I have so far, already today, assembled a table (which I might add, I de-assembled last night, moved and then today have reassembled following a bit of polyfilling in several holes in walls) and dismantled an old wardrobe. Whilst the citizens of Narnia might cry out in dismay at the latter, it cannot be doubted that starting your day unscrewing stuff, screwing stuff and generally carrying wood makes you feel like a proper man. Wow that sounds like a terrible euphemism. Somehow within sentences, this blog has transformed from a man talking about doing good old manual labour like proper man things and transformed into a den of filth. Well how dare you readers. You noticed that first and I think you should all feel ashamed for sullying it. Hopefully you'll be so embarrassed by the whole ordeal that you won't read this next sentence where I explain that while de-assembling the table last night I may have lost two of the vital screws for one of the legs and now am typing this at the table whilst balancing its lower left corner against my knee so everything doesn't just crash down on me. This of course will prove doubly difficult when trying to get up and do anything else. 'You're no man!' I hear you wail, 'if you can't even put a leg back on a table'. Well yeah you might say that, but then consider how much of a man Atlas was, carrying the whole earth on his back for eternity. Here I am confined to balance a table on my leg, at least until help can arrive, somewhat like a mini-Atlas. Perhaps more an A-Z. Just one of a small town. Sigh.
Some other thoughts while I concentrate on tensing my leg for the sake of humanity:
- I popped along to Old Rope last night. This is partly because if I stay at home for any duration of time without specific things to do, I just get cabin fever and have to go do something before I start clawing at the walls and building animals out of objects in my room. I will keep telling people this until they realise how true it is and how often I need to be entertained. The other reason, and main reason was because Uncle Mike aka Mike Wilmot was closing the show and I look forward to seeing his sets everytime he's in the country. Last night was a proper education in comedy. I still can't work out how someone manages to make the most graphic and crude material seem so charming. It was a strong bill overall, but I sat next to Alex Zane at the end and we both just marveled at his ability to make us laugh quite so long on the subject of 'tits' while seemingly covering ground about them that no one else has. I often find that having now done comedy for 7 years, there is little that really gets me gut laughing. There are loads of acts I think are amazing and I'm often surprised by a gag here or there that I didn't see coming, but when someone like Wilmot gets you time and time again its a joy. That's something only years of experience makes you able to do. Just brilliant. For the first time since, I raced home and wrote a crapload of new material. I've since looked at it this morning and its all toss. Hey ho.
- When I got my diabetic pump, I signed up to a whole load of mailing lists and forums about the pump, thinking I may need help as to how to use it. Turns out I might well still need help, but along with my insistency to take apart tables without thinking that I may need to keep all the tools or earlier pulling out cables from the wifi by accident and just sticking them back wherever they fitted, I have charged into using my pump with barely a manual in sight and I'm not dead so so far I'm winning. However, where I lose is that I seem to receive this endless emails about things I honestly couldn't care less about. If there is some sort of diabetic society, I'm very happy being the lone dog outside of it, that occasionally gets brought to council because I've pushed over a fellow glucose intolerant member or drank a lucozade and didn't care. They would then question my morals and why I insist on defying the group that I am so clearly part of, and I would scream that I am 'an individual, I am not an insulin dependent automaton' before climbing over the city walls into the Forbidden lands of Dextrosia to fend for myself. Or something.
Anyway, yesterday I got an email entitled: 'Come and Join Me At No-Sugar Poetry Meet Up'. No. I never ever will. I couldn't imagine anything more dull and mind numbingly boring than a load of diabetics all rhyming 'eating a cake ain't no sin, as long as you take extra insulin' or 'yeah I got a broke pancreas, but if you think I care you can kiss my ass' or some similarly droll bullshit. You go play all your diabetic games over there and I'll quietly munch a toffee over here and see long it takes for me to get enough hyper energy to break everything I own and then lose my eyesight. Pow! God it makes me angry.
- The new Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly album is excellent.
- I have discovered it makes people angry if I insist on referring to The XX as 'The Cross Cross'. So far three people have been irritated. I will keep this up until more hate me.
- The first few line-ups for Fat Tuesday are up online at http://www.tiernandouieb.co.uk/fattuesday-listings.htm .You should look. They are a bit goddamn awesome.
That's all for now as my leg is really hurting and I want to go out. Atlas must've been so bored having to take Earth with him everywhere. Parties, day trips, even the loo. Poor chap. But I totally sympathise. I think I may have to keep this table by my leg wherever I venture. You know, for the people. If you see me, feel free to bring some plates and dinner and we'll have lunch.
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