I guess quite an interesting response to the email I got yesterday (if I had more time and an eye on a book deal) might have been to travel to Rik/Jeff's address with presents and a big cuddly teddy bear and ask to meet my biggest 11 year old fan. It would be interesting at least to see who actually lived there, if perhaps possibly dangerous. Though from the similar spelling mistakes in
these emails that Victoria Coren received it would seem that the perpetrator might be giving out a false address.
I woke up this morning in a Travelodge (I had had no choice) on the M42. In order to make the five and a half hour drive a little less exhausting we had driven two hours into the night after my final Cardiff gig. There had been no bogeys on the shower curtain, alas, but there was an impressive long black hair on the one large towel in the bathroom, so that was something. Travelodge will never let you down.
I managed the best night's sleep I have had for ages and then awoke to go and breakfast at the service station on Marks and Spencer granola and Costa coffee. I felt like a king. I almost wished I lived in a service station. What could be better than this? Alan Partridge only lived in a travel tavern, but if he had lived at the services then he could have had everything he needed, from fruit machines to massaging chairs. And here on the M42 I would be in the centre of the country, easily able to get home from a lot more gigs. I may look into it. Some big stars live in hotels, but none of them (as far as I am aware) live in a Travelodge, which if you book far enough in advance would be a very cheap option.
I always loved services when I was a kid - it would be dream come true to live in one.
At Costa coffee the barista seemed very excited to see me. I could see her whispering to her colleague and nodding towards me. She was beaming. It's amazing to bring such light into people's lives. Just the boost I needed as I was heading up to the Edinburgh Fringe - perhaps a sign that my renown is growing and that ticket sales might be healthy. As I picked up my coffee she said, "Are you on TV?"
"I have been," I replied with a modest shrug.
"You're on those wildlife shows..."
"No, I'm a comedian," I said, with as much grace as possible, before narkedly sloping away.
Since I have had my hair cut a few people have remarked that I resemble
Chris Packham and my guess is that she thought that's who I was (though others said it might be Bill Oddie, Terry Nutkins or Johnny Morris). The level of excitement that the woman reached by being in the company of a man she thought was Chris Packham was astonishing. I wish I was him. He must have an incredible life of bringin joy wherever he goes. At least she didn't think I was Charlie Boorman (though funnily enough
the man who had misidentified me as Ewan McGregor's friend at Amsterdam airport came to my gig tonight). My life is full of people thinking I am someone else or fraudulently trying to get my autograph even though they clearly have no idea who I am. The life of a non-famous person in the public eye is actually much more stressful and weird than actually being famous. But I am tempted to behave in a despicable way all the time, just to ruin the reputation of Chris Packham. I should have made him look a prick by saying "Yes that's me, now fuck off and serve me my coffee you twit".
And I was well rested and the three hour drive to Newcastle was very manageable. In hotel terms we were going from one extreme to the other as we were now staying at the ultra posh Malmaison where the lifts talk to you in French. And I had secured an amazing deal where the room was only £10, but you had to spend £75 in the bar/brasserie. Which still made the room only £85, only £20 more than my service station hotel, but with £75 worth of food and booze thrown in! Obviously there was no hair on the towel and no fruit machines, but you can't have everything. But they have really nice bottles of shampoo, conditioner and moisturiser here and if you are sly you can steal some extra ones off the trolley and have enough lovely shampoo to get you through the whole of the Edinburgh Fringe... I didn't do that though. How would that make Chris Packham look? The kind of man who despite being on TV was stealing extra shampoo even though he was on an incredible deal at the hotel... ha ha ha.
The show whizzed along tonight and pretty much everything came out right. The lines all came out of my mouth without me really thinking about it, like I was just a ventriloquist dummy being operated by someone else (which I might well be). I was quite impressed with the ventriloquist though, because he was selecting exactly the right words and delivering the lines with aplomb. He did some good ad libs too. I felt like a spectator rather than the person at the centre of this. It's a weird thing to experience, but I guess that when you let your instincts take over and don't think too much that somehow that makes for the best performances. I learned later that all the way through I had one trouser leg tucked into my sock, which is no doubt why everyone was laughing so hard throughout.
But that's it. Last preview done and tomorrow the exciting drive into Edinburgh, full of excitement. Hope once again triumphing over experience.
