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Work keeps me from the park, but my daughter gets me in there. And to be honest she’s now at an age where all the poo, vomit and sleepless nights (and that’s just the teachers on the bus) are worthwhile. Because she’s big enough to play at the playground. Which means I have to play with her. And it’s awesome. There’s a newish playground on the horrible Shepherd’s Bush Grey which is surprisingly brilliant. There’s a sandpit with silver diggers that you can sit on and then use to scoop up sand. I could pretend I was doing this to entertain Phoebe, but it was entirely for me. It was so awesome. I was so into it that at one point I spun round a bit sharpish and nearly clobbered her with the metal digger. I didn’t though. So I am still a great dad.
My daughter chucks herself into all of this in and has a go and is pretty much fearless (at least to start with, the roundabout stuff still freaks her out a bit) and she’s stupidly sociable in a way that is apparently unusual for kids without siblings.But the politics of being a child is couple. One older girl was very helpful in attempting to show Phoebe how to climb up to the slide (she’s mastered steps, but this was a simple version of a climbing wall) but then proprietorial about a bit of sand on a shelf, which Phoebe had started playing with, but which apparently belonged to the other girl. She then started flicking sand around in a way that meant it was likely to go into someone’s eye. We are all a mixture of good and evil. At the moment Phoebe assumes everyone wants to be friends, because she does, so it’s confusing when someone doesn’t (sometimes literally) play ball. I am not blind to her own selfishness. Self interest is our natural state and it takes maturity that many adults don’t have to understand that benefits of good behaviour might not come immediately but can be greater than those that come from instant gratification.
I was wearing my “Pint" T shirt and Phoebe was in her “Half Pint†T shirt so we looked unbearably cute/obnoxious depending on how you looked at it. But we walked around, holding hands and having a go on all the equipment and I don’t think there’s much in life that could make me happier than this.
I would certainly have preferred to stay here than go to Windsor, but I had a gig to do and there was a chance the Queen might show up. It’s a good job I remembered that this is always a bit of a weird one (it’s been a few years since I have come here) and the audience tend to sit and stare at you. Tonight there were lots of distractions: the audience had too much light on them, there was extraneous noise coming from the bar and I could hear an odd humming (but I didn’t know if that was in my head or if the audience were all doing it in an attempt to freak me out). It was a bit hot on stage and my throat was dry and the reactions were odd.
I wasn’t sure the crowd knew who I was (and certainly a few of them left in the interval) but it was hard to get any momentum going. I think I managed it in the second half, but it was a tougher gig than most of them have been. Luckily I found it funny and just chuckled to myself when banker stuff got nothing and non jokes got laughs. But it was a sell out and I think the inscrutable Windsor residents liked it and I got through it and managed the short drive home in spite of my tiredness (Giles the cannibal can’t do any of the rest of the tour, so I am largely flying solo from now). In the old days about one in three gigs were a struggle, but now they are a rare thing, thankfully as I get better and my audience is more tuned into what I am doing. I did think about dropping a routine or two today, but I stayed strong and professional and did the show to the best of my abilities. Eight to go. Who’s counting?
