In the spirit of getting life into order, I cycled into the office and settled into getting on with things in the office. It seemed to go pretty well. I had a gig that night, so I cycled home and did some sweating. I sweated so much that it seemed appropriate to have a shower to cool off, or at least wash off. I'm not sure where most of the water that went down the plug hole came from - I assume it was the shower head, but it may have been my own pores.

Anyway, after the shower, I was still feeling hot and sticky, but I felt a bit cooler. I got dressed and went to the gig in the hot upstairs room of a pub in Newcastle. It was to be my 250th performance. I didn't realise it at the time. It's interesting that some of these landmark gigs are often the least celebrated in my career. I remember pretty much dying at my 100th gig in Moseley. Sometimes I tell a story about that experience.

Anyway, the slightest movement, like picking my guitar up to tune it, caused me to sweat my ass off. This didn't bode well for performing 10 energetic minutes in front of the audience. On top of that, I was closing the show. I should add that closing at this gig is more of an incidental thing, rather than being pegged the best act of the night. The best act of the night was the guy who went on before me and rocked the place. I had trouble following that, but what the hell. I did my best.

The act of the night for me, though, was the local fruitcake, whose idea of character comedy is my definition of "mentally ill". However, it made us laugh a lot - ineptitude is often funny.