Getting high in the morning

Yesterday was the sunset; today it's the sunrise from the side of Arthur's Seat where I'd popped to cook breakfast before work.

Decent food book ending the day as after work it was off to the reasonably new 'Field' for a very nice meal before seeing some Japanese drumming at the Festival Theatre. Always something of a bittersweet evening the in theatre when the performances are outstanding, but the seating is... somewhat... lacking in comfort. The Festival Theatre is better than most, but coming back after the interval Mel gave me wrong* for leaning forward meaning people behind didn't have a clear view. Now these days being 6'3" doesn't mean you're freakishly tall, but sitting properly in a seat in the theatre means painful knees that have to be wedged into the seat back in front; losing feeling in your toes from that wedging; a gradually more numb arse from the inability to move at all; and a back that feels like it has gone through a mangle because you're generally sitting at a slight angle because the seats aren't quite aligned and fitting your knees into the space ahead means them neatly finding the gaps between the side-by-side seats. And sometimes an absolutely splitting headache. Which I have now (as well as a still throbbing lower back).

Christ that makes em sound like some kind of weird hypochondriac, especially after my little pericarditis recurrence, but really it's just that sometimes, just sometimes, I wish I was shorter. Clothes would be easier; I wouldn't bang my head off things; and I could go to the theatre without worrying what sort of shape I'll be leaving in. It's my own fault, I could have moved a couple of seats to the right where there was no one behind, but I stubbornly remained wedged, and am now paying the price.

The world is made for a narrow definition of average. Or maybe I'm just extraordinary. Ayethangyew.

*it strikes me that being 'given wrong' is a phrase from my childhood, and may be another one that I once thought was an Aberdonian thing, but which might actually be from my north-east England roots. A bit like 'spuggie' for sparrow, that I would have sworn blind was a word from my Aberdeenshire school, but which later transpires I must have heard from my parents or on one of our annual trips back to Newcastle. I might be incorrect in my assumption, but I think I've only ever heard Geordies say they would get given wrong.