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First I forget about the Valentine’s Ferrero Rocher thing, then I remember but don’t buy any anyway and then St Skeletor’s Day comes and goes without so much as an acknowledgement from me. I don’t know who I am any more.
Into the BBC today to talk to Jon Holmes about my tour and podcasting for Radio4 extra (it should be on in a week or so). We had a pretty in-depth chat. It won’t all make it to air. I made a joke about Jon being short, because that is the done thing. He pointed out that I was short too. I realised the error of my ways. But in the kingdom of the short men, the 5 ft 7 man is king. I will probably hear myself when driving back from some tour gig or other and not know why I recognise the voice for a few seconds.
I went to a coffee shop to do some work afterwards, but their internet wasn’t working which was annoying. How quickly technology goes from being a miracle to being tedious if its malfunctioning. I moved on to another cafe, but after two cups of coffee I needed the loo and the second place had no toilet. So I went to John Lewis, where there are some nice bathrooms for customers, though the second floor one had a bit of a queue. I don’t think I am the only one to realise this prime location for free, clean toilets, but I don’t think John Lewis mind. If they have got you in there then the chances are you will buy something. Well bad luck Ian John Lewis. I went up to the fifth floor, did a poo and didn’t buy a thing. Thanks for the free toilet paper, you idiots.
The man in the next cubicle to me was making some slightly disconcerting noises. I couldn’t tell if he was having a terrible time on the loo or a brilliant one, or maybe if he is a sado-masochist, both at the same time. He was quite vocal. It’s a strange and unnatural thing to be pooing two feet from a stranger who is also (possibly) pooing. But it’s worse if they are noisily pleasuring themselves. And even worse if they are noisily pleasuring themselves whilst pooing. Although I was intrigued, it was a mystery that I was happy not to have the answer to. An old an caught my eye near the basins. He knew I had heard him. I couldn’t tell if that was what he had been hoping for. Looking back I wonder if it was me from the future, here to warn me that toilet visits become more difficult/erotic. If so, it’s good to see that in the future they have sorted out the curse of shortness as the future me is much was taller than me. To be honest I wish he’d come back with some more useful information, or just news of how to make myself taller, than to waste his super power by warning me about how pooing is either difficult or exciting. He could at least have told me which of the two it is. I hate future me. He doesn’t even look like me. The moaning idiot.
