Two double espressos before
Collings and Herrin 164 might have been a mistake (or possible a stroke of genius). In addition to my tiredness and stress it created a bit of a powder keg, but I mainly stayed in control of my pantomime anger. But at points there was some real danger as Collings goaded me with his punch-me face. Did I punch him? You'll have to listen to find out. And whilst it was cathartic to vent my frustrations and release some of the pressure that is building up as deadlines loom and whilst it was mainly all just pretend, I was once again reminded by how comedy skirts close to genuine break-down and mental illness. I am in danger of being overwhelmed by the tidal wave and stuff I've got to get done, but I guess as long as Collings is coming round and as long as I don't punch him too hard in his face that this might be an effective release valve. Though it's fun to pretend we're going to stop and that I am going to set up a rival podcast with Rufus Hound (called Herr and Hound - c'mon it's gold dust). Though if I threatened to punch Hound he would have me in a headlock and have my face down the nearest toilet bowl before I could say "you are mah favourite podcaster".
I was in a bit of a state today though. I woke up having dreamed an idea for my new stand up show. Usually when this happens you wake up and immediately realise the idea is nonsense, but today it seemed to be clever and relevant. I was quite pleased with myself. But I must have been half asleep (or forgotten some crucial aspect) because when I came to think about it later it wasn't funny at all.
I had hoped to get Collings in and out of the house quickly so I could get on with my proper work, but due to multi technical breakdowns and issues he ended up being here for about three hours. I had lunch, fully intending to press onwards with writing, but perhaps tired from all the shouting or on a coffee comedown or just on the point of exhaustion from pushing myself too far I just had to go back to bed. Every time I dig myself into one of these holes I always vow that I will never let things pile up like this again, but I never learn. Unless things go incredibly well tomorrow I will have to ask for a deadline extension on my script, which will really help my sanity levels.
My real problem is learning to say no. Foolishly on tour I had agreed to appear at an on stage chat show tonight for the Evening Standard. I could really have done with staying in and working or even just staying in and relaxing, but instead I was off to the Canal Cafe Theatre to share a stage with Caprice, Stuart "The Brand" Baggs, Nicky Hambleton-Jones and Clare Teal. All being interviewed by a journalist called Amira Hashish - a name that sounds like a sketch show character created by a student, but I think the whole thing was real, rather than a sub-Dom Joly prank for a new E4 show where minor celebrities are humumilated. I wasn't really in the right frame of mind for this and even the prospect of meeting Stuart Baggs didn't delight me (which can only show how preoccupied I am). Baggs didn't make any effort to say hello and neither did I, so he sat with his friends, whilst I sat alone and wondered what material would work in front of this crowd and wished that I had had the foresight to have declined this gig due to my ridiculous workload. I needed to be light hearted on a night like this, but I was still feeling a little aggressive and cross with myself. I feared I might ruin the night. Which would be a shame as it was all rather charming. Clare Teal sang beautifully and Caprice and Hambleton-Jones talked about how they had created their own business empires. I was feeling a bit hot and ill and went for some fresh air and looked at hundreds of tweets I had got after a Twitter request to find out how big a pyramid you could make with 4 million Ferrero Rocher - with issues about the shape of the base and the fact that a Ferrero Rocher pyramid is more of a cone (or actually just a clump that couldn't actually stand without being glued together. It was for the new show (and unbelievably this wasn't an idea I had dreamt but one I had considered carefully).
I have 2 A Levels in Maths (the second one is in further Pure Maths) but alas my maths skills have entirely deserted me in the last quarter of a century and I didn't even know how many Ferrero Rocher would be in the third layer down. It's astonishing how much I've forgotten. And how much more there will be to forget.
My own stand up went all right, though was a little awkward. I did some of my rude jokes which went a little far for some of the audience and there were a table of lightly drunk, but rather chatty women that I was probably a little too harsh on. Then unusually I wasn't able to disappear into the night, but had to stay to be interviewed. Luckily the Herrin character didn't come through too strongly and I remained mainly polite and considered, though felt I might be one step away from a mini-breakdown which would have livened the evening up a bit.
In all the years I have gone to the Canal Cafe I have taken the rather convoluted step of travelling along the Hammersmith and City Line to Baker St and then heading back up the Bakerloo line to Warwick Avenue. Today, thanks again to Twitter I discovered that Royal Oak on the Hammersmith and Shitty line is actually as close to the venue as Warwick Avenue is. I have wasted literally minutes of my time in the past. So something good came of tonight.
The relentless march of work and distraction does not look like abating. On Friday I am flying to Amsterdam for a gig, then on Saturday we're having a party, Sunday sees me returning to my lovely
Lyric Hammersmith gig (do come) and Monday is the next AOITM (and when will I write that?) and Tuesday I need to finish my basically unstarted script and do
Pappy's Flatshare Slamdown.
I really must learn to say No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
NO!
