Don’t stop believing, Friday 19 June, Day 93.

Give them the old Razzle Dazzle, Razzle Dazzle them!

This week has flown in quicker than me getting into the pub when Nicola says we can.

After being in a slump for a couple of weeks, this week I wanted to take positive action. I tossed out my threadbare inhouse leggings, put my nearly threadbare outside leggings in the inhouse threadbare leggings drawer and replaced my outside nearly threadbare leggings with jeans and a couple of nice flowery skirts. The skirts will force me to shave my legs, maybe.

I flung out my raggedy Bridget Jones’s, replaced them with new Bridget Jones’s (a girl must be comfy), tossed out my greying bras and replaced them with well nothing, no rush for now.

I dug out my new trainers that I paid a fortune for and only wore to send a pic to my pals, my running gear, earphones, a bobble for my hair and laid them out ready to start back this coming Monday.

The one thing I know about the road to recovery is you’ve got to pace yourself, besides I’ve got six packets of pickled onion monster munch and a 180g box of milk tray to eat my way through this weekend.

My works informal committee are hosting an online talent show “Rock the Lockdown” on Friday 3 July, I am fucking hyper! When I was young I always wanted to go on the stage so this could be my one chance of getting my five minutes of fame, you never know who could be watching, I could get spotted by a “character” modelling agency, or a very distant relative of Simon Cowell.

I have a couple of weeks to practice but I have no idea what I am going to do, I use to play the trombone so I could maybe rattle something out but I’d need to buy a trombone so fuck that as I would never use it again. I could do a tap dance, but the noise reminds me of a hangover sore heid, maybe I could bill it as a tap dance and do a dance with actual taps in my hand, I might consider this.

I still remember all the songs from my Primary 7 school play, I could sing one of them. Mr Black never game me a part in it but the bastard made me learn all the words and songs in case someone took ill. Story of my life, always the bridesmaid never the bride.

I could juggle but who am I kidding I canny carry two eggs to a pot without dropping one.

A comedy routine is a NO NO, imagine how hard it would it be telling jokes or funny stories and you canny see or hear reactions, folks could be flinging rotten tomatoes at their screens and shouting get the fuck off your fucking shite, I’d have the pure fear.

Also, friends and family are welcome to join the show so there might be kids watching and I am no sure I can do a routine without swear words, references to animals (rabbits in particular) or pee.

If you have any ideas what I could do, just pop it on a postcard and send it to the Aff its heid show, Tollcross.

I really need to think about this, maybe this isn’t my moment after all,

My time will come though, fucking soon I hope cause I am no getting any younger!