Warming Up

Thursday 12th April 2007

So the day started with a bit of a downer with the news that Kurt Vonnegut has died. He was one of my all time favourite authors and I am sad to see him go, though one suspects that he had had enough of this stupid world (I was unaware that he had attempted suicide in the 80s – or had forgotten). But selfishly I suppose there had been an unrealistic part of myself that had hoped that one day I might meet him and talk to him and become his friend and now that seems unlikely. Though to be honest not much more unlikely than it was when he was alive. So I am still holding out for it. If you are unfamiliar with his work then I urge you to buy his books. There’s a part of me that is slightly pleased that this wise old man does not have to hang around any longer to see the world become ever more depressing. Yet I suppose if you were in Dresden on the night of the bombing then there’s not much worse that you can witness. Rest in peace, Kurt. I will look you up in Heaven and hopefully you’ll think I am cool and we can hang out. See how you have taught me the power of fantasy.

And there is still plenty to be happy about. Living my life on the road feels exhilarating and liberating. I had a leisurely drive up to Oldham, stopping off to drink coffee and write my second Double Act script in service stations. Incredibly I actually got something done today, after a month of stasis on this project. It made me think that this might be quite a good way to write generally: an hour of driving, an hour of writing. The driving gives you time to contemplate and being away from other distractions means that I actually get stuff achieved.
The “Take That” song “Shine” came on the radio as I was driving. I think it might become the theme tune of this tour. It really makes me feel happy, not only because it is a life-affirming, joyful song, but because it represents something greater. I do empathise with Take That a little bit, even though they are somewhat more successful than me. But on a much smaller scale I can see what they have been through and how they have coped with being in the limelight and then being seen as a joke, overshadowed by a former collaborator and now they return older and wiser and more settled in themselves and just look like they are really enjoying it. It speaks a lot about this stupid business that I am in. I remember once in the mid 90s that one snide reviewer wrote that I was threatening to become the Gary Barlow of comedy. I was upset by that at the time. But looking at Barlow now, how he has matured and coped with an unpleasant few years and come out of it with a quiet dignity, that isn’t something I would mind any more. More than anything the song is inspiring and positive and doesn’t take itself too seriously. It’s just a pop song, but it makes me smile and it would be a cold heart that was not moved by these men’s reacceptance.

I had not anticipated being late for the gig as I have plenty of time to crawl up the country, but due to bad traffic on the outskirts of Manchester I scarcely had time to check into my hotel, but thought I would do so. My sat nav took me to Windsor Road, a surprisingly residential street. I drove all the way up it, but there was no hotel. I drove back, realised it continued over the junction, but got to the other end and still, like Bono, hadn’t found what I was looking for.
I rang reception. “You are on Windsor Road, aren’t you?” I asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“What number?”
“We don’t have a number,” was the unhelpful reply. Surely she could give me a clue. Like maybe what number next door was, but she seemed unable to fathom my predicament..
“There aren’t two Windsor Roads in Oldham are there?”
“No.”
“Right, well can you give me some idea of whereabouts it is?”
“It’s at the Oldham town centre end”
“I don’t know where that is.”
“Near the Ford garage”
That seemed unlikely. I had been right to both ends of Windsor Road and there were no garages. I told her the name of the road I was on and asked how far away I was.
“About fifteen minutes,” she told me.
Fifteen minutes! Did she realise I was in a car?
I drove right back to the other end. I still saw no hotel or garage. I was panicking about being late for the gig now. I rang reception again. “I still can’t find you,” I told her and then let her know my location.
“Let me get you someone to give you directions.”
A man came on the phone. I told him my predicament.
“Are you using sat nav?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Ah, well there are two Windsor Roads in Oldham”
“Oh great, your friend told me there was only one.”
“This one is off Manchester Street,”
“OK, shall I put “Manchester Street” into my sat nav? Or are there two of those as well?”
So I got to the hotel eventually. The other Windsor Road was very short and essentially only had the hotel on it. How could the receptionist have thought that I could be at the end of the road and unable to find the hotel that was right in front of me?
I was fuming a little and sweating and dashed in, waited impatiently for the man in front of me to be dealt with, rushed to my room, grabbed my stuff and ran back to the car.
I got to the theatre drenched in perspiration, struggling to carry my box of programmes, dropping things, but in enough time.
Just in case I was under any illusion that my time might be coming, the people of Oldham reminded me that I still have some way to go, as the big theatre was only a quarter full. It was well over 100 people which wasn’t too bad, but it still looked empty. As I glanced through the curtains I saw a lot of couples in their fifties sitting down. I had an awful feeling that I might be bottled off within a few minutes. How would these people react to me discussing having sex with the stigmata of our saviour?
As it happened they were a lovely, appreciative crowd and after a few self-deprecating comments from me about how few of them were there, they settled in and we had a pretty cool time. I could see a few grey heads shaking with laughter as I made jokes about Maxine Carr and the defilement of the Lamb of God. I played the theatre as if it was full. I am confident enough about this show to give it everything I’ve got, even if it’s not packed and the people of Oldham (well the few that had shown up) gave me lots of love back, showing that my pre-gig worries had been prejudicial against the more mature punter.
Then once again it was back to my slightly tawdry and dilapidated hotel alone, to have a glass of wine in the empty bar and considering the solitary nature of my profession. I have stayed at this hotel before, when we did one of the Lee and Herring tours, though all I remember is that the bar was over a little bridge from the rooms. The carpets and furnishings are very 1980s and there is something of “The Shining” about the place. I just remember sitting in the bar with my then tour manager Steve Chapman, and that’s pretty much it. I don’t recall the gig. I didn’t remember being at the Coliseum before, though that’s presumably where we played. This is the nature of touring. And when you’ve been doing it for a while you return to forgotten places that seem strange, yet eerily familiar.
Yet for the moment I like the solitude and I think in work terms it is going to be good for me to have time to contemplate and write. I was happy to get an early night and go and chill in my room, watching an old television which made so much noise it was practically impossible to hear anything that anyone was saying. And if I ignored the wonky modem plug above the desk there was nothing in the room from the 21st century, so I was able to pretend that I had done a “Life on Mars”-style time-flip back to 1983.
At this rate it doesn’t look like I will be dying of a heart attack after snorting cocaines off the breasts of two hookers on this tour. But maybe the next.