The night I nearly met Jimmy Carr…

First up we’d like to say thanks very much regarding your kind thoughts and words regarding Misty and her recent diabetic problems. She’s well on the way to recovery, in fact the worry now is to keep her calmed down enough so that she doesn’t hurt herself in her rediscovered enthusiasm.

So, I thought that I’d better let you know what’s been going on. With Saturday out of the way – we had cancelled our trip to Manchester to see Australian Pink Floyd to look after madam following her op, we decided on Sunday to go ahead and travel up to see Musical Box – a Genesis tribute band covering the days before the music died and Peter Gabriel still played with them.

Janet & Roy agreed to look after the rapidly improving invalid – thanks neighbours – and so we dashed off to the station.

Little brother Steve and sister in law Sue were already there as the weekend had been planned as a celebration of her mmpty mmph birthday. Yes, they did get to see the Aussie’s show the night before. I’m not jealous!

Also as a wedding present to me and the bride they’d booked us in to the 5 star Lowry Hotel, you know the sort of thing, Lamborghini’s in the car park, Jose Morhinio camped out upstairs somewhere and drinks so expensive that any water you add to them comes from your eyes!

Anyway, on the way to see the concert just as we’re leaving the hotel – bro & sis are waiting for us outside as we make our way down the steps – I was vaguely aware of some bloke coming up in the opposite direction with his mobile stuck to his ear.

Bro is waving frantically.
I turn.
Bloke passes me.
I get an excellent view of his back.

‘What?’ I ask when I complete my descent.
‘Did you see him?’ was the answer.
‘Who?’
‘Jimmy Carr!’
‘Jimmy who?’
‘Jimmy Carr – the comedian!’
‘What, him out of 8 Out Of 10 Cats Does Countdown?’
‘Yes!’
‘No. Where is he?’
Exasperation is now setting in. ‘You just passed him on the steps!’
As I looked round Jimmy Carr’s back disappeared through the door.

‘Are you sure?’

They were pretty much definitely sure that it may have been Jimmy Carr.

Perhaps.

The concert was very good. Here’s a picture of the bloke sat in front of Steve. He also liked to nod his head in time to the music.

Deep joy!

Glad I only got the woman with the massive ponytail!

Incidentally – how do you know you’re at a Genesis tribute concert?

Answer, when the queue for the gents is longer than the one for the ladies and you all seem to have the same prostate problem.

But I digress – am I disappointed not to have stopped and spoken to the bloke who may or may not have been Jimmy Carr?

To be honest, not really – after all, imagine my embarrassment if he hadn’t actually wanted my autograph!

I’m sweet enough already…

Yes it has been a while, hasn’t it?
I know, I know, once I started blogging I really should have been more regular.
Pardon?
No, I don’t think All Bran will help, but thanks for the suggestion.
You see it’s not a digestive problem, in fact that reminds me of the old joke,

‘Doctor, I have a bowel problem.’
‘I see – are you regular?’
‘As clockwork. 8 o’clock every morning.’
‘So what’s the problem?’
‘I don’t get up until 8:30!’

Ah! The old ‘uns are the best, eh?

But no, seriously, I’ve had a few things to attend to lately.
Like what, did you say?
Nice of you to ask. If you must know I found out I was diabetic.
Isn’t it always the way – you go to the quacks with one thing and come out with something else!
‘Have a blood test,‘ they said, ‘let’s see how the old ticker’s holding up now you’ve had the bypass done for a couple of years.’

So off you trot to the vampire department in the local hospital armed with your slip of paper and sit there for a few years waiting for someone to plunge a needle the size of a small drain pipe (I kid you not!) into your exposed flesh.

You got sugar!

Bugger!

So then they send you off on a course – ‘How to live with being a drain on N.H.S. resources,‘ that sort of thing. Here they teach you all about fats, proteins, starches and those pesky carbohydrates.

The upshot is that you’re allowed a glass of water.

Every second Wednesday, unless the month has an ‘R’ in it.

So I’ve cut out the sugar – mostly anyway.
Alcohol doesn’t count, right?
Oh, don’t go all ‘holier than thou,’ on me.
A bloke’s got to have some vices, huh!
After all I packed up the fags after the heart attack didn’t I!
(For my readers in the good old U.S of A, fags means cigarettes over here – I’m not confessing to an alternative lifestyle!)

So – black coffee, no sugar if I pop round to yours in future please, o.k?
Thanks.
No, now you mention it I don’t drink that any more.
As a fully fledged Brit I used to drink tea by the gallon, but ever since the heart op I can’t stand the stuff.
I know! How strange!

Anyway I digress.
So after cutting out sugary
drinks (sugar free lemon squash now, no more Coca Cola – incidentally isn’t Pepsi crap? Oh, you like that better? Each to their own I suppose.) cutting out cakes, biscuits, chocolate – I know, ain’t I good! I looked around and decided to join a gym.

Well yes, I did go to Action Heart for almost a year after the you know what, but I hurt my foot and dropped out.
Well, I’m sorry you think that’s a poor excuse, but that’s what happened.

So I’m back on the programme.
5 minutes warm up on the treadmill, then 15 minutes faster.
Oh, not quite that fast eh? Let’s slow that down a bit!
5 minutes on the exercise bike, alternating 30 seconds fast, 30 seconds slow – slow is good I find!

And so, on to the cross trainer.
Ever used one?
No neither had I!
15 minutes said the instructor as he set it up for me.
15 sodding minutes!?
It’s an instrument of torture.
Dear God, I couldn’t stand on the thing!
Your legs go up and down and round and round, whilst your arms flail helplessly trying to keep your balance and grab the walking poles at the same time.
It’s nigh on impossible!
‘Keep going,’ shouts chummy, encouragingly, as you topple to the left and unintentionally hug him around the neck as you try not to fall off.
Honestly it’s one of those ‘Ropopov!’ moments I spoke of in an earlier blog.
I can think of no better use for the word.

3 1/2 minutes!

Yes that’s what I managed.

And 2 of those were spent trying to get off the damn thing!

I’ve been back since.
Once!
2 minutes 18 seconds.
I know that because helpfully there’s a readout that taunts you.
In flashing digital numerals.
For all around to see and mock!

Am I going back?
I’ll let you know.
Like I said, I’ve been busy!