The Novotel in Leeds charged me 90p for my Guardian. I don't think I had tipped them off as my blog had not been published by then. But the dream may be over. I apologise to all the other liberal thieves if I have ruined a beautiful thing for them.
Another long drive passed without incident, but I only had time to have a bath at the hotel before heading off to the venue. My cab driver, worryingly, didn't know where St David's Hall was and this became more of a problem when I tried to direct him to the stage door via the back streets. "We need to go to Bridge Street," I told him. He took me to another street and then seemed surprised when it was a dead end. "Bridge Street, Bridge Street," I repeated several times, but he didn't seem to have any clue. We had passed a Hayes Bridge Road and I asked him if this might be it, "Or is there a Bridge Street near here?" He headed up Hayes Bridge Road which led to what looked like a building site. But the woman at the box office has said we needed to go up a ramp and I wondered if this might be it. There was a man at the gate, who like my cab driver didn't seem to speak much English - but it's possible that they only spoke Welsh. He agreed to let us through when we told him we were heading for St David's which was tantalisingly close. But when we got further up it became clear we were locked into a building site, some men working with a strange machine that looked a bit like a small crane didn't know how we'd get through. I was ready to drop through frustration, when the man from the gate took pity on us, came forward and opened up a padlocked entrance right by the hall. We had come to the wrong place, but we'd got through somehow.
I had calmed down a bit by show time.
As with last year I was in the bar rather than main hall, and once again I had sold out, slightly earlier than last time, but not quite early enough to be upgraded to the massive main venue. "If you had sold out this time last week we'd have moved you up," I was told. I will have to add playing the main hall at St David's as one of my remaining ambitions. I think it might happen next year. Come on Wales, it's up to you!
Tantalisingly as I was taken from my dressing room to the stage I had to pass through the empty chamber. Our voices echoed in the dark emptiness and I looked up at the stage and wondered if a future Richard Herring will one day be waiting in those wings, waiting to make his entrance. I projected a good luck wish into the future just in case.
As I made my way back to the dressing room after a great first half I tried to remember if a younger Richard Herring had once stood in those wings, ready to do a show with Stewart Lee. I was pretty certain we'd played here before (and last year's entry suggests so), but I don't remember anything about it. The younger Richard Herring didn't really appreciate how lucky he was. If I get back there again I will make the most of it. It would be great if the ghosts of our past, future and present could actually meet in circumstances like this, to pass on advice, to understand life better. This blog can at least go out to the future me, who if he makes my dream come true can at least link back to my words. How you doing older Rich? What do you know that I don't know? Make sure you enjoy those moments back stage if you are lucky enough to get them.
When I got back to my dressing room there was music coming from outside, someone was playing guitar. I glanced down at the square and some itinerant musicians were playing. A couple were standing in a space, the woman in a striking red dress and for a second I couldn't work out if they were dancing or fighting or dancing a dance that was meant to symbolise a fight. They jerked towards each other in a way that might have been choreographed, but then didn't seem to lead anywhere. Were they having an argument or practising some moves?
Suddenly the man picked the woman up and performed an impressive move twirling her around. It was a dance after all. It was lovely to be witnessing this from my secret lofty perch above them. Theatre was happening everywhere and life seemed beautiful. Then I spotted that they were being filmed, so they must have been practising their moves. It might have been a video for a band or just some street dance being captured for the fun of it. It was not a big production. But it made me feel happy to see it. With these nine days nearly over the stress is subsiding and the world is starting to seem lovely again. I took some photos, that are rather too distant, but it is just cool to have a reminder of this little bit of magic that I coincidentally witnessed. Whilst dreaming of playing a bigger venue I realised that sometimes the smallest venue with the tiniest audience can be even more magical.
The second half went even better. If everyone comes back next year and brings a friend then that future me might be just 12 months away. Or maybe he will just remain a ghost that never comes to life, wandering the back passages of St David's Hall like some lost and incompetent taxi driver, haunting the likes of Chubby Brown and Dave Spikey who can effortlessly fill the venue.
At the end of the show, one man in the front row stood and applauded. No one else got to their feet. But it's the closest to a standing ovation I've ever had. As with all things in my career it is going to be slow progress to achieve the ends, but that was at least a start. One man standing and applauding is better than none. Though in some ways, worse.
