Incredibly I slept very well in Barrow, despite the burglar alarm and shrieking women and the church bell that rang every half an hour and the sound of Barrovians scoffing up chips from the wet tarmac like pigs. I had my ear plugs in so managed to zone out from the discordant orchestra that is Barrow by night and didn't wake up until 10.
Breakfast has been provided at the last few hotels (apart from in Edinburgh, but I was able to have cereal with milk in that luxury flat because it had a fridge) but I was just in a room above a pub this morning and so had to have a porridge in a pot (because I was too lazy to go down and see what road scraps had been left by the vampire-zombie drunks of Barrow). This was fine as far as it goes, but I have noticed the dangers of eating these in hotel beds is that if you spill any on the sheets it looks surprisingly like another kind of porridge. That is if you have slightly oaty and coagulated semen. Which I do. And if you don't then there is something wrong with you. Yes, even if you are a woman.
What would the hotel cleaning staff think of me? It's true that they will have seen worse and must surely be used to the liberal scattering of fluids around the rooms they tidy, but it was odd that this much more innocent spillage made me feel genuinely worried and ashamed. As if anyone would care.
But for the record, all my scattered seed ends up safely on the semi-circulsr toilet mat that I bring with me on tour for this express purpose.
Some comedians pass the time on tour skyping with strangers, others take drugs or sleep with floozies. On this tour I am getting my kicks by spending money on online shopping. Which is probably the safest option. But today I got two steps closer to making my insane snooker idea a reality. On the recommendation of someone on the guest book I bought a digital recorder to try and overcome our podcast issues (but which will also make it much easier to record an action podcast involving snooker) and then I bought my own 6ft snooker table. I can't believe I haven't thought of doing this before. I have room in my house for it and always meant to have a games room. The 12 year old me would not believe that I had left it so long to purchase this. I think if he had access to my bank account he would probably have bought a full size one, but I have more understanding of the value of money and the comedy value of playing on a small table. And thanks to @adsmanc's prompting I even came up with a name for a snooker podcast - "Richard Herring's Pod Black". I am only a step or two away from unleashing my madness on an unsuspecting world. I am pretty sure that when I am back in my regular real life that I might have second thoughts about this. But for now it seems like the greatest idea ever. And I love my stupid life. Happenstance can lead to me investing money and time in making an idle thought into reality. And best of all, it's all tax deductable. Don't work hard at school kids. Just become a comedian.
I had steeled myself for protests in Bishop Auckland, because there had been mutterings of complaints. But apparently the police had visited the elderly people who had been half-threatening to come to the show and informed them of their rights and what peaceful protests involved and they had clearly decided it was too much bother. I hope Jesus doesn't count that against them when they die.
It was by no means full tonight, but there were maybe 150 in, which after last night seemed overflowing and it was a largely uneventful show. At one point one of the plastic gobos that colour the theatre lights fluttered down from the ceiling and landed a foot or two away from me. I suggested that this was a warning for God and that I preferred this modern God who tried to scare you with small bits of plastic rather than lightening. It might be an early stage warning. And I looked up to check he wasn't planning on sending a light smashing down on my skull as a punchline. But I remained safe for the rest of the show.
Later in the early hours of the morning I would however be woken by a spectacular thunder storm and a bright flash of lightening that must have struck very close. In between sleep and wakefulness I wondered if God might have upped the ante a bit, but if so, you'd think He would have been a bit more accurate and it was also inconsiderate of Him to wake up everyone else in the area with a pyrotechnic display intended only for me. This quite neatly illustrates the self-centred arrogance that many religious people blithely exhibit. They think that every action in the world revolves around them. So could beleieve that God might deluge an entire area of the country with rain and light and noise just because of something they had done. Or indeed sent an earthquake or tsuanami to smite his enemies, when you'd think by the 21st Century his smoting techniques would be more specific and accurate than that.
Still there was part of me that still believed that I was important enough for God to make all this effort for and I cowered slightly under my bedsheets, hoping I hadn't backed the wrong horse. Though with gigs coming up in Saltburn and Darlington it would probably be merciful for God to kill me now. And if He wants to punish me then He should really just let me do the gigs.
I realised today that tonight's gig took me over the halfway point of the tour. I've done 35 shows (in 34 venues) and have 34 to go (not including the London run - with that I have done 60 of 94 gigs). It doesn't feel like I have done that many and hopefully the second half of the tour will pass as quickly. Not that I don't enjoy my job, for the most part I do. It's just this is a long, long tour and I am away from home and the one I love and if it goes on too long I might bankrupt myself buying outlandish equipment for some insane idea that I simply won't want to do when it comes down to it.
Keep the faith. Home on Monday morning. Although I am forced to do my photos for this year's Fringe in the afternoon, so if I look shagged out in my publicity material you will know why.
