Guess what. Go on. Guess. Can you? The show didn't happen. This is not the end of the world. I have a head start for my journey to the next gig. I also didn't have to do the less technically rounded version of the show: to save time I wired less up. Also the microphone was sounding awful. I suspect that someone had messed up the settings.

The crowning glory was that we managed to flyer for an hour, set up the theatre, call the house, get noone, and arrive at the decision to cancel after the official start off the show, all before the third act showed up. In fact when I left the venue he still hadn't arrived. All this after his assurance that he'd be there at least 30 minutes before show time. What a knob. There's no excuse. I don't live in London, and I've been able to arrive on time. This lack of respect sickens me, as does the lack of laughter he manages to raise from an audience, as does the fact that he can get gigs at clubs I can't. The truth is that nobody likes the effective middle class jolly man, when they can patronise the working class stoner.

Do I sound bitter and jealous? Well, I am. I have the skill or talent to make an audience laugh. I have the commitment and naus to turn up on time and treat the circuit with respect, and I am an educated and articulate individual. Yet some doors stay closed to me almost as a sort of reverse snobbery. What's annoying is seeing those doors opened to others to whom I feel superior. This is not a feeling to be proud of. Usually I can just patiently wait for my time to come. But when someone so easily pisses up my back. . .

Still another show in a few minutes. These people are prepared to book me. God bless em.