Hey Nonny Nonny

Blood was 4.8 this morning, after pizza dinner last night and absolutely no walking this morning.
Absolutely no walking this morning, I hear you sardonicaly mutter, way to be committed. Let me just remind you about the whole FALLING DOWN THE STAIRS incident of last night, and add that it really puts a crimp in your walking schedule, alright?

However, buoyed by the low blood result, I seem to have rather over-compensated - porridge, couple of bread rolls, pineapple and grapes throughout the day, bowl of soup with more bread at lunch, cheeseburger for dinner. Still, buggerall in the way of walking.

Ask me if I give a fuck.

No, really, go on, ask me.

Don't make me stoop to ventriloquism, because you know I have no dignity left to speak of after my postings on the workings of my innards.

(Sigh)
(Drinks a glass of water).
Tony, do you give a fuck?

Glad you asked, and no I don't!
Why not? Very simple - tomorrow's schedule is more my own than normal, so I'll be back on the walking early in the morning, and I'm re-embracing positivity and ignorance, because mad as it seems, they appear to work. What's more, I just had the arse-kickingest of kickarse nights in the West End. David Tennant (acknowledged as Britain's greatest stage actor of his generation, Catherine Tate (acknowledged by my wife after tonight's performance as 'Britain's Lucille Ball,' than which no praise comes higher), William Shakespeare (who, on reflection, is doing alright considering he's been dead for more than 400 years). Throw them together with a practically pitch-perfect cast in support and what you have is...
Well let me put it this way. Sell your grandma - she's had her fun. Sell your children - they'll only grow up and marry someone stupid and be a massive disappointment. Sell your limited edition working replica solid gold sonic screwdriver if you absolutely have to, and get there. See this show. See it while you're alive, or you'll just spend the rest of time revolving in your grave that you missed it.

Let me put it another way. We have a table of all the shows we've seen in London (cos we're just that hip and groovy). For comedy with bite and impact, nothing has previously been able to touch a little-known show called On The Ceiling (if it's ever performed near you, go see that too, it's fabulous). For sheer blow-your-socks-off talent and entertainment, nothing has previously been quite able to touch John Barrowman in La Cage Aux Folles (my wife, who hadn't been a particular fan of his screen work, said nothing but "Wow..." for three consecutive days after seeing it).

Tonight topped them both. Tate stamping her presence on her Beatrice early was magnificent. Tennant stealing the stage from his very first entrance was hilarious. Their respective "discovery-that-the-other-loves-them" scenes I'm not going to tell you much about, because, difficult as it is to spoiler a play that's at least four centuries old, telling you too much would ruin them for you. We nearly passed out with laughter. Twice. And on and on and on it went, building and building into laugh after laugh. Seriously, sell a major organ, just get there.

I'm gonna dance a hey nonny nonny till it's time to sleep...ach, who am I kidding, it's already time to sleep...and then get back on the walking jag tomorrow. It's impossible to feel neurotic or demented or Dark Sided on a night like this. Sigh no more, Disappearers, sigh no more...

(Sigh)
What a night...