I took the chance of driving to Wales for the wedding of an old schoolfriend. I am pretty sure that I stayed within the speed limit at all times, but no doubt the specialised home in on Richard Herring satellite speedcamera will have picked me out somewhere. Perhaps when a little late for the nuptials I careered down a country road about the width of my car, which probably had a secret speed limit of 10mph and cameras hidden in every leaf of the bush.
Had a lot of fun with my old mates, getting drunk in a big marquee in the countryside. It is so great to still be friends with these people who I have known for thirty years.
My first ever girlfriend was there. I haven't seen her in 15 years and even though I knew she'd be there it was still a little of a jolt to see her. She was with her husband and three children, which made me both happy and a little sad. Not that there was any chance of us ever having stayed together, but some silly romantic part of my brain allowed the thought to appear and then disappear with a laugh like a bursting soap bubble. But it's another of those strange quirks that passing time throws up. We said hello after the service, her laughing and saying "Richard Herring" in mock amazement. It was good to see her again and to meet the kids that she has had, whilst I have got on with my stupid, funny life of comedy with nothing to show for it apart from my Daily Telegraph Worst Comedy Experience 2005 Award.
Different paths. But I wouldn't give up my award for anything. Even personal happiness. I am a comedian and my emotional torment is the fuel for my work.
I am kidding. I am happy enough. And my first love was such an innocent and sweet one that seeing this girl again (though now she is a woman) just made me smile. Even if I am halfway through
the sandwich and the second half is a bit curled up and lacking in filling, there is still half a sandwich to go. There's still time to win more Worst Comedy Experience Awards. Which is all I care about.
But will my Worst Comedy Experience Awards hug me and kiss me and tell me that they love me? No. But nor will they shit themselves for five years and expect me to clean up after them and feed them and buy them toys. I may not be a rich man, but my Worst Comedy Experience Awards are all the treasure that I will ever need.
Tickets are now on sale for my Edinburgh run of "Oh Fuck, I'm 40". You can book in advance by
visiting the edfringe site. Don't leave it til the last minute now.
