Saturday, September 03, 2011

Snakes alive!

I read once that if you're bitten by a snake, it's important to take a photograph of it, to help the hospital figure out what sort of snake it is. I'm not sure this is very useful advice. If I get a cobra's fangs stuck in my ankle, I'm not going to be hanging around for a Kodak moment.

Still, I suppose it might be more useful than asking the unlucky victim to describe the snake.
"What did the snake look like?"
"Can you be a bit more detailed?"
"Really scary. And very cross."
I didn't get bitten by any snakes last night. I didn't see any snakes, or any terrifying animals. Maybe they were out there in the dark, but I didn't meet any, well, apart from the lead from my ipod to my headphones, which gently caressed my shoulder like the tendrils of a deadly plant, about to gobble me up.

Today was therefore a come-down from the combination of terror and exercise I had last night. I got up, breathed a bit, but didn't do much more for most of the day. I went to the internet in search of inspiration for a cure to my lassitude. I didn't find that, which is a surprise; I don't think anyone has ever before wasted an afternoon idly flicking between websites.

I did read about some Canadians who were accidentally 'poisoned' by cannabis-laced chocolate brownies. I don't know as being stoned counts as poisoning, but what I like was the story behind it. It turns out the woman who brought the brownies to work had been rummaging in her freezer, pulled them out and gave them to her friends without first testing for cannabinoids. (I always verify that my food isn't laced with drugs. It may take weeks to post my sandwiches off to the lab and wait for them to come back, but I'm sure it's worth it.) But they weren't her brownies, they were her son's, who'd put them in the freezer and then forgot, after he'd baked them.

Or after he'd got baked.

Ahaaaaaaa! Perhaps I should have used that joke tonight: I'd say there was a tough crowd at the club, but it's incorrect to describe 14 people as a crowd. Difficult to provoke a strong reaction out of an audience that only slightly outnumbers the performers. Still, a gig is a gig. And next to rush home to bed, in preparation for another idiotically long run tomorrow.


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