So the tit pain turned out to be Mastitis, which is a Latin word for ‘brick smashed into breast’ I believe. The pain has been incredible, yet I had to work for weeks on end throughout December whilst clutching my boob in pain offstage and out of the vision of punters. I managed to get a doctors appointment today and he also took heaps of blood from me to figure out why I have been getting frequent hives and allergy symptoms for no real reason.
So other than pain I had a good Christmas, Ashley cooked wonderful food and stuffed us all up with yummy grub. I finally emerged from the warmth of my home and our constant telly watching to meet up with wee Abi, my favourite great niece. She is five and as funny as hell. We walked down to Glasgow George’s Square to enjoy the Christmas lights and festival event that they had on. We spotted a carousel and Abi begged me to go on it with her. She chooses a pink horse whose name was suspiciously and racially prejudiced. It was called ‘Darkie’ which made me giggle. I obviously took some photos of that.
Ashley has flu, which makes her sound like someone who has been living in a damp cellar for weeks, her cough can rattle the double glazing and she looks like she has been tied to a radiator and brutally assaulted on a regular basis. Though she did manage to comment on me wearing black leggings, “Mum you don’t wear them as trousers, you put a long top over them, and it’s not the 80s anymore”
I laughed and carried on wearing my leggings a la 80s style and ignored her comments, as she looks like a mental patient and has no right to slag my apparel.
I reminded her she used to wear a cream cardigan with red deer knitted all over it with pink flowery leggings, she reminded me that it was I who made her dress like that. So I laughed more. We forget how crazy we made our kids dress; just because they don’t have a say-so we indulge in strange outfits and dress our wee dolls up in the style we think is fine. I miss being able to dress Ashley up in ‘funky’ clothes.
As far as Christmas sales go, I have no intention of fighting pensioners in a busy town centre to buy shit I don’t really need, so shopping wasn’t a big feature this season for me. Pre-Christmas shopping was bad enough, I watched a mother slap her small kid and scream “Fuck up ya wee bastard, I am trying to buy you stuff and you are annoying me”. That did it for me, watching mothers assault their own young whilst spoiling them with toys made me balk at humanity.
Just to remind everyone in advance, in case I don’t write another blog for ages, I am in the BBC Scotland drama series River City on January 6th episode. It should be fun, if you fancy watching!
Monday, December 29, 2008
Monday, December 22, 2008
Big Late Blog Part (1)
Sorry my blog is late, we had internet issues- bit I saved up a diary and here it is below, the dates all apply. I am back home in Glasgow and am almost finished my Christmas gigs.
December 10th…
I am in Leicester doing my first week run of Christmas gigs at Jongleurs. First of all I have to say that the awesome apartments we are in are just the best ever. Our penthouse flat with livinginthecity.com is amazing, the size of the place is wonderful and it’s within walking distance of the city centre. I hate hotels and having to stay in one for a full week is just evil and feels like a prison cell with two people negotiating their way round a foamy double bed. That’s why I always stay in serviced apartments. Hotels also charge you unbelievable amounts for parking and internet, whereas with livinginthecity.com all the costs are included which is just perfect.
I woke up a few days ago with a horrible sharp pain in my right boob. It is incredibly sensitive and means I have to wear a bra at all times, as the minute my booby moves on its own accord its like a hot knitting needle being jagged into it. So I have to wear a really firm bra, even to bed which is torture as every woman with tits as big as mine knows the best feeling in the world is taking your bra off at night!
I have an appointment with the local hospital this week to get it checked.
Leicester is fine though Boots the Chemist did have an issue with my Clydesdale Bank ten pound note. Apparently the assistants have a screen where they check strange looking notes and the photo they have onscreen of the Clydesdale Bank note did not correspond with the one I handed over. So they refused to let me buy some painkillers which after reading the last paragraph you will know how much I needed them, and not a fucking situation with a ten year old shop assistant.
So, as the girl told me she couldn’t accept my note – what she actually said was “Get real cash and I will let you have your goods”
I merely grabbed the stuff and said “Call the police, because I have just invented a new crime called ‘legal shoplifting’ as I offered you the legal tender Sterling and you refused to take it”.
The girl stared at me and her bottom lip trembled, so I then whipped out my phone and took a photo of her, as I need to see that image on my laptop for years to come. I made a Boots girl cry, she should have considered her “get real cash” statement.
So they got a manager down to see me as I refused to leave until they resolved the issue. The teenage manager came down and tried to explain why Scottish money isn’t easily understandable, well I think that’s what she said but unfortunately with her really strong Somalian accent, I struggled to grasp the conversation and had to carefully word my argument without having a bout of racism, which to be honest was filling my mouth and had to be swallowed. The last thing I wanted to be was a racist as she had just been about my money which is Sterling as I kept pointing out.
The girl then said “We have to be careful in case it is a forgery”
“Well then if you think it’s a forgery, it is your civic duty to call the police and report such activity, I will wait here for them, meanwhile can I take some painkillers as my right breast is killing me and I need to take them” I uttered.
There a crowd of young Boots assistants gathered, they were a multitude of various nationalities, it was like being stared at by the kids from United Colours of Benetton poster. Suddenly I was the immigrant with strange money! I did like the tables being turned and it was quite insightful, then I stopped enjoying the irony as my tit pulsated and I screamed “Give me the fucking painkillers and take the fucking money or I will call the police right now”
They all jumped startled and finally gave me my change and threw the painkillers at me.
December 16th….
The comedy gigs are ok so far.
My tit still aches, in case you are wondering what the fuck I am talking about, my right boob has been aching like a cluster bomb went off inside the damn wobbly thing. Back in Leicester last week I bought a sports bra to sleep in as I cannot at any point go bra-less or the booby feels like a small angry troll is inside it and cutting all the elastics that hold my giant tit onto my ribcage.
So I am now in Nottingham and doing MC for Jongleurs all week. We are staying at lovely serviced apartments through City Pads Serviced Apartments and they are awesomely better than any hotel.Next door to the apartments is a BREAST SCREENING clinic. So I walked in and asked them to look at my explosive diddy and they told me that they don't have a walk in clinic, so I need to get a GP referral. Next to the screening clinic is a walk in health clinic, so I went in there- turns out that place is for methadone and drug users.
I explained my tit hurt and could I have methadone for the pain, I even clutched my sore tit to prove the point. They glared at me and pointed to the door. No sense of humour, these drugs helping people.
So I now know where the walk in tit clinic is and shall endeavour to get there some time this week before I die of tit pain.
Husband meanwhile asked me if my LEFT tit was feeling ok, which is typical of him.
Nottingham is nice so far, the audiences are fairly feisty but not mad crazy bastards....yet.
December 10th…
I am in Leicester doing my first week run of Christmas gigs at Jongleurs. First of all I have to say that the awesome apartments we are in are just the best ever. Our penthouse flat with livinginthecity.com is amazing, the size of the place is wonderful and it’s within walking distance of the city centre. I hate hotels and having to stay in one for a full week is just evil and feels like a prison cell with two people negotiating their way round a foamy double bed. That’s why I always stay in serviced apartments. Hotels also charge you unbelievable amounts for parking and internet, whereas with livinginthecity.com all the costs are included which is just perfect.
I woke up a few days ago with a horrible sharp pain in my right boob. It is incredibly sensitive and means I have to wear a bra at all times, as the minute my booby moves on its own accord its like a hot knitting needle being jagged into it. So I have to wear a really firm bra, even to bed which is torture as every woman with tits as big as mine knows the best feeling in the world is taking your bra off at night!
I have an appointment with the local hospital this week to get it checked.
Leicester is fine though Boots the Chemist did have an issue with my Clydesdale Bank ten pound note. Apparently the assistants have a screen where they check strange looking notes and the photo they have onscreen of the Clydesdale Bank note did not correspond with the one I handed over. So they refused to let me buy some painkillers which after reading the last paragraph you will know how much I needed them, and not a fucking situation with a ten year old shop assistant.
So, as the girl told me she couldn’t accept my note – what she actually said was “Get real cash and I will let you have your goods”
I merely grabbed the stuff and said “Call the police, because I have just invented a new crime called ‘legal shoplifting’ as I offered you the legal tender Sterling and you refused to take it”.
The girl stared at me and her bottom lip trembled, so I then whipped out my phone and took a photo of her, as I need to see that image on my laptop for years to come. I made a Boots girl cry, she should have considered her “get real cash” statement.
So they got a manager down to see me as I refused to leave until they resolved the issue. The teenage manager came down and tried to explain why Scottish money isn’t easily understandable, well I think that’s what she said but unfortunately with her really strong Somalian accent, I struggled to grasp the conversation and had to carefully word my argument without having a bout of racism, which to be honest was filling my mouth and had to be swallowed. The last thing I wanted to be was a racist as she had just been about my money which is Sterling as I kept pointing out.
The girl then said “We have to be careful in case it is a forgery”
“Well then if you think it’s a forgery, it is your civic duty to call the police and report such activity, I will wait here for them, meanwhile can I take some painkillers as my right breast is killing me and I need to take them” I uttered.
There a crowd of young Boots assistants gathered, they were a multitude of various nationalities, it was like being stared at by the kids from United Colours of Benetton poster. Suddenly I was the immigrant with strange money! I did like the tables being turned and it was quite insightful, then I stopped enjoying the irony as my tit pulsated and I screamed “Give me the fucking painkillers and take the fucking money or I will call the police right now”
They all jumped startled and finally gave me my change and threw the painkillers at me.
December 16th….
The comedy gigs are ok so far.
My tit still aches, in case you are wondering what the fuck I am talking about, my right boob has been aching like a cluster bomb went off inside the damn wobbly thing. Back in Leicester last week I bought a sports bra to sleep in as I cannot at any point go bra-less or the booby feels like a small angry troll is inside it and cutting all the elastics that hold my giant tit onto my ribcage.
So I am now in Nottingham and doing MC for Jongleurs all week. We are staying at lovely serviced apartments through City Pads Serviced Apartments and they are awesomely better than any hotel.Next door to the apartments is a BREAST SCREENING clinic. So I walked in and asked them to look at my explosive diddy and they told me that they don't have a walk in clinic, so I need to get a GP referral. Next to the screening clinic is a walk in health clinic, so I went in there- turns out that place is for methadone and drug users.
I explained my tit hurt and could I have methadone for the pain, I even clutched my sore tit to prove the point. They glared at me and pointed to the door. No sense of humour, these drugs helping people.
So I now know where the walk in tit clinic is and shall endeavour to get there some time this week before I die of tit pain.
Husband meanwhile asked me if my LEFT tit was feeling ok, which is typical of him.
Nottingham is nice so far, the audiences are fairly feisty but not mad crazy bastards....yet.
Big Late Blog Part (2)
December 17th…
Nottingham has been relatively fine. The lovely Steve Williams (who I think is fucking ACE and one of the funniest Welsh speaky type comics on the circuit) is just a blessing to watch, his Dolphin noises routine made me wee a bit into my knickers. Marc Theobald is wickedly wonderful and Smug Roberts makes me laugh from somewhere deep inside.
I had a nice night; the Nottingham police party were noisy chatty cunts and deserved to be shot at point blank range in the head. I was Mc and ticking along fine. Then a skinny nice bloke got up to go for a pee and I sung a wee song in a funny light voice " Look at the nice man in a tight shirt going for a pee" the man then theatrically danced (if I say 'minced' that would be homophobic trust me read on...) then I sang " he looks slightly gay" THE BLOKE at this point shouted "Slightly Gay?" and danced and laughed and I sung on "and he is off to go to the loo to arrange all the toilet rolls into a lovely pyramid" The audience giggled and we got on the second act and then went to a break.
I went for a ciggie when a woman came over to me and said "You are funny but do you know everything you said tonight was incredibly homophobic?"
I looked at the lady and gasped "Everything? Everything I said?"
"Yes, I am a dyke and I need you to know that you were really homophobic and because of people like you saying stuff we get beaten up in the street" she insisted.
"Ok, please tell me all the stuff I said that was homophobic as I take criticism like this seriously" I answered.
"Everything" she snapped.
"Ok...my stuff about laughing at the Asian terrorists setting fire to their hair in Glasgow terror attack, was that homophobic? Or was it me asking the pregnant woman about her baby? Was it my stuff about my daughter being middle class? Was it me saying I have been married 28 years and to keep sex alive I fuck other men? Was it me asking the two different police forces to fight each other for our entertainment? Was it me saying I look like an over friendly cleaner? Was it me saying my tit was sore? Was it me bantering with the sexy guy at the front and asking him questions? What exactly about everything I said was homophobic?" I asked her.
"Well it was when you said the guy going to the loo was gay" she blurted out.
"Well that was one thing not everything and he said he was GAY" I answered.
"You don’t understand you are being homophobic" she argued.
"Were you offended when I laughed at terrorists being shit at organising a terror attack and setting fire to their own hair?" I asked.
"No" she said.
"Well, then you only got offended at the one thing that you felt affected you, I find that offensive" I said.
So I went back on stage and apologised to the man who I suggested was gay, he laughed and took a bow and the crowd happily carried on clapping as I brought on Smug Roberts.
Later on as I was leaving the show the lady who had complained got me again and gave me another lecture about my homophobia, to be fair she was trying to be reasonable in her argument but in the middle of it she said "Now I know you are a lovely person and its good to see a woman go up on stage and do that job, you have great balls" at this I stopped listening as she was now being sexist but apparently me singing a wee ditty to a bloke who was going for a pee who danced about incited homophobic rage on the streets of the UK and I need to listen up and learn.
"When you say homophobic stuff onstage it gives people the right to abuse us on the street" she cried.
I stopped listening and tried to walk off stroppily but I was wearing wellies as it was raining and I just looked like a nutter trying to flip flop away from an angry woman in denim. I walked back and hugged her and told her I took on board what she said but I will always say stuff that is offensive to someone onstage, whether it be about their accent, their job "what media studies? Is that a job?" or whatever...I will offend someone, even a knock joke can be offensive.
Nottingham has been relatively fine. The lovely Steve Williams (who I think is fucking ACE and one of the funniest Welsh speaky type comics on the circuit) is just a blessing to watch, his Dolphin noises routine made me wee a bit into my knickers. Marc Theobald is wickedly wonderful and Smug Roberts makes me laugh from somewhere deep inside.
I had a nice night; the Nottingham police party were noisy chatty cunts and deserved to be shot at point blank range in the head. I was Mc and ticking along fine. Then a skinny nice bloke got up to go for a pee and I sung a wee song in a funny light voice " Look at the nice man in a tight shirt going for a pee" the man then theatrically danced (if I say 'minced' that would be homophobic trust me read on...) then I sang " he looks slightly gay" THE BLOKE at this point shouted "Slightly Gay?" and danced and laughed and I sung on "and he is off to go to the loo to arrange all the toilet rolls into a lovely pyramid" The audience giggled and we got on the second act and then went to a break.
I went for a ciggie when a woman came over to me and said "You are funny but do you know everything you said tonight was incredibly homophobic?"
I looked at the lady and gasped "Everything? Everything I said?"
"Yes, I am a dyke and I need you to know that you were really homophobic and because of people like you saying stuff we get beaten up in the street" she insisted.
"Ok, please tell me all the stuff I said that was homophobic as I take criticism like this seriously" I answered.
"Everything" she snapped.
"Ok...my stuff about laughing at the Asian terrorists setting fire to their hair in Glasgow terror attack, was that homophobic? Or was it me asking the pregnant woman about her baby? Was it my stuff about my daughter being middle class? Was it me saying I have been married 28 years and to keep sex alive I fuck other men? Was it me asking the two different police forces to fight each other for our entertainment? Was it me saying I look like an over friendly cleaner? Was it me saying my tit was sore? Was it me bantering with the sexy guy at the front and asking him questions? What exactly about everything I said was homophobic?" I asked her.
"Well it was when you said the guy going to the loo was gay" she blurted out.
"Well that was one thing not everything and he said he was GAY" I answered.
"You don’t understand you are being homophobic" she argued.
"Were you offended when I laughed at terrorists being shit at organising a terror attack and setting fire to their own hair?" I asked.
"No" she said.
"Well, then you only got offended at the one thing that you felt affected you, I find that offensive" I said.
So I went back on stage and apologised to the man who I suggested was gay, he laughed and took a bow and the crowd happily carried on clapping as I brought on Smug Roberts.
Later on as I was leaving the show the lady who had complained got me again and gave me another lecture about my homophobia, to be fair she was trying to be reasonable in her argument but in the middle of it she said "Now I know you are a lovely person and its good to see a woman go up on stage and do that job, you have great balls" at this I stopped listening as she was now being sexist but apparently me singing a wee ditty to a bloke who was going for a pee who danced about incited homophobic rage on the streets of the UK and I need to listen up and learn.
"When you say homophobic stuff onstage it gives people the right to abuse us on the street" she cried.
I stopped listening and tried to walk off stroppily but I was wearing wellies as it was raining and I just looked like a nutter trying to flip flop away from an angry woman in denim. I walked back and hugged her and told her I took on board what she said but I will always say stuff that is offensive to someone onstage, whether it be about their accent, their job "what media studies? Is that a job?" or whatever...I will offend someone, even a knock joke can be offensive.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Leicester & Tit Pain
I am in Leicester doing my first week run of Christmas gigs at Jongleurs. First of all I have to say that the awesome apartments we are in are just the best ever. Our penthouse flat with livinginthecity.com is amazing, the size of the place is wonderful and it’s within walking distance of the city centre. I hate hotels and having to stay in one for a full week is just evil and feels like a prison cell with two people negotiating their way round a foamy double bed. That’s why I always stay in serviced apartments. Hotels also charge you unbelievable amounts for parking and internet, whereas with livinginthecity.com all the costs are included which is just perfect.
I woke up a few days ago with a horrible sharp pain in my right boob. It is incredibly sensitive and means I have to wear a bra at all times, as the minute my booby moves on its own accord its like a hot knitting needle being jagged into it. So I have to wear a really firm bra, even to bed which is torture as every woman with tits as big as mine knows the best feeling in the world is taking your bra off at night!
I have an appointment with the local hospital this week to get it checked.
Leicester is fine though Boots the Chemist did have an issue with my Clydesdale Bank ten pound note. Apparently the assistants have a screen where they check strange looking notes and the photo they have onscreen of the Clydesdale Bank note did not correspond with the one I handed over. So they refused to let me buy some painkillers which after reading the last paragraph you will know how much I needed them, and not a fucking situation with a ten year old shop assistant.
So, as the girl told me she couldn’t accept my note – what she actually said was “Get real cash and I will let you have your goods”
I merely grabbed the stuff and said “Call the police, because I have just invented a new crime called ‘legal shoplifting’ as I offered you the legal tender Sterling and you refused to take it”.
The girl stared at me and her bottom lip trembled, so I then whipped out my phone and took a photo of her, as I need to see that image on my laptop for years to come. I made a Boots girl cry, she should have considered her “get real cash” statement.
So they got a manager down to see me as I refused to leave until they resolved the issue. The teenage manager came down and tried to explain why Scottish money isn’t easily understandable, well I think that’s what she said but unfortunately with her really strong Somalian accent, I struggled to grasp the conversation and had to carefully word my argument without having a bout of racism, which to be honest was filling my mouth and had to be swallowed. The last thing I wanted to be was a racist as she had just been about my money which is Sterling as I kept pointing out.
The girl then said “We have to be careful in case it is a forgery”
“Well then if you think it’s a forgery, it is your civic duty to call the police and report such activity, I will wait here for them, meanwhile can I take some painkillers as my right breast is killing me and I need to take them” I uttered.
There a crowd of young Boots assistants gathered, they were a multitude of various nationalities, it was like being stared at by the kids from United Colours of Benetton poster. Suddenly I was the immigrant with strange money! I did like the tables being turned and it was quite insightful, then I stopped enjoying the irony as my tit pulsated and I screamed “Give me the fucking painkillers and take the fucking money or I will call the police right now”
They all jumped startled and finally gave me my change and threw the painkillers at me.
The comedy gigs are ok so far.
I woke up a few days ago with a horrible sharp pain in my right boob. It is incredibly sensitive and means I have to wear a bra at all times, as the minute my booby moves on its own accord its like a hot knitting needle being jagged into it. So I have to wear a really firm bra, even to bed which is torture as every woman with tits as big as mine knows the best feeling in the world is taking your bra off at night!
I have an appointment with the local hospital this week to get it checked.
Leicester is fine though Boots the Chemist did have an issue with my Clydesdale Bank ten pound note. Apparently the assistants have a screen where they check strange looking notes and the photo they have onscreen of the Clydesdale Bank note did not correspond with the one I handed over. So they refused to let me buy some painkillers which after reading the last paragraph you will know how much I needed them, and not a fucking situation with a ten year old shop assistant.
So, as the girl told me she couldn’t accept my note – what she actually said was “Get real cash and I will let you have your goods”
I merely grabbed the stuff and said “Call the police, because I have just invented a new crime called ‘legal shoplifting’ as I offered you the legal tender Sterling and you refused to take it”.
The girl stared at me and her bottom lip trembled, so I then whipped out my phone and took a photo of her, as I need to see that image on my laptop for years to come. I made a Boots girl cry, she should have considered her “get real cash” statement.
So they got a manager down to see me as I refused to leave until they resolved the issue. The teenage manager came down and tried to explain why Scottish money isn’t easily understandable, well I think that’s what she said but unfortunately with her really strong Somalian accent, I struggled to grasp the conversation and had to carefully word my argument without having a bout of racism, which to be honest was filling my mouth and had to be swallowed. The last thing I wanted to be was a racist as she had just been about my money which is Sterling as I kept pointing out.
The girl then said “We have to be careful in case it is a forgery”
“Well then if you think it’s a forgery, it is your civic duty to call the police and report such activity, I will wait here for them, meanwhile can I take some painkillers as my right breast is killing me and I need to take them” I uttered.
There a crowd of young Boots assistants gathered, they were a multitude of various nationalities, it was like being stared at by the kids from United Colours of Benetton poster. Suddenly I was the immigrant with strange money! I did like the tables being turned and it was quite insightful, then I stopped enjoying the irony as my tit pulsated and I screamed “Give me the fucking painkillers and take the fucking money or I will call the police right now”
They all jumped startled and finally gave me my change and threw the painkillers at me.
The comedy gigs are ok so far.
Friday, December 05, 2008
Scary Man
I went into town this morning to get my hair done. It was wonderful, and my colour is amazing as my mate Katie does it, though the very young children who work there scare me endlessly. I swear to God they are all about 6 years old brandishing hair dryers and sharp pointy scissors. That can’t be good.
One toddler dried my hair and managed to bring my fringe straight down over one eye and asked me “how does that look?”
I stared at myself through one eye and sang loudly “I was working as a waitress in a cocktail bar, when I met you” coz I did look very Human League-ish.
She was way too young to get the reference and looked about the busy salon making eye contact with other toddlers who were slapping bright colours onto adult’s scalps.
Big Katie came over and laughed out loud, she took the hairdryer off the small child and fixed my fringe for me, so I didn’t look special needs.
The day didn’t end there because I jumped on the wee underground tube train we have in Glasgow to get home. As soon as I sat down, a man in a pair of shorts and bright yellow tee shirt sat beside me. It is freezing in Glasgow, what was he thinking of?
Anyway, the scary man was sitting with empty eyes and clutching a Rubicks Cube and at every station (70 seconds apart) he mixed up his Rubicks Cube and then solved it every station we pulled into. I was really freaked as he jiggled his legs and shouted
“Beat that Luke Skywalker” whenever he solved the puzzle over and over again.
Passengers were all staring with frightened eyes, give us a terrorist bomber and we in Glasgow will kick the shit out of him en masse, give us a scary psychiatric patient clutching a Rubicks Cube and we piss ourselves in fear.
I leaned over, touched his arm and said “well done”. All the other passengers gasped and mentally begged me not to approach the man. The bloke screamed loudly, banged his head backwards against the window and shouted “don’t touch me”.
People ran up the tube grabbing their masses of Christmas shopping and all eyed me angrily for awaking the demon in Rubicks Cube man.
I just laughed out loud and sat there out staring him. “I am dangerous” he hissed at my face as he clicked his Rubicks Cube. The passengers all stared at him.
I jumped up, stamped my feet and screamed “I am CRAZY AS FUCK!” right back at him. He cowered in the seat sat quietly and now everyone was staring at me.
“He is not dangerous, he just wants to freak us all out and the best way to deal with him is to OUT-Nutter the nutter” I sat back down and yet people were still freaked out and now thought I was the nutcase. But I won and that’s all that matters and my hair looked nice and I could see people admiring it.
One toddler dried my hair and managed to bring my fringe straight down over one eye and asked me “how does that look?”
I stared at myself through one eye and sang loudly “I was working as a waitress in a cocktail bar, when I met you” coz I did look very Human League-ish.
She was way too young to get the reference and looked about the busy salon making eye contact with other toddlers who were slapping bright colours onto adult’s scalps.
Big Katie came over and laughed out loud, she took the hairdryer off the small child and fixed my fringe for me, so I didn’t look special needs.
The day didn’t end there because I jumped on the wee underground tube train we have in Glasgow to get home. As soon as I sat down, a man in a pair of shorts and bright yellow tee shirt sat beside me. It is freezing in Glasgow, what was he thinking of?
Anyway, the scary man was sitting with empty eyes and clutching a Rubicks Cube and at every station (70 seconds apart) he mixed up his Rubicks Cube and then solved it every station we pulled into. I was really freaked as he jiggled his legs and shouted
“Beat that Luke Skywalker” whenever he solved the puzzle over and over again.
Passengers were all staring with frightened eyes, give us a terrorist bomber and we in Glasgow will kick the shit out of him en masse, give us a scary psychiatric patient clutching a Rubicks Cube and we piss ourselves in fear.
I leaned over, touched his arm and said “well done”. All the other passengers gasped and mentally begged me not to approach the man. The bloke screamed loudly, banged his head backwards against the window and shouted “don’t touch me”.
People ran up the tube grabbing their masses of Christmas shopping and all eyed me angrily for awaking the demon in Rubicks Cube man.
I just laughed out loud and sat there out staring him. “I am dangerous” he hissed at my face as he clicked his Rubicks Cube. The passengers all stared at him.
I jumped up, stamped my feet and screamed “I am CRAZY AS FUCK!” right back at him. He cowered in the seat sat quietly and now everyone was staring at me.
“He is not dangerous, he just wants to freak us all out and the best way to deal with him is to OUT-Nutter the nutter” I sat back down and yet people were still freaked out and now thought I was the nutcase. But I won and that’s all that matters and my hair looked nice and I could see people admiring it.
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