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I didn't visit the big spaceship Waitrose - we just headed out to Cheltenham as soon as we were kicked out of the hotel.
I had a little mooch round 'Nam before heading to the hotel for an afternoon nap. I've not been sleeping well again. Sadly every time I nearly dropped off the hotel fire alarm would go off for about two seconds - short enough for it to be clear it wasn't a real emergency, but long enough to wake me up. It happened four or five times and in the end I gave up on the idea of sleeping and just watched the football instead.
It was the first day of the tour that I felt a bit deflated. The Cheltenham gig had initially been booked into the main venue at the town hall, which is 800+ seats. This was somewhat optimistic, especially as I'd already played neighbouring Gloucester on this tour. I sold about 150 tickets (which is a bit disappointing for a place that I've played on most of my tours - surprised that this would be a place that brings my average down) and so was moved into my regular venue, the Pillar Room. This was the right decision (and I could have told you this would happen before the gig went on sale). I went up on the main stage and it would have been very hard to play with this number.
I did my sound check and remembered that on one of my previous gigs the speakers to the side of the stage were problematic - people had complained that they couldn't see me or the screen and I'd tried to move the speakers and very nearly fallen off the stage/let them fall to the floor. So this time I asked if we could do anything to make sight lines better and the tech guys came up with the idea of taking the speakers off the poles they were on and having them lower down. It totally worked and they said they might do this from now on. It's only taken maybe fifteen years to sort that.
I wanted a coffee or something sweet to wake me up and wandered round Cheltenham, having a glitchy video call with Phoebe and walking past posh restaurants and bars, but finding nowhere to get what I needed. It felt too much effort to put on a show shirt (though I did change out of my jogging bottoms) and it felt like a more casual gig so I did it in my The Sweet T-shirt. That sort of decision is a real sign of fatigue/tour blueness. When you can't even be arsed to change your shirt.
But the packed pillar room revived me. I'd later claim to Right Bollock that I had moved here on purpose to make the gig more exclusive and turned people away. I was maybe still in that weird mindset that comes with fatigue that can lead to mistakes, but also can encourage flights of fancy. I ended up trying to adlib something about everything being arse over tit, but ironically got it arse over tit as I was saying "tit over arse" and knew that sounded wrong, but couldn't work out why. But saying tit over arse, is so arse over tit that it's actually a much more efficient way to say that something is arse over tit. Even if tits are meant to be over arses. Depending on which way up you are.
There was another minor medical emergency towards the end, where I thought someone was leaving after the Right Bollock bit, but it was actually just another woman who was a bit faint. Some people have a fear of dummies and puppets, so maybe I should put up another trigger warning, as Right Bollock is surely the most triggering puppet possible (though Ally runs him close). I think she was OK.
I have never had this many fatalities with any other show though. It's a bit weird. I have maybe saved some lives by alerting some men to their cancers, but what if I kill more with the show. Will my good deeds make up for my crimes?
Back to our posh hotel, where I hoped that the fire alarm wouldn't go off in the middle of the night. My legs ached from tiredness and I fell asleep relatively quickly. I dreamed there was a fire alarm, but I don't think there actually was. But I'm at the point of the tour where reality and fantasy are intertwined and you just can't be sure. Maybe I dreamed all the afternoon alarms.
