Pages

Posts

28 May 2012

Post 343: Finally

Finally, time to post this rubbish! It’s fair to say ‘a nothing week’ because by a complete accident I had nothing in the diary (except for when I had to actually post this), so this post might be up a day or so late after my triathlon running friend Isabel (see last post ) invited me for dinner with her and her kids

at her new house on Saturday. Very nice it was too, I did mention she was a chef didn’t I, but I don’t know how she copes? Her kids, Kevin (13) and Lara (6) together with Kevs mate Sam are enough to drive the most calm, patient person (ie not me!) to exhaustion. Don’t get me wrong, they are cool kids – they are hilarious and I can chuckle along and survive for an evening at best and I make a special effort because Isabel has been such a good mate.
The other thing that has clashed with my posting time (quite rightly trumping sitting in front of the computer when it’s glorious outside) was my trip to the 40s

Festival at Bletchley park near Milton Keynes(the place that cracked the Enigma code in WW2 that probably won the war for the allies).


First things first, a big thanks to my housekeepers for taking me (basically a four hour driving round trip on a day when the temperatures were in the high 20s), and it was an especial pleasure to meet Charley,

another stroke survivor who stumbled across this blog a couple of years ago, we’ve been chatting on facebook ever since. Our strokes were quite different but they have both completely volte faced our lives. She is basically moving out of London to the Isle of Wight after finding that a stressful job, London living and having a stroke just aren’t compatible, even if you are as tough as her. Sadly, you can’t just imagine these things never happened. I think that between the two of us we’ve probably made more effort than you’d have thought possible but facts need to be faced sometimes. Still, it was nice of her to have invited a relative stranger, and Gwen, Gary and I were glad we went... Gary and I even looked like we were paying attention on the tour!


So, that was Sunday, Monday, I have summoned up the energy to go with my Dad to the ARNI Trust Conference

to go and hear about developments in physical rehab – I’m terrified just imagining what new and horrific torture methods I should be committing what little resources I have to. Still, it’s probably the right thing to be doing. I’ll mainly be going to show my support for founder (and himself a stroke survivor) Tom Balchin.


In the week before, I’ve said before I’ve been quite a big fan of ‘warts and all’ autobiographies on audiobook since listening to Alex James

autobiography ‘a bit of a blur’ back in hospital in early 2008 I think it’s fair to say that listening to that helped me realize that people might just be interested in vacuous crap with occasional bouts of humour and occasional innovative use of language. AJ’s life has obviously been much more interesting than mine, but the way he doesn’t seem to hold back in his writing style has rather inspired me when writing this. One obvious consequence has been that I’m a big fan of the autobiography read by the author audiobook genre but I subscribe to the opinion of Aussie comedian Adam Hills

that as much of our consciousness is hogged by ‘celebrity culture’ deep down it is ordinary people like you or I who are the interesting and funny ones which is what gives him the guts to have a comedy show called ‘mess around’ where he deliberately chooses little venues and he turns up with NO PREPARED MATERIAL with the intention of just chatting to the audience. I’m sorry, but how big are his balls? Charging over a tenner a head for that?! That is pretty f*cking brave, and me being the gullible fool I am, I’ve been three times (in October 2011 and October 2010 and probably sometime in 2009 that I can’t find. Anyway I have just finished listening to Scar Tissue, the autobiography of Red Hot Chilli Peppers lead singer Anthony Kiedis.

He is clearly a clever bloke and talented lyricist but his story of Sex, drugs and RocknRoll is both harrowing and lacking in charm partly because I find him to be a bit of a ‘dude, where’s my car’ LA streetpunk addicted to Heroin and lucky enough to have a series of girlfriends who prop him up through the utter madness of being the lead singer of one of the biggest bands in the world in the late 80s and early 90s. Sure, there are some amazing stories, like the 1991 Blood, Sugar, Sex, Magic tour they were supported by Pearl Jam AND Nirvana – that is how big they were. There is also a harrowing story of how in his early twenties he fell head over heels in love with a Jewish girl. Because he wasn’t Jewish and her parents hated him they had to end it. I might have shed a tear.
Maybe I’m a dullard, but my aim in life was always to end up quiet and normal and comfortable while having a little fun and excitement on the way with the masterplan being to settle down, having a semi-interesting job that pays the bills, a beautiful emotionally intelligent wife, 2.4 beautiful children and being comfortable, now it seems to me Kiedis has several opportunities to do this but instead opts for Heroin and cocaine addiction after he’s made the huge effort to get clean, I thought this’d be something bored people would succumb to. Not the same but the way he relapses feels a bit like it would be if I took up smoking again 7 years after I quit. Obviously I don’t understand the stresses and strains of being a millionaire superstar with a supermodel girlfriend and living in a mansion just under the Hollywood sign,

with a heroin problem. There’s also all the bullsh*t that popstars like him and Eddie Vedder (Pearl Jam’s lead singer) talk about ‘spiritual positive creative energy’ which is what the rest of us call ‘getting sh*t done’ but because these guys are megastar musicians it takes on this intangible gilt mantle made of hot air, bullsh*t and mysticism driven by the ego you get when you think you’re a bit special. There’s plenty of this with both James and Kiedis but James at least acknowledges it a bit more.
That’s maybe why I identified more with Part 2 of Alex James autobiography ‘All Cheeses Great and Small’

which seems to be the story of how Mr James accepted the end of Blur, the madness and unsustainability of that lifestyle and grew the f*ck up and moved out to the Cotswolds and does precisely what would have been my masterplan.
I’m not here to blow sunshine up his arse, but here is a bloke who has enjoyed the good times and got out while he’s ahead, something to be a bit envious about. Now I get envious, sometimes a bit bitter about not being able to live normally again but I won’t ever be able to eclipse the bitterness of the impoverished left wing student loser who wrote this so-called ‘satirical’ article New festival aimed directly at twats by The Daily Mash .
On the face of it, it’s pretty funny if you take the leftie ‘class war’ position that the ‘middle classes’ are twats which is certainly not true, at least not all the time, there’s poking fun at yourself, which I’d say is a British Middle Class tradition, and there’s saying that most of your friends and family are twats, which I’m not having. I maybe a bit rude and offensive and possibly stereotype a bit, but there are times when I’ll read stuff that just makes me see red.

post 342:Possibly later, maybe tomorrow

Not that I imagine for a second it makes one iota of difference to anyone's life, I am going to be somewhere else today so hopefully it'll be up later (if anyone still reads this)...

27 May 2012

Post 341: Full post later on Monday

I'm sure it doesn't matter but I've just got back from a trip to Bletchley Park near Milton Keynes and putting up a proper post requires me to be a little more awake.

20 May 2012

Post 340: A crackerlacking trip to the Albert hall, and my friend Isa survives a triathlon


If you’ve ever tried to pick-up a girl on a dancefloor (I mean physically), don’t, it won’t end well. This is quite difficult advice to corroborate after seeing Swan Lake on ice

on Friday where the blokes can’t help themselves picking up the girls while wearing bloody ice skates on ice. I remember trying ice skating a few times over the years and being lucky not to end up with two broken wrists. I remember not being a fan of ice dance because it was a bit gay. My, haven’t things changed. I hope that upsets someone. Sheesh, some of my best friends might be gay...
Anyway I’d been to see Swan Lake (just the ballet) at the Albert Hall a couple of years back and had been suitably impressed then, not only by Tchaikovosky’s iconic music, which you’d happily pay to see an Orchestra just play, but also how they used the space in what is unquestionably the greatest room in the world, the dancing and the costumes were pretty good too.

I was rather intrigued by how they would do it on ice?

Now, I’m wondering how they ever did it without ice. It was astonishing, I’d obviously expected the protagonists to be competent ice dancers but these people were Olympic straight sixes competent for the best part of two hours. It was pleasing to me to think that my mother (who I’ll definitely be taking next time) will be sh*tting herself with delight all the way through it because ice dance is her favourite thing bar none. Instead the angels that took me were my friend Gaelle and her daughter Lucie

both of whom I just love, not in a creepy or Gary Glitter way, in a Jerry Maguire falling for Renee Zellwegers son way, or possibly Gaelle being a sister and Lucie a favourite niece way. They took me for dinner in the stupidly overpriced (but delicious) Albert Hall cafe Consort. Gaelle and 12 year old Lucie are a hilarious double act who wind each other up and play off each other something rotten. Trying to eat dinner with the two of them was a challenge! I can barely talk and eat. You can imagine that laughing and eating wasn’t the easiest. Lucie was busy punctuating her conversation (deliberately – to wind me up it transpired) with the latest way that kids her age mangle the English language. Lots of ‘OMGs’, ‘LOLs’, ‘Coolios’ and ‘Chillax’ (ironically the most infuriating word of all time) and the inexplicable ‘crackerlacking’, but Lucie gets away with it because it’s all done in the queens English with a disarming smile (ironic or not it still works on me) and because there’s not a hint of ‘Ghetto Princess’ like ‘arks’ or ‘innit’ she’ll continue to get away with it.
Evenings like this are why it’s worth being alive. Being in the company of friends is what it’s all about, and being able to share experiences.
Speaking of which, I think just by being there it made it a bit more meaningful for my friend Isabel for me to have showed up yesterday to her triathlon to cheer her on. When she crossed the finishing line,


I know I wasn’t actually taking away the pain – I just wanted to share it, like someone going to visit someone in hospital. Still, Isa is raising money for the trust which pays for my training and physio equipment. Isa’s aim with this triathlon is to raise enough money to buy a treadmill and a safety harness. Stepping is probably the best kind of exercise for me. I’m pretty sure the majority of people won’t know why. I’m one of them but I can confirm 20 steps is harder than a long distance run!
Anyway Gary and I had a fun morning finding the Eton Olympic Rowing Lake.

It must have sounded funny to the people we asked for directions from. ‘We’re looking for the triathlon?’ from an out of shape middle-aged guy and a bloke in a wheelchair.
The smart advice I’ve had this week:
Is not to fight those things that you can't change but work doubly hard at those you can - otherwise you lose sight of the small simple pleasures offered to you.

18 May 2012

Post 349: A post to drum up support for a couple of heroes who are raising money for me

A mercifully shorter post today to reiterate the support and pride I feel for a couple of my mates who are taking part in heinous events to raise money for me. My John Lewis pension plus disability benefits allow me a reasonable (bearable(ish)) quality of life – what affords me any independence at all is doing physical training three times a week. It is undignified torture and I dread it but it is absolutely necessary otherwise I would need to be in a home. The bottom line is that I couldn’t afford my training without your donations and kind people doing these sorts of events. My friend Isabel

is competing in the Human Race Eton super sprints , a 400m Swim, 20km Bike, 5km Run – which to me sounds suicidal. She is understandably nervous, the thought of it moves me to tears but these days I’m often in tears because having a stroke makes you incapable and pathetic and seeing as though these are hardly admirable qualities. It’s hard not to hate yourself for it.
Anyway, lets not go down that road, Another good mate, he of one of the most unusual names in the world, Daegal Brain is cycling the length of the country

for a few charities and I’m one of them! What a thoroughly nice thing to do. If you’d like to sponsor him or Isa, please do, the trust running out is quite a scary prospect and dangerously close to becoming a reality.
The easiest way to donate to the Dom Pardey Trust is via paypal - you can make a payment to dompardeytrust@gmail.com email address which is linked to the Trust account. Alternatively if you do not use (or do not understand how to use paypal) and would still like to donate, please can you contact Tony Reid at tony_reid@me.com who can help you on other donation methods. In other news I'm off to something a bit different tonight. My lovely friend Gaelle and her questionably angelic daughter Lucie

are taking me to see Swan Lake on Ice at the Albert Hall. I saw Swan Lake (not on ice) a while ago and it was pretty superb then. I'm not really a ballet sort of guy but I'll take my friends to most things these days.

13 May 2012

Post 348: A Happy Monday, not fookin likely!



Um, do you sort of see what I did there? No, didn’t think so but read on:
I must be a bit of a glutton for punishment when it comes to my taste in TV. I am at my happiest in front of a comedy, but right now the two series highest on my agenda are both dramas that contain characters that I genuinely hate. I don’t watch masses of TV because it’s much harder work than it should be, instead, I spend my time talking nonsense, trading non-serious insults and questionable witticisms with my friends on facebook. It’s oddly reassuring that although most have jobs, bantering and talking nonsense on social networks are what people really do with their time. Makes me feel almost normal. Stress on the almost.
Anyway, I’m sure you’re literally dying (yeah, literally) to know what the TV shows I’m talking about are: Firstly there’s the Sopranos

and then there’s Game of Thrones,

both of which I’ve doubtless banged on about before. Anyway, there’s probably some special psychological name and associated mumbo-jumbo for the morbid fascination that comes from watching characters you hate on the box. What’s worse is that every so often you have to remind yourself that none of these people are real. Especially in Game of Thrones, a fictional series set in a fictional medieval world(I’m never in danger of thinking it could be real, I may have brain damage but I’m not delusional). It has been described (often by me) as a cross between The Sopranos and Lord of the Rings or The Sopranos set in middle earth. Unlike the Sopranos at least there are some characters that I actually like – that have honesty, integrity, genuine wit and you don’t think would turn on you at the drop of a hat, whereas in the Soprano’s the characters are all plain nasty, even attempts to be funny or ‘break balls’ are emasculatingly harsh and demonstratively not taken as a joke. People love being juxtaposed into realistic scenarios and there’s always this uneasy tension between trying to live an ordinary life (becoming middle aged and being married with kids) and trying to square this with the grim realities of the Mafia – Where it seems to me the aim of the game is to live like a rich person without having to do an honest days work, and you can get that money by any means, nefarious or otherwise (strip clubs, illegal gambling, extortion, robbery, racketeering etc) Jeez, who knew the Mafia were a bunch of bastards? What gets me is the hypocritical morality – i.e help an old lady cross the street but don’t bat an eyelid strangling her for the life savings under her bed, and the latest thing that makes me really hate them, is their habit of emotionlessly killing people close to them if the FBI have offered them ‘wear a wire or jail’. It is grim and that ease of being able to turn on people like that just doesn’t compute in my psyche. My argument has always been that people know when they’re being c*nts. If they don’t have this as a natural reflex then they are beyond the pale and some sort of sociopath or psychopath. It is all about not having empathy with others, if you don’t, you need help or a career in corporate finance at Goldman Sachs beckons. In Game of Thrones it is King Joffrey

and the Greyjoys

who are pure unadulterated evil. I don’t believe in ‘just loving one another’, I’m not a f*cking hippy, but perhaps I am going soft. The escalating cycle of revenge in both series is also something that just doesn’t compute in my world – as far as I’ll go is the odd harsh email or a harsh word on here but something quite genuinely traumatic has to have happened for it to get that far – phew, at least I remain rooted in reality.
So, my attempts to live a normal life have been fairly varied this week. Starting on Monday night with going to the Albert Hall

to see Britfloyd – Britain’s biggest Pink Floyd tribute act. I stand by what I said about the Australian Floyd being that much better
Musically, if you’re a serious tribute act, it should be faultless, like the royal philharmonic orchestra playing Mozart, as long as the lead guitarist can play the solo in ‘comfortably numb’ you should be laughing, but hearing Pink Floyds psychedelic rock sounds in the Albert Hall was pretty cool where I had actually changed my usual seats adjacent to the stage to try and get a more panoramic view, but lesson learned this is only worthwhile if you’re sitting at 6 O’Clock

directly facing the stage. Still, a pretty good evening and big thanks to my university compatriot Danny

for taking me. Another lesson learned, because I now have to rest before going out, trying to squeeze a quick visit in before heading out just doesn’t work. Trying to rush anything these days is nonsense, but to my mate James

who tried to pop in for a quick cup of tea – good effort.
The rest of the week has been the usual combination of training and sitting in front of the computer, trying not to lose touch with people – speaking of which my friend Carlie

got in touch and I was able to phone her. Regular readers may remember her as the girl I made friends with in hospital back in about 2007. The poor girl ended up tetraplegic after a haemorrhage in her spinal column. She conducts herself with more calmness, patience and dignity than I thought existed in the world, it was good to hear her voice and to hear she is being looked after, she is an example to us all.
Now people who are not examples to anyone are ‘the Happy Mondays’ who I went to see at Brixton Academy on Friday – now, this had been called ‘the Original line-up tour’ and not as I think it should’ve been called ‘the we’ve run out of money tour’. Now, some bands as a matter of pride try and put on the best show possible but with the ‘Mondays you know what you’re getting when a Mancunian DJ

just starting and stopping 90s Britpop records said ‘sorry they’re a bit late, apparently Bez is having a sh*t’ Now Bez is a funny character, as pivotal to the Happy Mondays as George W Bush was to Mensa or world peace. He has no musical input (apart from a tambourine – he’s basically their Heroin addict dancing monkey.

The Inspiral Carpets

(who played first) made the evening. I remember caning their first album in about ’92 and instantly recognised ‘this is how it feels to be lonely, this is how it feels to be small, this is how it feels when the world means nothing at all’ – prophetic and poetic especially for someone pathetic. When Bez had finally finished his sh*t and the Mondays came on I really didn’t think they were that special. It seemed to be a long procession of Shaun Ryder just saying ‘fookin this’ and ‘fookin that’ in between featureless late 80s synth rock songs. New Order the week before had done it 1000 times better. Still, you can never fault the atmosphere of the Brixton Academy and the real highlight was the company, two guys who I used to work with at John Lewis.

Simon, (who drove me and was probably my mentor at JL) and Will (one of my contempororaries, ie the same job in a different area of the business). It’s seeing mates like this that keeps me going. But laddish nights like this aren’t everything. Wining and dining lovely ladies is one of the other tenuous strings to my bow. Today I have been taken out for Sunday lunch by one of my good Samaritans Jo and last night I took out the gorgeous Cheyenne

for dinner. Last but not least, I’m doing my creative writing course for one evening a week and I really like it. The other students are interesting and I think are used to my tactlessness and irreverence by now. It’s hardly revolutionary stuff but being in that environment is helpful – well, it gets me out of the house and it is teaching me to remove constraints from the creative process, i.e I think I probably take assignments too literally:
10 Reasons to love me (a recent writing challenge on the course):
1. because I give the best hugs
2. Because I’m told 'I have a gentle touch for a big man’ like Peter Crouch
3. because I can turn most things into jokes
4. because I am literally a captive audience who will listen
5. because I am like a 35 year old child who is actually grateful for everything people do for me
6. because I don’t believe in giving up on life even though there is no evidence to suggest things will get better – I’ve never felt well in seven years
7. because I believe that love will turn around my life, therefore I will give it everything
8. I am trustworthy and honest, there will be no gameplaying here, I don’t believe in wasting anyone’s time
9. I put other people first
10. Because you will never get bored
One of the other guys crafted a very clever sci-fi story without any of the narcissism that pervaded my effort.
Last but certainly not least (again), my friends Isabel and Daegal are doing their respective challenges soon. I couldn’t survive without the money the trust gets from the heroics of people like this. Please support them.


7 May 2012

Post 347: trying to break up more of the same


I always feel a bit guilty not having this up on Sunday, ready for people to pretend they’re reading something important on their computer screens on Monday Morning.

But I realised yesterday that today was Bank Holiday, so I had a day’s stay of execution.
Another week, another person basically telling me what an awful person I am. I don’t expect to traipse through life criticism free, that would be retarded and verge on me being a simpleton which I don’t think I am, but apparently I am ‘shallow and judgemental’ which basically makes me a c*nt, ‘Shallow’ in the sense that I’m out of order favouring online dating profiles with prettier profile photos. Apparently that makes me shallow and I’m a hypocrite for hoping to be judged on much more than my photo when all I’m doing is judging people on their photos. For starters I’m not doing this at all – it’s normal to give a photo about a 5-10 second look to ascertain whether there could be something about said person and then I spend a fair amount of time reading that person’s profile for any signs that this person is a bit special or that this might not be a worker – it’s hardly rocket science and talking about it like this makes me sound painfully patronising when I’m probably only moderately patronising at best. Still I did receive this which was quite heartwarming:

I read your profile this afternoon and just wanted to pop back and tell you that you sound like a truly amazing, decent guy; intelligent, strong and a great sense of humour. You sound great company :-) Sadly, guys like you are few and far between. Whilst Im definitely not bossy or absorbed by my career, its a real shame that I dont live closer to you.

So, not too bad for shallow, judgemental and a bit patronising – but hardly the best covering letter – perhaps ‘the Apprentice’ beckons. But my backstory isn’t ‘tough enough’ (ie I’m not from some Southend sink estate) and built a dogsh*t cleaning business

with my bare hands and Elbow grease plus I’m not cockney enough. More importantly, who on earth would want to work for Alan Sugar, a man who seems to behave not like the very average businessman he is, but instead aging in dog years like some East End gangster not unlike ‘Atchet’Arry’

from ‘Lock Stock...’.

Great, that should be enough for someone to tell me I’m posh and snobby and therefore not worth listening to. I’m really not, I just take issue with people who aspire to be cockney gangsters or work for them – it’s like care in the community crossed with Dragons Den, people who can’t stop telling everyone how self-made they are and people who obviously only care about themselves, it’s probably all the X factor’s fault.
It is not my intention to write something that makes people think less of me, I feel shat upon enough already thank you. I’m just trying to make my way in the world like everyone else, I’m no evil genius, I think I’m no more shallow than anyone else and I’m probably regarded as judgemental because I have opinions about things, opinions that I’m not afraid to voice and stick up for, as for patronising, people sometimes don’t understand things. It’s not exactly the Sicilian defence

of being called shallow, judgemental and patronising but it’s a start. I’ve said it before, but I steadfastly refuse to be boring (yawn). A bore maybe but I’m too young to be satisfied with this.
I had an interesting conversation the other night about how filling my life with ‘once in a lifetime’ experiences like I’m doing is the right thing to be doing. Most people go to a big live event not that often, sometimes 2-3 times in their life. I try and go 2-3 times sometimes a week, and I don’t do it for myself because it does take so very much out of my pathetic energy.
This week, starting with last Sunday, I have been out a foolhardy four times, and I’m f*cking knackered today – doctors, the lateral thinking lot that they are would parrot-fashion say that this is the underlying reason for my fatigue. Uh, no it’s not – no one feels this bad and should be expected not to have had enough. I also make attempts to find something to do with my life, now I’ve actually got a carer who can legally drive my van and who I trust to actually be on my side, I’m going to a weekly writing course one evening a week and I look forward to it and seeing the other people who all seem very nice and interesting (and I’m not just saying that because there could be a good chance they’re reading this, and the teachers a MILF (which helps –if you don’t know what that means, where have you been? – there goes my shallowness again), anyway, so far it is a million times better than my online course that I got nowhere with 3 years ago
Who knew that classes with humans would be better?
I have however rolled my foreign holiday aspirations over to next year. The logistics, at this stage appear to be too overwhelming, so it’s 7 years and counting without a proper overseas holiday. As much as I love this country, it’s bloody awful isn’t it?
My other big push over the next few months is learning to use this right hand keyboard

which frankly terrifies me. I found it on the internet and my parents gave it to me as my belated birthday present. It is like having an alien artefact to try and interface with the computer. Given time I’m sure it’ll become invaluable but right now it might as well be a piece of molten Kryptonite, speaking of which I was able to take Gary and Gwen

(my brilliant housekeepers/carers, Gary never usually looks this serious) to the Film Music Gala at the Albert Hall last night. They were the perfect people to take me, for a start they’d never been to the Hall which I regard as one of the wonders of the world

– they don’t make them like that anymore. My tenuous link was that one of the highlights was the music from Superman, and I’m sure this is an observation I’ve made before but my goodness what a genius John Williams is! Here is a man who can wake up every morning and really say that he has left his mark on mankind in the same way as legions of other talented musicians, I always cite DJ Tiesto as an example of a guy who must wake up everyday and think ‘how f*cking good is my life?’ . Even if he sounds like a stereotype of a dutch ganja smoking tulip farmer. Back on track. Sure, Spielberg or Lucas may have made the actual films but you can’t think of Indiana Jones without humming the theme tune or Star Wars without imagining the menace of the Deathstar

without a brass section. Williams is 80 this year and I’ve already bought my tickets for a birthday Gala of his music in October.
That rounded off my event going but it being Bank Holiday weekend I’m very much looking forward to drinking fine red wine with my neighbours Ian and Tracy tonight (well it was last night now). The rest of this week was stupidly busy as on Wednesday and Friday, a forgotten friend from my clubbing days (There are one or two, Ched

, a charming chap who by a stroke of luck lives pretty locally) (as a Financial adviser he recently helped me do my will properly, tick) On Wednesday we went to Brixton Academy to see 80s electronic synth rock pioneers New Order and on Friday to see the Lostprophets, a band we knew almost nothing about. Two very different crowds, for New Order 30/40 something raver casualties

(not that’s what Ched and I are) and the lostprophets were like a Welsh Linkin Park

so once in a lifetime experiences for the people who are kind enough to suffer me, DONE.
Goodness, I think the academy is just an outstanding music venue, so good I’ll suffer the poor wheelchair access and the fact it’s in Brixton – finding the Nando’s over the road there has helped, to be honest, almost every second I’m alive is suffering so it’s a bit of a miracle I do anything. You know the old expression ‘to put it out of it’s misery’ when you send a pet to be put to sleep – I’m afraid I’m like that. So tonight I’m off to the Albert Hall to go and see Britfloyd, Britain’s biggest Pink Floyd tribute act. Pink Floyd were utter genius, seeing the Australian Pink Floyd in March was brilliant http://survivingastroke.blogspot.co.uk/2012/03/post-339-avoiding-thinking-about.html
I may love their music but the lightshow the Aussie Floyd had put on was sensational – probably something to do with the sensory deprivation that this f*cking stroke has caused.
Absolutely last, but certainly not least are the thanks I want to make to the wonderful Cheyenne,

who took me out last Sunday to see Paul Merton in Woking.

Now, I think given how quick and sharp the man is on Have I got News for You’,

he has one of the finest comedy minds in the world – with this in mind his live show left me a bit flat, a shame given how clever I think he is, but it was nice to find Chey didn’t find taking me out too much of a nightmare. Apologies if this is a long and boring post.

Followers

stats


View My Stats