The journey all started yesterday really. Yesterday I went to Bluewater and bought the pair of boots that will be integral to my winter foot health. I had to sell a kidney to afford them due to severe financial restrictions right now, but they are genuinely a necessity as without them I would be in flip flops until after Christmas which could lead to pneumonia. I think. In all honesty I'm not really sure how you get pneumonia but I assume if you get cold, wet feet it can happen.
After Bluewater which involved two krispy kreme doughnuts and a minor mall induced panic attack. I went to Whitechapel for a gig. Now, I don't like to be judgemental. That's a massive lie - I revel in it. But, I'm not usually vocal about it. Usually I keep my contempt in until I'm in a safe place and have fully assessed my opinion on the subject. Yesterday I did not.
It was a gong show and there was a huge crowd assembled and I started out enthusiastic. My enthusiasm waned as I got further and further into the gig and realised that the combined IQ of the entire audience must have been somewhat akin with a Kerry Katona book signing. And that includes the guy employed to remind her how to spell her name. And how to hold a pen. And what a fucking book is. Kerry Katona...easy target? Well, yes, probably, but there's a good chance my entire ability to be funny has been trashed by this experience of comedy.
The first act in the gong was very good, a nice intelligent guy with some delightful lines and a strong delivery...after that I felt the night deteriorated somewhat. The audience stamped their feet and whooped and cheered at the most banal material - seeming to revel in their cluelessness. I was almost disappointed to survive the gong. Being booed by a balding 20something in a checked shirt who seemed to be modelling his look on a decaying gormless lumberjack with less finesse was a highlight.
The prize for the night was £50...at the point where an 'act' got practically a standing ovation for describing the disabled children he worked with as 'top level spastics' and 'dribble covered wheelers'...I left. I gave up any desire to be Queen of this night and hightailed it out of there and back to the real world where people engage their brains before braying before a moron.
Snob? Me? Yes. Absolutely. And fucking proud of it.
SO I left that gig and disappeared up to Barnet, High Barnet. The tallest haircut in London. I stayed over night with one of my fellow elves from Lapland and we watched Stepbrothers and had a perfect sleepover. Stepbrothers is one of my favourite films. We love it so much that in Lapland we actually made our beds into bunk beds. Fact. See Facebook for pictorial evidence.
This morning we awoke and headed over to Rochester. We got mildly lost and I have seen the same roundabout at least 3 times today. But finally we were at the airfield.
The tiny plane was excellent and although I was rather nauseous taking off we were soon in the air and sailing over Canterbury. It was amazing to see a city I know so well from the air. I have a lot of incredibly happy memories in Canterbury and seeing it from a perfect blue sky was amazing.
We landed in Le Touquet and headed into town. Le Touquet is rather like Wysteria Lane in Desperate Housewives. There were more Mercs and MX5s in driveways than I've ever seen in my life. But I ate salmon (my favourite) and played on the beach (I adore beaches and the sea - see previous blogs for gushing) and all in all have had a miraculous day. A perfect day.
Have you? Sorry, just realised I've been a bit 'me, me, me'.