On The Wagon?

I’m thinking of abandoning my play about The Great Tullamore Balloon Disaster of 1785, and instead writing another one called: “Friday the Thirteenth – The Great Market Square Piggy-Back Disaster of 2008”. It might be said that this doesn’t hold the same universal appeal of my first idea, but it is the playwright’s job to turn a simple story of human interest into a dramatic tableau of man’s plight. And so it was that on Friday evening the lovely Richa suffered the indignity of la tombée as she was unceremoniously hurled from the shoulders of her errant knight and landing - with some force - on her head. The marble slabs of the Elysian Fields (aka Nottingham’s Market Square) understandably greeted her delicate skull without yielding, and the result was a night in A&E and eight stitches. A sorry tale indeed, and I wish my friend Richa a speedy recovery. As I write, she is refusing to feel daunted and has vowed not to allow a mere eight stitches to stop her from sallying forth. That’s the spirit! They say that the best antidote to falling off a horse (or in this case, shoulders) is to get right back on again. Steadfastness will be the theme of the new play, I think.

I’ve had a mixed weekend so far, but it isn’t over yet. After comfortably winning our race on Thursday evening I came home and went to bed, thereby closing a third complete day without alcohol. Not much of an achievement in many people’s eyes maybe, but rather unusual in my case. However, I made up for it on Friday evening and managed to end the night babbling nonsense and boring the pants off a young friend of mine back at my apartment, staring through the bottom of a whisky bottle. Saturday was spent in sober pursuits visiting - amongst others - my lonely billeted fish (who seemed pleased to see me) and my Buddhist friend Jinaraja (who seemed pleased to see the cakes I took for him). Later I went to a small dinner party in pursuit of romance (and found it!) but because I had to drive there, I had another evening completely devoid of the demon drink. This is looking good, both for my bank balance and for my health. Moreover, it might be good for my career too – given that I had one, of course.

Who would trust the BBC, eh? Okay, so their news coverage seems relatively impartial, and the ‘Archers’ appears to be a fairly straightforward story of simple honest folk, but those weather reports of theirs are just a web of duplicity and deceit. When I looked this morning, it said sunshine all day. This was propitious because I am going to a BBQ this afternoon and I was hoping to drive there with the hood down on the car. Now I look through the doors onto my patio and I see huge black clouds rolling perilously over Weekday Cross, threatening rain. We’ll be huddled under the gazebo like sheep at this rate.

At least I’ll be sober. Get thee behind me, Satan.