The Moth

On Tuesday, we went this mesmerising show called 'the Moth'. My friend queued from 5.20pm so we were near the front of the queue when the doors opened at 7pm. Trust me, the queue wrapped all the way round the block.

Random punters from the crowd put their names in a hat to come up on stage to tell a story on the night's theme 'interference'. The winning story was all about how this guy had waited 20 years to get into another fight, since as a grown-up, the opportunity rarely comes up. When the time came to hit the other guy, for the first time, the thought that ran through his head was, 'wow, that pavement looks really hard'. So he turned round and punched the other guy... he punched him in the dick. A little bit inside of him died.

It's not so much the story itself, but the way it's told. And also the beauty of not knowing what you'll get next. The most emotional part of the evening was a former heroin addict who lost contact with his daughter when she was five. He battled for over a decade, going in and out of rehab. He was dealing it, snorting it, injecting it, selling it. As he emotionally forced out his words, there was a stunned silence in the room. He finished with, 'I am clean and if I hadn't gotten clean, my little girl would still be in Portugal now instead sitting here next to me'. It was incredible.

Kate, this is an outing for you.

In other news, I bought two pairs of shorts, which I have been blithely wearing for the last month or so. The other morning, for the first time, I paused and wondered whether I was too old to be wearing them, as they're pretty short. Hmmmm.

To corroborate this, there was a really old guy at the supermarket at lunch. He was muttering to himself, 'Oh, there's no frozen potatoes... Why aren't there frozen potatoes..? Oh, there are the frozen potatoes...' That's exactly what I do.