Warming Up has made the news. Which is a bit frightening. I forget that the rubbish I write on here gets read by other people, some of whom might be journalists. So the story of my outrage made it into the Daily Express and from there
on to the BBC website. Suddenly from just writing a stupid blog, I had "hit out" at the if.comedy bigwigs. Strange to see it escalate to that extent though. But I am not alone in my opinion -
Steve Bennett at Chortle agrees, and suggests several potential recipients that were overlooked. Even though I am on that list I think he makes a good point about it going to either Tommy Shepherd or Peter Buckley Hill. Or indeed maybe they could have just had a lottery and given the £4000 to one lucky comic, or shared it between four impoverished ones. Rather than blowing it all in a two hour drinking session for half the comedians. Shame that they turned up in my opinion. Would have been great if the place had been empty.
Anyway, I am slowly reacclimatising to London town. I even managed to go to the gym today, running and cycling with no massive impact on my damaged rib. I don't think I will be doing any weights for a couple of weeks though. But good to know that I can get back to my exercise regime and shed the fat that has been accruing over the last fortnight of relative inactivity.
I had a big gig at the Holland Park theatre (which I didn't know existed even though it's only a 20 minute walk from my house). It was the Pimm's Summerfest (I hadn't known it was going to be branded thus when I took the gig, but to be honest would probably still have done it) and the bill was rather impressive - hosted by Russell Kane, with Jason Byrne, Andrew Lawrence and Doug Stanhope, who blew the place apart with his incendiary material. I did OK, though tried to mesh in some material from the diary along with my stand up, which slightly altered the focus (although more or less worked in the end). It was cool to be playing to 800 people though - not something I have done very often. There is an accurate review of how it went
on Chortle.
On the walk there I had been marvelling at the construction work that is still going on and at the embryonic new state of the art tube station. As I turned a blind corner I nearly bumped into an old woman, who surprised by my sudden appearance, let out a startled "ooh..ooh". This in turn startled me and I slightly jumped. I was more scared of her than she was of me. We both laughed at our joint silliness.
After the gig I had a few beers and slightly lost my way as I walked home, taking a long detour via Kensington High St. But I was feeling quite happy to be home and to be back to relative fitness, appreciating how cool it is to have my body working again.
Just as I passed Shepherd's Bush station, this time on the other side of the road, I was jolted back to reality. Something came crashing down hard on to the pavement beside me. It had either been thrown from a passing car or more worryingly dropped from the high tower block beside me. I looked down to see something that looked like an ice cube (but it can't have been as it didn't smash with the forceful impact) or one of those old flash cubes from 1970s cameras. I didn't get a chance to focus on it properly as suddenly another object whizzed past my ear and on to the pavement. I was under attack by some unseen assailant using mysterious projectiles and conscious that these might be being dropped from some height and have the potential to cause me extreme damage, I raised an arm to protect myself and moved swiftly onwards. It was a little unsettling and I couldn't help but consider how fortunate I was that both strange cubes had missed me, because they came down with some force. I looked up at the tower block to see if I could see anyone peering out a window, laughing at their prank. But no-one was visible. Only yesterday I had been discussing with a friend the story of a person cut in half by a falling piece of masonry at a London department store. If these things had been dropped from on high and had hit me on the head, who knows what kind of damage they might have done. Gravity is a dangerous weapon, as Sir Isaac Newton found out to his cost when he invented it.
Slightly jolted I was then further spooked by some young lads on bicycles cycling towards me at the crossing and I jumped and said "ooh...oooh", just like the old lady I had scared earlier on. The boys laughed at me. But I had been inches from death (perhaps).
I was reminded of my own mortality and fragility and also of London's unseemly underside. You never know when a 1970s flashbulb might be dropped on you from 300 feet and smash your brain open.
