Today I was happily helping Alex in the garden, using a wood chipper, which is my second favourite machine! My favourite is the paper folding machine in the St Albans Lib Dem office, which is what I like to think people mean when they talk about the Lib Dem Party Machine. It was going well, as shown by the fact that I still have all my fingers (despite Joe constantly trying to tickle me with long branches). Then I got a phone call from my sister, in tears, asking me to drive one of our cats (the obese one, not the epileptic one) to the vet. So that was fun.
I ran home, realising how unfit I am, as I rarely do any exercise. I was spluttering and panting after about five... runs? I haven't run in such a long time that I've forgotten the word. Steps? Paces! After about five paces. I wondered whether the vet could have a look at my breathing while I was there. I got home and suddenly thought of something.
"Is the car here?"
To which my sister replied, "oh, no. Mum took it to work."
So I have no car. That could make driving to the vet slightly more difficult.
We tried to ring the Animal Taxi service, the phone number of which had been given to us by the vet. As I tried not to laugh at the concept of an Animal Taxi (I know it wasn't appropriate, but picture it!), the phone said that the number wasn't recognised. The number that the vet had given us. Brilliant. The vet has one job and it can't even get that right. Well, two jobs, I guess. Giving out the number of the Animal Taxi (hahahahaha a taxi full of animals!) and saving the lives of animals. Only two tiny little jobs and still they fuck up!
I considered ringing Steven for a lift (mainly because he'd have to say "just coming!" He'll get that reference.) but decided that'd be unfair. Partly because Steven is allergic to cats. By this point Azurro (the cat; not the one at which Joe once chucked a full can of beer) seemed to be slightly better, so we decided that it would be safe to walk him the half hour to the vets. And by walk him I mean carry him in his cat carrier box thing, rather than walk with him like a dog. As I mentioned, Azurro is huge, so carrying him was a struggle. Apparently I had to carry him because my sister is a girl. Isn't that where feminism falls down? Nope, that's something idiots say. Anyway, I found a comfortable enough position where I could sort of rest the box on my belt buckle, which was practical as long as my shorts didn't fall down. We got to the vets, which is a depressing place, and always reminds me of this amazing moment from Charlie Brooker's Screenwipe. As that clip sprung into my mind, I accidentally laughed in the face of an ill dog.
The rest of the story is boring. Basically, they're keeping Azurro at the vets overnight to do blood tests and x-rays, he's probably alright, the problem is something that I forgot to listen to. Something about a hernia. Then I went to see the new Transformers film and it was fucking terrible. But I had a good time anyway; during the trailer for the new Harry Potter film, a trailer which must be as long as the actual film, Dan (see, not all my friends write blogs) asked me if Voldemort and Harry kiss in this one. And I asked if the trailer for Cars 2 was a trailer for Senna. Well, we had fun. Leave me alone, my cat is ill.
I will leave you with a picture of Azurro in a bath, and the Blue Man Group video that this blog is named after. Enjoy!