Dear Joanna, I am not in the slightest bit depressed, confused, knackered, sad and excited, not necessarily in that order, is my state of play at the moment. But depressed I am not.
I am in the middle of the move.
I have cleared my office. It echoes when I type.
I have cleared my bedroom. It echoes when I snore.
I have cleared the living room. It echoes when I shout at the Murdochs.
I have been to my doctor, an optician and a pharmacist. They all looked at my eye and told me I need to go to a hospital. So on Tuesday I am spending a fortune on having it cleaned, cleared, syringed and sandblasted so I can stop dribbling tears in my porridge.
I am having to go private because the Coalitions waiting list to have a routine clean is so long I will me lachrymating till September the 28th by which time I will have cried so many rivers my cheek will have an oxbow lake indented in it.
I could go and sit in casualty for a day or so but who has that kind of time.
Take today for instance, well tonight to be accurate, it’s 23.37 and I am on telly tomorrow. I have newly coiffed hair so I won’t sleep easily cos I don’t want to muss it up. I have a black eye from acupuncture, over which I will slaver arnica and I have a gammy foot which means I wont be able to wear my naughty but nice heels, I have indigestion from eating too late and an overactive imagination from reading too much.
Today has been long and silly.
10.00 Admin calls to cancel more direct debits.
11.00 Conference call to France.
12.00 A quick ablute.
1.00 Sprint to Battersea Bridge.
2.00 Dash from Leicester Square to meet The Barry
3.00 Meet with Sandra Double-Barrelled.
4.00 Hair cut in Archer Street
6.00 Hampstead Theatre Club.
7.00 Sushi digested
8.00 Ruckus in foyer having arrived 5 minutes late
9.00 Allowed in for second half
10.00 Back in the flat.
11.00 Sykpe calls with the family back home in E.Sussex
On the escalator at Hyde Park my freedom pass flew out of my hand. I turned round and tried to get it but like Tantalus in Greece I could never quite reach it. Running backwards on the escalator is an Olympian feat. A woman in a hijab shouted with concern. The more I walked against the tide the further away the freedom pass went. I screamed at a young man coming down the escalator to retrieve it for me. He did with a deft flick of his wrist. It was like a Benny Hill comedy. He looked at this aging woman in dalmation dungarees and said softly;
‘You could have hurt yourself.’ His patronage made me laugh out loud. He, however, was not amused. He handed me back my freedom pass and told me to be more careful. I laughed all the way to Bank.
Then I had a coffee in Soho some Sushi in Swiss Cottage, a banana in Battersea and an iced water in Waterloo. I have eaten too much, drunk too much, talked too much and travelled too far.
All in all depression hasn’t had a look in I couldn’t have fitted it in even if it had come knocking on my cerebral cortex.
It is now midnight and I have to get my beauty sleep. Night to all you bloggers, thank you for your lovely messages. LV and R, as usual, and bless you Joanna for caring.