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I am sort of amazed how little sleep it is possible to get by on. I maybe managed three hours last night, split into little chunks and although I wasn’t delighted about peeling myself out of bed, we had to get the kids up,the dog walked, breakfast made and Phoebe to nursery, before driving to the station so I could get the 9.30 train to London. Also I washed up, stopped the dog digging into the composter (she’s worked out how to lift off the doors) and packed all my stuff for the journey up to Manchester to do my 12th successive year of premiering my new tour show at the Frog and Bucket.
I had a lot of stuff to carry and had to try to estimate how many Emergency Questions books I was going to sell. And before I went to Manchester I had to get to Hammersmith for a meeting about a possible new TV show (I just want to be on the telly). How was I not collapsing by 10am? Is it possible I had actually died but the burden of responsibilities and chores was somehow keeping my corpse animated?
Turning up with three bags stuffed with merch and props I think I must have looked like some kind of crazy itinerant, but luckily I work in the media and it’s people by mad people and perverts and so no one batted an eyelid. The meeting went well and we discussed an extra possible project and there was news from my manager that someone else was potentially interested in one of my old sitcom ideas (that I’d actually forgotten about temporarily). Slowly (much too slowly given my age and the working years left available to me) I seem to edging my way back to getting some work that isn’t just me commissioning myself and asking people to give me a pound every now and again to pay for it. Though the self-generated work is still the best.
I know too well that meetings don’t mean much and that having people interested is good but it hardly ever leads to anything happening. We’re still waiting to hear about what’s going to happen with recent projects. The process is slow and usually disappointing, as you will have noticed if you’ve been following this blog over the last 15 largely fallow years. But I have some horses in the race now and just need a bit of luck. Though it’s nice to be in a position where I can still make a living without the approval of executives.
Somehow I dragged myself to the train, where I’d intended to listen through to my show, but didn’t. I got to my hotel at about 5 and decided to have a 20 minute nap instead of working. I had to trust that somehow the show would find its way out of my mouth, which it turned out it largely did. The audience were lovely and a woman even tried to help me out with my deliberately lame attempt at Rubik’s Snake based nostalgia.
I had, as it turned out, brought too many books and also posted a few with the programmes so was going to leave with almost the same amount of stuff as I’d brought. This is why I can’t tour on the train.
Then back to the hotel bar to sit alone and drink some whisky, waiting to let the adrenaline die down so that I could catch up on some sleep. And the good thing about not really sleeping at home is I suddenly am able to sleep in hotels. And six or seven hours of uninterrupted sleep is now like a fortnight’s holiday.
