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As expected the huge building works going on around the hotel resulted in a lot of noise and these keen Scotch builders started around about 6am. I don't know if they woke me up or if I woke up anyway, but I did not manage one lie-in on this leg of the tour.
It might have been good to have a gig tonight, halfway between Glasgow and home, but instead we had a six hour drive to contend with. Easier for me than it was for James, of course. I just watched comedy on my laptop and finally had a snooze.
For some reason I was thinking about the Melbourne comedy festival in 2003 when I did Talking Cock (maybe prompted by remembering I had an empty suitcase stolen from my car outside the Guildhall in Gloucester the night before we flew out). It wasn't an entirely successful trip and the show didn't really take off as hoped. But someone who saw the show ran a business where they cast their clients penises (I think probably to make bespoke dildos rather than art) and they emailed me to ask if I would like my penis "done". As a comedian I should grasp unusual experiences with both hands and say yes to everything, but I am reticent and shy and there were all kinds of reasons I didn't want to do this. I think maybe most people would be nervous or suspicious about it. My mum told me never to go off with strangers who wanted to touch my penis and so obviously I have never done that.
I think I was also worried that I might not be able to achieve the necessary state to make this work. I had seen a few kits where you could do this yourself and obviously it involves making a cast of your turgid member in plaster of Paris (or similar) and I felt that even if I could get over the embarrassment of going along for this procedure (and I imagine, maybe incorrectly that it would still be something you did privately once you were there) that I might struggle to remain in a state that I would want immortalised while the mould was setting.
And what would I do with a representation of my own erection? I mean there are a lot of answers to that - but again I am an unadventurous and vanilla man and I think I would find most of them too embarrassing to explore- but in the short term, would I be comfortable travelling home with a representation of my own penis in my suitcase and where would I put it once I'd got home?
And in the long term what would happen to it when I die? I know personally that I'd hate to go through my dad's effects and find something like that. Though maybe it would have been apt for me to bequeath mine to the Penis museum so that future generations could marvel at it (I believe Paul Arason's actual penis eventually ended up there.
There was no way it was ever going to happen, but maybe, if I was ever going to be a truly great and free comedian I should have forced myself to do stuff like this, to open myself up (not like that - though inevitably if you had this someone some day was going to insist you find out what it was like to have your own cock up your bum -possibly even yourself). I shied away from most out there experiences and eschewed the opportunities to take nose cocaines with the other cool comics - though Baby Reindeer shows where an openness to embracing the chaos can lead (to a worldwide Netflix smash - damn my reticence).
Weirdly now, as a 56 year old man whose penis is not as reliable as it once was, I sort of regret not having a representation of it from its glory days. Even though I highly doubt it would have risen to occasion in such an antiseptic and pressurised circumstance.
Also if they'd put the balls in too then it'd really be a nostalgia fest.
The porn star Ben Dover, who was once on the show before or after me at one Edinburgh Fringe also used to sell dildos of his own cock after gigs, so I missed out on a really good merchandising opportunity too
Weird the things you think about 20+ years on.
