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I was hoping to tweet the entire Wimbledon Men’s tennis final using my correct scoring system of just counting up the points and see who wins. But I have a family now and obligations and so I only risked only keeping half an eye on my daughter until it was 21-19 to Murray, at which point I declared him the clear winner and saved myself two hours or watching telly. It’s a fact that a Wimbledon final has never been lost by the player who is first to 21 (with at least a two point advantage) so I don’t know why they bother playing beyond that.
Some people were annoyed by the constant updates, saying that it wasn’t funny, not realising that it was only the fact that they didn’t find it funny which made it funny. And also the fact that it was obviously funny. Those were the only two reasons it was funny.
Tonight I was doing a 60 minute set at the posho Henley festival. That’s a very long time to do at a festival, though this one was a lot more refined and less muddy than most. It’s on the banks of the Thames and people are dressed in black tie and a huge amount of money has been spent on it clearly. I was up against Will Young (not for the first time - I wish) who was singing his little lisping heart out in the big tent. I was in a still sizeable tent that probably seated about 300. But let’s say it wasn’t full. To begin with there were maybe 40 people in there. And who can blame the rest of the people for preferring to watch Will Young (or follow the Euros final on their phone)? Coincidentally the last time Andy Murray won Wimbledon (assuming he won via the defunct archaic scoring system they use) I was at another festival, battling it out to be heard above the noise of singer Paul Young (who I assume is Will Young’s dad). I don’t know if that is some kind of Nostradamus like omen. When Herring is up against Young, Murray shall take the crown. Weird coincidence.
This was a terrifically hard gig to do, as I don’t have 60 minutes of clean material and was playing to people who weren’t necessarily my fans and who were all genteel and drinking Pimms and looking posh. And I had to do an hour. And there were hardly any of them. I did pretty well I think. There were a few walk-outs, but a lot more walk-ins and I got laughs and only seriously shocked them two or three times.Of course, unbeknownst to me, sneaky snake in the grass Steve Bennett from Chortle had come to review me and was mildly critical of/sarcastic about me using material that he had heard before (even though I was playing to an audience who mainly had no idea who I was). It’s true that I am working up material for a Best of tour, but I would do my more crowd pleasing stuff at a gig like this anyway. It was only annoying because he hadn’t bothered to come and see my latest tour show, so what was the point in him reviewing stuff he’s seen before? And because he doesn’t acknowledge the utter triumph of getting through a gig that long, in such difficult circumstances (the booming music of a huge music star forcing me to shout over it at times). Critics, what do they know? I mean he liked the gig well enough clearly, but what does he know?
But I did feel a sense of victory and was impressed by my own professionalism. The odds were stacked against me, but most people were entertained and those that weren’t. I am glad to read that the Boy With Tape on His Face who I hung out with backstage (though it’s not an act and he has that tape on his face the whole time, so it wasn’t much fun talking at him) got a bigger crowd.
I got to drive home and listen to the end of the Euros, with Portugal managing to score their winning goal in extra time, sealing an victory that pretty much symbolised the weird unfairness and depression of 2016. Even the injury of Ronaldo couldn’t add any lustre.
