It's been a relaxing couple of days being based in one place and staying in a hotel frequented by the stars - tonight I sat in the bar next to a familiar looking young man who I thought must be from a band or some youth TV show. It was only as he was getting up to leave that I realised it was Matt Smith, the new Doctor (not the new Doctor Who you fucking idiot - that's the name of the show). I was genuinely excited for a few seconds. Think how jealous all my nerdy friends would be.
It's probably why no one has been hassling me for my autograph or anything while I've been here, because they're so used to having big stars and are cool enough to leave us alone.
Yes that must be it.
And though there were not gaggle of fans waiting at the door as I left for the Glee Club (which predates the TV show, so keep your crappy jokes to yourself) there was a gonk-faced Welsh taxi driver waiting for a fare who shouted out of his window, "Good luck with the gig tonight." I have arrived.
(And he wasn't really gonk-faced. Well he might have been. I didn't get a good look at him. Just in case he's reading!)
I spent most of the day booking up hotels for the rest of my tour and putting together
my latest newsletter. I had meant to go to the gym, but I ran out of time and ate an Easter Egg instead. If I had only just resisted that then the calories saved would have been equivalent of a gym work out. I am failing to stay fit on this tour and my suit felt tight again tonight. Balls.
On the bright side Jesus is more likely to let me into Heaven now, given all the merchandise of his that I am consuming.
I passed an idle quarter of an hour before I left the hotel speculating about recent wank based deaths on Twitter.
"Can't decide whether it's awful to die wanking or brilliant to die wanking. I think it's likely I will die wanking. Just by law of averages." I wrote.
Before adding, "At least I would die doing what I loved."
Then I asked, "If you die wanking do the coroners have to do a test to see if it's spunk or ectoplasm?"
And consoled myself with the thought that, "Luckily I can bring myself off without having to throttle myself in a wardrobe so I am in a relatively low risk wanking group."
And whilst I am very sad about anyone dying in such tragic circumstances I can't help thinking that if you die wanking in a wardrobe (or with an orange in your mouth or a ligature round your throat), whatever else you've done in your life, that's going to be the first thing people remember about you. I hope I don't die wanking in strange circumstances, because it's hard for people to be 100% unhappy isn't it? There is going to be some part of them suppressing a giggle or at least a gasp of disgust.
It's not an honourable demise. I don't think Rupert Brooke would get away with, "If I should die think only this of me... I liked wanking in a wardrobe."
After congratulating myself for leaving a respectful silence before making these comments I then claimed I was referring to the death of Michael Foot, which amusingly a few people actually believed. If a 96 year old man dies wanking in a wardrobe I think you'd have to have nothing but respect for him. There is a point where it becomes impressive rather than seedy and funny. And that would be it. But I want to make it clear that (as far as I know) Michael Foot didn't go this way.
And I can joke a little about it even though I am very sad that we've lost him. He was a proper old school politician and a man of strongly held beliefs. I once saw him walking briskly through Leicester Square. He must have been in his eighties but he looked vital and impressive.
So sorry for making some people think you died wanking in a cupboard, Michael.
I am also sad about the loss of Kristian Digby, by the way. But I think my point is valid. It's difficult to think of anything else when you think about him.
Take care wanking out there folks. Just enjoy it in an old school way where the only thing you risk is maybe some jizz in your eye. And only when you're young and can get it that far.
I have wanked an awful lot in my life and have not yet got to the point where I am so jaded by it that I have to enhance the experience by depriving myself of oxygen. Just enjoy it for what it is. And if you have to add all kinds of mullarkey to a perfectly acceptable way to waste two and a half minutes of your life, then maybe ask a friend to be on hand to help you out if you get into difficulties.
Though I suppose if you had a friend to hand then you might not need to.
Perhaps I am just an old school wanker.
Hold on, that sentence could be misinterpreted.
Anyway, had a lovely gig at a packed Cardiff Glee and then saw Doctor Who - damn, I mean the Doctor.
This was better even than finding out whether Lady Gaga had a cock.
Then I had a wank in my wardrobe. Didn't see what all the fuss was about to be honest.
Once the tour is over I will be once again zooming around the country promoting the book.
Here are the dates confirmed so far. Do come along if you can.
