It's official...

While some of you have claimed it for years and years, now it seems the the Council agrees with you:) 

At least I'll get to the store ahead of you, well, maybe.

It's a hard enough life

Now... have I got you all singing Annie?  I've got me singing Annie.  Interestingly, or perhaps not interestingly, I'll leave that up to you, I saw Annie the musical just two weeks before I was stricken with pneumonia almost two years ago.  It was one of the worst shows I've ever seen, and I've seen the musical of Anna Karenina.  Oh, and before you say anything, I know it's really  a "A hard knock life".  It's just ever since I was little, I thought it was a "A hard enough life, and I think it sounds better anyway, so there you go:)

Don't get me wrong, I am a big fan of the movie, I can practically recite the thing. It was one of my favourite movies when I was little, I used to think I resembled one of the little girls in the orphanage with Annie.  Mainly though, I think I really loved New York, oh and Sandy of course.   Oh my goodness, maybe that’s why I wanted to get hitched in New York?!

I'll have to download my theory to Mr Sambot.

Anyway, the stage play in Melbourne was truly terrible. Australian kids cannot act, I don't know why, they just don't seem to have the confidence of American kids. 

I had looked forward to the day, I truly had.  I had walked into the city, gaily striding through the sunshine, stopping off at my favourite bakery to pick up a loaf of my favourite seediest of seedy sourdough to be dipped in to our Hungarian goulash later that night.

I met my family for pre-show yum cha, a long standing tradition. Then, to the entertainment. 

It. Was. Awful.  Truly, truly, awful.  

The arrangement was awful. The audience was awful, it was replete with rude old ladies, (seemingly from the same busload, obviously a cultural thing you know), many decidedly intent on kicking my cousin's seat with force throughout the performance.   I could not wait for the show to be over, I counted the minutes, the seconds.  I gave faux applause, oh yes I did. 

And finally, fin.  Do you get that it was awful?

Despite the steady Melbourne drizzle falling as Sunday eve closed in with its oppressive force, I resisted all offers of a ride home.  No, I would work off all of my anger, and walk/jog home to work off the sheer frustration that I'd wasted so many hours of my life in that darkened doomed room of gloom.

I inserted my earphones, and soon the melodic beats lulled my senses and began to take me away as the ball of my feet hit the ground in time with the bass line of the music.  Suddenly I was very much present, and I found myself flying through the air, my legs straight out in front of me. I could feel that my mouth was wide open. My eyes were locked with the eyes of a man standing about thirty metres away from me.  He was standing at a bus stop. And then I landed. Perhaps less then gracefully.

On my arse.

The man clapped. Somehow I managed to clamber upright, I had slipped on a disability ramp.

The man rushed over and offered assistance, to call an ambulance etc, but no, I was too proud.  He said that it had looked rather amazing. I had snaffued some impressive air.

Somehow, I managed to shuffle home, slowly, although it was only about 1km from home it sure seemed like ten.  I couldn't walk properly for weeks, although less than two weeks later I was at the beginning of this journey anyhow. 

Two months later, when I was in hospital for the first time, I underwent a bone scan. 

Diagnosis:  One broken posterior 

Prognosis:  Avoiding musical theatre is the only hope.