Okay, so maybe the plate of salt and pepper prawns at yum cha wasn’t the wisest thing to do when still violently concussed, but since when have I been wise?
I should be in hospital, but I went off to see a screening of the RSC’s production of Cymbeline, because it’s a lesser known Shakespeare and I’m still trying to educate myself.
It was really, really good, despite being in my least favourite Shakespearian trope – the post-apocalyptic setting where everyone wears boots, boiler suits and bin liners. Well, no bin liners but I did note the autumnal shades of Sainsbury nags – smirk.
It was a bit of an everything but the kitchen sink plot (hidden identities, gender swaps, fake death poisons, forest hijinks, palace intrigues, forced marriages, all the tropes (can you say filler episode?).
Innogen’s hubby was a bit of a dick. I hope those crazy kids can make it work (what’s a spot of attempted murder when you really lurve someone).
And then I got hit by a car. Again. This time just crossing from the theatre to the pedestrian bridge. Bastard stopped and inexplicably backed up right into me, totally deliberate like, but because I’d seen the play with the usual dozen diehards, they all shouted when I ducked and screamed and the car sped off, and I only got a bit of a bump and bruised shin and elbow – my big pillow took the worst of it, but I’m well over it, I can tell you.
Third time’s the charm I guess, because clearly my number’s up. I’m just:
- Doomed to die
- Targeted for assassination by robots from the future
- Cursed by gypsies
- All of the above.
Why did I have a large pillow? Because I’d gone shopping for one to stop myself rolling onto my bad side because I’m still in screaming agony from being run over the first time. So I used the pillow as a shield. Worked. (Now try getting me out of the house without my safety pillow).
Other shopping included Advils and peppermint tea. I’m in really bad shape. I’m only going to work and going out because I’m used to doing that when in really bad shape after a lifetime of endometriosis. It doesn’t mean I’m good, just that I’m used to feeling fucked up.
Otherwise I’ve been watching Outlander on both SBS and Showcase because, having to ration my Advils, watching wee Jamie takes my mind off how bloody awful I feel, just for a bit. Ditto reading the book on the bus – all I had to stop me shaking to pieces both times.
I also found South Pacific on telly, more shirtless dudes, and while it might feature the gayest crew that ever rode a rainbow coloured unicorn, it was sadly on point re race issues. Haven't we come so far. Not.
Today is Halloween. Nobody’s doing it this year, because America = wankers, but I’m wearing my Macbeth t-shirt, because I’m violently concussed and I don’t care any more.