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Oh my fucking God, this morning I broke the 80kg barrier, weighing in at 79.7kg. This might be my best Fringe ever. Although I’ve been watching my calories for seven and a half months now and jokily aiming for 72kg, I never seriously thought I would get this low. I think you’d have to go back to the late 80s to see me weighing this little. I also thought by now I’d be able to go to the doctors and show them that there was no more weight to lose, in spite of their ludicrous assertion that I still had a stone and a third to lose to be a healthy weight. But as reduced as my stomach is, there’s still some flab. It’s going to be embarrassing if I get to 72kg and then have to go to the doctors to show them that they were exactly right.
This week’s Metro column was my not so subtle revenge on my pocket picking landlord. I am considering leaving a copy of the paper for him on the lounge table, but maybe I should let the toilet brush speak for itself. I managed to get next week’s column written whilst I had a coffee in town. A man tweeted me to say that he had been reading my column to look up to see me sitting there, maybe writing the next one. I tweeted him back to say that I was indeed doing that. Even though he was about four feet away we didn’t speak or even catch each other’s eye. The modern world is weird. He then tweeted to tell me that the girl at the next table to me was reading what I was writing over my shoulder. I assumed he was joking, but just as I was about to send my column, she leaned over and told me not to press send as I had misplaced a comma in one sentence. Which I considered a little bit rude. Not only to be reading what might be a private piece of writing, but then to criticise my punctuation. I was not best pleased with this. Hopefully she won’t blow the secret of what next week’s column is. It’s not like I usually just adapt one of my blogs.
I also started reading Francesca Martinez's brilliant new book, “What the **** is normal?” . I am doing a Q and A with her on Friday which should be a lot of fun. Come along if you can. I also have less than a day to write a short horror story for a book that Robin Ince is putting together. I’ve actually had six months to write it (though I’ve been a little busy) , but I’ve left it until the last minute (technically the deadline was a week and a half ago). So I am not going to be seeing any shows until the weekend.
Though I am still making it to the gym, which is the most important venue for me at the moment. On the way back I passed a man who looked very familiar. It was Dr Harold Shipman. It’s unlikely that it was the real Dr Harold Shipman, due to him being dead, but he looked exactly like him. Seeing men who look just like Dr Harold Shipman is quite a regular occurrence (I think Adam Buxton once said his dad looks like him). It’s interesting that Dr Harold Shipman’s Beard has not suffered the same shunning by association that has come from the Hitler moustache. It’s perfectly fine to grow a white beard, with thinning brown hair and a pair of glasses. Even though this is essentially a Groucho Marx mask of evil and makes any man who does it look exactly like the serial killer. When I had a Hitler Moustache I didn’t do the hair or wear a costume and yet some people were offended. How are these Harold Shipman clones getting away with it? With their implicit support of old person murder.
Well maybe that’s my next Edinburgh show sorted out. For any journalists trawling the internet for controversial stories to make out of nothing I should make it clear my show would be very much against these evil ghouls who think it’s fine to go around looking like and dressed like (I am guessing) such a heinous criminal. Also are you proud of yourself that your job has come to this?
Another low turn out tonight, but it didn’t dishearten me like it did last week and I was pleased with the show. Maybe the Universe is pointing me in another direction (it isn’t. It neither has a finger or a consciousness). But if I am a character in a computer game or the subject of a Truman Show style TV show, I get the hint. Lots of thinking to do about what I get up to next. If I hadn’t had that Harold Shipman idea then I could leave Edinburgh behind.
