The tour is getting tough. This is the hardest part of the hardest section, a little over halfway through this nine day run, thoughtfully booked all over the United Kingdom. I feel adrift and anchorless and like I have been on the road since the beginning of time. I miss home and the people there. I feel I am wandering some desolate, infinite landscape and have forgotten who I am or what I am for.
Apart from that it's fun though.
Even though I managed to sleep in until 9.30 (the first time I haven't been up before 8 on this run) I was powerfully tired all day. What should have been the relatively easy hop from Manchester to Sheffield became an exhausting trek and I wasn't sure I'd even have the energy for the show.
The drive itself was OK, but the Sheffield traffic system was frustrating and my satnav wasn't aware of changes to the one way system. I finally located my hotel and wondered if I could briefly park outside, but there were traffic wardens there and I had slightly gone past it before I spotted it, so I thought I'd try and come back a second time. But the one way system was enormously confusing and my attempts to turn around were thwarted. In the end I found a pay and display car park that I thought was near to the hotel and walked with my luggage.
It turned out that the hotel didn't have a car park and they directed me to one that was a good distance away - at least by car. I should really have at least brought my car round to the front and dropped off all my show gear, but I was too tired to think. The directions to the car park were complicated and I was tired and hungry (I hadn't had any breakfast and it was now lunchtime). As I missed the turning for the car park for the second time, I attempted a U turn and didn't notice a car coming up behind me. Luckily he spotted me and all I got was an angry honk on his horn.
Once parked up I unloaded the programmes and props and merchandise and set about carrying it back to the hotel. I had overstretched myself though. I needed 300 programmes for tonight's show and I had them in two difficult to carry buckets and was also trying to manage my broken shopping bag full of books and CDs and my trumpet.
I was flustered and exhausted before I started, but this was actually all a bit too much for me. I had to stop every twenty or so paces for a rest and about half way back almost gave up and left a bucket behind.
Instead I stopped off at Starbucks to rest and have something to eat. I tweeted for help (on Twitter, not like a bird would), but none was forthcoming. By now I had worked out roughly where the venue was so decided to drop the show stuff there. But it was a tough journey and I went to the wrong town hall first and by the time I found the right place I was sweaty and weary and ready to kill myself.
Luckily at the box office the woman called for help and a chirpy and chipper jack-the-lad member of the theatre staff with a rakish smile and a twinkle in his eye came to help me out. I explained the trouble I'd had and with a slightly smirk at my stupidity asked why I hadn't parked at the venue as they could have got me a pass. But I don't think I would have found it through this complicated transport system and had just given in in any case.
It was a relief to have my arms back and I went back to the hotel to sleep, forgetting that I had publicity interviews to do. I also discovered that in the bluster I had somehow mislaid my parking ticket. Hopefully they will just charge me for a full day's parking, which is actually what I will have had in any case.
Everyone was very nice at the venue and I'd sold around about 350 tickets which is amazing for a town that I haven't been to for a long time.
I was worried that tiredness would wreck the gig, and although I made a few minor errors it was a good show and the audience went with the ruder stuff more than any other so far. When I did my Jade Goody joke though I did hear an incredulous Yorkshireman declare "Fookin' Hell" which made me laugh to myself.
I went back to the hotel and had a couple of Bumble Beers, feeling a bit like I was Harry Potter. There were lots of businessmen and women there, talking about their boring jobs even at 11pm, nothing in common but their work, but at least enjoying being away from home and drinking and flirting with bar staff. I wanted to go home, or at least just make brief contact with my normal life to remind me of who I was. I wasn't depressed, as I have been on previous tours, just tired and punch drunk and a little lost. The fact that the shows are going so well is great, but ultimately this life on the road is lonely and unsettling and changes you into something else for a while. I hope I don't drift too far from the shore.
Escaped the businessman to come back to the room and count up my SCOPE money. The people of Sheffield had been very generous. Thanks so much. The Yorkshire reputation for generosity (or lack of) may have to be reevaluated.
It felt a little comforting to realise that there were only three more gigs until I'd get home and only two more nights in hotel rooms. But in some ways that still feels like months. And it's not like I then get a rest.
Hopefully tomorrow with the short drive to Leeds I can get some work done on the book. Or at least some sleep. This job is not quite as easy as it might appear.
