I thought that this morning a very grounded cypriot lady would be sticking drills all the way into my face and then filling me up with tree sap. I had kinda led myself into that expectation.
She did no such thing, and also went some way towards alleviating my tooth concerns. “Justin did my general scans, and he seemed inclined to tell me that nothing I had was worth saving,” I told her. “Justin specialises in all the cosmetic stuff. Saving teeth isn’t really his bag at all. If you need him down the line for looking great then you’ll be glad of him, but right now it’s dental work we need, not cosmetics.” I didn’t like Justin’s bedside manner. I like her very much, though, this tough headscarved toothlady. Just as well, as she does root canals which cost a grand a pop. I liked her colleague Charlie as well, who pulled my tooth out at the start of all this crap. I just don’t get on with people who are all about surface. She’s refreshingly honest.
The drilling and treesap will take place, don’t be mistaken. But not today. Today I could walk free into sunshine. So I went to Richmond and persuaded Minnie to meet me for lunch at The Ivy. We both had Steak and wine pairing on the daily menu and got out for fifty quid the pair of us. This is why judicious posh nosh can be a better idea than chain restaurants. We could’ve spent the same and left fat with white bread dough or msg after listening to hits of the nineties while someone shed their skin on the table next to us.
My lunch and a little walk in the sun – it kicked me into the rest of a bright October day where I’m FINALLY feeling almost normal again. Sure I’m still coughing. “I don’t even test for COVID these days,” says a friend of mine, and truth be told, the thing that just happened to me? Unfamiliar enough that I’m pretty happy to finger the old C. Bodyaches, deep fatigue… I kept my appetite this time but often just stubbornly eating to feed a cold, helped by the fact I didn’t lose my sense of smell. In a way I’d be glad to have just had the latest COVID, cuz I need to be on all guns this December. It looks like I’m gonna be in shitarse digs with the techies, locking myself in my room and crying my way through a million shows a minute where the audience ain’t listening to a word I’m saying. And I won’t have the Jackbond that normally makes it all livable. This will be the year when Christmas Carol becomes a job again.
Not until December though. Right now it’s walkies, sorties, messaroundies.
One more week of Halloween. I don’t have to fight to sell tickets which is why I haven’t. You can still come, even officially, if you’re fast. And we take walk-ups who are friends, at capacity shows, for cash.
AlBarclay 