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Thursday, May 10, 2007

I had a nightmare last night in which I was being tortured by a cat in a feline version of Hostel. It was quite disturbing, but fortunately for me Lisa was on hand to save me from the ordeal. If she could have been bothered. She told me this morning that it was obvious from my cries that I was going through some kind of neverending hideous nightmarish experience, but that "I didn't try to wake you up in case you hit me". Which is obviously ridiculous. I told her that's something I'd only do whilst awake and in full possession of my faculties.

On the bright side, I seem to have lost two pounds in weight overnight, so running from a cat with a chainsaw obviously burns a lot of calories.

Anyhoo, talking of nightmares, I gave Lisa a lift to Hove yesterday and somehow managed (obviously through no fault of my own) to wedge my car up against a concrete pillar in a multi-storey car-park in such a way that I couldn't get it out without scraping half the paint off the nearside wing (my car has wings - it's like a cross between Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and a pantyliner). It's a good job my Skoda's worthless, otherwise I'd be really quite annoyed. To be honest its value might have increased - it looks like it has go-faster stripes now.

In other news, the month-long Brighton Festival is now in full swing, and having just missed out on tickets for 'Afternoon Tea With Joan Bakewell', I've managed to lay my hands on two tickets for Patsy Palmer instead. It's the same thing but with more gingernuts. Fortunately my £7.50 not only entitles me to an evening in Patsy's company, but also an encounter with William Leith, author of 'The Hungry Years: Confessions of a Food Addict'. He and I should get on like a house on fire.

In the meantime, today sees the start of the the three-day Streets of Brighton spectacular, a programme of free (that was the word which attracted me) outdoor events around the city. My personal favourite is the Sienta La Cabeza which takes place at 7pm tonight at the Jubilee Square, and is described thus:

"Direct from Barcelona, a hairdressing show of fantastical creations that has taken street theatre festivals of Europe by storm! Queue up and be transformed."

Obviously I've got a bald patch the size of a dinner plate, but I happen to know someone who's slightly less follically challenged. Lisa doesn't know that she's going yet, but trust me, she is.