This is my second attempt at being awake today. My first was at 7am when I opened my eyes to see Layla’s 5 year old nephew Angus waving his Nintendo DS at me and shouting ‘Play Lego Star Wars!’ Its not the ideal way to wake up. What’s worse is that I had planned for that. I went to bed not too late after getting to Layla’s brother’s house after my gig. I had then set my own alarm for 7am just to try and get up early enough to pre-empt the Lego Star Wars shouting fest. My alarm did not go off, and so the vocal alarm from Angus beat me to it. The next hour was spent watching him flail around as Darth Maul on his DS, while his sister Kirsty was trying to make me play Brain Trainer. They had already been up for an hour to get ready for school quickly enough so I could entertain them for an hour before they left. While on the one hand I think that’s really sweet and it was nice to see them, on the other, there is nothing to shock you awake like two chilren, one either side of you, shouting ‘look I’m using the lightsaber to kill the baddies’ while the other one shouts various colours and numbers. It felt a bit like some sort of Guantanamo torture. I’m sure that were the UN around they would have sanctioned both of them for unneccessary psychological damage.
Had a lovely preview last night in a skittle alley round the back of a proper old man’s pub in Leicester. It was a great pub actually and having turned up much earlier than I needed to be there I sat looking over my Edinburgh notes and listening to the conversation of the men at the bar. They must have been in their fifties, one with a big white beard and white hair and the other with no hair whatsoever. I wondered if the second man looked on the first man with envy. As though he was his hirsuite nemisis. But, no, they were good friends and heavily engaged in the sort of museo conversation I can’t help but enjoy. Admittedly they were talking about music I would never listen to, such as a collaboration between Tom Jones and New Model Army. When the bald man mentioned this the beardy man exhaled breath in excitement. They then talked about Limewire and iTunes in the way people that have no idea talk about these things, with the phrase ‘I like iTunes because you get the pictures don’t you? I like the pictures’ popping up. The climax for me was when the bald man started a story by saying ‘Did I ever tell you the tale of the album I bought of eBay?’ He said it in such a gallant way as though he was about to regaile in the story of dragon slaying or a mighty king. It did worry me that perhaps in years to come children will be sitting around a virtual fire hearing there Grandparents tell them ancient yarns about ‘that one time your great great great grandad picked up a vintage 1st Edition copy of Dark Side of The Moon on vinyl for £12.76!’
The show itself went well, including the new ending I’d added. Just need to make it all really flow now and I’ll be pleased. The only thing that distressed me a tad was a woman at the back dressed in hockey gear. She spent the show laughing and occasionally contributing to things I’d said, but not in a malicious way. As I finished and walked out, she came up to me and said ‘I really enjoyed that. I don’t really watch much comedy, usually only Jim Davidson, stuff like that, but you were great.’ That’s the second time in a month and a bit that I have been compared to Jim Davidson. Really it’s starting to worry me. The first time was this:
When the comment was said by a proper idiot. The woman last night did not appear to be an idiot, but I hope she was. Otherwise my show, in which I insult the BNP and racists a few times, is somehow being interpreted as racist bigotry from a drink driver. I’m really not sure how it happens like that. I’m starting to worry that what I hear coming out of my mouth is not actually what I’m saying and perhaps I have a right wing voice box. It would be like that film who has the arm of a criminal and can’t control it. Here I am, normal liberal me, with the aesophagus of a Nazi.
With any luck that voicebox might help this evening as I gig at the Hyena for the first time. I’ve heard some truly horrible tales about the famous Newcastle gig and I’m both curious and a little bit nervous. As Jason Cook told me to last night, I’ve been practising saying certain swear words as viciously as possible and fingers crossed that will help. As will occasionally saying Sunderland is shit. Two nights of this could leave me a broken man, so I just have to hope I survive till Sunday. Wish me luck, and if not luck, that I at least don’t come away with the crowd cheering me on because they think I’m Jim Davidson.