|Conchita Wurst, ladies and gentlemen. Yes, that does mean|
"cutie sausage" in a mangled version of English, Spanish
|Romeo Clark. Gender hero?|
So, how does all of this relate to my life at present?
Let's take Eurovision. Why not? And start with the fact that we had been building to this for a while, spending actual money on being able to watch it live. We organised getting some take out in and some alcohol. It was fish and chips for Tilly and battered sausage chips and gravy for me. Now, the gravy was separate and we had some refundage for reasons that meant the whole thing was pleasantly and surprisingly cheap. Tilly checked the food over, pronounced which was mine and wandered off with the other portion. It didn't look like sausage but who was I to argue? I assumed that Tilly had checked both. I added gravy. Tilly then found she had sausage. Of course. Did you see this coming? Tilly is rather picky with food and anything that gravy has touched cannot be eaten. I'd put gravy everywhere. So, she passively aggressively informs me that she doesn't blame me for the mistake but she won't eat sausage and won't eat what I have put gravy on. Looks like I'm getting extra food free and she'll just have to make do with left over chicken from the children. Oh, yes, that was a stonking start.
Down about her meal, there were then some streaming issues and poor quality picture that caused another round of huffing and puffing. Then she revealed that she was feeling ill, probably due to her period, and that she was tired. As the evening progressed Tilly became increasingly engrossed with her laptop and more and more irritated with the contest. Conversation (keep in mind I have no laptop or other output) dwindled as Tilly had some wine. But that was tainted and as ash. Eventually she grunted as her main form of communication and, after about half an hour, I caved and got the Boy's tablet computer to go online. I promptly inadvertently insult a writer friend of mine (Catherine) and remember why I left the forum in the first place. Anyway, the voting happens, usually a time of great hilarity for our household, and it passes without comment.
The winner is a bearded transvestite, as I wrote above. I looked up the controversy and shared it, but Tilly was not interested. Tilly informs me that I probably shouldn't have said what I said to Catherine and that I deserved the backlash I got. I apologise online, I'm autistic and I hate being in the wrong. Then we go to bed.
Now beardless I go to work today and am regaled by many comments of how I shouldn't have had a shave. Students, staff, pretty much anyone really. I am met by an e-mail from Leslie who has managed to condense friendship, support and advice into a rather short and easy-to-read missive. One that she then worries about and apologises for! I feel strangely elated and supported by the e-mail for the rest of the day and, because Tilly brought the Boy into our bed last night for some reason when she came to bed (a good three hours after I went) and ended up with semi-disturbed sleep, I have a tired day. Tilly texts to let me know that she is feeling ill as I'm on my way back.
Sure enough, when I get back, she tells me how ill she is and muses on the possible causes for it. Then I get to hear about the news item. I do a bit of digging, there is no further depth than my lead in.
Oh I don't know.
I'm frustrated. However, I have gone back down to 11 stone (so 154 lbs) so I guess that's a positive?