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More drama

Yes, I have been up to that there London again, to see another preview of a new play  – in this case Best of Enemies by James Graham at the Young Vic. I have been meaning to visit this theatre for some time now, and had somewhat randomly decided that this play – about which I knew very little when I booked – was to be the one for my first visit.

As it turned out, I saw an article in the press last weekend which gave me a little more background to the play and I wasn’t quite sure whether this would be right for me. After my last preview experience at the National Theatre (Moira Buffini’s Manor, which the critics have largely labelled a turkey – appropriate for this time of year I guess), I was worried that a black actor playing a 1960s conservative Republican – with all the questionable throwback politics that would likely entail – was possibly going to be just as silly-Woke or tokenistic as Manor had turned out to be. And perhaps more earnest and less fun.

But this would tick off another theatre, and it was raining, so I might as well sit indoors somewhere warmer than home.

In fact, I thoroughly enjoyed it and have once again rushed to write a quick review before the professionals get their pens on it. I will rashly predict that this will get a more favourable response.

The real drama this week however, was my latest attempt to take my own blood to send to UK Biobank for research antibody tests. This should not be a drama any more. I did this sort of test every month for six months in 2020, and became quite good at it. The test and equipment were very slightly different this time, but it all seemed fine. Of course, I forgot that you’re supposed to drink two glasses of water 30 minutes before taking the blood, but once I had remedied that, and then run up and down the stairs a few more times to get the blood pumping, I was all ready to go. 

My cat had other ideas however. He has changed since I previously did this, and is much more needy now. He seems to need to leap onto any surface we might be using and socialise madly with us – thus my initial attempt to use the sanitised work-surface in the kitchen was quickly abandoned when he skidded into the bowl of warm water I was supposed to soak my hand in. I scooped everything together and retired to my office upstairs. I somehow created sufficient space on my untidy desk, quickly wiped it with sanitiser, and I was in business again.  Using the lancet, I punctured my left ring finger, wiped away the first drop of blood as instructed, and proceeded to drip contentedly into the tiny vial I had carefully positioned for the purpose, also as instructed.

And then, my lovely cat scratched at the inadequately-latched door, and he was rapidly in and attempting to jump up onto the desk. Considerable screaming and bad language ensued (mostly mine). He was ejected, but not before a large area of desk, paperwork, laptop, carpet and door frame had acquired a police-precedural-reminiscent bloody be-spattering. Given that this was one of my smaller blood-vessels and most definitely not a pumping artery, the spread was quite impressive. I could have filled several tiny vials if I’d adopted this anti-feline windmilling earlier.

Ah well, I suppose it’s better than being bored. And we like a spot of drama now and again.

(Tempted to say ‘Out, damned spot: out, I say!’ here, but that would be corny and I have run out of energy to shoe-horn it into my post in a convincing way. Perhaps when I publish my book I’ll have more time. I’ve got Christmas cards to write now.)




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