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Saturday 14th March 2015

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I think more old men should have babies, because their sleeping patterns fit in quite well with ours. My baby wakes up every three or four hours to eat and I wake up every three or four hours to do a wee. As long as we can synchronise these activities then we’re laughing. I gave my wife a much deserved whole night off last night so she could sleep through, but it worked out fine. I got to have my wees, with the slight complication of feeding, nappy changes and getting Phoebe back to sleep, but managed three sleeps of two to three hours in between, getting maybe eight hours rest between midnight and 10am, which is much better than I was doing in the months before our daughter turned up. My days are full of things to do, but as a middle-aged man, it’s nice to feel like you’re doing something useful, even if it is washing up bottles or rushing to the shops to buy new teats (which sounds like a whole lot more fun than it is). I understand the guys who say the first few months are boring because it’s hard to connect with a baby on an interactive level, but I disagree with them. Though much of the child rearing feels automated and like I am a machine designed to tend to the needs of this hungry, weeing parasite, there are still some lovely moments where there’s great eye contact or where she’s being observant or interested and even, I think, some proper smiles now that aren’t just about her farting or trying to do a poo. 
A big part of me is desperate to find out what she will be like and how she will change as she grows and what she might be interested in, another part of me knows that this strange fourth trimester (it is said that these first three months are like an external part of the pregnancy) will be something that I miss. I simultaneously want to know what kind of a woman my daughter will be and want her to be this squirming, greedy, smirking animatronic creature forever.
It’s very rewarding to see a human being trying to get to grips with what its body can do, just as it is terrifying that it’s already getting to a point where leaving her unattended for five seconds could lead to disaster. And once she gets probably mobile I am sure the fun is really going to start. 
In some ways it is easier than I expected and in others it is tougher. I know that it’s going to get tougher and that sleep will get harder and the cumulative effect will be overwhelming. 
But today, in spite of the solo night care and having ever second from 10am until 3.30pm accounted for with a task of some kind, including another Saturday jaunt into the Hell that is the Westfield, I still had energy for my job, a cracking gig at the Winchester Theatre Royal, one of the first theatres I ever played in as part of the Oxford Revue in 1988. I still recall the thrill of being backstage in a proper theatre about to go out and perform . It turned out to be  a rare night when the Oxford Revue 1988 had a storming gig. It was before we went to Edinburgh to be heckled a and harassed by furious stand-ups and sabotaged by Keith Allen.
As exciting as it was to be back again, with a reasonable crowd of well over 250 (some way off the 400 sell out we had in 1988), it was slightly crushing to realise that I was first here 27 years ago. Rupert, who waited for our autographs that year and was one of the first people I ever signed something for, was in the front row tonight. I wonder how many other people were at both shows. Rupert might even qualify as my longest serving “fan”.
I tried out yet another new bit at the end of the Dave Manager bit, which I had thought of on my way home from the Westfield and enjoyed the subtle change in reactions that a change of vocabulary or a tiny new idea can bring. It’s a cool part of the tour to be in, where things are solid enough to always work, but still fresh enough to be added to and improved.
And although road closures made our trip home more laborious than it should have been, I am glad that I get to get back and see my family. Next week sees my longest stint away on this tour and I am not looking forward to missing a week of tiny changes in my other project, my daughter.


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