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Friday, March 28

End of a long week

The week had stretched on a bit, the late start making it seem shorter, but then the rush to pack everything else in making it seem longer.

After a taxing day in the office, I headed to my evening gig. The second gig in a run that would take me to Monday. I was in some ways looking forward to this gig and in some ways hoping it wasn't going to be too hard. Last time I played there things hadn't been too easy, and I was the closing act that time. This timed I'd be opening. Perhaps that's a demotion? I wasn't taking it as such.

It can be hard to return to a room where you felt you once died. However, every gig is a clean slate and I was optimistic that the gig would go well. I was also looking forward to it as Tim Vine would be trying out some new material mid gig. That's great. I love Tim Vine. I didn't touch him. I laughed at his stuff, though.

I'm getting ahead of myself in the narrative here. I drove to the gig in good spirits, listening to Radio 4 and getting there much earlier than I expected, the promoter having requested we all be there on time and me compensating for traffic that couldn't be bothered to show up and impede me.

I chilled out, did my soundcheck, wore in the string that broke the previous evening, which I'd replaced at the last venue - to make it easier to get going in a hurry lest it be required.

The audience came. They were nice. The opening spot was still a bit tricky. I had to remix my set to make it work, having found some disruptive audience members suck me into some banter which needed a different tack than the prepared one. To be honest, remixing the set was fun. As was flirting with the pretty girls in the audience.

After the show I was chatting with an act about why I do this comedy lark. I said that I do it for the hell of it. He seemed shocked. Then the pretty 20 year old girls came past and coquettishly said their goodbyes - that's worth enjoying for the hell of it. Then the remarkably tall girl dropped by and insisted on a kiss goodbye (on the cheek). That's part of the hell of it.

Then I drove home with a chuckle in my heart and a sense that I'd been part of a night's entertainment. That's worth doing. For the hell of it.

An audience of a few dozen in a small pub in Surrey are not going to propel me into some sort of massive turnaround in my fortune or philosophy, but it's a laugh. A good time, for the hell of it.


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