Thanks to yesterday's Metro article I am pretty sure that today would have been the most observed St Skeletor's Day in modern times (it was a massive feast day in the medieval period - R Herring 2:1 in Modern History Oxford University - uncollected). I didn't have time to push even one loving couple into a puddle though as my attempts to juggle spinning plates continued. Juggling is easy, spinning plates is a not too tricky, but you try juggling spinning plates. On the end of poles. That's difficult.
But I seem to be coping better this week and enjoyed all the interviews and packing and driving - though was annoyed to see the return of the "Bin Your Litter - Other People Do" signs. I thought I had eradicated them.
And another lovely show in an intimate 400 seater space, which surprisingly had sold out (I'd been told we were about two thirds full yesterday). The audience seemed to be having a lot of fun, apart from a very grumpy looking couple in the front row, who were both so disengaged from the performance that I suspected that they might be disappointed and confused Howard Jones fans. They did not return after the interval.
But it was a warm reception otherwise. I think it's fair to say that I have never had as much fun in Leicester. Though the bar had been low before.
Unfortunately due to a mix up with management (the person we had spoken to before said it would be OK, but the management said not - all sorts of boring reasons) I was again not allowed to make my SCOPE collection at the theatre tonight. It's a shame that another well attended gig didn't get to raise too much (though a few people donated directly to me - thanks very much to them). Usually the collection would have raised £400-£500 with an audience this size, but tonight I took less than £100. If you were there and want to donate (or even if you weren't and want to help boost the total for a brilliant cause) then you go to
my justgiving page. Aside from that unfortunate mishap the Curve theatre was brilliantly professional and the staff really helpful and efficient. And a bit embarrassed that I couldn't do the collection.
My hotel wasn't far from the venue and I was glad to see it had a car park underneath. I hadn't had time to check in before the show. I entered the car park and went into a space that said "Residents only". Did that mean hotel residents or was I in the wrong space? It could have been clearer. I gathered up my bags and tried to find the stairs to the hotel, but nothing was sign posted. It was a bit creepy being in an underground car park this late at night. I had thought I had seen something scurrying behind me as I got out of the car, but think it was just an optical illusion created by glimpsing my coat moving behind my legs. Was I about to relive a scene from "An American Werewolf in London"? And not one of the many scenes that I wanted to relive.
As I looked around for a way out I noticed a sign saying that hotel customers had to park on a lower level, so I got back in the car and drove down the perilously narrow lane towards those spaces. Predictably all of the fifty or so hotel spaces were full. There was one empty space but there was a sign saying "No Parking" on it. I was tired and annoyed enough to think about going into it, but decided not to. I drove to the end of the row but there were no other spaces. I had to reverse to get back out of the dead end and I don't like reversing at the best of times, but especially bad in a narrow car park with a coat werewolf on the loose.
I managed to get back round without hitting anything and parked in a pay and display spot. I had passed a man who looked like a car park employee, with a lanyard with a badge holder connected to it. I am not sure, but I think the badge holder did not have a badge in it. He had smiled at me. Now as I got out of the car he reappeared and told me that it would be OK for me to park in the spot that said "No parking". "The management made a mistake putting that sign there," he told me. It seemed unlikely as the signs seemed pretty permanent and I had no evidence that the man actually worked in the car park of the hotel, beyond the fact that he had a lanyard and it would be a bit weird if he was hanging around down there at this time. But if he was right it would save me paying six pounds and why would he lie?
"Are you Richard Herring?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
"Cool," he replied.
Was he giving me a special parking space because of my celebrity status? Had he been sent down by the hotel to greet me? I was confused and already spooked and vulnerable. I took him at his word and went back to the space. It was a bit tight and hard to negotiate my way into and I worried about denting my car again, but finally I made it and got my stuff out again. As I did a box of programmes fell on the floor and scattered everywhere. The mysterious man who was possibly a ghost, though I have no evidence of that, came back passed me again and said "Whoops!" but made no effort to help me as one might have thought a concerned fan would do. He went through a door that didn't have public access. So he must work there. Right? Or be a ghost.
What if he wasn't a fan though? What if he hated me and was trying to trick me into getting a parking ticket? Or what if he was a fan and not a ghost and did actually work there and there was an ID card in the card holder (it was facing the wrong way round - but it looked pretty empty), but his shift finished before I left? I might get a fine.
I was a bit nervous and sceptical. I went up to reception, up two floors and down a long and narrow corridor, by bags bumping against the walls. I told the man at reception about what had happened and he seemed confused, like there shouldn't have been any employee down there at this time of night. I tried to describe the man but the receptionist did not know who he was - the car park was not run by the hotel and advised me to move the car. I had already been in the car park for 20 minutes and was keen to get to my room to get on with the work that I still needed to do before bed. I really couldn't be arsed to go and move the car again.
The receptionist went to the manager and the manager told him to make me move or risk a £60 fine. Reluctantly I decided that that was probably for the best, mainly because there was an excellent chance that I was the victim of a prank made by a ghost. Ghosts probably know everyone's names. I am not that well known that a car park attendant in Leicester would be a fan.
I took my stuff to my room and then went down to the car park and negotiated my car out of the tight space and into a paid one. I had spent about half an hour of my precious time on this. The ghost attendant was nowhere to be seen, which I was glad about, because I thought he might be angered and offended by me moving, with the definite implication that he was a lying ghost that such a move made.
I went back to my room where I hoped to write my blog and my Metro article. I only got the former done and by then tiredness was finally overwhelming me.
I only hoped I wouldn't awake in the middle of the night to find the ghost attendant hovering over my bed, splashing his ectoplasm over my face.
It's a mystery that will probably never be explained. But is the best evidence for life after death that I have ever seen.
And Londoners, the dates at the Bloomsbury at the end of March are selling out fast - so
book now if you want to see the show. Details of all tour dates
are here.
