For those keeping track, I did not make it to the gala last night. I hadn’t read the official invite, just the ‘can you go to this thing Thursday?’ email, and I just couldn’t face sitting through a movie with French subtitles (which would be fine normally) without falling asleep and snoring embarrassingly (which I do when I am extremely overtired) in order to get to the schmoozy wine bit of the evening. So I owe some officials some apologies.
I had a good night, though, schmoozing instead with Richard, with whom I haven’t been hanging out much lately, eating fast food (Harvey’s does make a fine veggie burger), and chatting about feminism and gossip and drifting off on his couch for a few seconds at a time before stumbling home and getting more than seven hours sleep. A very nice evening indeed.
This morning is Phase I of tooth fixin’, the Giant Filling bit. My dentist is (very slowly) retiring, so his office hours are limited, so getting in to have a proper crown done will be tricky. I am hoping that by getting this giant filling (to replace another giant filling) will preclude needing a root canal is some magical dentisty way. No, I’m not sure how that works either. In fact, it probably doesn’t work at all.
Coming soon: A new compilation of the the results of the Very Late Review at Mark Watson’s website. I was supposed to have done it this week, but, in case you hadn’t gathered from my week-long whinge, this hasn’t been a great week for getting anything done. Luckily, he’s pretty understanding for a big celebrity. Or, at least, doesn’t let on that he’s incredibly angry, which is perfectly fine too. Or maybe he hasn’t read my message saying I won’t have it ready before he leaves for Australia yet, in which case…oh dear.
If you see him today, please wish a happy birthday to my older brother Ian, my first trivial rival, stylist, blackjack teacher, and eyeroll sharer. He’s, like, a real writer of Very Important Things, a volunteer superhero, and a far more sophisticated traveller/adventurer than I am too. I’d post an adorable photo of us as kids right here, but I fear that he would actually murder me in my sleep if I did such thing. Even with that kind of inflicted cruelty, I don’t know if the Crown would agree that it would provocation enough to reduce the charge to manslaughter. Going to jail for life’s a terrible birthday present.
Happy birthday, Ian! Again, apologies in advance (again) for being that asshat who shows up at a party an hour into dinner.