Recent goings on in the life of Rhodri Brady have been the writing of essays and the learning of lines, nothing new I hear you say. Well how about I bust you out of your overly complacent cage and tell you about the time me and not one, not two, but three other men went to buy a washing machine together. Not only that, but we came to a descision about which one to buy with in literal minutes! This was after five minutes of making jokes about buying an oven by accident and then actually thinking a tumble dryer was a washing machine.
On Sunday evening I preached! Sadly our planned preacher for the evening had to drop out, so I was rolled in at the last minute. I ended up preaching a very similar sermon to the one I did in Childs Hill in September, but I changed it slightly, eager to come at the passage afresh. I was really chuffed at how supportive so many in the congregation were, God was very good to me and it was a joy.
One evening this week I had my first profiad of ’emceeing’, I am not referring to the rapping kind (as in Jay Zed etc.) no, I mean as in the master of ceremonies, the compére guy. The CU put on an open-mic night and lots of people sung and I was basically given the freedom to shout whatever I wanted down the microphone in-between the actual talent. This was for a good few hours. It was an absolute joy, and I particularly enjoyed making music jokes, political jokes and science jokes—most of which I stole from t’internet. I was hesitant to crush the idea of me being the rapping kind of MC, because at the end of the show, me and my fellow friend performed a rap, a rap all about kicking the bar, which went to the tune of Kick, Push by Lupe Fiasco. We had rapping names, he was called Prfessor JJ, and I went by the name of Serious Filth! We went down an absolute storm and we now have a recording contract (not).
I am rather bruised because in my play, we have to rehearse a scene in which I get beaten up over and over and over and over agin. It’s fun at the time because it takes me back to the days of the old school yard, but when I wake up the next morning, I find bruises in the most unusual places.
I’m off to London tonight, I shall be watching a play there. I’m looking forward to having some time on the train to think, and read, and probably not listen to music because I dumbly lost my iPod, along with another billion other lovely valuables such as my Bible and house keys and TheBestSupermanShirtEver all inside my wife’s favourite ruck-sack. Twas her favourite container in which to carry her rucks. But we live and learn (or in my case live and lose, and lose, and lose, and find, and lose again).
I was eating bonbons in a lecture the other day and the chewy part of it suddenly became hard. I thought to myself, what an interesting chemical reaction these confectionarial makers have managed to create in my mouth! However, what happened was far less Willy Wonka-esque. I had managed to dislodge a gold inlay from my tooth, thus leaving a rather large chasm in the back row of my upper jaw. The day before yesterday (which is the day after the day before the day after two days ago) I went to the dentist. I shall spare you the paragraph in which I share with you the fact that I often find myself revelling in the fear that we all have to some extent of the dentist. Anyway, this procedure was rather easy. I’d kept the inlay in my wallet for quite some time, it was quite the conversation killer. She—the dentist—grabbed it and shoved in there and it felt a bit weird but it was fine, I thought she’d finished, but of course she felt the need to cement it. So then she had to spend five minutes taking it out of my teeth again, the fear of dentists is never too bad until you consider that maybe, just maybe they’re going to make a mistake. You hear horror stories of dentists accidentally pulling whole jaws off, and this is was the genre of fear I was feeling this time. She was yanking, levering and wedging this little metal bit in my teeth, like I’d never seen. What I should have told her was that I would just pop a bonbon in my mouth and then I’d take it out for her! Eventually it dropped out and I almost swallowed it, and then, with spot of cement from her industrial sized mixer, in the style of a true brick-layer, I was kitted up and ready to beep my way through any airport security gate you threw at me. It does feel a bit weird though, because (this is really amazing, God is awesome) when you lose a tooth or a bit of a tooth, the set of teeth below compensate for this by pushing themselves up a bit further to make up for it, to help my chewing! But when she put it back in, all I could feel was this huge metal wad. By now my mouth is getting used to it, but I do have regular tap-dance recitals, inside my head.