Better than Bytching
Could there be any such thing, you wonder — apart from chocolate, which it turns out (yes, we were right all along) is good for the heart http://www.guardian.co.uk/food/Story/0,,1947949,00.html. Fantastic. So, are there other things that seem bad for us that might actually be good?

In all honesty, this column was going to be one long bytch about (in chronological, rather than bytchtasticness, order): the incredibly loud and boorish drunk behind me at the Be Good Tanyas show who tried to break the back of my seat (and my body) with his feet after I told him to shut up; the nightmare that is London’s transit system; the charming sight of bedbugs and cockroaches in hotel sheets at 2 am; and my own dumbness in squishing my ankle under my own body weight… followed by several hours watching bad TV in the local A&E department.

Now, if I were a litigious person, I would sue the Sanctuary café and possibly Brighton council and maybe the clouds for the slippery state of the steep step that led me to be sitting in a puddle going "Ow" while two old ladies helped me up. But I guess I’m not. And that, I’m realizing, is because — with the exception of the charmless shouty dude — the world and its inhabitants are not generally malevolent nor specifically ill-intentioned towards me. OK, exceptions there for George W. Bush, who just appointed an anti-birth control, anti-sex education moron to be… wait for it… head of the US family planning program http://www.ppaction.org/campaign/replace_keroack2. Genius.

Skipping over the religious right, crazy yodeling alcoholics, all forms of insect life and employees of British Rail, in general the people I find myself near are quite incredible. So instead of being a (thoroughly satisfying and heartfelt) moan about a disastrous weekend that was supposed to be a much-needed break, this is instead a paean of amazement to the denizens of the universe who did actually make this weekend incredible —

Beginning with the Be Good Tanyas, three Canadians thrown into one of the biggest venues in London (notoriously with the worst sound) and confronting the worst of English hooliganism. They never flinched, paused or cracked — just kept on, sounding amazing, singing over the doofus, even when they were visibly wincing (visible if you were sitting right against the stage like we were — and that’s not boasting, that’s the worst area in the hall for sound). So props to them, and also props to the lovely Kathryn Williams, their support, who offered to give birth to me in return for signing my mug (long story). They are all truly bytchin’ women and I hope they’ll return to London despite the audience’s inability to psychically execute the psycho.

I wish I could report that some sort of embarrassing and/or painful come-uppance occurred to this freak, but I have no idea. I spent most of the following day in transit, and then — yup — recoiling from an infestation that was like something out of a horror movie. But in between there was fantastic vegetarian food, served by staff at Terre a Terre who kept the kitchen open for us. And, er, well, there’s not really anything that gainful about the whole repacking while being totally freaked out to the max and scratching while watching for fast-moving cockroaches. I’m not gonna name the hotel because, in fairness, they were completely horrified and apologetic and in no way bad (apart from having an insect infestation).

Still, there was a certain amount of tiredness with which I greeted the next day, due to two sleepless nights (have you ever tried to sleep after spending 2 hours with your back braced against someone’s feet? Not very comfortable). Before I did my Alice down the rabbit hole (except, oops, no rabbit hole) impression, I was totally spoilt by grace and good fortune with the finding of amazing breakfast, a fabulous record shop with the best selection of female singer-songwriters I’ve ever come across (four Jackie de Shannon albums!), and then by a whole posse of friends coming to a reading I was doing with some other poet-types. Not only that, but two of them were under 16 (friends, not poets) and one was celebrating her birthday. They were much better behaved and more attentive than I was — and not only that, but invited us to their house for dinner, where the full care team attended to my ankle with ice, support bandages, excellent food, apple and mango juice and family goodness.

As you can tell, I’m still a little dozy, what with the painkillers and the lying around and the A&E ward (thank you to all the nurses and doctors working Sunday, who didn’t laugh at me for being so clumsy or paranoid), so excuse the rambliness. It’s almost over, don’t worry — the time has come to fulfil the destiny for which I was created, and watch Buffy in bed with my honey. Who is not only better than bytching, but better than chocolate!

So think chocolately thoughts about the world and its better denizens this week, and do your heart some good.