The Lamb & Foxy.

I've had three Curb Your Enthusiasm moments this week. One is too visual to explain here, one is too disgusting to explain ever and just a few hours after that happened this happened. I was standing at Ladywell train station waiting for, you know, a train. I was very early. I had another 15 minutes to wait for my train although I was BANG on time to see the train I really intended to get leave. 15 minutes to wait with nothing to do. BOOOOOOR-ing! But wait. There's someone I know on the opposite platform of this tiny, wee south London train station. It was Foxy. Foxy is the name of my cleaner. She's fantastic, Foxy. That said, I have probably ruined our professional relationship for ever. A few weeks ago I saw Foxy in the street and my immediate reaction to the delight of seeing her was to hug her. And I did. I'd never hugged Foxy before and she definitely felt awkward about it. Not as awkward as I did though because the second I started hugging her was the second that I realised "Aw, fucking hell. You stupid ball-ache of a man. You've made friends with her now. She'll never clean anything properly again and you won't be able to say anything because she's your friend and you can't be horrible to friends. Except Bennett". Maybe I shouldn't have said it out loud but I have noticed a definite decline. She's still great though and I was really happy to see her on the opposite platform during my 15 minutes of being on my own and bored. So excited was I that I called out "Hey! Foxy!". She looked up and, like the Ross Noble of Southampton, she clearly wasn't Foxy afterall. She looked at me and smiled and I responded with "Oh. Not you". Not, "Sorry, I thought you were someone else" but "Not you". as if to say "Christ, love, don't you get sarcasm? There's nothing foxy about you apart from the FACT that you trail through bins late at night. HA HA HA HA HA!". She gave me a look as if to say "If you're not too busy could you drop dead and tell your ghost to go fuck itself". The thing is, that's exactly what I wanted to do. Maybe my eyes are going? That's normal when you start getting old, right?

Another good thing about getting old is that you're allowed to nap any time you frigging feel like it. On Monday I spent the best part of the day in bed drifting in and out of sleep. That was fine except I had a very terrible dream. I dreamt that the whole of Britain had voted for me to apologise to cunt DJ George Lamb. I don't know what we as a nation did that meant one of us had to apologise to the talentless, thick, ignorant prick but I'm pretty cross with everyone for voting me in even if it didn't actually happen. I think everyone should now apologise to me. Or, at least, punch George Lamb. In the face. With the entire Kinks back catalogue.

I very much hope you're going out to celebrate the murder of 2008 and the c-section drag out of 2009. New Years Eve is my favourite of all the annoying, forced-fun nights of the year. There's always a lovely feeling of Thank Fuck That's Over about it. I'm going to get drunk and start writing lists of my favourite and least favourite things of the year. If you're reading this then you're in my favourite list and I love you. Happy New Year!