The Legs Akimbo Theatre Company
Had very nice drinkies with Troy last night, and she made me promise to update my blog a bit more regularly. Must do better. I, in exchange, told her to foster a house full of children, and become the modern day Mother Theresa that she is surely destined to be... she said "maybe".
All is well at Cutthroat Cottage, aside from the fact that the radiator in my bedroom (which I temporarily had removed from the wall for decorating) is still disconnected, and my down duvet is the only thing saving me from hypothermia on a nightly basis. Each morning is a mighty challenge, as the first little gust of icy-cold air slips under the duvet, and I face the horrific run from warm bed to freezing bathroom, with the bottom of the bath cold enough almost to take the skin off your feet. Ahhhhh. Must finish redecorating. Must do better.
Otherwise the usual old shenanigans. Went to the docs for the routine poking and prodding that all femmes have to endure. Yet again (they must see my careworn, antipathetic face and say "oh she'll agree") there was a student nurse who wanted to also take a look. I am truly beyond caring, these days, but there was something faintly amusing about the innocent and interested look on the trainee nurse's face, as the gaggle leaned closer, and exchanged a long list of interesting facts about down there. I now know many an interesting anecdote about legs akimbo which I won't list here for the sake of propriety!
Also went to a 70's night in honour of Burnley's 30th birthday. It was at a "proper club" with "proper people" wot probably go "proper clubbing" quite often, and aren't ashamed by the fact that their haircut is assymetric and their air rather aloof. Was quite good fun, apart from me and Shaggy discovering (again) that married men seem to be the most persistant. I'd lost my good humour completely by the end, when I managed to get the guy who'd bought me a drink and flirted for England, to admit that he had wify and two children tucked up at home in Liverpool. Nice. "I'm only flirting" he protested, as if my disapproval was an act of monstrous prudity. I'm sure Mrs Dog-on-heat would agree with you there, mate! Also froze my buttocks off, wandering round a deserted London bridge trying to get home, in not much more than bright orange tunic and leggings. Even had to resort to letting a slightly ropey (straight-off-the-boat) Aussie giving me an extended hug, so as not to succomb to exposure. He clearly thought his luck had come, but luckily so had mine, and my nightbus finally appeared. In a scene not entirely alike "Atonement" I jumped onto said bus, as he shouted "No, don't go yet!!". Tragic it wasn't exactly. But I did feel a tad guilty...
All is well at Cutthroat Cottage, aside from the fact that the radiator in my bedroom (which I temporarily had removed from the wall for decorating) is still disconnected, and my down duvet is the only thing saving me from hypothermia on a nightly basis. Each morning is a mighty challenge, as the first little gust of icy-cold air slips under the duvet, and I face the horrific run from warm bed to freezing bathroom, with the bottom of the bath cold enough almost to take the skin off your feet. Ahhhhh. Must finish redecorating. Must do better.
Otherwise the usual old shenanigans. Went to the docs for the routine poking and prodding that all femmes have to endure. Yet again (they must see my careworn, antipathetic face and say "oh she'll agree") there was a student nurse who wanted to also take a look. I am truly beyond caring, these days, but there was something faintly amusing about the innocent and interested look on the trainee nurse's face, as the gaggle leaned closer, and exchanged a long list of interesting facts about down there. I now know many an interesting anecdote about legs akimbo which I won't list here for the sake of propriety!
Also went to a 70's night in honour of Burnley's 30th birthday. It was at a "proper club" with "proper people" wot probably go "proper clubbing" quite often, and aren't ashamed by the fact that their haircut is assymetric and their air rather aloof. Was quite good fun, apart from me and Shaggy discovering (again) that married men seem to be the most persistant. I'd lost my good humour completely by the end, when I managed to get the guy who'd bought me a drink and flirted for England, to admit that he had wify and two children tucked up at home in Liverpool. Nice. "I'm only flirting" he protested, as if my disapproval was an act of monstrous prudity. I'm sure Mrs Dog-on-heat would agree with you there, mate! Also froze my buttocks off, wandering round a deserted London bridge trying to get home, in not much more than bright orange tunic and leggings. Even had to resort to letting a slightly ropey (straight-off-the-boat) Aussie giving me an extended hug, so as not to succomb to exposure. He clearly thought his luck had come, but luckily so had mine, and my nightbus finally appeared. In a scene not entirely alike "Atonement" I jumped onto said bus, as he shouted "No, don't go yet!!". Tragic it wasn't exactly. But I did feel a tad guilty...
posted by TheMightyDing at 11:46
2 Comments:
Tee hee, I can see the Lovestruck ad in the London paper now. "I'm the Aussie block who kept you warm London Bridge, I can't keep my mind off your orange top and leggings, I wish I'd got your number before the doors to the night bus closed...."
Ha ha ha ha. I'll look out for it! Tragically, I do quite like reading that section, but am still waiting for the "You're the slightly scruffy girl, staggering around with too many bags on the Barking line ... I am the tall, handsome Nordic blonde ..."
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