Tonight isn't the first night I have gigged since our baby son was born, but it is the start of my return to stand up after a period of paternity leave and what's best described as abstinence from my comedic craft. I enjoyed myself on a longish distance gig. It was 170 miles each way or thereabouts, and I was in Scunthorpe, a place which has been surprisingly good to me comedy wise.
I hadn't forgotten what the nights on the road entail, but I feel like I have been reintroduced to some old friends.
Let's hear it for motorway service station branded coffee, late night trips to Tesco, swollen feet, the absence of a toilet for 90 miles, hours of podcast listening, long 50mph limits on big roads, the dashboard light, the muted voice of the Sat Nav slightly mispronouncing things, the baffling local roads and the chance for the mind to wander. That's what happens outside of the gig. The gig itself is a complex uncertainty, an oasis of fun, and a serious commitment to oneself and the booker.
I am glad to have more of this to look forward to.