Day two of my new blogging regime, it has been raining and I've planted a conifer and an apple tree. The apple tree was only a fiver from Wilkinsons though I picked the wrong one and now the kids will have to eat cooking apples, instead of golden delicious. Green nasty I suppose. The conifer is ok as I never expected to eat that anyway.
It's a sign of domestic comfort, and I suppose middle age, that I've taken to doing things in the garden. I say doing things as I'm not writing 'gardening' as firstly what I do hardly qualifies and secondly I don't have any coudoroy trousers, yet. My wife baked a lemon cake, and I planted things, we only need Margo and Jerry to pop round and things would reach a crescendo ot tweeness.
The reason I was in Wilkinson anyway was fairly twee itself, as I needed a flask to take with me to gigs. That is so rock and roll reading it back, but I spend a lot on tea and/or coffee from Petrol stations that I decided to take a nice cup of tea with me in a thermal cup. That worked out so well, drinking my tea while singing along to 'Born to be Wild' by Steppenwolf. The only problem being the cup only kept the tea warm for the journey there and I'd need to buy a hot drink on the way home, so now I've just gone for it and bought a proper Thermos. That should see me right for the way home and Creedence Clearwater Revival's version of Proud Mary, and even Elvis' You Were Always on My Mind', which I think if more men were able to sing to their wives would save a lot of domestic strife, though in my wife's case wasn't appreciated that much.
The other thing I'm doing is trying to go to sleep when I get home. I found it hard after driving a long way, which I do most nights, to suddenly switch off. This has grown into a problem as I'd be messing about on Facebook or Twitter and not get to sleep til 4AM, by which point there's only a few hours til the kids get up for school. I excused myself by saying that gigging gets your whole brain buzzing and it's impossible to sleep but to be honest my last few gigs, in the lead up to the World Cup, have hardly been massive, so I should at least try to go to bed at as sensible an hour as I can manage.
It worked last night, got in at 12:30, in bed ten minutes later and woke up at 8AM, I feel great now and my sore throat seems to have gone, and I was able to pay tribute to both Price Charles and Clint Eastwood and talk to the apple tree as I planted it.
Wednesday, 9 June 2010
Tuesday, 8 June 2010
Left a Good Job in the City
So, after twenty four years of living next door to Alice I moved out of London. Actually that was six months ago. The move worked out, so much so that my wife is starting to say it was all her idea.
There's nothing I miss about London, the few times I have gone back since I have wondered how I managed to live there. I'm a visitor now, dazed and bewildered, even double checking the Tube map. I'll be standing on the wrong side of the escalator next.
So much for the happy. I've had a cold and lost my voice. Gigs that would normally be easy have been a croaky struggle, and in this pre-World Cup period most gigs are a bit muted anyway. I'm lucky to be working, even if it is in some, er, interesting places.
I did a wedding. Please, if you're getting married, don't have a comedian on. The room will be all wrong, the guests will have other things on their minds, the disco will have to be stopped to allow the 'funny man' to do his bit, and the comic will get flashed by a speed camera on his way home. That the Best Man stresses too much the 'I' in, 'Well, I thought you were funny' will not help!
In my experience stopping an audience from doing the Woops Upside Your Head dance so that someone they don't know can prattle on in a dark corner of the room is not a good idea for anyone.
Of course no-one held a gun to my head, but if you're offered money for anything when you have a gap in your diary you can't really say no, even if you know that no amount of money will make it enjoyable. It's best all round not to be asked.
Worst part of the night, going miles out of my way to find an Esso station to fill up, the acne experiment serving would only let me have one England World Cup medal. Next time I'm going to BP, if only to pour diesel all over the front of the forecourt and the flower beds to see how they like it.
There's nothing I miss about London, the few times I have gone back since I have wondered how I managed to live there. I'm a visitor now, dazed and bewildered, even double checking the Tube map. I'll be standing on the wrong side of the escalator next.
So much for the happy. I've had a cold and lost my voice. Gigs that would normally be easy have been a croaky struggle, and in this pre-World Cup period most gigs are a bit muted anyway. I'm lucky to be working, even if it is in some, er, interesting places.
I did a wedding. Please, if you're getting married, don't have a comedian on. The room will be all wrong, the guests will have other things on their minds, the disco will have to be stopped to allow the 'funny man' to do his bit, and the comic will get flashed by a speed camera on his way home. That the Best Man stresses too much the 'I' in, 'Well, I thought you were funny' will not help!
In my experience stopping an audience from doing the Woops Upside Your Head dance so that someone they don't know can prattle on in a dark corner of the room is not a good idea for anyone.
Of course no-one held a gun to my head, but if you're offered money for anything when you have a gap in your diary you can't really say no, even if you know that no amount of money will make it enjoyable. It's best all round not to be asked.
Worst part of the night, going miles out of my way to find an Esso station to fill up, the acne experiment serving would only let me have one England World Cup medal. Next time I'm going to BP, if only to pour diesel all over the front of the forecourt and the flower beds to see how they like it.
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