Wet Wet Wet

The air conditioning has broken in the studio that I share with James O’Brien.
SO
We are all HOT SEATING in the big studio now.
That means everything has to be picked up swftly before the next occupant takes their seat. Its such a rush that I left my flip-flops under the desk,
Whilst Petrie Hosken & James Hartigan were setting up ‘Drive Time’ I was scrambling around on my hands and knees between their legs….

It’s the studio I learnt in. It’s bigger, airier and the clock hangs on the right hand wall which makes it easier to read. Its a lovely studio to work in.
In the middle of the show Jilly Jam Jar told me she had been ironing in the garden whilst listening on her wireless when it started to rain.
I had to implore somebody, whilst on air, to put the roof up in my car.
By 4.00 the interior of my car was soaked. I had one tacky blanket in the boot which I folded over twice and placed it on the sodden driving seat the better to keep the water out of my knickers. It raised me up like an articulated lorry driver. The windows were all steamed up, my hanging duberrys were drooping and my driving entirely erratic as I tried to dry my hands-free box which was dripping wet on the visor.
I managed to get to my acupuncturist unscathed.
I have been having trouble doing any form of exercise. I put it down to Jackson, I put it down to grieving, I put it down to laziness, indolence and just plain obstinacy, but after a long chat with my Guru I realised I was frightened of hurting myself.
Not wanting to put my foot, ankle, back, neck and brain out I have just vegetated, but I hate the lack of air and endorphins –
SO
I am about to try power walking. Yes I know it sound feeble and a bit St James Park but I have to do something. I ‘think’ when I run, ipso facto, no running no thinking. I am attempting an early night, no sitting up till 3 with the old man discussing the over-population of the planet or why young actors dont know how to project their voices, and then tomorrow I am going to try and fast walk my way up to the Bhudda and back.
After one and half hours of needles and chat I returned to my sopping wet motor.
It’s now parked in the underground car park, I hope it doesn’t smell of old wool tomorrow morning.
I’ve put all my damp clothes in the washer and have made myself two scrambled eggs.
I am about to sit down for a cuppa and wonder about my future. The ‘Audience With…’ will be in October/November. I will keep you posted.
Dear Kirsten, hang in there girl, Dear Mrs. Jones, thank you for your reply and Dear Holmshill girl, welcome back to blighty – yes I did attend that school for two years…1962 -64, I think! – I loved it.
There we are all done and dusted I’m off for me Rooibosh.
Tarra, cusoon.