And Friday, I've been going into work feeling right a duffer as I've been still chuckling away.Why? I'm still giggling from the night before.
You see, Thursday night, late in the evening, ABC2 has been replaying The Young Ones. The cult show that came out in my teenage years that my parents banned me from watching.
And I still know every episode, pretty much by heart.
What has been most surprising is that there are people out there who have no idea about The Young Ones. They don't know what happens when you ask, "Have we got a video?", or you meet somebody called Neil. (Neil, Neil, orange peel. When will I see you again?) They don't know what it's like to want to have Motorhead playing in your lounge room.
They are blissfully ignorant.
I introduced a workmate to the joys of The Young Ones today after she said she had no idea what I was talking about.
"Where were you in 1984?" I asked her.
"I wasn't born."
Needless to say, workmate is now aware of the joys of Jerzy Bolowski and the pride of Scumbag College.
After seeing the episode "Cash" I've been singing along with Alexei Sayle all day.
And moaning along with Neil. Boom Shankar.
Talking of Boom Shankar, which is Sanskrit for "May the seed of your loins be fruitful in the belly of your woman." this provides a good segue into the other funny occurrence of the last 24 hours.
I have some wonderful friends. I really do. Sometimes I question their judgement a little, but they are great.
The text came through early this morning as I was about to alight the tram.
I have a friend with whom I converse with by text on our daily commutes to the city. Purely a friendly chat, nothing sleazy or out of the ordinary. We talk about all sorts of things. The fact I haven't seen him in person for donkey's ages is besides the point. I know what he's up to for work, if his car is in for a service, the weather, what he thinks about the cricket and the football. He'll ask me about what I did at the gym the night before or what movie I saw on the weekend.
That sort of stuff. We meet for a drink about once a year, but we do seem to enjoy our commuter texting. We've been having SMS chats in the morning for a very long time and I don't think much of if I hear from him or not. Just a friendly hello on a fairly regular basis.
Today, I checked my phone and received a text that read:
"Morning. I had a dream about you last night. It was a hot day. I walked into your flat, took all my clothes off and stood in your kitchen and asked to make a cup of tea, standing there looking stupid as I was naked. I was very comfortable doing this."
Okay, the dream grouper in me looks at this and I see somebody who's stripping off layers of themselves. How my friend perceives elements of my personality in himself I do no know (nurturing carer? Fun loving free spirit? Insightful friend? I don't know what his psyche was thinking..). I don't take offence at being in somebody's dreams. I was a bit surprised about being told about this one however.
Regardless, how do you respond to such a text.
"Oh, okay. Thank you for that. I'm giggling. Just don't start Irish Dancing."
He flicked back a response.
"We were only talking in my dream."
I was still giggling. A few minutes later another text came through.
"Oh. Yeah. Irish Dancing. That would make my bits fly around all over the place. Good one. You handled that well. I thought about not telling you about the dream."
I take no offence - but I am going to have a small laugh at his expense. Deflection complete.
Can you imagine a naked man doing this?
Been smirking about this all day too.
What I didn't tell him is somewhere back in my deep, dark history I have an ex who used to naked Irish Dance for me when I was feeling a bit glum to get me to cheer up. I can't think about him without picturing him prancing about in his grim bedsit, tackle flying everywhere and not start to laugh.
It's keeping my brain in buoyant mode. Along with the recently booked trip to Bali.
But that is another blog for another time.