A Place Called Vertigo

My friend and colleague Wetsoks, who features a lot in these posts due to our ridiculous but often amusing conversations, has not been feeling very well recently. On several evenings, I received texts complaining about the increasing amount of daylight (something that obviously falls under my responsibility and control) which have not helped to calm her headaches. So when I received the following texts, I was not immediately panicked. This quickly changed.

It is necessary to know that she does not deal very well with bleeding wounds for many medical reasons, and I have in the past been known to shout "clot" at her over and over, in a verbal attempt to assist stemming the blood flow from whatever accident she has just had, while she stares at me with barely concealed irritation. We apparently hold differing opinions as to whether this method improves or disrupts the healing process.

Wetsoks: CLOT! CLOT! WOAH BEAR!

As a sidenote, Woah Bear is the international symbol, among my friends, for (flirting) distress - link here http://witandpendulum.blogspot.co.uk/2013/01/in-case-of-bear-attacks.html for those who haven't read this.

Me: Woah... blood?


Wetsoks: Don't freak out, but the paramedic is here.

Me: Are you kidding me? What the hell?


Wetsoks: I'll call you in a bit. It's okay, no panic. Just a Nosey Bleedy thing.

Me: *uncertain ears*


Wetsoks: It's okay buddy, I'm not even going to need to go to hospital!

Me: That is a totally unreassuring sentence. What brought it on?



Wetsoks: I don't know. A cold? Stress? Bad blood? My colleague's cologne? It's cool, the nice man shoved loads of stuff up there. That's not a euphemism. Or is it?

Me: It's probably the alignment of the planets. Looks like you're a prophet. It's a terrible job but it's probably better than the one you have. PS. At least make the nice man buy you dinner first.


Wetsoks: God has spoken to me and his message is that the world should bleed. It's already doing that so let's go to the pub for a drink. Oh wait. I don't like drinking. Or people. Or being outside. Or awake.

Me: Please don't start the list again.


Wetsoks: I'm thinking of texting my boss to say I can't go to work tomorrow because a paramedic inserted a nasal sponge. Yes, that is a thing. I look ridiculous.

Me: Can we start a band called Nasal Sponge?


Wetsoks: Absolutely.

Me: Are you sure you're okay though?


Wetsoks: Oh, sure. You know how I like all the attention for my mad bleeding skills.

Me: Your nosebleeds bring ALL the boys to the yard. As proven.


Wetsoks: My life is better than yours.

Me: Could you teach me?


Wetsoks: I'd have to charge.

Me: What about friend discounts? Mates rates?


Wetsoks: I don't know... will you come over and get me ice cream from the freezer?

Me: Sure, but I'm miles away. I'll be there in, say, 24 hours.


Wetsoks: We're supposed to be friends!

Me: Dude, you know I move slowly. You've seen me date.


Wetsoks: True.

Me: Okay, so I'll check in with you later. Try not to set fire to anything or concuss yourself in the meantime.


Wetsoks: I'm fine. I'll probably be sleeping. You know how I like to sleep. Don't freak out if I'm sleeping.

Me: DON'T SLEEP EVER AGAIN.


Wetsoks: Buddy, I'm allowed to sleep. Nothing is on fire.

Me: Yet.


Wetsoks: Well, I can't argue with that.

Griddle Me This

It was Canada's birthday last Saturday (my flatmate, not the country itself) and thus we partied as usual, in a fashion that Lionel Richie himself would have undoubtedly blessed. There were a number of conversations during the course of the night which have stuck in my brain, so I'll do my best to recount them here.

Please bear in mind that by this point in the evening, we had partaken of "brah-bombs" which were basically Jaegerbombs but in small wine glasses (the only clean receptacles left at this point) and so we cannot be entirely judged on the below. In addition, more than one person present was wearing an animal onesie.

JohnBoy: So, there's a guy who walks around Edinburgh dressed as a giraffe.

I confess that this may not have been the start of this conversation but it was certainly the point at which I started paying attention. I believe that it might have been suggested that the tallest person in the room should be wearing a giraffe onesie in order to fit in with the rest.

Alana: What, like... he's wearing a giraffe print shirt or something?

JohnBoy: No, actually dressed as a giraffe. Like, a giraffe costume. Er. His face is in the neck and the giraffe head is sort of... up there (gesturing vaguely above his own head). And he wheels a little suitcase around behind him.

Alana: Huh. I see a guy sometimes - nice briefcase, expensive dress shoes, and a Pikachu onesie.

Me: (chomping through my second toasted crumpet, because Jaeger makes me crave snacks) I am clearly working in the wrong end of town.

JohnBoy: You've got to wonder if they change for work into business clothes. And if they do, why not wait til they get home to change back into the onesies/costumes?

Me: (through a mouthful of crumpet) I really want an otter onesie. With a clam upon the tummy!

JohnBoy: With a what?

Alana: A clam. On her tummy.

Me: (spraying crumbs everywhere) A CLAM!

JohnBoy: ...I see.

Another friend entered the kitchen at this point and innocently headed towards the sink. In hindsight, this next remark might have been a little over-aggressive, and various bystanders have assured me that she did not even see me standing there, hunched over the toaster like the Gollum of baked goods.

Me: (laser-eyes of death, like those statues in the Neverending Story) HEY. YOU. STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY CRUMPETS.

I'm assured that a protective barrier was formed at that point to shield me and my ever-increasing crumpet rage from the rest of the party. Luckily (for everyone else) this worked until I ran out of crumpets, at which point I simply left the building to go to another birthday and forgot about all of this entirely until the Honey Brahdger reminded me a couple of days later. This in itself is unusual, since the Honey Brahdger rarely remembers anything while drunk, therefore I can only assume that Fate required this blog post to be written, and who am I to argue (or even casually debate) with Fate?

Now please excuse me. I have crumpets to attend to.