Blog #1234, what a fabulous number. I had better make this blog worthy.

We went out, out last night to a nightclub in Reading for Comedy. The Comedy was a bit hit and miss, but we were not sitting in the front row, which is always a blessing. In fact in a surreal twist the only place we could find to sit was a snug area with sofas. Or should I call it the snog area, which it would almost certainly have been when I was last out, out in Reading.

The sofa area did not protect us from being the butt of one comedian’s jokes.

By resting our butts on the sofa the comedian made us the butt of his jokes.

The audience was divided, in his witty mind, into the under 30’s, the Waitrose set. Waitrose is a posh supermarket, and the elderly, on the sofas.

A crude and inaccurate stereotype as I was the only one over 60, we sometimes shop in Waitrose and 50% of the sofa sitters were under 30.

But we were not about to disagree with a Comedian. That path is where danger lies, I have been there before and my indignant research on my work computer the next night, got me locked out of the work system while I was doing an on-call shift. I had to make the call of shame to the overnight I.T man who really didn’t care that my words were probably commonplace for psychiatrists and psychologists. I used that as my excuse for the research.

Should you wish to try this at your own workplace, look up Coprophagia and Coprophilia.

We were out to celebrate my brother-in-laws slightly over 50 birthday. It is also my dad’s birthday and he would have been 95 were he still in this realm.

The last time I was ‘out, out’ in the Reading area I would have probably been risking some paternal crossness for being away from Essex for the weekend and he didn’t know where I was or who I was with.

I pondered this in between comedian sets, in fact one comedian was so bad I pondered it during the set. I just couldn’t quite remember my last Reading encounter. And this is where the older human brain is the joyous thing it is. The minute I woke up this morning the name South Hill Arts Centre floated to the top of my pointless, pondering pile.

So where is no longer a mystery but the who remains somewhat less clear, I can narrow it down, it would have been a musician that I had met at a live music gig at Braintree College of Further Education. I await my older human brain to fish the name of my companion from my squishy cerebral cortex, sometime in the next few days.

So there we are, 95 year old Dad in another realm. All the info you needed a very long time ago.