Warming Up

I dreamed that Hitler’s second-in-command Rudolph Hess was a guest on RHLSTP.  He was much nicer than you’d think and seemed keen to open up and reveal the truth behind his mysterious life and I was impressed with my penetrating line of questioning, given I’d forgotten to do any actual research. 

Might try and get him on for real. Anyone got a contact? 

But we are managing to attract some interesting potential guests to series 14. I’ve sent an email out to monthly badgers and put a post up for the Dripsters with who we’ve snared so far. Get booking now. A lot of these shows are going to sell out. Non-badge scum will get the names in a couple of days.

The Herring family has nailed it this weekend. 

It’s quite rare that one of us isn’t working, but we did what normal people do and left work behind for Saturday and Sunday and did family stuff instead and it’s everything I hoped that my sabbatical from comedy would be. 

Obviously all from under the cloak of sleeplessness, but somehow it hasn’t hit me as hard this week. I cooked roast chicken and we ate as a family (apart from stupid baby Ernie who fell asleep and prefers to eat much anyway), my daughter enthusiastic and complimentary about the food and obsessed with eating chicken skin, regardless of how gnarly and hairy it might be. Which would be OK, but I like that too. Who is this little idiot who has turned up with the same tastes as me?

And after our food had gone down we went for a long walk and did some more brambling, finding a lane filled with blackberry goodness - thought the really good shit was behind barbed wire in a field, going rotten on the vine. What is wrong with people in the countryside? Do they want free, slightly bitter and a bit seedy berries or not?

We passed a locked gate in the middle of a high hedge on the border of the grounds of the Manor House (where surprisingly we don’t live, in spite of me being on Pointless Celebrities three times). It looked very much like it led to a secret garden and Phoebe thought it probably prevented access to Wonderland. But all she knows about Wonderland comes from Dora the Explorer. “Wonderland isn’t all good,” her mother warned her. “Yes it is,” countered Phoebe.”It’s amazing. It’s wonderful.” You have to admit that it sounds like it would be. 

The chain holding the gate shut was very rusty and the gate itself was deep in leaves and silt so it would have been pretty easy to break in, but hard to actually open it. I think whatever was behind had probably once been a little (secret) garden, but it had now got over grown and was unused. But maybe that’s what the secret gardener wanted us to think. The mystery beguiled us all. Apart from Ernie who is an idiot as I’ve mentioned.

We looked for rabbits that never materialised and had pointless races up and down the hills and I tried to pass on wisdom about why lying down in the road is a bad idea- some how I almost had the energy for this and to then help feed and bathe them. And then an unexpected burst of extra energy which meant I didn’t go to bed until after 11pm, a bit too full of wine. I thought I’d regret it in the morning. But no matter. One of my favourite weeks of all time was coming to an end and it’d be a shame to miss any of it. 

And what if Rudolph Hess rang and I missed the call.