I slept a bit better last night, but funnily enough felt tired all day. It's been straight back to work without a break after Edinburgh and don't look like I'll be getting any days off for quite a while, so it's not surprising things are taking their toll a bit. But I have booked a holiday in Tanzania in October with a friend once all this craziness is over which is at least something to look forward to. I have never been to Africa before, so it's going to be a big adventure, but have to find some time to sort out visas and get injections to protect me from diseases and lions (yes apparently you can be injected against them). I got a little way with the script for TWTTIN show 3 (which is nearly finished now, despite very sparse pickings for alternative events of September 11th - thanks for your attempts to help me), but after a short and tired run I couldn't find anything funny about the week of 17th-23rd September. It's not that it's not an interesting week, it's just my head was not in the right place. Hopefully tomorrow things will go better, but if not I might just have to talk very slowly in the recording and hope that Christian has written a very long song.
Or we could just put out one of the first series. I don't think anyone will notice.
I had a lovely game of poker with friends tonight and enjoyed myself thoroughly, even though I didn't win any of the three games. I had an exciting heads-up with one of the Dave Gormans in the world, which went one way and the other, but finally the prize money fell into his bearded lap (his lap, like his face, is bearded - I suppose in a way most of our laps are) Dave had come second in the first game and won the second, but he got knocked out early in the third. "You can't come first and second every time," I told him, then immediately realising the logical problem with my statement added, "unless you're just playing against yourself." I went in on two big hands that turned out to be 50/50 calls and though ahead on the flop both times, was twice defeated on the turn, which could be considered unlucky. It's a pity as by this late stage three quarters of my opponents were quite seriously drunk and my new weapon of sobriety would surely have led me to victory. But fate, that coquettish whore, decided that tonight would not be my night and that I had won enough money this week. So you can take £15 off the £300 or so that I have pocketed this week. If only every poker week was this good. But some poker nights are not as good as others. Just ask Edward II.
The 21st September is the 722nd anniversary of his unpleasant death. You'd think there'd be a sketch in that, but so far the humour of a man been probed up the anus by a red hot bit of metal is providing me with no laughs at all. When a man can't get laughs out of that then his heart must be dead. I am sure I will think of something, even if it is the obvious poker/poker pun that I have incorporated above. My job is really easy.
