'Revelation' is probably too strong a word. You may get the impression that I'm about to reveal that I'm really a woman, or George Michael.
I'm neither. I'm still me. I just had a few things to mention, and here they are:
Revelation 1: Health
I've been on an insane health kick for a couple of weeks, cycling to work, swimming, going to the gym when I get home, and generally boring myself shitless.
I've also not smoked for 4 days. This isn't because I want to, but because in cycling to work, swimming, going to the gym when I get home, and generally boring myself shitless, it's become apparent that I can no longer breathe properly.
16 years of smoking has finally caught up with me. (The trick is to keep smoking and never exercise, and thus never realise how fucked your lungs are.)
It's also getting increasingly harder, with age, to actually shift weight. The rumours are true. Getting older really is rubbish in every respect.
Revelation 2: Lethargy
Something's had to give, what with all this health nonsense and for me, it's been a cessation in anything creative (unless you count this blog, the creative equivalent of a brick, on the floor, doing nothing.) I now actually look forward to returning home and collapsing post-gym in front of the TV, eating dinner and watching crap like a vapid, docile, non-productive member of society being told what things I need to buy in order to be happy.
Once upon a time, I spent my evenings and weekends writing (snigger) my brilliant book, but I'll restart that when I'm 12 stone with the toned, muscular body of a Greek God.
So that'll never see the light of day, then.
Revelation 3: Über-Lethargy
Not writing's one thing, but playing Spider Solitaire at least thirty times before allowing yourself to go to bed, that's slightly weird. As is surfing Youtube for anything - and I mean ANYTHING. Current random searches because I'm bored with life include watching reactions to the 2 Girls 1 Cup video, Flight of the Conchords skits, and random episodes of Sharpe which I've never seen and had no prior interest in ever before. And still don't.
Oh, and Hugh Laurie singing about a lid. Which reminds me, I once bumped into Stephen Fry exiting a toilet in Soho House. So there.
Revelation 4: Dodgy Ticker
I was in the living room watching Chelsea repeatedly kick a round ball onto Manchester United's goalposts in Moscow last night, while Large Northern Flatmate sat there strangely subdued. He had been suffering from chest pains for several days which was beginning to unsettle me with his fidgeting and stoic non-whinging. About half an hour into the match, Large Northern Flatmate casually mentioned that his left arm had gone numb.
So I called for an ambulance without telling him. He was particularly pissed off about missing the second half of the game but as luck would have it, the paramedics checked him out in the wagon outside our flat and gave him a (moderately) clean bill of health. Turns out it was a combination of high blood pressure, hay fever, and a sore left arm.
Admission 5: My Camera Hasn't Been Returned
One Christmas present, only used twice, effectively lost for good at a double-friends' wedding where I was Best Man. I hesitate to use the word 'stolen', but it's pretty much gone forever and I feel sick to the pit of my stomach.
Brand new, very expensive, digital, decent.
Revelation 6: The Near Future
I'm off to see Chris Rock tomorrow night. My first huge stand up comedy gig.
The following weekend, I'm off to Newquay for my FIFTH FUCKING STAG DO. Two weeks later, I'm off on my SIXTH.
Revelation 7: We Are All Ageing Relentlessly
There are two types of people in the world; those that find the following fascinating and slightly unnerving, and those that couldn't give a toss:
I met a lovely young lady last weekend, and she pointed out that this September's enrolling University students will have been born in the Nineties.
I find that utterly disturbing. How can anyone born in 1990 be going on to Higher Education? Surely they're still in kindergarten?
Revelation 8: Lovely Young Lady
Ah, yes. A lovely young lady indeed. Met her last week. Prompted a wealth of comments from people demanding I get her number, under pain of death.
So, here goes...
A day passed, and I was kinda wishing I did have her number after all. So I texted my mate Dan, but he bizarrely didn't respond, so I invent scenarios:
She doesn't want to see me, and I've now put him in an awkward position.
She does want to see me, but he's dramatically lost his phone.
Because my phone was stolen in Barcelona recently, I'm using his old number and he's literally not getting the message.
So I email him, but Dan possesses the only email address on Earth that reacts badly to mine and it swiftly - as it has always done - bounces back.
So I phone him. The damn thing goes to voicemail. And it's not a wacky personalised message either, but one of those generic ladies telling you to speak after the beep. I leave a message, but it's vague and non-incriminating, just in case it's not actually his phone.
Still no reply. I contact other friends to make sure Dan's number is correct. It is now Tuesday. When I have confirmation, I leave a more specific message telling him to call me urgently as twenty blog commentators want me to get a life.
Dan phones. I am excited. This is like being a teenager again, and COOL SEXY THINGS could happen (unless you had my teenage life, in which case 'Cool sexy things' meant watching blurry VHS pornography whilst eating choc ices).
Dan seems excited for me. He says he will speak to his wife, who will contact Lovely Young Lady and ask about phone numbers. Neither of us are sure what's going to happen and, as a contingency, we agree that if the news is bad - i.e. she refuses to hand over her digits - then I will not be contacted.
I have not been contacted.