7 November 2010

I was told a desperately funny story the other day. It was Stephen in fact. We have these little chats at the appropriate times. You'd think it would be hard to orchestrate, with the thirteen hour time difference, but it's quite an adroit exercise.

I said to him, "I haven't told you about the fox". He said to me, "I haven't told you about the moth..."

We were discussing fish, actually. Too many animals, I know. Keep up though. And he'd arrived at a little barbecue, to which he'd brought some freshly caught and smoked fish, and was strumming away at the guitar, whilst his friend with the nice voice sung along, with an intimate little crowd amongst a wider group of barbecuees. All at once, instead of the sonorous tones of his friend's voice, it was a moth he heard and it bumbled straight into his ear!

Now, I can just imagine it - Stephen has long arms, imagine a monkey, and when they flail, they do so quite madly. I can just picture it now. When he told me the story, I laughed and thought, surely that's it - the moth flew in and then out and that's the end of that. No, no. It was a two day saga of moth in ear antics. How did he know it was a moth? There were apparently some quite telling clues, for example, the sound. Imagine that frantic flutter of dusty wings. Like a helicopter in a bubble perhaps? He toyed with the idea that it was a mosquito but discounted it on account of the level of a hum. Bug-in-ear connoisseur? Probably not. Probably just common sense.

Someone kindly suggested that they vacuum it out. Another rather sweet suggestion was to put his ear next to a light and it would be drawn out.

I like that.

In the end, one helpful person drowned it with a bottle of expired ear drops. But, the ex-moth was still in his ear. He wandered around with the little corpse in his head for another day! It was causing him considerable distress as he was having trouble hearing people.

On Monday morning, he took a detour to the doctor on his way to work and told the GP of his troubles. The GP wiped his hands of it and sent him to an ear specialist. The ear specialist had trouble believing his story but agreed in the end to suction it - like they would do for glue-ear or old men with excessive wax production. And, oh my stars, what pops out but that fated little moth - much to the horror of the specialist who kept repeating, "I can't believe it, I just can't believe it..."

He kept the moth. And the doctor's certificate.

How to you claim this back on medical insurance? Or would they tell you to claim it back on the accident compensation scheme?

In other news...

Life has been ticking along well enough for the most part. I've been to a number of seasonal events - dressing up as a cat, as I have done every year since I was thirteen, for Halloween and then playing with some fireworks (two sparklers to be precise). I finally took that day off from work on Friday and with every intention of using it wisely - I had two naps, read two books and did my accounting.

I went to a very interesting evening at the Shoreditch Church. What an amazing space! So cavernous. I recommend that you pop your head in if you're out that way. It was the premier of an independent film named for "Dirty Old Town". And who should be singing that same tune for us? Why, it was MacGowan himself! He looks well! I take that to mean that there's hope for us yet so keep heart.

I wore my fox fur scarf out last night. Ha! You'll rue the day, you dirty little beast.

One of the barristers at Chambers told me that she'd started jogging. Apparently I'd inspired her one night at the pub when I was lauding its benefits. I can't remember the conversation myself, but barristers do tend to ply you with more wine than they would think to consume themselves. She lives in the countryside and it's not foxes but deer that obstruct her path. I'm not sure whether they are as ferocious but perhaps they are a cause for concern to the jogger. I can't see her parading around in a deer hide on account of them. Not like this dastardly avenger, yours truly. Goodness, though, it's a warm little scarf. Next time you see a little fox darting around forlornly on a cold night, don't, on any account, feel sorry for it - they're snug as a bug under there.

This was the animal edition (bar the Pogues). I'll bring the human interest element next time.