Back on the road again. The last two times I have been to Fareham I have been caught in traffic and arrived after the official show time. But today I had my new tour manager at the helm and we arrived three and a half hours early. Where's the fun in that?
Giles is relaxed and knows what he is doing. He's a similar age to me and we bonded over our hatred of middle-lane hoggers on the motorway (keep left unless you're overtaking you fuckers) and the MyFitnessPal app. It is two early to ascribe him with a descriptive nickname, although I suppose we could go for Enigmatic Giles at the moment. Or just The Enigma. I think this may change.
I tried to listen to the Edinburgh recording of the show in the car on the way down, but I fell asleep (good job I wasn't driving). That's not a good sign! Either for the show being scintillating or me being ready to perform. But I was awake by the time the show went up, if a little terrified that I wouldn't remember the script, but it mainly came back to me and it was a top crowd (good to get a sell-out for the first one, even if the theatre is quite small). I left out a couple of the newer bits by mistake, but went back and mopped them up later and I don't think anyone noticed. A few moments where I had no idea what was coming next, but the right thing somehow popped out of my mouth. Luckily nothing popped out of my trousers.
Which it might have done because I am wearing my wedding suit at the moment (the trousers are a little tight showing that nearly a year of marriage and my wife's baking are making me get a bit relaxed about dieting) and it has a slightly dodgy fly zip which keeps coming down of its own accord (it did this even when I was thinner). If it keeps happening I will have to pretend that it is part of the show. Luckily my penis is so massive that if it did somehow flop out of my pants and the open fly people would assume it was an oversized rubber comedy prop.
But for the moment things stayed decent. You know apart from all the filthy stuff spewing from my cake hole. Canterbury on Saturday and Cheddar, Bath, Bridgend and Shrewsbury next week. Tell your friends!
Earlier in the day I had been into my management's offices to discuss the next Fringe and sign off a budget. I still haven't totally decided on the show name (though I am edging towards "We're All Going To Die!"), I don't have a poster, I don't have 40 words for the Fringe Guide, I don't even have a single joke, but I know how much money I will be spending on leaflets. I do know the venue and the time I will be on (and I've also agreed to do another year of Edinburgh Fringe Podcasts) but have no idea what I will be talking about yet. Exciting times. But the stage is all set (though of course it isn't yet) for my tenth different stand up show in ten consecutive years. After that I am taking a leaf out of Pope Benedict's book, having veered from Hitler to Jesus, I shall then announce my early retirement. But unlike Benedict I will be retiring so that I can become pope. Haven't heard from the Vatican yet but I am still confident.
The curse of Roobarb has taken some time to hit, but when it arrived it wielded its scythe with ruthless efficiency. I was sad to hear that Bob Godfrey, the creator and artistic genius behind the show has also passed on. I presume God was getting impatient for some new episodes and so took Bob and Richard so they could do some more. Selfish God. Given He can just imagine Roobarb episodes in his head. Or just invent a whole planet where the characters from Roobarb actually live and make them act out hilarious plots. I hate you God. Stop decimating the seventies. Or at least kill the evil people from that time first.
Free stuff!
The second
Talking Cock podcast and te latest frame of
Me vs Me snooker, both went up on iTunes today. Also available at
The British Comedy Guide.
You can read my latest Metro column
here.
