infoxicated

Three years ago we took off in our car on a ten day visiting holiday, making stops at a variety of places in and around London and on the south coast. With the arrival of Elisha, and the fact we hadn’t seen many of the people we’d visited since then, off we went again on the long haul.

The first couple of days we stayed with Sue, where we enjoyed some fine barbeque food out in the hot, sunny weather. Fliss‘ old workmate Ann turned up on the Sunday and it was good to see her again.

On the Monday morning we headed off to see Hannah for the next couple of days. She was out at a gig on the evening we arrived, which gave us some free time to relax. Hannah was working during the following day, too, so we managed to fit in a visit to see Fliss‘ cousin Pip that afternoon. In the evening we had a nice meal before watching the world cup match that was on. It’s funny when you visit people like this – for you it’s a holiday, but for them it’s a regular Tuesday.

On Wednesday we headed off to see my mate David and his wife Sarah, plus their new baby Ryan. David had taken the day off with the intention of having a barbeque, but unfortunately the weather had turned a bit miserable. We made do with eating indoors, drinking the copious amounts of beer that David had bought and, again, watching that evening’s world cup match.

Early on Thursday we headed off to have lunch with Fliss‘ auntie Christine and uncle Eric in Bosham, about an hour away. The weather had picked up a little by the time we arrived and it was nice to sit in the conservatory catching some rays and enjoying the lasagna on offer.

After lunch we made the short trip to Selsey to see Fliss‘ friend Jess and family. We spent two nights there and enjoyed excellent hospitality on the part of Jess’ mum, Rose. She really does make us feel at home when we visit, so it was a great way to end the week.

On Wednesday night in what must be the most unkempt venue in Liverpool (or at least the one as far removed from the image it’s name would depict), myself, Fliss, and a bunch of friends from my work went along to see Dylan Moran’s Like, Totally set.

I didn’t know who Dylan Moran was when Graeme had asked me if I wanted a ticket, but the suggestion that he was a “comedian” was good enough for me.

It’s been a couple of years since we went to see the brilliant Bill Bailey at the same venue, so if it had any chance of being as good a show I was definitely up for it. At £17 a ticket I think I had every right to expect as polished a performance as Bill Bailey had delivered, too.

Not so. Dylan Moran turned out to be a drunken, stuttering, smoking disappointment of an act. Most of his material I’d heard many times before in one form or another in either comedy clubs or on stand up shows on tv. Along with the lack of originality came his inability to follow the thread of his own performance – all too often I thought he was going somewhere, but no, I should have set my sights lower.

As act two wore on, Moran became either increasingly drunk or increasingly aware that his performance probably wasn’t worth prolonging. When he asked for questions from the audience, one wag shouted Are you tired?. To which Moran replied that yes, he was tired, and that he was probably going to wind things up pretty soon. That he did and, after a pointless encore that did little to tie up his ramblings, we gratefully left for a pub nearby.

I’ll conclude by saying that although I laughed at a few things during the first half, my sides were never in any real danger of splitting. And, unlike with Bill Bailey, I haven’t found myself recalling the highlights in the days that followed. Which can only mean that there weren’t any.

Today I had an MRI scan on my left knee at the Royal Liverpool Hospital.

I felt a bit of a fraud, to be honest. Here I am, still able to play tennis and stay comparitively active, yet I was surrounded by the frail and infirm who looked like they needed a whole lot more help than I did.

I consoled myself with the fact that, despite picking up the odd knock in my time, I haven’t really demanded that much of the National Health Service. I figured it was alright for me to be receiving the treatment in the off chance my knee can be fixed. If it turns out there’s nothing wrong and it’s all in my head then I might need to revise that statement. ;o)

As always I was very curteous and polite to the hospital staff. The way I see it is they’re doing a very important job – far more worthwhile than any I’ve ever done, and they don’t get paid much for it. I wouldn’t want Cousin Iain taking any unnecessary attitude from patients, so I spread the karma by doing my part, regardless of how receptive the staff are.

After changing into one of those gowns with the split down the back, and placing my belongings into a locker, I took a seat outside of the MRI room’s large insulating door and waited my turn. Shortly they wheeled an old lady out from the MRI room – she was very thin and moaning every other breath. Obviously it had been quite a daunting experience for her.

Being quite versed in sci-fi I was quite looking forward to “being placed in center of a giant packet of polo mints”, as the paperwork had described it. Following the instructions of the man who showed me in, I hopped up onto the table and placed my left knee into the brace that would hold it in place. The man added a couple of foam pads around my knee once the brace was closed over, which I was quite pleased about as I didn’t think I’d be able to keep still for half an hour.