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My wife didn’t want me to go to Birmingham today because of Storm Doris. I told her that a lot of army wives don’t want their husbands to go to war, but they still go, because it’s their job. And that this was THE SAME THING. She didn’t seem convinced.
Comedians are the bravest people in the world. We do what we do just for your laughter with no thought for our own safety. And no personal gain. And we hardly ever kill anyone, so we’re way better than soldiers.
As it turned out we were buffeted around a bit by the winds, but we didn’t encounter any major problems. The trains were more affected and there were a few empty but sold seats, but it was a good gig and for the first time in ages I felt vaguely well and sharp on stage. There was some energy in reserve and aside from a bit of a scratchy throat I didn’t feel like total shit the whole time. Which helps. The staff and audience at the Old Rep Theatre were really excellent and welcome and the walls of the dressing room didn’t look like desiccated cauliflower and there was heat. Maybe that had something to do with it.
I don’t know quite how I have not only got through this month of illness and work commitments, whilst still managing to get everything done. Today I made some good progress on the final Relativity script that I am now a month late on and which I haven’t had the time or energy to write. I still have to finish it and write a sketch or two for AIOTM (which we’re filming on Monday). And there’s been some fathering of a poorly daughter (she’d had an injection yesterday and the poor little darling was in an almighty, arms folded, only wants her mum grump today - it’s hard not to laugh at her when she exhibits these more grown up emotions, but you have to try not to, because her feelings are valid, if hilarious) and loads of important admin as we seem to be about to buy a house. All I need now is for my wife to divorce me to be going through pretty much all the most stressful things a person can do. But oh no, she won’t do that. Because she loves me too much! So thanks for ruining that.
I feel weirdly calm about it all. Maybe I have become more fatalistic. I can only do the best I can do with all this stuff. In a month’s time we will have recorded the sitcom (regardless of how well I’ve done on the scripts) and have broken the back of the tour and hopefully have everything we need for AIOTM. The deadlines inspire me and I have always liked being just a bit too busy. But it also feels a lot better now I have ten pages of this final script done and (I think) they’re good. And they’re pretty much all thanks to this blog, which has reminded me of stuff that I had long ago forgotten.
Had our house not been struck down with a month’s worth of illness I think I might have heartily enjoyed all that I’ve had to do and what I’ve achieved. The illness makes it more of an achievement, but a lot less enjoyable. Though I am excited that the illness might be on the way out. I like to be busy. It stops me sitting down and realising how ultimately worthless I am.
We also started looking for Edinburgh accommodation, as the whole family will be going up with me. And I remembered just how much you have to pay to get even the tiniest flat. It was bad enough to make me say, "Flipping heck, Tucker,†and then laugh at the phrase that I hadn’t said for a while, but used to say all the time. I was impressed that my wife recognised the basic provenance as she is a little younger than I am. It made me laugh to remember it. I totally Peter Kayed myself. Do you remember him? And the way he used to remember things that everyone readily remembered? I remember it. But I don’t remember remembering it.
The voice in my head that accompanies every gig and tries to ruin it or at least distract me was in full force tonight, but I was well enough to deal with him. Sometimes it is helpful or at least trying to be, for example running through the new Ferrero Rocher figures five minutes before that bit to ensure I am prepared, sometimes it is a saboteur, tonight doing a very good job of bothering me with the idea that one day it would be in the ascendancy and take control and then mentally impair me so that I could never work again. It’s only playing, I think and oddly keeps me on my toes. But I find it increasingly bizarre how adept I am at keeping the show going, whilst an entirely different internal monologue is going on inside my brain. It’s like there’s a Me1 and a Me2. If only I could find some outlet to explore that.
Quite a few regulars were in the first few rows and my brain attempted to identify them all by name to save the embarrassment of failing to recognise them if they came for a post-show autograph. But too much of my brain was being used up with keeping the show going or trying to wreck it and I couldn’t put a name to the most familiar of the faces, even though I knew I had name checked him during many podcasts. And this became a third plate spinning in my brain - what was his name? It was bugging me and I tried to forget about it by saying I would just look in the programme during the interval as I was sure he’d be one of the donators. But one off stage only my own voice was in my head and I totally forgot about the thing that had, if not preoccupied, then certainly continually niggled at me for the last 45 minutes. Only when I stepped back on stage did the voice pipe back up. I was pretty certain I had his first name correct and knew there was an initial in it. But my brain was not satisfied with that. It wanted me to greet him, as I always did, with his full name.
Why would I do this to myself?
As it turned out he didn’t come to say hello afterwards anyway. And now I haven’t got all the stuff going on in my head computer I can readily tell you his name is Paul J Levy. Hi Paul J Levy. As it turned out I forgot the name of another long-standing fan instead. But she took it well. I am always mentally exhausted after a show and have sometimes forgotten the names of lifelong friends. So don’t take it personally if it happens to you. Clearly it’s not a thing that I don’t think about!
In spite of all this rubbish going on in my head, I did a sharp performance of the show. I find it fascinating and mildly terrifying that these malicious brain demons do this stuff. But possibly it’s all part of the process. After all, I am always looking to add a new laugh and having a cast of writers in my head, even if they are just there to create friction or distraction, might be how this is possible. It’s amazing that the show keeps running whilst all this is going on and how sometimes, from my perspective it is like a light flickering in the distance and I am scarcely consciously thinking about.
I don’t think I am mentally ill. Well not that mentally ill. I think this is something most performers (at least those with years of experience and confidence) experience.
Like I said comedians are the bravest people in the world.
