to see a comedy friend's gig, along with a mutual friend. This basically gave a climax to the weekend, which had promised/threatened to be fairly freeform and shapeless and, well, lifeless. Add to that the late night MSN chatting which amused and entertained and I slept on Saturday night, eventually, a cheerier chap.

Sunday morning, waking later than planned, but late enough to be rested, I set about more of the rubble rousing. I like the term rubble rousing and will be using it a little more. I had Radio 2 playing, as is my way. As I was clearing up some rubble and creating some more, I noticed a figure move past the window. I opened the door to find the washing machine, which I'd left out there, a few feet down the drive and a man out there, trying to take it. Without missing a beat he said "I'm trying to take your washing machine, will you move your car?". Slightly stunned, I thought it over for a second and said - "Yes. I'll just get the keys". As I returned with the keys I pointed out to him that he was welcome to the machine, but he should, perhaps, have asked, rather than just take it. I don't know when the kitchen sink went missing, but it wasn't there this morning.

Weird.

Still, I was in reasonably good spirits and was hopping up and down ladders, getting the job done. I was getting to the stage where I was going to screw some Spax screws into some ceiling joists - I'm only saying that for Ol, since I know he'll be pleased - when I heard the section of the Elaine Paige show, on Radio 2, where she does the competition. She was annoucing the results of last week's question which was "Who wrote the lyrics for Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat". I remembered that, for the first time ever, I'd entered this competition, hearing the question as I was near my computer and being so incensed by how simple it was that I'd replied:

Dear Elaine,

It's Tim Rice.

Of course.


Anyway, as I put my foot on the bottom rung of the ladder, I said to myself "I entered that last week and had the right answer. I bet I won it." Now, I would have probably said that anyway, despite the fact that, on this occasion, I had actually won. As a result, therefore, I was actually quite elated when Ms Elaine Paige, she of Cats, Evita, Chess, Anything Goes, The Drowsy Chaperone and a whole bunch of other things that I probably don't know about, said my name. Oh yeah. That's the prize. I've no idea what I actually won, but Elaine Paige said my name on the radio and I didn't need the ladder no more. I flew up to the ceiling, like Mary Poppins' and Peter Pan's lovechild might in some bizarre hybrid musical.

I really don't remember what the prize was, but they have my address, so I guess I'll find out.

I remained in a chipper mood for the remainder of the brief DIY-age, and then got showered and went to Basingstoke to pick up my co-show-watcher. A quick coffee there and we headed to Portsmouth.

Walking along the promenade was nice. The ice-cream was cold but our hearts were warm (I'm about to go into a Carousel lyric here if I'm not careful). We went to get Chinese food and it was reasonably crap, despite the fact that a guy in the toilet said it was the best Chinese restaurant in town. It was certainly the one with the least well-behaved clientele. Ah well, that and the £10 minimum per-head cover charge didn't fill us with delight. Never mind.

The gig itself was great fun with each act doing their thing. The climax, for me, was the fabulous Chris Lynam, who, as a finale, strips naked and puts a firework up his bottom. That's never not going to be funny.

 

A cracking night.

Though totally exhausted, I got home a cheerier person. Now, all I need a week at work to make me miserable again and I can look forward to having that fixed by next weekend.

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