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I went into London to pre record an episode of Elis James and John Robins' radio show. Always lovely to see these guys and I am a huge admirer of how they effortlessly fill their shows with highly amusing chat, though I was disappointed to discover that Robins is an advocate for easy Wordle and thinks that that is more of a challenge rather than playing the game with stabilisers like a fucking baby.
They showed me the bill for the Reading Festival 1991 in which my name improbably features alongside Nirvana, Iggy Pop and Sonic Youth. I think they were hoping for exciting memories of the incredible line-up, but obviously I wasn't interested in the music. I have very limited memories of the event at all. I vaguely recall being booed and have a snapshot (as much as someone with aphantasia can, so a basically an invisible and unreliable one) of bearded men in leather jackets being particularly vociferous about how bad I was. It might not be real, but I am pretty sure I died. And when I think about it all I have is a residual feeling of fear and believing I didn't belong. I was not enjoying stand up at the time and I was not a good fit for this event. I did my time and (I assume) went home. I had remembered being on with Jerry Sadowitz (though the bill suggests not) so maybe it was Dennis Leary. I once closed a gig for him at a college because he had to dash off and did better than he did. But that was one of my rare triumphs. I wasn't very good and I wasn't confident enough for a festival gig (which are often pretty much impossible even if you're good) and I can't say I had imposter syndrome. I was an imposter. There were way better acts than me in 1991 that should have had this gig.
I was in a bad place personally as well: paranoid and worried about how things were going. I recall I had a spare ticket that I was going to give to my muso friend Simon (who would definitely have been up for watching all those amazing bands), but for some reason I got panicked or spooked or something when waiting for him at Paddington. There were no mobile phones and we failed to meet up. Maybe he was late (I don't think so though) or maybe I was worried I wouldn't make the gig in time, but I think I might just have left without him. I can't explain why. Sorry Simon. I know he was very upset and confused by my oddball behaviour.
I am still awkward in social situations but I bail less than I used to. But I am sure that after my useless gig at the Festival I didn't want to hang around with the other acts and just ran for it. I still have that. I can't stand feeling like a spare part and so if I am being ignored or just not spoken to for a bit, my instinct it to go home. That's how I ended up watching myself on Hootenanny as New Year struck.
So many people would love to time travel back to that festival, and yet I was there and failed to take any of it in, apart from Richard Herring dying on stage. So many experiences missed out on because of massive self-consciousness and fear of crowds and general cowardice. But I knew myself. I wouldn't have enjoyed watching Nirvana back then. And knowing my luck I'd probably have been on at the same time as them anyway.
Sorry to everyone who would have loved to have been in Reading that weekend instead of me. Especially Simon. I am also a useless person to be documenting our times. Samuel Pepys with his back to the Great Fire of London.
And paid subscribers might have noticed Mark Lamaar on the same bill on the same day as me. Perhaps that was the day that I did something to upset him. My memory's are so limited and vague that there's no way of knowing.
You'd think after all this blogging that I'd know myself better, but I haven't learned a thing and have no idea who I am. I had a lot of fun chatting to the boys though, much of it about my other bizarre and obsessive behaviour. It's out on Tuesday.
Then I was off to Luton for another preview of Ball Back. I did one here last year, so it's maybe not surprising that the place wasn't full (I only have 150 fans in any town and most of them had seen it last time). With the other two previews I've wondered if I could do my shows without a tour manager, but tonight was very stressful. No one in the venue even offered to help me load and unload the car (though they did sometimes hold the door open for me) and when it turned out there was no HDMI cable in the projector box they told me that they didn't have one in the building. This seemed unlikely to me, but the lads setting up the show were pretty friendly and nice, so I guess it was true. Or maybe they'd read my many negative comments about how everyone in Luton is scum and decided to teach me a lesson.
Anyway, luckily there were only around 60 people in, so I could just use my computer monitor as a screen for them and they could more or less see the slides (though somehow I put up a really old version of the slideshow which had some slides missing and some extra ones that I didn't need any more - though I did that bit of material anyway!)
I felt in quite a bad mood before the show and some vestigial part of me wanted to bolt (but I'd never do that when people had paid to see me). I thought the show might be a disaster, but man those 60 or so people were an excellent crowd (I presume they'd all travelled in from outside Luton) and didn't try to smash anything or fight any York City players in the vicinity.
I still sometimes feel like an imposter and sometimes I still maybe am, but as a stand up, I think, when I feel this, it is now just imposter's syndrome and not actually true. I am pretty good at this. Better than a lot of comedians who will sell more tickets. Now THEY are the imposters!
And making 60 people laugh is harder than making 3000 laugh and it's a great joy to me to be able to make them laugh. Even if those people are from Luton.
I don't know who I am, as much as I suspect that I am a fucking idiot. But I am mainly a happy fucking idiot.
