Despite getting into work at half ten yesterday morning, I still snuck off to Part 1 of our double-or-nothing office Christmas lunches at noon. The credit crunch had definitely hit: we started with a splash of admittedly delicious mushroom soup served on a slightly indented plate, and although the main course portion size was more generous, the quality of the food was not. That isn't to imply that we were there for the meal, however - of course, it was all about the conversation. I relayed my embargoed gem from Saturday night and then heard an absolute beaut of an embarrassing anecdote, where a female colleague went to get her bikini line waxed after a fair hiatus, and the beautician said, "Hmmm, it's been a while since you last came in, hasn't it?" and went away and came back with KITCHEN SCISSORS to start the job. That then reminded me of the time when one of my friends went for her first ever smear test, aged around 19 or 20, and the doctor told her to take off her things and get up onto the bed, and when he pulled the screen back, she had taken off all her clothes, bottom half and top half, and climbed onto the bed on all fours. It still makes me weep with laughter every time I think of it.
By the time I was to leave work, my weekend nights out and two glasses of white at lunch had caught up with me, and I was almost hysterical with tiredness. I took the tube down to Waterloo where I met Grania at the National Theatre, who was similarly emotional, and we went to the Private Eye Christmas... thing. I don't know what it was really. A reading of some of their favourite stories from the past year, and a chance for the audience to ask questions to Ian Hislop. There were some definite gems, including a brilliant Nigella Lawson pisstake read superbly by Katy Brand, but the majority of it was very old boys' club and a bit smug, and Ian came across as unattractively pleased with himself, in addition to being merely unattractive. The 'Dumb Britain' highlights were wonderful, as ever, but with no new material, it seemed a little self-indulgent, and the best moment of the evening by far was when an audience member on the level below stood up during a sketch to go to the loo, and tripped spectacularly, landing with an enormous thump on the stairs. Pockets of people spotted what had happened and laughed uncontrollably, while the remainder of the crowd glowered at us, pretending to be furious at us for disturbing their evening with our mistimed laughter, but secretly furious because they didn't know why we were enjoying ourselves so much more than they were. After that we went for some food and then parted, nauseous with tiredness, at Waterloo, where our final conversation was about which rap we should work on learning off by heart. Grania was inspired by the one that Smithy does in Gavin and Stac(e?)y, but from prior rap-learning experience, that was pretty long. I'm thinking more about Kanye's introduction to Estelle in American Boy. Thoughts welcome.
Today has been harrowing because I was told off before 9am, but I have just given blood so I am feeling very worthy. My atheist halo is brassy and, in certain lights, reflects with a shimmering starburst that makes an audible 'ting'. Now I am counting down to 5pm and taking as many opportunities as possible to roll the sleeve of my jumper up and reveal my telltale plaster. Must receive praise otherwise good act is of less value... Nightmare.
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