I managed a reasonable lie in and so felt a little bit less tired today, but still not quite back up to full energy levels. After my porridge in a pot I went for a run through Lincoln. I didn't brave the hill up to the Cathedral this time, as I had
last year when I made the acquaintance of Dedward Deadman, but headed off along the canal and the swans that swam on the still waters, listening to Adam and Joe stealing my work and discussing Rumplestiltskin on their podcast. Was the magic not quite as much there as before or had my own personal involvement and jealousy tarnished my response? Hard to say. They were still very funny, but maybe the joints were still a little creaky after this long lay off. Certainly their text the nation of anecdotes about anything, was, by their own admission, a bit too broad. But give these new boys a chance. They've got big shoes to fill. And I liked the Rumplestiltskin bit, because it reminded me of how ridiculous and confusing that story it. Why did stupid Rumplestiltskin even give the woman a chance to save her baby and guess his name? It was like a banker's gamble on Deal or No Deal, though with no actual benefit to him. He'd already won. If I remember the story correctly the thing I like best about it is that the early guesses of the name are all quite obvious names like David or Simon or Ian. It would actually be a more brilliant gambit if the gnome man had had a really ordinary name. And the woman had just guessed it straight away. Or she had just not bothered thinking the name was bound to be out of the ordinary. And stupid Rumplestiltskin for dancing around and singing his own name. It was bound to lead to trouble. He deserved everything he got, the twat.
There's a lot more driving on this leg of the tour and it took us a little while to get up to Durham, another city dominated by a bulky Cathedral on a hill. I last played here
in 2008 with "Oh Fuck I'm 40" and remembered it as being an enjoyable show, but a bit of a ball ache getting my stuff to the venue. This time we drove up from the hotel and there was a man to help me carry my programmes. One step closer to being Jethro. I can dream.
I was pleased to have over 300 tickets sold in a town that I have played so rarely and was also glad that I was taping the show again because it was a little corker. I might put some of these audios on the DVD for completists, though it might also make an interesting feature to show how the "trunk intact" routine has developed over the gigs.
I had had three pieces of mail at the theatre, which slightly creepily were all exactly the same thing. It's embarrassing when the shop has run out of good luck cards. Clearly some local church had made a concerted effort to send me this verse from the Bible as a warning, so it was maybe a little bit embarrassing that only three people had bothered. Two were anonymous and only one person had been decent enough to put their name to this slightly threatening gesture (it reminded me a little bit of the way that conscientious objectors were sent white feathers -maybe cos of the dove on each card - mixed a bit with the black spot from Treasure Island). Confusingly the verse said that God had sent his son to earth so that no one would be condemned, but then added "He who believes in him is not condemned. He who does not believe is condemned already." Which to be honest seemed to make the card redundant. Or just showing off and rubbing it in my face that I was going to Hell. Give us a chance. Oh it's too late anyway, cos I have blasphemed against the Holy Ghost.
I confirmed my damnation by recording a little video message for an upcoming gig organised by the North East humanists and wished them luck in their continuing battle against their main enemy, the North West humanists. Though really as a South East humanist with South West heritage I am just hoping the the Northern humanists will just wipe each other out leaving the way clear for us to rule the humanist world.
Oh and I watched "Anvil" this morning which I enjoyed though possibly identified with a little bit too much, as a middle aged man still struggling to make it in the business whilst my contemporaries are world famous. But there is an honour and art in failure and persistence and maybe one day someone will make a documentary about my travails and Pete and me getting lost in one way systems with stuttering sat-navs. Worth a look if you haven't seen it before, and kudos to the film maker for not once mentioning Spinal Tap, even if you are constantly reminded of the film throughout (and not just because they go to Stonehenge and the drummer is called Robb Reiner, almost the same name as the director of TIST). Keep on rocking. I hope I manage to.
