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Finally my bubbling under illness managed to bubble to the surface (literally as it happens, let’s not go into that) and properly lay me low. But not before I had done two hours of live TV. I was on Channel 5’s prestigious Saturday Show, (ostensibly as publicity for RHLSTP and the last few tour dates, though didn’t see sales soar as a result) but I was happy to be there, as with all these weekend kitchen based shows you get some free food and to meet a selection of people that you would otherwise not meet and if you’re a bit ill and out of it it makes you feel even more like you might be hallucinating your entire life.
I was on with Bonnie Langford, who I have never met before, but who I was excited to be sharing a sofa with (and had to resist the urge to ask her to scream and scream and scream until she was sick - a reference that any youngsters won’t understand and which might be old enough now to be a welcome reminder for her rather than an annoyance) but there was also Fearne McCann from off of Reality TV and Russell Brand, and two men from X Factor and a man who dresses up in balloons to make him look like a superhero and a large puppet orangutang that picked at my hair- as I said, probably all hallucinated.
I managed to get a few jokes in, I think and in one of the more surreal moments found myself on my knees between Bonnie and Fearne operating the feet of a puppet made out of wrapping paper and the orang-utan came for us again.Or maybe this was another hallucination. Thinking about it it doesn’t seem like a very likely thing to happen.I think I had a dream a bit like this once. At least no one was watching.
My favourite bit was when the TV reviewer gave away the twist in this year's Big Brother before it was pointed out to him that the contestants aren't in the house yet and might be watching. I wanted to say that they probably wouldn't. But that would have been rude. And pointed up how we were all wasting our valuable time.
We had a big afternoon planned with friends. Lunch, London Eye and Aquarium and I’d been really looking forward to it. But at lunch I was feeling pretty unwell and it was a long walk to the London Eye where things were ridiculously crowded and let’s just say I didn’t want to risk 40 minutes trapped in a capsule without a toilet. Finally the illness had got to a point where it was time to lie down, but I still had to get home. I jumped in a cab but it got stuck in Parliament Square because of the Queen’s selfish birthday plans and then at Westminster tube I seemed to be stuck in an Escher painting, heading down escalators, then losing my way and coming back up stairs.
Finally though I found the tube and slowly the tubes got me home and I went to bed and fell into a deep sleep full of scary dreams. I’d loved to have been watching my daughter having fun, but all in all I think this was for the best. My body had told me that this was enough and I needed some rest.
In the evening I watched TV as I recuperated enjoying the Alan Shearer documentary about Euro 96. It as fun though it made me sad that we didn’t win the Euros but more sad that it wasn’t 1996 and so much time had passed. But what more do you want than laughs and a feeling of existential dread and failure.
