Kaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhn!

Another shameless self promotion – sorry, viral marketing – post is on the cards; but in order not to make it three in a row, I decided to squeeze a little bit of fluff in between.

In her grand return to blogging, Fionna said she was not going to fill up her blog with meme results. But it’s true: as soon as you see one, you want to do it! I stumbled across one and, yes, I did it. Drat.

And another sad reality is, as soon as you’ve got your meme result, you feel the overwhelming urge to share it. Or should that be ‘spread it like an itchy plague’? Heh, heh, resist if you can, but I expect to see your meme results posted soon!

Oh yes, but down to business: if I were a fantasy or sci-fi character, I’d be … Captain James T. Kirk!

An impassioned commander with more respect for individuals than for authority, you have a no-holds-barred approach to life and its obstacles.

"I don’t believe in the no-win scenario."

Yes, well. If only I could get my 'crew' to stop farting in rehearsals.

I also note that on Facebook’s compare people application, I was once voted a better singer than someone else. I can only imagine that person was my almost alter ego William Shatner.

Chernobyl Iron

Today was the opening night of Poetry and Jazz. I’m both time and money starved. What did I really need two hours before going on stage? A noxious iron meltdown, obviously.

It’s all symptomatic – and cat related. Time starvation equals multi-tasking. I ironed my outfit for Poetry and Jazz. Unable to leave a hot iron on the board for fear of cats burning themselves, I left it to cool on the stove – the only heat resistant, out-of-the-way place in this broom closet.

I then realised that a) I'd better get going soon, b) I had to rehearse my story, c) I was broke again, and d) I better eat at home rather than at the café like I normally do. So I wapped some rice on the stove and disappeared into the other room to type away frantically at my remaining work.

You can guess most of the rest. Somehow I managed to turn on not only the plate under the rice, but also the one under the iron. I thought the smell of burning rice had come rather soon and was unusually acrid; only to find it was the iron’s plastic case melting.

My tiny flat was soon full of noxious fumes. Flinging open all the windows was impossible in case the cats escaped. I hunted the stupid creatures down, but they were cowering in inaccessible nooks. When I thought I’d finally got them both locked in the bathroom, I opened all the windows I could easily open – dangerously few in Finland!

I then scrubbed the melted plastic off the stove to stop it pouring out even more fumes - tricky with the plate still hot – and melted some nail varnish in the process. I went to check that the cats weren’t suffocating: only His Lordship in the bathroom, ground floor flat, windows wide open…

I searched in vain for Nefer. No trace. I had to be on stage in just over two hours. Should I go outside searching, call the animal shelter, what? I slumped on the bed and it hissed! The fraidy cat had burrowed into the duvet cover.

I continued with my defumigation procedure, trying to open windows while ensuring cat containment. By this time, my throat and lungs were stinging from the noxious fumes that visibly filled all rooms except the bathroom.

The upshot in brief: no money, no work done, no iron, no dinner, no rehearsal and a sore throat.

The place still has a lung-corroding stink of melted plastic, but Poetry and Jazz rocked! (Although there weren't any Americans in the audience.) Maybe I should not-rehearse like this in future? (If any of my cast are reading - NOOOOOO!)