The Calm

Well, after the excitement of yesterday’s review, Wednesday crept by like a lame thing, old before its time and too tired and listless to make much of an impression.

After very little sleep (thanks to my late-night Wire addiction), I got up early in order to accompany Alma to the hospital to have the cast removed from her foot. Then, to celebrate her newfound freedom and excellent scar, we went and had lunch at an Italian restaurant where the manager derided his staff for never having read The Three Musketeers.

Then I sought out a new medic. I’ve just done a little check and I realise I have been complaining about a dull grumbling pain in my stomach since last July. It comes and goes. Still. After the last lot of tests proved inconclusive, I decided to put it down to stress, but I don’t think I’m particularly stressed at the moment, and yet it’s back with a vengeance. So this afternoon I took a fresh step towards fixing it. Sadly, because it’s a new doctor in a new town, I have to fill in forms and wait a couple of weeks for an appointment. Happily, I’m going away tomorrow for a couple of weeks, so it doesn't really matter. I am slightly concerned, however, that my appendix will explode like an angry haggis when I’m away. Or in the air on Friday. Like a terrorist atrocity. But it’s not my appendix. It’s on the wrong side and the symptoms are all wrong. But it’s something. And it’s scary. Like this is scary. But you know, fuck it, I’m doing something about it. Fingers crossed that merciful God in all his greatness and wisdom will not let me down and leave me to die a premature, poorly-sexed death on foreign soil.

Would you like to know where I’m going? Well, I’m not going to tell you. I thought I might make a game out of it. I’ll post images and tweets and tales of exotic travel and you will guess the location and I will say you are wrong and snigger at you from behind warped and stained fists. I will say you are wrong even if you are right because I am properly mental.

I will tell you, however, that I’m travelling to a foreign land to spend a couple of weeks with a total stranger, and this is quite exciting because, if I’m not sorely mistaken, it’s what life’s all about. And let this be a warning to the rest of you who have invited me to your respective necks of the woods: I will come, in time.

What’s particularly exciting about this trip is that I have no idea what will happen.

I might crash a quad bike or fall down a mountain. I might deliver a baby or save a child from a burning building. I might drown in someone else’s blood or throw a porcelain dog at a charging midget. I might ride a horse, or eat a horse, or break a leg, or inadvertently offend an impulsive man prone to breathtaking retributive violence. I might read The Three Musketeers. I might fall in love. I might be totally transformed.

I hope I fucking am. In fact, if at least one of those things doesn’t happen, I will be horribly disappointed.

But whatever happens, I hope I don’t fall in love with a dusky princess with pungent skin and bright flashing eyes. I hope she doesn't chew me up with her body and break my heart. I hope she doesn't poison me with promise.

Just kidding. Wish me luck.