Doctor T

I was two thirds through today’s blog, when distracted by Twitter I clicked one of its many affiliates, Twittercount or something and my computer crashed wiping everything. It was almost like it was penance for being so addicted to such a massively pointless website. I really am addicted now. I have got Tweetdeck which means a tiny bird sits on my desktop and a window pops up when new posts happen. I would quite like a real bird that did that when the post arrived but the cats would probably kill it. 

There are some people that seem totally worth following on Twitter. Charlie Brooker’s posts are constantly funny I have discovered, as are Darth Vader’s. Others I seem to follow out of sheer voyeurism. Fearne Cotton for example has said nothing useful or interesting since she joined. In fact reading her posts it sounds almost like an excited three year old who has to shout whenever something happens. ‘Oh look snow!’, ‘I’ve eaten breakfast’, and ‘I’m so vacuous!’. I didn’t expect anything else from her really but goddamn its fascinating. 
Layla is properly ill and full of sinuses blockage and snot. She is not very happy about this, lying on the sofa feeling all bunged up. I feel sorry for her, but at the same time her current condition makes me champion of the house. By simply supplying her with doses of hot drinks, Sudafed, tissues and occasionally putting a film on the TV, I am now a super doctor of sorts. I am making minimal effort but she is as appreciative as she would be if I was doing brain surgery. If I had realised that being a doctor or nurse was this easy I would have studied medicine at Uni. I bet I would have passed in about 3 weeks. I would have walked into the exam, made a lemsip, high fived the lecturer and got a 1st. I do hope I get a medal when Layla gets better for all my efforts in healing the sick. 
Finally came up with what I want to talk about for my solo show. Took a while but I think I’m there. Unfortunately I have a feeling its a much touched upon subject, but hopefully the way in which I touch it will be different and special. I wrote that sentence so that I would purposefully sound like a solo show abuser. It probably won’t be different at all, but yesterday I wrote a fair few new jokes for it so I’m getting excited. Now all I need is 6 million more jokes and some words which link them together. It can’t be that hard can it? I mean its not exactly brain surgery is it, and all brain surgery requires is putting the kettle on and bringing the duvet to the sofa. It should be easy.