We recorded
Collings and Herring 154 this morning (and then podcast 156 in the afternoon - we are doing double records every time we get a chance because I am away so much, so 155 is already in the digital can from last time).
Weirdly given the number of times I have mentioned the ladybird invasion on Weston-super-Mare beach in 1976 we got a couple of insect visitors who seemed to appear from nowhere. The first was a drowsy adult ladybird, unusual in that it had red spots on a black background rather than the other way round. The insect stayed on my finger for a while, kindly choosing not to bite me and we eventually released it out of the window, where no doubt in its weird fatigued state it was quickly eaten by a bird. It's the circle of life. No sooner had he or she gone to freedom or death than a tiny, tiny ladybird fell on to me. Was there a ladybird nest in the ceiling? Do ladybirds have nests? Is that why they are called birds? The baby ladybird was a lot more lively, despite its tiny size and had a few cute attempts at flying around, though didn't get far. They became unwitting stars of the podcast - it's rare we get any interlopers, aside from Ben Goldacre who sits in the cupboard, ready to jump out, but instead gorging himself on Christmas cake and then falling asleep.
The odd reverso coloured ladybirds seemed like portents of something. But alas as with most portents it was impossible to say what until the thing has happened, thus making the portent useless. Just like a psychic who contacts the dead, only for them to vaguely confirm some things you already knew, rather than helpfully telling you what religion turns out to be the real one.
Ladybirds are a recurring motif in my life. When we lived in Loughborough the Ladybird book factory was very close to our house, which was nearly as cool as living in the shadow of Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. Then I was swarmed by ladybirds in 1976. And now this. Three things involving ladybirds.
But Collings also had that dressing gown with ladybird buttons. So we are both inextricably linked to the insect. If I die and come back and appear in a Psychic Sally show (which I absolutely will do if at all possible) then you will know it is me because I will talk about ladybirds. And there is no way Psychic Sally could know that. Unless she googles herself and decides to murder me. But if that happens at least I will be appearing in front of big audiences at last. I might even achieve my goal of playing the big venue in Wolverhampton. Yes, that's the show I will appear at. So if I die soon, do all go along to that gig. I will make Psychic Sally ask "Does nyum nyum nyum mean anything to you?" or "He's saying something about pumpkins.... no wait cumpkins."
So anyway look out for the ladybirds. They are signifying something. Maybe the end of days. Or maybe they just signify some ladybirds. Who knows?
As I told tales of the tour (most of which will be familiar to you if you are a regular on here) and of my weird Lincoln interview, Andrew also revealed what he had been up to, mentioning that it had been his birthday. I totally forgot about that and he conjured up a sad image of a man, now very much in his late 40s, sitting at home, alone, everyone having forgotten his big day. Luckily such things only amuse the nasty podcast Richard Herring, who I have no control over, but I wished I had sent him a text or something. Or given him a special birthday bum.
But later my girlfriend told me that Collings and Legge had hatched a plan to play a practical joke on me. I foolishly lent Collings my house keys some time ago, so he could keep an eye on my house while I was away, and even more foolishly didn't give them back. He and Legge had apparently decided to come round while I was away and take pictures of themselves, in their pants, sitting on my sofa and touching my stuff. Which would have been very funny. Unless my girlfriend had been home in which case everyone might have got a nasty shock! So I didn't feel so bad for poor tiny Andrew Collings with his no presents and cards on his 46th birthday. He deserved everything he got. Do not send him any late presents. Or bid for his already ridiculously overpriced
twitrelief ebay auction. No.
Bid for my underpriced one instead. This is a competition which will finally decide which of us is best.
The two podcasts took up most of my day off, but managed to fit plenty into the evening, catching a quick drink with a friend who I hadn't seen for four years (because she lives abroad) and then having some Thai food with my girlfriend before coming home and watching four episodes of the Larry Sanders show (it's really finding its feet in series two, even though it got off to a brilliant start). I enjoyed the episode where Larry's ex-double act partner turns up, down on his luck and guilt trips himself into getting a job on the show (NB must try the same thing with Stewart Lee - I just want to be on the telly).
