I have decided that I am currently conducting an experiment to see if I can do so little with my time that I 'undo' things. Perhaps resulting in a creation of masses of negative energy which in turn could open up a tiny black hole which would then suck in all the excess fat I've gained. It'd be like the Hadron Collider, and is probably just as likely to work anytime soon as well. Don't get me wrong, I have done some things, but on the grand scale of doing, my contribution to keeping the world going round is at an absolute minimum. Also everything I have done has involved eating foods containing mostly sugar and fat. The more of them I eat the less I can do. Eventually I will be forced, out of sheer body mass, to never do anything again and I will become a victim of my own indulgence. Yesterday, after returning from Layla's brother's house in lovely Leamington Spa, we went to see her friend Kate's new flat. This is all within order of reasonable things to do and Kate's flat was really nice. Where it all went wrong was the choice of house warming gifts we gave them. I stopped the car on the way and Layla darted into the shops to buy a small carrot cake. A slightly sugary choice, but mostly healthy. Probably. It has carrots in it and carrots are meant to be good for you. Unless you eat too many and your skin goes orange. That's what I've been told anyway and I can only assume that many women in Liverpool eat tons of them. But as Layla returned to the car with said cake, she noticed that the shop also sold selection boxes of Krispy Kreme donuts. With a nod from me, she headed back in and exchanged them for the pack of sugary evil. Krispy Kreme's are so bad that the people that made them were so high on fat and sugar and their fingers so pudgy, they were unable to write either of the words in their name correctly. Most of the box were devoured and I'm fairly sure I felt my heart wave a tiny white flag.
I spent yesterday evening watching the repeats of Alan Partridge on BBC2. It was one of my favourite comedy shows back in the 90s and I forgot just how superb some of the lines are. Knowing Me, Knowing You was a gem, but its the first series of I'm Alan Partridge that has such incredible moments of pathos. The moment where he tells Sally Phillips's receptionist character about the graffiti on his car was just amazing. That era of comedy was probably the most influential to me, with shows such as Partridge, Brasseye and Spaced presenting really clever and lovely writing with superb performances. I like to complain about how poor television is nowadays, and I was pretty much grumbling to myself how the best things on this Christmas have been repeats, and then I caught the Outnumbered Christmas special and laughed out loud lots. I feel like a fool for missing its previous two series and feel some purchases must be made. Which in turn will lead me to sit on my sofa more and eat things and land me in the conundrum that I was already in. If only there was no decent comedy at all anymore, then I might be forced to go for a run. Can all you funny people stop it for my health and safety please?
We've got friends coming round for dinner tonight. Dinner. Again its food based. Very soon there will be enough of me to make another Tiernan. Its lucky we have a three seater sofa.
Quick plug time again before I stop blogging before it makes me out of breath, probably:
This on Wednesday, will be awesome. And its free. If you're in Londinium you should come. Its also an incentive to leave the house:
And there are still tickets for this! Loads of people said they would come if I did this show again. So far, they have all lied. Why not prove you're not a liar? I promise I will make sure I can waddle to venue and do the whole show without having to sit down: