Even my handie was pushed for space. I don't know anyone small enough to fit in here.
I have fond memories of being a skinny wee thing. Being able to scale a tree and hang upside down from the branches - ah. Being able to go into a store and buy clothes that I like, that have not been made from stretched out polyester and hope -yippee. Yeh I remember.
But time and food and meds and oh well let's just call it what it is, abject fucking laziness, has led to a swelling of the arse and belly. I am not wee anymore, unless I think about sneezing or laughing too loud.
Generally I can fit where I want to go. I don't have to buy 2 economy seats on the plane and I don't need an extender seat belt thing that preggie gals are given. But I am not small.
Yeh a bit nutty perhaps, on a bad day Stevie might bravely mutter under his breath, a bit more than a bit. So when I go about booking tickets anywhere, trains boats planes or theatres, I need to get an aisle seat. I just can't be cornered in. I can't bare to be sardined in with other people and all their breathing and germs and smells and skin and taking up my air. I'd much rather stop at home in my comfy environment rather than risk all that yukkiness.
I am not a hermit and I like to go out into the real world, but I am careful.
Bill Bailey was doing a gig at the Jupiter's Casino and I thought Stevie might enjoy an evening of London accent and sillyness, so I scanned the seating, found 2 that looked good and booked 'em. London is a long way away and we know this very very well, and as Bill was so far from home, he could reasonably expect to be well compensated so the tickets were pretty steep, but ho hum, we could pop into the Casino, grab a beer and a tapas snack, watch the show, and as a final flourish, I thought I'd plonk down a tenner I found in my bag on the Roulette wheel - make a real date night of it.
Except that we had forgotten about the renos. The place from the car park to, well fucking everywhere was bloody heaving with people, all pushing a shoving and getting nowhere. The first bar was not staffed and there was a sign saying service could be found somewhere else, and we looked for the else place and with the guidance from a security bloke we wandered through the whole of the casino and found a Black Jack Table that was closed that had 2 lonely empty stools. I grabbed 'em and Stevie went hunting for beers and snacks. We were happy as 2 little clams drinking our beers and watching the world go by, there was no food, no snacks, but there was beer.
Then it was sort of time to find the theatre. It was remarkable that even though we have lived here for nearly 9 years, we had never been to this theatre.
We walked down 2 full flights of stairs and I suddenly felt like we were going into a dungeon.There was a long long line of people all concertinaed together looking for drinks and I knew that was not going to be for me. Our image of a quiet drink at the theatre bar was well and truly dashed, so we checked in via the code thing on my phone. I had the printed receipt and she of the tallness and big boobs pushed into my arm, scanned the first one, and then her reader had trouble with the second one, so she tried to grab the phone to make some adjustment cos I was clearly too old and stupid to be able to do it myself, and of course there was no logic to the idea that she try the scanner again given that it had worked properly the first time. If what was in my head had fallen out of my mouth I dare say police would have become involved.
Stevie went in cos of course I am gonna have the aisle.
Now he is a skinny arsed bloke with a generous tum. He has the broad shoulders of an ex hooker - rugby, not prossie, but I could see he struggled. He was instantly not happy so things did not bode well for me.
He went for a beer and I stood waiting for the others in the row to arrive cos I didn't fancy all that up and down action out of the chair, even though I am short, there was no way anyone was gonna squeeze on by me.
The row was full so we sat.
Well fuck me that was extremely unpleasant!
My thighs were forced up to my boobs and that might have been a good thing if I needed extra support, but the bra was doing it's job just fine. The timber arm rests dug firmly into my legs and bruising happened.
But the bottom half was not the real problem. The real problem was where to put your arms. There was no fucking room for arms.
We tried everything. We tried hugging and cuddling and I tried falling into the aisle doing an 'oh woe is me' Ophelia. We did the Hocky-Pocky and we turned around, we just didn't fucking fit.
Bill Bailey is a very clever entertaining comedian. He's a talented musician and story teller.
Thank god there was an interval.
We dived through the stinking crowds lined up like cattle while they tried to buy some shit beer on tap and escaped into the night.
It is a dreadful space.