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Woo hoo - the Edinburgh run of RHLSTP is on sale now. It’s on at the Assembly Rooms Ball Room (because I now have more ball room) at 1pm from 3rd-14th August.
Book early.
I went for a swim this morning. It was only as I was about to head from the cafe to the pool that I realised that I hadn’t brought my towel. This was annoying. Now it’s possible to rent a towel from the gym, but I have given those fuckers enough money already (I’ve hardly been there for months- until this week) and I found a largish flannel at the bottom of my kit bag and I thought that maybe I could make that work. It was a stupid decision, but it was going to save me a pound.
I did 10 lengths and then got out to go for a shower, taking care not to dry myself on the way. I only had a tiny scrap of dry material and I couldn’t waste it with pool water. I had turned the shower on when I decided to just check my trunks pocket for my key. I realised that it wasn’t there. Thank God I had checked before I had towelled (I mean flanneled) myself off post shower. I was going to have to go back in the pool to find the key. This was already shaping up for a great episode in the Richard Herring sitcom. Not only had I decided to use a flannel as a towel rather than pay a pound, I had lost the key that would give me access to all my clothes. And I had a hospital appointment to get to. If I didn’t find the key, I would have to get out of the pool, sopping wet, not be able to dry myself off or risk having no way to dry myself post-shower and waddle to reception to find someone with some bolt cutters.
I walked the length of the pool and didn’t see my key. I was fucked.
I asked a man with goggles to look out for me, but then walked back through the pool a bit further over and saw something glistening in the water. I had found the key. So there was no situation comedy to he had. I just got out of the pool, showered, dried myself with a much too small piece of cloth and then got dressed. Nothing funny to see here. And I was one pound up.
My appointment went well. My bloods are good. Drinking water has improved my kidney score and the doctor says my bollock is fine. I get a full scan in six months. Nothing can kill me now.
Tonight my daughter was settling down for her bedtime story. She was flicking through the BFG by Roald Dahl and looking at the title page. She said she could see the super giant’s winkie. I told her not to be silly, but she insisted that his winkie was in the picture. I knew that must be wrong. This is a kids’ book and no way would Quentin Blake draw a big cock in it and if he did, he definitely wouldn’t put it on the title page. She insisted, so I had a look. And it turned out that she was right. There’s a big giant’s cock on the title page of the BFG. Unbelievable. Have a look.
