The club is fairly full and Bill and Alan take great delight in showing everyone my curry dive bomb. I’ll get them back. The singer is OK and the bar is open until 11.30 so I can get an extra coke!
Saturday night and Sunday morning is a Nottingham author’s book about a working class lad working in a factory. My Saturday night and Sunday morning has been an absolute shit. Literally. Roland is having a party on the curry and every time I get on the pan I nearly pass out. The cunning plan of putting the soothing cream on before and then afterwards has done nothing except make my pyjama bottoms twice as heavy. So would I do it again? The curry? Yes definitely. I really don’t think the curry has done it. This has been building up for some time.
Finally I get a “treble” up – pyjama bottoms, dressing gown and the bed. Thankfully it is beautiful day for drying and everything gets quickly sorted.
I hope that I can get my derriere into some sort of shape before the doctor on Tuesday. He said he wants to have a look at my “bottom” with his soft Scottish accent emphasising the ‘Ts’. I spend most of the day in bed – not because I was ill but because it was the best place for relief. I had promised Irene to go to the carvery for Sunday lunch but instead we had chicken fingers, roast potatoes and mushy peas. I sincerely question my sanity eating mushy peas but………………..
My MP3 player or Eh? Machine as Irene calls it – because whenever I have got my earphones on and she speaks to me I say Eh????????? always seems to pick exactly the right tunes when it is on random play. I have started to transfer all of my vinyl on to MP3 but it takes so long. I give my redundant records to OXFAM book and record store which is a brilliant concept. If there was a cancer store then I would donate them to them instead.
So now suitably rested I am now going to get ready for a drop of diet coke in the club. It’s bloody cold here and I hate the cold. I wish I could hibernate until about June. If she’d let me!
The concert hall is a very large room – it holds six hundred and the solo singer who is very good is lost on the large stage. There might be a hundred in but I doubt it. They have half closed the curtains to make an attempt at some sort of focus but he still looks very small. We are sat at the usual table and towards the end of the night Dave buys a round of JD and coke – without the JD or the coke for me. Irene has finished hers and Dave still has a bit left and she swaps his glass for hers. Dave picks up the empty glass and raises it to his lips. A puzzled look comes on his face – he thought that he had some left. Irene then swaps the glasses back so he has now got some. His face was an absolute picture.
