£$@*!!!

Having spent a good couple of weeks not having a quite good enough reason to write about anything in particular, this week fate decided to intervene and provide sufficient material for a 14 week sell-out run at the Hammersmith Apollo with accompanying book and DVD. Perhaps I exaggerate, but only slightly.

Monday last week may have started for most of you about 7am. Not me. 1.30am, I receive a call from my stomach, informing me that I had ingested Something Unpleasant and would I mind reporting to the bathroom for the next 4 hours. During this time I pondered many things, including (a) the fact that I am through with a well-known brand of salsa dip and (b) evolution sucks. Specifically, WHY do I have a fifth toe (value zilch) when a somewhat better mutation might be, say, the ability for your body to decide (and perhaps, WARN) that it shouldn't assimilate something BEFORE you've munched your way through a generous portion of the substance in question. But oh no, instead we're equipped with the evoluntionary equivalent of closing the barn door after the horse has bolted: sit on the loo, head down the loo, sit on the loo, head down the loo. And so on.

Of course, this had to coincide with the best office party we've ever had (top of a well-known London landmark no less). The sympathetic email from my boss indicated that it would be a shame if I missed the party, but that it would be an even greater shame if I threw up on the attending high ranking member of the judiciary. At 6.50pm that evening, it became apparent that the relevant member of the judiciary had had a lucky escape. So no party (apart from the few minutes I managed to stagger in to see everyone else enjoying themselves before retreating due to the effect of the alcohol fumes).

And there was no Doctor Who this week.

And Lost finishes next week.

And yes I am sulking.