I’ve been confined to the couch for the past twenty-four hours. One would think that there’s a severe snow blizzard outside, warding me off from any external activity.
Truthfully, since the doctor diagnosed my ‘border’ bronchial-pneumonia, I’ve inherited the dreamy blanket and couch, selfishly granting me exclusive use until my recovery, and annoying my spouse immeasurably.
“I cannot wait for you to go back to work,” she continued cursing, denying me my temporary freedom. “I will have more time on my hands.”
I responded with a nifty silence, avoiding any potential argument that could ruin my blissful domain.
My wife’s aggravated tone was in response to the choice of programme I settled upon, after an eventful ten minutes of channel surfing. I was certainly not going to ruin my short-term stay at home with any reality programme, but my fingers played between all the news networks, eager for an update on the Oscar Pistorius trial. Needless to say, all of them were reporting similar stories, reminding me of a rehearsed chorus.
My short heaven was interrupted abruptly by my wife’s finger, selecting American Idol as her choice for the morning’s entertainment. I was forced to endure an infuriating four hours with the shallowest entourage of judges: the expired Mariah Carey, the candy-coated unrefined Nicki Minaj, the supercilious Randy Jackson and the innocuous Keith Urban. I feel sorry for you Keith. I don’t think ‘American Idol’ is working to boost your career...
I pleaded senselessly to find a mutual show which would cater for both requirements – the Food Network seemed to be the only channel appealing to our senses. As we observed The Barefoot Contessa whipping up a delectable luncheon for her retired group of socialites, I changed the channel again – envious of the ‘picnic-on-the-beach’ lifestyle.
Having all this extra ‘time’ on your hands proves to be self-destructive as you are suddenly made aware of the surplus of cake, chocolates and crisps (in the kitchen cupboard), singing for your attention.
I observed my wife as she multi-tasked her way around jewellery designing, fashion styling, dealing with her clients on the phone, washing our clothes and preparing lunch. Truly, a remarkable individual, who needs to be glorified at some stage; I will leave that for another time.
It just dawned on me that my Paul Lambis Comedy Shows will be staged in London in less than four months. I wonder how much weight I will have lost in four months...
I’ve given it my top priority to start working on the script again, advised by my family to fine-tune some scenes to appear less promiscuous for my London audience – but I believe that one should never change a winning formula.
I was overwhelmed with the success of the shows in Cyprus, and I’m only hoping that London will prove the same. I’ve also received word that my agent in South Africa is working insistently to finalise the shows in Johannesburg and Cape Town. I’m hoping that by the time I reunite with my South African audience, the Oscar Pistorius ordeal will long be over. Time will tell...
Weight for me tomorrow. Paul
Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts. For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online,
visit www.paul-lambis.com
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