Testing Times

I had a gruesome session of root canal treatment yesterday.
It was just not enjoyable on any level ; very disappointing.
I had a very sore face at the end of it.
If the dentist had spent 40 minutes repeatedly punching me in the face, it wouldn't have been any less pleasant.
It's the slow-grinding drill which seems to make your whole head vibrate that I particularly dislike.
The day had started badly when I missed the attempted delivery of my new astro-turf trainers which I'd bought on the Internet.
I bought them on the Internet because the trainers i looked at in all the shops in Edinburgh were shitty, gimmicky and craptastic.
I didn't want trainers that lit up or were fluorescent silver with embarassing slogans written on them.
Anyway, I checked the card...the Citylink man had ticked the box that said "customer must collect at depot".
The depot was in Livingston.
Handy.
I drove to Livingston the next day, only to discover that the driver had ticked the wrong box, and that he was going to attempt another delivery that day.
I wasn't best pleased at this revelation, and resorted to my usual default setting of extreme sarcasm towards the Citylink receptionist.
I asked for the driver's mobile so that I could arrange to meet him in Edinburgh.
Apparently, I couldn't get this without his express permission.
I sometimes wish I would go completely ballistic in a situation like this.
I'm sure it would be immensely satisfying.
It's just not in my nature though.
They were having trouble contacting the driver, but my sarcasm eventually paid off, and they miraculously managed to contact him, and he agreed to meet me in Grove Street.
He wasn't apologetic about his idiotic mistake when I met him.
"Bit of a drag driving out to Livingstone chief!" was all he said as he handed me the package.
I was playing football that afternoon.
The trainers were too small for me.
This didn't improve my mood.
I then realised that the Internet shop was in Kirkcaldy so I just decided to drive across and exchange them.
I then went to Sainsburys.
I was walking down the steps into my flat when my baguette slid out my bag.
I didn't notice I'd dropped it until I stepped along the length of it in my muddy boots and squished it.
I wasn't happy about this development, but it was an exceptional moment of physical comedy that Rowan Atkinson would have definitely incorporated into his next hilarious Mr Bean adventure, if he had witnessed it.
In a more positive development, I have completed my self-assessment tax return a full 10 days ahead of the deadline.
This is unprecedented.
And 3 months of no smoking has now been achieved.
It's time to get the cigars out...it's finally over...possibly.
I didn't drink for 2 weeks just after the New Year.
Worryingly, I found this much more difficult that stopping smoking.
It's the continual active encouragement to drink that makes it tougher...it's still socially acceptable to pickle your liver.
Going to the cinema these days and watching all the ads is like being subjected to a massive alcohol propaganda campaign.
I think it's just a matter of time before these ads go the same way as the old fags cinema ads.

"Never Knowingly Underwater" Glasgow Comedy Festival Friday 12th March, State Bar, Glasgow.