I may be a bit tired.
On the way to the gig tonight I was supposed to change tubes at Tottenham Court Rd and head down to Leicester Square on the Northern Line. But for some reason I not only got off one step early at Oxford Circus, I then also chose to exit the station. I was on the up escalator before I realised what I had done. I could have gone back into the station and got the train, but I figured that I just about had enough time to walk it from there. But I couldn't quite believe my senior moment. What had I been thinking? How could I be that asleep?
Would I be as dim on stage?
Luckily my brain somehow kicked back into gear and the show was a good one and pretty much sold out, which was a relief.
The other consequence of the late start (and end) to the show is that I have to get the last tube home, along with people who have been spending the night drinking. And tonight, being Friday, there were more drunks than usual and I, with my unusual moustache, was conspicuous and a lot of people laughed at me, or shouted Seig Heil as I passed. I passed some foreign men who I couldn't have been sure if they'd seen me, except that I heard one of them utter the word "Hitler" clearly amongst all the other words which I didn't understand.
But it wasn't until I was nearly home that something happened that I had been fearing all the time I've had this bloody fuzz on my lip. Don't worry I wasn't attacked, though fear that that might happen one of these nights if I bump into the wrong group of drunks in the wrong place.
It was worse than that.
I passed a white van on Shepherd's Bush Grey and a bald man unloading some equipment spotted me, looked momentarily surprised and then said "Fair play!" For a second I thought he was joking along with me and smiled at him, but he repeated with a slightly creepy intensity, "Fair play," before adding "That's a man after my own heart."
I say in the show that worse than being thought to be a fascist or a paedophile would be if someone said "Well done mate, about fucking time!" And now it had happened. And it left be a bit shell-shocked and feeling sick.
A horrible racist man had assumed that my face furniture was a brave and bold attempt to demonstrate my hatred of the world (or more likely certain people in it) and wished that he could be as bold as to wear his heart on his face.
I just walked on and ignored him.
Of course I know there are people like this in the world. A million of my countrymen voted for the BNP after all and I can only assume that a proportion of them are ignorant and cold-hearted racists, but to be presented with one, who misinterpreted my intentions (and it wasn't a joke, alas) was a nasty end to a slightly discombobulating journey home.
In more fun news I met a man at the gig who claimed to be the person who had given the Carol Thatcher "Golliwog" story to the papers. I don't know his name and foolishly I was too bamboozled to ask him for a definitive version of what she actually said. But he was pleased that his actions had led to this particular mention in my show.
I am glad he did it. It was the right thing to do.
And so I think it is the right thing to do for me to have this moustache in the short term, even if it is very occasionally misinterpreted. If it leads to any more problems then I will them on the chin. And hopefully not in boot form to the testicles.
Oh and if you want to win my skateboard
you can enter a free draw here. You don't even have to buy the book. Though you can do it you want.
You can get it here and if you add the code DK4253 then you will get a copy for just £7.99.
