Laugh 'til it Hurts

Last night we went to the O2, along with 15,000 others, to chortle away at Michael McIntyre.

We had fairly bad seats, being so high up that had I been younger and more inclined to adrenaline sports, I might have been tempted to perform some base jumping.
Only the angels were higher up than us.

We had decided to go and eat in the 'Entertainment Avenue' prior to the show.
Unfortunately, so had everyone else so the queues were biblical.

We ended up going straight into the arena to avoid the crowds and then buying a 'gourmet' -(yeah, right), burger, fries and an ice cream costing a very reasonable when you are about to eat your own arm off, £16 a pop.

At least I actually had a burger in my burger bun. A cross young lady pushed to the front of the queue while I was being served to point out that there wasn't actually any burger, bacon or cheese in her bacon cheese burger! Hmmm.

Despite our bad seats, almost empty wallet and the fat, sweaty, chronic nose picker we were seated next to, we had a glorious evening.

We laughed to each other many times, exchanging those 'knowing' looks when it became clear that McIntyre was talking about 'us' when recounting episodes of life with his wife.

I had to fish out a hankie from the depths of my pocket, then pass it over in the semi darkness so that tears of laughter could be wiped away, -no mean feat when you happen to be perched looking over a precipice.

We both thoroughly enjoyed the show, though I will never be able to watch or play snooker again without feeling like a deviant.
(You'll just have to watch the DVD when it comes out soon).