I am properly ill. Like really really. I checked with Layla and she has confirmed it is not just man-flu. This is good as it means I can complain about it all I want and there is reason for other people to listen and not assume I’m being a hypochondriac. Layla says its a proper ill thing because I have a slight temperature. This worries me a lot as most people have a full temperature. Even inanimate objects have a full temperature, like rooms for example. Or weather. For me to only have a slight one must mean I’m very ill. Or possibly starting to disappear. Lets hope for the former. So I am spending today on the sofa, in my PJs, watching a lot of DVD’s and drinking Sainsbury’s lesser version of Lemsip. The DVD’s I have lined up for today’s viewing are Watchmen (on Blu-ray), The Kite Runner and I’m currently making my way through Ulysses 31 as I type this so apologies if I get confused at any point whilst blogging. It can happen, especially when I am properly sick. Like I am.
Its bloody lovely being home. After feeling sick on the train, the journey seemed to take forever. Me and Layla were unfortunate enough to have two people sit next to us, which I think is disgraceful. Just because there are empty seats, does not mean people with valid tickets should be able to sit in them. The pair that sat there were, at first appearance a gran and son from Newcastle. The son was a well kempt eight year old and spent his journey actively reading and trying to write stories. He seemed pretty right and was nattering away about going to London. His gran, who it later transpired was his mum, was tattooed all over her arms, had an alcoholics mottled red skin and cuts on her face, spent the whole journey playing her Nintendo DS, didn’t know if London was South or West and enjoyed shouting at her son. I really couldn’t work out who was looking after who. Telemikus! No! Sorry. Aside from dealing with this constant verbal stream of an 8 year old blabbing away about things while a weird woman shouted, the train then decided to get stuck for 20 minutes while we waited for transport police to eject someone from the train. 30 minutes. I wonder what would have happened were someone being attacked with an axe or something more violent. Surely transport police should be at every station? Unless they are constantly in transport, which may occasionally make it difficult to stop. Ulysseeeee-eee-eeesss, no one else can do the things you do-oooh. When we finally made it home we were greeted by two very guilty looking cats who had messed up all the bed covers. I was temporarily worried we had been burgled by some very mild criminals.
Not a lot else to report or remark on, except that maybe you should have thought twice about destroying the Cyclops. My brain is 90% snot so very few interesting thoughts shall happen today. However, rather than leave the blog here, I feel I should put some further statistics as I missed many out yesterday due to train sickness:
Edinburgh Statistics Part 2
Amount of Kinder Eggs thrown at or handed to me during the festival: 12
Amount of times those Kinder Eggs affected my diabetic blood sugars: 12
Amount of time spent hiding under a Rhod Gilbert poster: 2 1/2 hours
Amount of time spent hiding in a box: 4 hours
Amount of potential zombies killed by myself or Paul Byrne: 360 (assumed that were a zombie break in to occur during every show, we could probably get about 15 of them)
Amount of actual zombies killed: 1
Amount of times I felt like a zombie after a night out: 3
Amount of times I heard the song ‘Time of the Season’ by The Zombies: 0
Amount of times I stood near Reese Shearsmith: 2
Amount of cheese I ate during the month: 4 tonnes
Amount of deep fried food I ate during the month: 0.3 tonnes
Amount of eyes the average person had in Edinburgh: 2
Amount of eyes the average Disciple of Cyclops has: 1
Amount of times I saw Richard Sandling: 48
Amount of times I saw Dan Atkinson: 0
Amount of times I saw Richard Sandling dressed as Dan Atkinson: 0
Amount of paper cuts garnered from aggressive flyerers: 8
Amount of times I said ‘no’ to a flyerer in an aggressive way: 34
Amount of my posters seen with a Hitler moustache from Richard Herring’s show: 5
Amount of times I wondered if it was a good look or not: 5
Amount of times the jets from the Tattoo made me jump when they flew over: 12
Amount of children I tried to explain to that the Tattoo was when you go to a show and they tattoo everyone’s faces at one with a giant needle and that’s why coachloads of old people go along: 57
Chances of Ulysses escaping the seventh satellite of Zantrini: 4-1
Amount of times I said I’d meet Chris Cox for a drink and didn’t: 9
Amount of times I actually met Chris Cox for a drink: 1
Percentage of me that didn’t want to meet Chris Cox for a drink incase he mind raped me: 14%
Amount of non-Edinburgh conversations I had during the month: 4
Amount of times I called Daniel Kitson a bastard after thinking about how good his shows were: 45
If you can think of any more then please leave comments below.
Chris Cox has also done a nice blog with some actual stats on it. Have a look at that here:
http://www.broadwaybaby.com/index.php?option=com_myblog&show=and-im-done.html&Itemid=80
By the Gods no! We must return before the second comet passes the Earth!
