The 26th of April.
I did not have a good night – I was cold, then I was afraid I was spiking, but I did eventually fall asleep, only to wake at twenty to six because we had to leave the house at seven to get the train to London for me to go to Sophie’s hen do!
Our train down to London was fine, even a little bit early! We got a cab to Leicester Square tube station where we were all meeting, then Mommy and Daddy pootled off and the rest of us piled into two cabs to go to Choccywoccydoodah. Sophie, Christine, Sophie’s friend Alice and I were in one, and Felicity and Brenda (Sophie’s sister and mum) came in the second one. We all met up on Carnaby Street where Auntie Hilary was waiting, and Sophie twigged where we were going, and we went up into the secret room for chocolate breakfast!
There was a table covered in sweets, huge bowls of jelly babies (fatal), dolly mixtures, smarties, plus platters of cakes and jars of chocolate drops and mugs of melted chocolate. I ordered coffee and a slice of cake which was vast, but I also wanted to try a while chocolate truffle milkshake, so I finished nothing. We were all then a bit defeated by the chocolate, so we all got taxis back to Sophie’s flat which had been filled with balloons and we all flooped a bit and drank a lot of water.
Once we’d all recovered, we spent the rest of the afternoon making twenties-style head-dresses to be worn for the evening bit that Christine, Hilary and I weren’t attending, but we partook anyway. We had to leave at five to got to Euston, so I Hailo’d a taxi and we trundled back across London. When we arrived, we found that all the trains had been delayed due to signalling problems at Watford, but because we had booked assistance, we were looked after. Our train was meant to be at 18:23, but we didn’t get put on one until 18:51. This would’ve been okay, except then we just sat there on an empty train for fifty minutes until they opened boarding for the rest of the great unwashed and a million people got on. I was very happy to have my own chair. I had a very cute baby to look at on the journey too so all was well. I listened to nice music and felt a whole lot better about life.
When getting off the train, two drunk guys singing Relight My Fire wanted to help and one kissed me on the cheek. Little bit disgusting.
An unexpected ending to my day.
The 27th of April.
Oh so weary but in a good way. Got up at half past nine and watched Sunday Brunch in pyjamas. I decided that I would do my workout this afternoon because I won’t be able to tomorrow.
I exercised with one eye on Britain’s Got Talent and Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium. I love that film so much, even more so since it has become apparent that I will be departing too. He is probably one of my favourite film characters of all time.
This evening we had tickets to see I’m Sorry I Haven’t A Clue at the Hippodrome which was vastly entertaining. I was asked if I was going to Jason Manford’s comedy gig for Stephen/TCT but we already had these tickets and I got to see Tim Brooke-Taylor sing Wrecking Ball which I would not trade for anything. Plus I saw Jeremy Hardy live who is my third favourite News Quiz person (behind Sandi and Susan, sorry Jeremy) and I hadn’t expected to see him at all so that was ace and I was literally overjoyed. I also got to play in a kazoo orchestra with 1800 other people which is pretty magnificent.
Mr. Edward Magorium: When King Lear dies in Act V, do you know what Shakespeare has written? He’s written “He dies.” That’s all, nothing more. No fanfare, no metaphor, no brilliant final words. The culmination of the most influential work of dramatic literature is “He dies.” It takes Shakespeare, a genius, to come up with “He dies.” And yet every time I read those two words, I find myself overwhelmed with dysphoria. And I know it’s only natural to be sad, but not because of the words “He dies.” but because of the life we saw prior to the words. I’ve lived all five of my acts, Mahoney, and I am not asking you to be happy that I must go. I’m only asking that you turn the page, continue reading… and let the next story begin. And if anyone asks what became of me, you relate my life in all its wonder, and end it with a simple and modest “He died.”