Warming Up

And the tour grinds on. Only the travel when tired bit is a grind, the shows continue to be a delight. Tonight playing a church in Kettering, that unlike most church venues is still a church - run by a comedy loving and presumably open-minded vicar. Well over 200 people in which is amazing for a place I’ve never been before, so I presume they have a loyal audience. The voice of the 9 year old Christian me suggested that I tone the show down a bit, given that Jesus was now listening (he’s omnipresent, but I imagine he puts us all on mute, otherwise the noise would be awful - my proof is that he doesn’t ever seem to listen to our prayers). But I did the whole show (aside from the jacket potato section which I’ve decided to drop because the show is ever expanding) and the audience seemed OK with it. There was a guid dog sitting front and centre with a party hat on. I didn’t make a big deal of it. This is the kind of thing that happens all the time (also I am so tired that it might have been an hallucination), but it turned out it was real and that he was wearing a hat because it was his birthday. Still he didn’t crack a smile at any of my stuff. The canine dick.

Before the show I’d had a little look around Kettering, trying to get to grips with the town that made James Acaster. It was slightly bleak, but luxurious compared to Wolverhampton, so it’s all relative.

I sat in Costa trying to work out a good slogan for the town-"There’ll be no kettling, in Kettering (unless things get out of hand)”

"Are we walking? No we’re Kettering"   (Not a pun, just trying to make it sound like a new word meaning running into the future- with echoes of cantering). I was informed that Kettering is already a word according to the Meaning of Liff, it’s the marks on your skin after you’ve been sunbathing on a wicker chair (I believe).

I was so tired by the time I got home I thought I might be sick - and once again I have been lain if not low, then slightly less high, by another bug from my stupid baby. I think that last few miles of winding car journey through dark country roads is the culprit. So far that’s amongst the worst thing about country life (even though getting in and out of London was a bigger and different hassle). But I like seeing the late night wildlife which seems to love this magical time when it can jump into the road and apparently not be in danger of death. The stupid wildlife don’t realise that this is the worst time to stand in the road as it’s dark and the idiots in the fast metal beasts can’t really see you til the last minute. So far, apart from a few toads carpeting the road, we haven’t killed anything.