An Afternoon in The Lung Hospital

To the National Theatre yesterday for the Matinee. About...what? 600+ people in the audience, and I would estimate that approximately 75% of them were in the last stages of lung disease: pneumonia, emphyzema, miner's lung, asbestosis, farmer's lung, and bronchitis.


...any chance of a Bovril??

 And those not suffering from these ailments all had serious congestion, colds, flu, and various other complaints that meant the entire auditorium was filled with the sound of wet, hacking, phlegmy coughs, sneezing, wheezing, throat-clearing, and the clanking of oxygen cylinders being dragged up and down the aisles to accompany their dying owners.

Seriously, I have never heard such a commotion. If you can't sit still and quiet through a performance, for God's sake stay away. No one wants to hear you hacking and honking away. It was so bad I kept missing the dialogue:

“But I say, dash it all Inspector, surely you don't mean to imply…”

“Oh but I do Colonel. The fantastic yet inescapable conclusion is that the murderer is none other than…”

“HHOONNNNKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!” as the Queen Mary docks in Row F behind me.

Bloody disgusting.

I'm in Hell...don't stop

We went to Vrisaki,  a local Greek Restaurant in North London last weekend, and it's worth a report.

If anyone is thinking of going there, let me impart a few do's and don'ts:

DON'T go if you have eaten recently. Say over the last couple of months

DON'T expect a fine dining experience

...and a bottle of the '85 Montrachet my good man

DON'T go if you want obsequious waiters

...oh a wise choice sir

DON'T go if you are hard of hearing

I said LET'S GET TWATTED!!!

DON'T go if you want a candlelit romantic dinner for two

Christ it's cold. Can we go in before my nipples rip through this dress?

DO go if there are about 6 - 8 of you and you have loud voices

That can't be right. I only had the onion bhagis

DO go if you hold some sort of eating record

Quick! MORE NAPKINS!!

and finally, DO remember to wear loose clothing in the trouser department

Yes I think that might be a little TOO loose

I am allowed, by the missus, to go to Vrisaki about once a year. This is because it takes about a year to recover. So last week, my year's exile was up and eight of us went. For those new to the place, when you arrive you think you've made a mistake, as all you see is a bog standard Kebab House takeaway.


Persevere.

Go past the counter and suddenly you find yourself in a huge dining room, with many rows of tables filled with loud and enthusiastic patrons being served by a bunch of sweaty old geezers in waistcoats a few sizes too small for them. The waiters are mostly friendly but born before any notion of Customer Service was popular. The whole place I always think has the frenetic air of a Munich Beer Keller.

Anyway, we sit down and immediately order a) The Meze b) Retzina wine and Keo beer.

WARNING: do not attempt to order anything else. I have never ordered anything else, and so cannot give any details as to what the rest of the food/drink is like, but just take my word for it. The reason you (and everybody else) is there, is The Meze. This is the most extraordinary Meze you will have in your life anywhere. Ever.

So the first course arrives, and it consists of: taramasalata, Tzaziki, Hummus, olives, potato salad, beetroot salad, various bean salads (2 or 3 different ones). tabouleh, seafood salad, plus about another half dozen plates I cannot remember now, plus lots of warm pitta bread. There were about 15+ different dishes, and because we were 8, they brought about 3 dishes of every dish. In fact, there were so many dishes, they were, literally, balancing them on top of each other.


This is just mine

So you pile in: lovely freshly made stuff. Brilliant, and you just can't stop yourself overindulging, even though you know what is to come.

Next course: platters of seafood: prawns, smoked salmon, smoked mackerel
Next course: big piping hot grilled flat mushrooms with garlic butter
Next course: Ridiculously salty thick grilled bacon topped with grilled halloumi
Next course: Giant baked Mediterranean prawns swimming in garlic butter

You are now beginning to see double and wheezing a bit, but it keeps coming, and although you passed full up about four courses ago, it is all so good that you just keep going

Next course: Huge platters of deep fried Calamari with lemon
Next course: Some enormous, unidentified, whole baked fish

There could have been a few more courses after this, but I had by now lost the capacity for rational thought

And finally:

THE MAIN COURSE!!!!!

Although I must have been to Vrisaki in excess of a dozen times over the years, I have only ever been but vaguely aware of the main course and its constituents, so forgive me if I am a little light on substance here. It certainly consists of a large, feta filled Greek Salad. There is also huge platters of grilled meats. Certainly at least two kinds of kebabs. Plus some fat and multi-coloured sausage-type items, possibly Basturmas. Were the kebabs tough or tender? Well, they smelt OK, but to be honest, by this time, as my stomach pushed my diaphragm northwards into my lungs, I could only draw in short, shallow gasps of breath, and was unable to move any of my limbs.

Hence I could only waft a fork in the vague vicinity of the meat platter, and, rather like a sea anemone relying on passing edible detritus, hope that some meaty treat might find its way onto the end of one of my feebly waving tines.

Finally, finally it is over, but not before the sadistic waiter offers a fruit platter. WARNING: the fruit platter consists of MORE FOOD.

your usual fruit platter sir?

And as I was being loaded onto a forklift truck to take me home, I found myself thinking, Never Again!

But I know I don't really mean it.

The naughty chair

Can I refer my honourable colleagues to the answer I gave sometime before, namely, on my very first post:

"I genuinely do not know what the hell I am going to do, but I know what I am NOT going to do:
No charity work
No voluntary stuff"

Umm....I have just volunteered to do some work for a charity


Oh good evening, we are collecting on behalf of the local home for distressed gentlefolk...

I am going to teach Numeracy to vulnerable adults to help them get back on their feet. I know this sounds cringingly worthy



OK punk, what's three times eight?

but I admit I have always loved mathematics and am a bit of an astronomy nerd. Plus after a few months of Cash in the Attic you get a bit sick of it.



Put me down, you orange twat


So anyway, I am on my way to my first meeting with the charity, It's a good half hour walk away, so thought I'd abandon my stick, which I am using less and less anyway. Good exercise, I am thinking.


...and while you're at it, what about a decent pair of wingtips?

As I'm a little early, I stop into a cafe on the way. Order my cappucino, and find a table. Sitting down and standing up sans stick is a bit tricky, so I sit down carefully...down and down I go, lower and lower thinking, Christ this is harder than usual: maybe I still need the stick, and eventually sit down heavily in the chair with a loud crack emanating from the chairlegs.

I find myself about 4 inches off the floor.

I've sat in a fecking kiddie chair


...and can I have a shot of Kosher Orange Curacao Triple Sec Syrup with the Cappuccino
 please

My chin is just sticking over the top of the table, my knuckles are dragging on the floor and I am practically bent double. I sneak a peek around to see if anyone has noticed. Not many people about. I think I have got away with it. Should I just tough it out, wait for my coffee and pretend nonchalantly that I am in fact an Indian Fakir who prefers to sit with their knees in line with their ears?


Picture of me drinking my coffee out of a cup commensurate with the size of my chair

I rapidly come to the conclusion that if I stay in this position any longer I am going to need another operation to unlock my hip, so I struggle to my feet making noises like a rhinocerous in heat, and stagger over to a normal sized chair, just as the waitress brings me my coffee.

"Is that more comfortable?" she says with a smirk.

I try to give her a look like this


Back off lady, if you want a tip

But it comes out (judging from her giggle) more like this


please don't tell anyone

Arse

My Fault

Not quite sure how she does it, but the missus is a virtuoso at making everything my fault. I tell you, it's a gift.

She took a long weekend, and we did our occasional cinema on Monday afternoon routine. So we're in there, amongst the crumblies

Egad, but that's a trim ankle you have there Marjorie. Come and sit next to me and we can compare hip operations

I sit down. I am now ready and fully prepared for the film.

She sits down. Stands up and takes off her jacket. Sits down. Gets her handbag and starts rummaging through it. Rummage rummage, crinkle crinkle. Elbow in the ribs. Rustle rustle. Rummage rummage.

'Here hold this' She starts passing me stuff out of the voluminous cavern that is her handbag. Keys, tissues, more tissues, makeup, notebook, envelopes, vast quantities of old till receipts, copy of Timeout, the missing evidence in the A6 Murders Case, more tissues, missing bits of the Rosetta Stone, more tissues……



"What are you doing?'

'Looking for my glasses'

'What, are you going to read a book during the film?'

'I want to turn my phone off. Here they are'

'She still continues to hand me stuff. I am running out of hands. I consider setting up a car boot stall or at the very least hiring a skip



'What are you looking for now?'

'My phone. Here it is. Ooh I've got a message'

'Look, just turn it off. You're missing the amusing EE advert.'

'Hold on.' She reads her message and starts tapping away at the phone in that universally moronic pose that all composers of mobile phone text messages adopt and incenses me every time I see it, which means that I get incensed every few minutes when I am in ANY RESTAURANT. She finally finishes, turns off her phone, and I start handing back the armfuls of detritus that disappear over the Event Horizon into the Black Hole that is her handbag.

She gets up again. 'I think I'll go to the loo'

'Why didn't you go when you came in?' I say irritably

'I wanted to get settled'

'By searching for the Lost Treasures of the Incas in your handbag?'

'Just watch the adverts you misery'

Off she goes. Returns and sits down for two minutes. We are into the trailers. She gets up.

'What now??'

'I'm going to get a bottle of water. Do you want one?'

'No'

'What if you get thirsty?'

'I'm fine. I'll have some of yours if dehydration sets in over the next 90 minutes.'

'Well, I'm getting fizzy'.

'I'm getting pretty worked up myself''

She returns with the water, just as the film certificate comes up. That's the start of the film. Absolutely categorically no talking from this point in. She whispers to me, 'I think we came here on our wedding anniversary and saw Titanic.'




(Incidentally, Titanic was one of the worst films I have ever seen. Never have I been so glad to see an iceberg. The whole terrible experience was made almost enjoyable however, by the lady behind me sobbing to her neighbour as the credits rolled at the end, "I didn't know it was going to sink!!")

'Ssssh'

'I am sure of it. I think we sat over there.'

'Sssssh'

'About three rows back in the middle. Yes! It was definitely just over there. Look!' She points meaninglessly at some empty seats

'What am I supposed to be looking for, a blue plaque?'

'Sssssssh, the film's started' she says.

See? My fault