Date with a Chiropractor, mad for Harry and a night with the Hobbits
9.30am: I have an appointment with a local chiropractor. I’ve got Jeff – whose sense of humour makes pummeling my back amusing. Sort of. Not really. Oh okay, it just plain hurt. I substitute “F*#K” and all those fun expletives with nervous laughter.
I was right. Pinched nerve. They don’t call me Doc for nothing. But like a late night TV. Infomercial for crock pots and steak knives… there’s more. I have put my back out and my spine right now looks like a snake doing jiggey. I’ve got muscle tear, ‘junk’ in the left shoulder (which we scientifically tell from the squish squish sound my shoulder is making when the chiro squeezes it) and the muscles are spasming. It is a result of carrying a house on my back (not just the kitchen sink), over-exercising and possible whiplash. I hint that it could be from dancing at clubs, but decide to leave out any mention of firemen and balls. I’ve only just met the guy.
2.15pm: The sun is out so I head out into the city. Or town. Well, where all the fun stuff is happening.
I have decided to go see The Lord Of The Rings Musical. But like any red-blooded female, I end up detouring into the shopping district for several hours. Several hours later, I am lugging around two bottles of Leeuwin Estate wine (hello Fortnum & Mason) and a new leather bag for the rest of the day. My chiropractor is going to sit on my head for this. Sometimes, PhD really does stand for Permanent Head Damage.
I pass by Waterstone's Bookshop and there is the longest line ever snaking around the block. It's the Harry Potty Peeps. The first person has been there since Wednesday. Now I can see the point in perhaps camping overnight to catch a glimpse of Daniel Radcliffe, or Rupert Grint or even J.K. Rowling at a film premiere, but I like sleep. On a bed. Not a sleeping bag in the middle of London 
(Piccadilly Circus) when it's pouring down with rain every second night. All power to them though. And here's one for the Slash Fiction fans... (though I'd much prefer Harry and Ron).
7.30pm: The Lord Of The Rings Musical at Drury Theatre. I am in Row 0, Seat 32. It’s in the stalls and pretty perfect, until a woman with massive hair lodges her ass in the seat in front of me. Honey – teased hair went out with leg warmers and big shoulder pads. And while her rugrats are much easier to see over, they are annoyingly fidgety. I’m on a mission: advocate contraception.
LOTR – the narrative is relatively skimp, but the effects are like never seen before. It is an audio-visual extravaganza, a feast for the senses. There are moments in the musical that bear an almost perfect likeness to the movie. Frodo and Sam’s journey across the ashen landscape of Mordor being one. The casting, however, leaves much to be desired. Aragorn is more boy than man, and Legolas is more dark-haired British pop-star than gamine elf. They really should have just gotten Sir Ian McKellen to take a few singing lessons to reprise his role, and Gimli looks like he’s been on a low-carb diet. While I most happy to have experienced this production, Peter Jackson’s The Lord Of The
Rings triptych will forever be to me THE Lord Of The Rings. He’s made it his own, as have the actors. Improving upon perfection is an impossible task. Panned by the critics, loved by the fans – I would say that’s a fair comment. Still, I’ll take whatever LOTR I can get.
I was right. Pinched nerve. They don’t call me Doc for nothing. But like a late night TV. Infomercial for crock pots and steak knives… there’s more. I have put my back out and my spine right now looks like a snake doing jiggey. I’ve got muscle tear, ‘junk’ in the left shoulder (which we scientifically tell from the squish squish sound my shoulder is making when the chiro squeezes it) and the muscles are spasming. It is a result of carrying a house on my back (not just the kitchen sink), over-exercising and possible whiplash. I hint that it could be from dancing at clubs, but decide to leave out any mention of firemen and balls. I’ve only just met the guy.
2.15pm: The sun is out so I head out into the city. Or town. Well, where all the fun stuff is happening.
I have decided to go see The Lord Of The Rings Musical. But like any red-blooded female, I end up detouring into the shopping district for several hours. Several hours later, I am lugging around two bottles of Leeuwin Estate wine (hello Fortnum & Mason) and a new leather bag for the rest of the day. My chiropractor is going to sit on my head for this. Sometimes, PhD really does stand for Permanent Head Damage.
I pass by Waterstone's Bookshop and there is the longest line ever snaking around the block. It's the Harry Potty Peeps. The first person has been there since Wednesday. Now I can see the point in perhaps camping overnight to catch a glimpse of Daniel Radcliffe, or Rupert Grint or even J.K. Rowling at a film premiere, but I like sleep. On a bed. Not a sleeping bag in the middle of London 
(Piccadilly Circus) when it's pouring down with rain every second night. All power to them though. And here's one for the Slash Fiction fans... (though I'd much prefer Harry and Ron).7.30pm: The Lord Of The Rings Musical at Drury Theatre. I am in Row 0, Seat 32. It’s in the stalls and pretty perfect, until a woman with massive hair lodges her ass in the seat in front of me. Honey – teased hair went out with leg warmers and big shoulder pads. And while her rugrats are much easier to see over, they are annoyingly fidgety. I’m on a mission: advocate contraception.
LOTR – the narrative is relatively skimp, but the effects are like never seen before. It is an audio-visual extravaganza, a feast for the senses. There are moments in the musical that bear an almost perfect likeness to the movie. Frodo and Sam’s journey across the ashen landscape of Mordor being one. The casting, however, leaves much to be desired. Aragorn is more boy than man, and Legolas is more dark-haired British pop-star than gamine elf. They really should have just gotten Sir Ian McKellen to take a few singing lessons to reprise his role, and Gimli looks like he’s been on a low-carb diet. While I most happy to have experienced this production, Peter Jackson’s The Lord Of The
Rings triptych will forever be to me THE Lord Of The Rings. He’s made it his own, as have the actors. Improving upon perfection is an impossible task. Panned by the critics, loved by the fans – I would say that’s a fair comment. Still, I’ll take whatever LOTR I can get.
posted by Christina at 11:56 PM
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