I am finding being home alone not at all dissimilar to the film of the same name, only sans burglars, Joe Pesci, a old pigeon lady and that wanker Macaulay Culkin. In fact its nothing like that film, except for actually being home alone. I haven’t even shaved. Even though I should because my face has reached the stage of itchyness that makes me feel like it will just drop off after a while. So far I have relished my freedom by staying up last night playing a stupid ninja game on the computer not shaving and eating crisps. This is not that dissimilar to what I would have done if Layla was here. What I should have done to truly enjoy this free flat was have crack whores, drugs and crisps, but Sainsbury’s only sold the latter at 11.30 at night. In fact the only extra Sainsbury’s do seem to have at that time of night on a Friday is some of the most tragic people buying food by themselves. I felt honored to able to sneak in amongst them and pretend I was as lonely and sad as all of them when I bought my crisps and smoothies. There was a lady who’s permanent facial expression was that of a battered and angry pug. I understand why she only comes out for food at night. There was also a man who didn’t seem to be buying anything and just wondered aimlessly from aisle to aisle. As I was buying my stuff I noticed him walk all the way back to start and just leave. Maybe he just needed reassurance that everything was still there. Or also, highly possible, he actually worked there. Its a whole different world of sadness. I highly recommend a visit as it really makes you feel better about your life. Until, of course, you realise you are in their shopping as well.
I arrived at the gig last night two and a half hours too early for the show. The call sheet said the show started at 7.30 which was a massive lie and a fib. I understand that some comics may turn up late for shows, but I always have a habit of turning up excessively early due to my over-developed sense of urgency. Avoiding the friday rush hour, I got there too early. After drinking a cup of tea and eating the provided sandwiches (oh yeah they provided sandwiches! This is showbiz!) I realised I had spent too much time by myself when I started looking through the cupboards in the green room for something to cause mischief with. I managed to find 11 walkie talkies and was very much debating what to do with them all for a while. My friend Manisha put on Twitter that I ‘ set them to the same channel, place them at strategic points around the venue, and then, at an opportune moment, scream into one of them’. This is why if I was stuck in an A-Team like situation in a theatre where I am about to be killed by fifty techies, I would want Manisha there. She is clearly an urban soldier of the McGuyver/A-Team mould. I got as far as picking up two of the walkie talkies when the second act arrived and I had to quickly put them back and do a circular walk around the green room only looking massively suspicious. The tech man gave me a rather suspicious look and I wasn’t offered another cup of tea.
The show, when it finally got there, was brilliant. Very relaxed and I wittered on for about 35 minutes about random things, and I was able to use my few Colchester gags, which everyone should have. The highlight was when I told the audience about my itchy beard face and asked if anyone ever suffered from the same problem, at which point a very attractive young girl at the front of the room shouted ‘yes’! I am still not sure quite what she meant, whether it was facial beard or, er, other beard but it created a pretty large laugh so it was all good. After the set I stuck around to watch the next act, Danny Ward, as he is very new but has been thrown into decent gigs very quick as someone saw him do very well on his fourth ever gig. Normally a cynic for hype, I was very pleasantly surprised as he really is very very good. And a lovely chap too. In fact, once again I wondered if I should’ve killed him last night and stopped him before he gets all too big. Thats famous big, not giant big. Although the latter would be amazing. I will suggest it to him as it would definitely be a gimmick.
After his excellent set, some of the audience asked if I wanted to stay with them and have a drink which was very nice, but instead of staying in a social buzz of a place with nice lovely people, I decided to go home by myself to a lonely house. I like to call this Jon Richardson syndrome. A similar thing will be happening tonight when I drive all the way to Leeds and back. I think by that point I will have had too much of myself and so to prepare I have 6 podcasts to listen too and the remainder of the crisps. If all else fails the cats had better have some conversation for when I get back or it could all go wrong. Still Layla’s back tomorrow. Lets hope she doesn’t find me shivering in a corner, covered in crisps, arguing with myself.