Sep 25, 2007

A Day in the Life, Part One

0900: Woken from blissful slumber by a phone call. The call was in relation to a Secret Writing Project, which I don't want to go into yet, until it's all good to go.

1000: Pilates. Nice workout (as much as pilates can be called a workout, as you don't particularly get sweaty), with some new arm work on the Reformer, as well as some standing work that really got my thigh muscles engaged.

1100: Home again, showering and getting ready for lunch with the Wah and his parents. It's actually the Wah's birthday today, and in all the hullabuloo surrounding the new television and Wii, combined with my working, writing and general exhaustion, I have accidentally somehow maybe - forgotten to get him a present he can unwrap. Whoops. Still, the Wah is very gracious, and was happy enough to play said Wii until it was time to head out to lunch.

1130: I have a chat with my Mum on the phone - unfortunately, she has to have some medical tests done. She's got no problem with that, she just wishes her doctor wasn't away on holidays so she could have them done sooner. Apart from that, she and Dad are well, and enjoying their new holiday apartment on the Gold Coast. Apparently Dad has bought a pedal-powered canoe of some sort. With a sail. That's my Dad for you.

1200: Picked up Wah's parents from respective workplaces and headed to the Continental Cafe, a French restaurant in the Valley I can highly recommend. Try the soy and lime chicken breast with coconut risotto. Yuuuum. Today I chose the coq au vin, while the Wah had delicious blue cheese penne with spinach. Mmmm. Cream brulees and ice-cream to finish, and then it was back to work for Wah's Mum, the train home for Wah's Dad, and back to Chez Clumsy for Wah and I.

1400: Back home, and I begin trying to work on aforementioned Secret Writing Project, which is hampered by being unable to not listen to "Get This" on the radio. Damn you, Tony Martin. Actually, no, I'm sorry. I could never be angry with you.

1500: The Wah decides to go for a wander into the city, to pick up some library books and comics. More procrastinating from me, as I look at the screen and try to think of words that sound right, and most of all, make sense.

1550: "Get This" all but over - now I can work!

1600: Doorbell rings. The fiend is here. Unexpected, but not unpleasant. However, Wah is still in town, so I tell the fiend he must amuse himself with the Wii, because I really HAVE to work on Secret Writing Project for at least an hour and a bit. The fiend doesn't seem to mind, except at the point where he loses a thumbnail due to excessive nunchuk thrusting.

1610: OK, procrastinating over - now I can work!

1700: The Wah returns home. Hooray! He has bought himself another Wii game. It is a crazy one called Wario Smooth Moves. I return to my post in front of the computer, forcing more words out onto the screen.

1800: I decide to call my grandmother in Vanuatu to check something out for my Secret Writing Project. We end up talking bollocks for 20 minutes. She's hosting a quiz night for the Vanuatu Amateur Theatrical Society on Saturday night, then catching a 7am plane down to Brisbane for a month's respite with family. I told her she'd better kick right on through, and she said something about "I'll just have a few more beers and I'll be OK". Is it right that my 82-year-old grandmother has a cooler social life than me? Actually, you know, I'm quite fine with that.

1830: I start getting ready for Impro Mafia. I'm performing, so I drag out the team t-shirt, which really, really needs a wash. Oh well. At least it saves me half an hour trying to decide what to wear so I don't look porky. (An impossible mission altogether, some might argue). I try miserably to style my hair with my ghd straightener (seriously one of the top two inventions ever, the other being fridges with built-in ice-dispensers). My hair desperately needs a cut, but I'm putting it off until closer to the dreaded high school reunion. However, something exciting happens. I find a hairband in a tray of crap, and my hair's grown enough to actually tie most of it back into a tiny little ponytail. I haven't been able to do that in about two years; the reason why I was so surprised to find a hairband in the flat in the first place. The boys compliment the style - hmmm, maybe I should keep growing the hair a bit? See what happens?

1915: The Wah, the fiend and I leave for the Stones Corner pub, and impro craziness. I go upstairs to warm up, and the boys head off for sushi love down the road.

2000: The show begins! It's a weird first half for me, and two of my three scenes were quite awful. However, a song about "something feminine", which turns into a description of a pre-date beauty routine, was quite nice, and salvaged an otherwise ordinary first half. The second half was better on average, with an Understudy scene involving cheating with Britney Spears, and a final musical in which I played a nun so pure and pious, she converted the Son of Satan himself. Aww.

2200: Post show drinkies! The Wah has a few birthday Kronenbergs, the beer a preference to the woeful selection of whiskys on offer at the T-Bar (Slate? Are you kidding? Johnny Walker? Are you looking for a smack in the face?). We talk the usual bollocks with the improvisers and friends, devoting a fair amount of time to discussing just how good the Wii actually is.

2300: Return home to find Mark knee deep in what looks like Season Two of "Alias". I make myself a chicken and lettuce wrap, and head into the computer room to start typing up a bunch of bollocks about my day. I decide to forego any more work on the Secret Writing Project, as I have to work at 9am tomorrow, and still have ten pages or so of "The Amber Spyglass" by Phillip Pullman to finish (after giving up so close to the finish around 1 o'clock this morning). Any writing done now will surely not be worth reading, anyhow - best to get a reasonable night's sleep so I can concentrate on finishing said Secret Writing Project after work tomorrow.

2400/0000: The Wah and Mark are back on the Wii, Wah finally with a good whisky in hand (an 18-year-old Glenlivet). I hope he's had a wonderful birthday, despite my shocking lack of preparedness. He deserves to have a rocking birthday every year. And I say "nighty-night!".

Based on an idea from Michael, which seemed like an especially good idea considering the stress of the Secret Writing Project. This was my day off too, I'll have to do another of these during a work day.

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