The tour may be over, but no time to draw a breath. Things are looking a little bit busy. But I am overcoming the fear that should be paralysing me by not really thinking about it, or at least doing one thing at a time. I am aware of what I have to do. But just ignoring it. So today involved the rather pleasurable task of lying in my hammock and reading Moab is My Washpot and wondering how much trouble Stephen Fry had getting that title passed his publishers. "It's very clever Stephen, but even though you've explained it to me three times I still don't quite get it. Can we go for "Fry's Burkish Delight" or something?" I was only interrupted by our curious cats, now allowed in our small back yard, starting to work out how to scale the fence. I dragged Lion-o back just as she was about to leap into next door's garden. We will have to give them the freedom to explore soon, but I worry that they don't know what dangers await them or that they might be too thick to find their way back. I love these furry idiots more than I thought was possible, but they are pretty stupid. Even for cats.
I was also aware that as well as RHLSTP prep I had to get this week's Metro column done, though thanks to the general dullness in my life there wasn't anything presenting itself to me. I struggled for an hour or so before deciding to write another column about the camping holiday I went on when I was 16, which I an increasingly convinced might make a good comedy drama. Not only did quite a few funny things occur, but also our group of friends were at a watershed moment where childhood alliances were shattering and adolescent competitiveness was driving wedges between us. I was a self-conscious and nervous goody-goody and my friends were becoming increasingly rebellious (and thus normal). I spent most of my time moping around, being over-sensitive and thinking they all hated me (no doubt making that a self-fulfilling prophecy in the process). But we did have some larks. I wrote about the fact that we ate every meal of the holiday at the same fried chicken shop, which was run by a guy with a badge that said "Dave Manager" on it. Which prompted my friend Phil to ask, "Is your name Dave Manager or are you Dave, the Manager?" every single time we went in there. It's a story I used in my play "Punk's Not Dead", but one I have never thought to do as stand-up. But it's quite a neat little idea, so I might have a go at it. You'll be able to read the article next Friday, though the play is in the downloads section if you can't wait.
The day after the Stephen Fry podcast I am flying to Glasgow to host a radio panel show for a few days and then next Sunday it's my first Edinburgh preview in Chippenham. God knows what I will have to talk about by then, but I am hoping I will have some down time in Glasgow to start stitching something together. And I also need to find guests for the last three podcasts (or hope that the pencils I have are able to confirm). And after next week's podcast I will be heading back to Scotland to appear in Jo Caufield's Story Telling radio show. And I need to work out what stories to tell. Maybe Dave Manager will get a run out. I might well give it a crack in the podcast tomorrow - or at least the warm up. And on the distant horizon is the foolish commitment to produce a monthly stand up show. It makes me feel excited and it makes me feel sick.
I think I can rise to the challenge and I am very much looking forward to doing a new show. In theory at least. When I think of what I have to achieve my fingers start to prick a little and my prick starts to finger and I get a little light-headed. But I have a feeling I can do something special with the new stand up show. I fucking hope so or it's going to be a pretty excruciating August (and subsequent tour). But in that case the show can become about my failure to write a good show and the nightly deaths I experienced. Which will be a post-modern masterpiece.
The guests for next week's Leicester Square Podcast (on the 10th) are now confirmed - we're doing a double record (making the series pass even better value) with classicist and TV presenter Mary Beard and TV producer of hits from Not The Nine O Clock News to QI, John Lloyd. Two more ferociously intelligent guests for me to spar with. My only weapon is puerility. I think they can defeat me.
If you're a fan of history or comedy (which I am) then this is an insanely exciting double bill.
Book your tickets here. You can, as always, listen to them for free at the British Comedy Guide or iTunes or pay a small fee to download the video from
Go Faster Stripe.
