If I were to have a full frontal lobotomy and then write a post and put it on the Internet it would probably go something like this:

Right. Not much time. Not much brain. Not much.. er.. anything of note.

More gigs, so great! More stress, yeah, less so. Could've gone on holiday. But, gigs! So, no. I mean, gigs are great. Singing = childhood dream, yes I know. But holidays? Holidays = oh GOD so needed and lovely and I WANT ONE NOW. No, though.

They're booking EasyJet flights, but not for me.
They're buying factor thirty suncream, but not for me.
Though beaches call me near,
I must think of my career
So they're just not for me.

That is my song. I made it up with only minimal help and suggestions from professional songwriters.

My foot did not fall off. There was a close call at one point when I looked down and I thought I only had one foot, but it turned out I was doing an elaborate ballet move at the time and my other leg was above my head and therefore only temporarily out of sight. I felt silly then, I can tell you. But look what Mike made me to make my foot better! He is clever.

I went to see a play last night with Chris (who was reviewing it) and Bec (who also wrote notes even though she wasn't reviewing it). I came up with my own review on the train home:

This play was rubbish. Some things happened, but they have now temporarily escaped my mind because I spent the majority of the time doing A Very Hard Sum in my head because the suspense involved in finding out what happened at the end of that was more appealing than finding out what happened at the end of the play (the answer was 12975483.5, in the end, which I totally did not see coming). There was even sex-on-stage, which usually sparks interest. But not so much with this one.
To sum up: You know it's a bad sign when the interval happens and you turn to the person next to you, who simultaneously turns to you, and you both say, in tones of stark disbelief "No WAY. I thought that HAD to be the end. SHIT."

And that's being generous.

I had some wine in the interval, though. And before. And after. And a little bit in the second half. So that was alright.

Mmmm... wine.

Oh God got to go so much to do and things to organise and I am NOT CUT OUT to be an organiser does anyone want to be my manager please because I'm tired and people are horrible and I think maybe I need a sandwich with maybe some sort of cheese and possibly ham in it.

And Finally: OWWWWWWWWW! Period pains. Are my nemesis. But not to worry because HURRRRAAAAY! Nurofen. Is on my side.

And that? Is all I have.