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All the petrol stations on my drive to London were still out of fuel. Maybe there's been some fuel in the meantime, but even so that's a pretty terrifying state of affairs. For you non-electric car scum.
Two fabulous guests and a lovely audience, if surprisingly only a half full auditorium for RHLSTP tonight. Katherine Ryan and Shaparak Khorsandi are both remarkable people and multi-talented writer/performers and extremely good company too. Katherine has a 3 month old baby and long Covid (though I don't know how you tell the difference between long Covid and being a parent of a small human), but she still pushes onwards and in many directions, whilst remaining a decent and caring person. Her stage persona is audacious and harsh, whilst the real Katherine is audacious and extremely giving. You can get a glimpse of how awesome she is in her book and podcast, but I also admire her for her business nouse and for going for what she wants (and getting it). As an uptight Brit I find it hard to exhibit that degree of self-confidence, but the attitude is inspiring.
Shappi has had to battle demons and ADHD, but she's come out of the other side without losing her kook. And her writing is phenomenal. What I like about both of them is that they are happy to discuss and admit their mistakes and mistakes are a very big part of becoming a rounded human being. I worry that generally speaking people are being too harshly judged for the errors that make us human and it's an unsustainable way of looking at the world, unless you're convinced that you are perfect too. I felt a bit like all three of us have been through our crazy and idiotic moments and come out of the other side a bit wiser, though still not immune from making errors and whilst there were lots of laughs tonight, there was some great chats about more serious subjects.
My son turns four tomorrow and so I said goodbye to the three year old him for the last time as I dropped him off at school. I still think that being four was the best year of my life and maybe I've spent the rest of my life trying to recapture that wonderful year, but I am still sad to lose three year old Ernie forever. These four years have been a blur and almost half of his life has been spent in lockdown and
the day he was born remains a very vivid memory (mainly of horror as he arrived so quickly as we waited in that understaffed hospital).
Being admonished for making noise as we tried to work out how to get our baby to feed in the early morning hours still haunts Catie and me. After all we (and in some ways she) had been through, it was a horrible and callous moment and is the second most prominent memory of the event for me. The first is the utter fear I felt when Catie was forced to give birth without any drugs and wondering if she would kill me for not having been more forthright when she insisted that things were progressing quicker than the nurses seemed to believe. I think she's forgiven me now. But I may be wrong.
Happy Birthday to baby Ernest, who seemed earnest when he was born, but has turned out to be a very silly and puerile young man (I suppose that's OK when you're 3, but he better pull himself together tomorrow). It feels like the ride has just begun.
