The tail end of the day involved a planning meeting which came to a close just in time for me to hot foot it toward the evening's activities. We had a gig in Canterbury. By "we", I mean myself and a comedy friend. We had been told that we would be closing a night of comedy, then we were told that we'd be opening it, so could we be there early. 7.30? No. No way. I had to pick my friend up from Woking station at 6.30 and there was no way that the laws of physics, and, more importantly, the national speed limits, would permit us to get from there to the gig in one hour. I reckoned about an hour and a half, plus time for traffic. This is exactly the time we made.
We arrived, a little flustered, to find out that we were back on at the end. Sigh. Still, plenty of time to relax and enjoy the improv show at the start of the night. Isn't it hard to follow an improv show with three scripted stand-up comedians? Yes, it is, thank you for asking. It's especially hard when it's a student audience who aren't quite sure what to find funny, and who are tired. Excuses over with, the gig was interesting. I did my half hour out of sheer tenacity, rather than because I was having so much fun. I could have done a cheeky ten, but I'm just doing what I do for my own purposes, now, so who knows.
After the gig we drove back to Southampton. By "we", I mean "I". I drove my friend there to drop her off and then came back to Reading, arriving at an ungodly/unseemly and unsensible (is that a word) hour. However, on the way to Southampton, stops were partaken of. The Clackett Lane services were particularly good, where we made the Costa man laugh with the power of our enthusiasm for his chocolate sprinkles in the form of a heart on the top of the froth.