Which reminds me, I must remember to buy a souvenir brochure and two programmes, as I was going to ask him very nicely, if my stalkingness works out, to sign one for Angela. That'd completely blow her mind, I think.
So, this cold came on strongly on Sunday, having started with a sore throat on Saturday morning, and this morning I was in no fit state to go to work. I was hoping I could go in as I'm already having Friday and next Monday off as it is, and I've just been given a whole pile of typing to do for Small Heath, as their typist is applying for the CP Admin job. Which, okay, is fine for me, as I'd rather be busy than bored, but only when I'm actually there to do the work...
I went to my father's yesterday complete with headcold, which somehow made it more bearable because there was less shouting and trying to engage me in conversation because I couldn't talk... The only incident of note - and this story will make me sound so petty and mercenery it's untrue - was when he went to the bank to draw some money out. Upon asking what I wanted for my birthday, I said "Money to spend in London, please" - so what does he hand me? £20.00. At first I thought he was kidding. But, no, I've got £20.00 to spend in London, because apparently he's got no money. This is the same man who is willing to spend 25p a minute phoning the Philippines, or vast amounts of money building an extension onto the house, and earns more than my mother and I put together.
No money? I'll believe that when I can see a bank statement. And because I was ill, it really upset me, though not enough that I'd let him know that. So there I was in the car trying to fight off tears. I can't even content myself any more in the knowledge that I'll be going back to Derby and won't have to deal with it for a few months. I'm stuck with these pointless Sundays for the rest of the forseeable future. Christ.
The one thing I do like about having a cold, though, it has to be said, is that everything ends up emotionally heightened. On Saturday, I'd printed off Naomi's fabulous drawings of my Orphan Eyes characters to show someone, and they'd ended up in the back of my pad with all the other bits of writing and random doodles, and on Sunday I just couldn't stop staring at them. I don't know what it is, or how she does it, but it's as if she's right there in my head seeing exactly what I'm seeing when I'm writing... and maybe it is the sheer power of my descriptive prose (ha...) or maybe it's just... I don't know. All I do know is that I'm really frelling lucky to have her as a friend. It's one thing creating these characters and trying to get others to visualise them; it's another thing having someone else get far enough inside your head to manage to bring them to life before your very eyes... And if I write my bizarre dreamed-up children's story about the people living in a basin, I can think of no-one better to illustrate it.
I watched The Pianist today (Roman Polanski; Adrien Brody won the Best Actor Oscar for it) having taped it Saturday night. Really powerful film. Definitely worth watching. That's about all I can say, though...
I'd be more excited about London (4 days!) if I wasn't so damned ill. :(