Time spent continuously in bed : 42 hours
Foodstuffs consumed : Horlicks, lemon squash, chicken soup, Beechams Flu & Cold relief & Veno’s cough mixture (very good when mixed together, but don’t plan on walking anywhere because you can’t feel your legs)
Symptoms : Nausea upon standing, squashed head in a vice upon laying, headache, earache, joint-ache, too sweaty under the duvy, too cold out of it, barking cough, bleeding sore throat (not in an Essex girl way, but bleeding from too much coughing) & a snotty nose. And spotty legs. (I don’t know ?)
Positions attempted trying to get comfortable : 6,742
Number of times pillows turned whilst attempting to replicate someone with lovely, cool ‘pastry’ hands smoothing my forehead : 349
Reading matter : Old copies of Horse & Hound.
Dental problems : None (in case anyone was still confused)
As someone who rarely gets ill, I was surprised to find myself honking lavishly & copiously before late-turn parade on Tuesday. I put it down to feeling a bit emotional & made it onto parade, pasty-white & sweating & 5 minutes late.
Being the fabulously proficient martyr that I am I did the whole late turn brushing aside the Guv’nor’s entreaties for me to ‘go home.’
‘Nay Guv’nor tis but a flesh wound’
After no sleep thanks to feverish, sweaty nightmares about Milky’s court case (which I dreamt I stuffed up due to a typing oversight) it became apparent in the morning that I officially had a cold.
I didn’t start to feel human again until yesterday afternoon after a bath. Hating to miss anything which happens on a rest day, I promptly headed off into town to meet the team for a drink-up.
It was a good turn-out as well, though, as ever, the numbers who made it onto Oceana were somewhat depleted. We were even joined by 3 ‘normal’ people in the shape of Colin’s friend Mark, Laura’s friend Serena & Milky’s friend Jim.
It’s always the way isn’t it that when you emphasise just how good something is to someone & how it’s ALWAYS good, it just isn’t, the next time you do it. And so it was with Oceana & what we had promised to Jim.
Immediately we arrived, Andy had a disagreement with the bouncer over acceptable footwear & had to go home. Andy thought trainers acceptable, the bouncers didn’t. If you’re reading this mate, there were lots of blokes wearing trainers inside. Does that help ?
It was with high expectations that Jim was ushered inside & we confidently whisked him through ‘the cheese-room’ & on towards the r & b room. Only to find our way barred by a velvet rope. Turns out the r & b room was closed. Bugger. So with heavy hearts we turned back to the cheese-room, the music here is never quite fast enough & never quite loud enough.
The dance-floor was populated by the sick, the lame & the dead.
The blokes were all short & fat & the ‘girls’ were … well …
My personal favourite was dressed in an outfit that resembled an elongated black boob tube. It commenced just above her nipples & ended just below her buttock cheeks. If this sounds sexy, I promise you it wasn’t, because her body shape resembled a toilet roll inner. No in’s, no out’s, no … anything really. She must have been too warm & had dispensed with her underwear & her dancing was, how shall I describe it ? Enthusiastic.
To replicate the dancing I would like you do the following :
March very rapidly on the spot, to no discernible beat whilst turning your knees out as you raise them to waist height. Hold your arms aloft in a manner slightly reminiscent of an aggressive football fan & at random intervals punch both arms in the air simultaneously. Be very careful to make sure your arm & leg movements never correspond. Every now & then tug vaguely at your hem, dragging your dress down to cover your ‘downstairs’ modesty, until your frantic marching makes it ride up again.
Need I tell you that Milky, Jim & I positioned ourselves where we would get the best view & dared each other to go & dance with her ?
Some of the other ladies were the 50 year old Cher lookee-likee with her fags tucked in her mini-skirt. Classy. Or at least Phil thought so. There was also, the rhomboid shaped lady with no neck who was enamoured of leopard-print nylon. Then there were the 2 tall people. What are the odds against the 2 tallest people there hooking up & finding neither one had any rhythm ? Life can be so harsh.
I sulked for most of the evening, finding it impossible to dance to anything except 1 track by Usher but Jim & Milky had no such reservations. They boogied, they pranced, they did the eyebrow thing (actually that was just Jim) They postured, they shimmied & they tangoed. I kid you not, I have photographic evidence. I came to the conclusion they would enjoy themselves in an empty room.
Tomorrow it’s early turn again. I’m going to read this week’s Horse & Hound & make myself some dinner. I’d usually have an early night before earlies but I’m sick of being in bed & I never thought I’d say that.
I’ll leave you with this, which I thing you’ll agree needs only one title
Cx
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