Since I turned 40 I have been increasingly aware that there is only a finite amount of time left to me on this planet. But the deaths of Ken Campbell and Geoffrey Perkins this week have brought home to me how precarious our lives can be. Tellingly I have been thinking about it from a professional point of view. How many creative years do I have left? How many more projects will I be able to complete in that time?
I'm 41, one would like to think it was at least another twenty years, but at 41 Harry Thompson only got another four (packing a Hell of a lot into them mind you), Douglas Adams was 7 years from the end. Geoffrey Perkins had 14 years left to him (usually the death of a TV executive would be a cause for celebration, but not this time - there is no justice), Ken Campbell another 25, which I think I would take if there was some guarantee that I could not be killed or incapacitated in the interim. But then I would spend most of my time behaving like a superhero, walking into fires and saving people, so might not get much work done. If I live as long as my gran then I have at least another 56 years of life, and she stayed mentally and physically agile up until her late 80s, so there would still be 45 years to churn stuff out.
I've been working professionally for about 20 years now. I'm probably half way through my career, but it's odd to think that I might only be a third of the way through or that I could be run over by a bus tomorrow and that's your lot.
The latter is at least an impetus to get one with things. I regret the fact that I wasted so much time a few years ago, feeling sorry for myself and struggling to get anything done. Even at 35 I had no real sense of how precious that time was. Perhaps creatively I needed that relative fallow period. Maybe it has made me a better writer and performer in the long run. But it's hard not to be slightly cross with myself. I think I gave in slightly as a reaction to the perceived slights and unfairness of the business I was in. I thought that I should have been recognised more for what I did and that people should be coming to me offering me work and contracts. But the truth is that however good you are, you make your own work. And no-one cares if you get all petulant and say I'm not playing any more. They just don't notice.
In the last two or three years I have made much more of an effort and pushed myself more and I think that slowly this effort is having some results. Funnily enough doing "The Headmaster's Son" has reminded me how much I dreamed of being a writer and performer as kid and brought home to me how churlish it was for me to not appreciate how lucky I am to make a living writing and telling stories. I shouldn't be sulking about things not going better, as long as I am able to write something and am also making a living. And given the path I chose I should be trying to tell as many as I can, before the random scythe of death comes crashing down on my head.
The day I cracked my rib I was talking to Matthew Crosby and telling him that my new plan for my career was just to stay alive and fit as long as possible. Ultimately, I argued, if you keep working and don't die, you achieve a notoriety and respect, just from the fact that you're still breathing. Plus if you keep grafting and caring and can manage another forty years then you should get pretty good at what you're doing. Hours later I pole-axed myself on a stool and considered what a great story Crosby would have had if only I had fallen on my head and smashed my brain open - "He was just saying he was going to try and live for as long as possible and then...." I can only apologise to the PG Tips chimp faced comedian for not giving him a brilliant anecdote.
I am still wasting time, but also getting a lot more done and apart from the setback of the non-commission of Absolutely Scrabulous, it's been a productive year and work offers are definitely on the increase.
The point I am trying to make (mainly to myself I suppose) is that I must crack on with the work I have got and come up with new work to do and not spend too much time playing Civilisation Revolutions (which has just arrived through my door) on my Nintendo DS.
I did manage to write the first 250 words of my new book, "The Milky Bar Kidult" this afternoon and put together a proposal for a possible new internet only comedy show. And I had to find an act for the Lyric Hammersmith gig on the 21st September. Which I finally did. It's the brilliant
Andrew Lawrence, who wowed them at Edinburgh (and had his face on the side of twenty taxi cabs, which was a brilliant piece of publicity, but unsettling, I imagine, if you were him - especially if you had to ride in one of them) and was brilliant at the Pimms Summerfest gig that I did last week. You really should come and see him. He's going to be massive. Also on the bill are Dan Antopolski and some fella called Steward Lee or something. Plus me trying to hold it all together. It's going to be a phenomenal gig.
You can get tickets
at the Lyric website. Not many left, so book now to avoid disappointment.
For those of you who are interested my Guardian Guide to Writing Comedy will be given away with the paper on the 22nd September.
