Am off out to review a play tonight. "Cooking with Elvis" by Lee Hall, famous writer of "Billy Elliot" but this appears to be a very different kettle of cheese, routinely being compared to Joe Orton's work. I'm doing it for Culture N.I. and, oddly, it's at the end of its run rather than the beginning meaning that my opinion won't sway anybody in any direction.
Which is fine.
The Postman rang my doorbell this morning and in my eagerness to open the door I snapped the key in the lock. It fell apart between my powerful fingers with ridiculous ease. Two boozeless weeks of careful eating have turned me into a superhero. A superhero locked in his house. I had to ring a crabby and hungover Dee Mullan to come and let me out. If I hadn't given her the spare I would be stuck in here still, starving to death, and admiring my slender figure.
The postman was delivering a DVD of "Stewart Lee : 90s Comedian" as my desperate man-crush continues to the extent that I'm currently writing a piece slagging him off in a fair imitation of his pedantic stage manner. It's a twisted love letter really. He is basically my avatar in an immersive* video game called "Look at what you could've won".