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Up to York today for a RHLSTP at the Great Yorkshire Fringe. It was a long drive and there were a few delays and it was a bit touch and go whether I'd make it in time, but I arrived in a rain-sodden York with 50 minutes to show time and luckily everything was set up and my guest, the tiniest human on the planet Rebecca Callard, had arrived.
It was a little bit of a weird time slot of 6pm as this was the only time the Festival could accommodate me on the Friday (I have another festival in nearby Thirsk tomorrow), but still 150 rain damp but still very hot Yorkshire folk dashed from work to be with us and they were a very good and interactive crowd, especially when called upon to guess the cupboard.
For the first time in ages I could be vaguely topical as this audio only podcast will be going out next Wednesday (all being equal) so I was able to run out my new Emergency Question based on the news that women must not be tempted to put ice lollies in their vaginas, however hot they might be. I wonder if you can guess what that question might be. It seemed a bit inappropriate for it to be the first thing I asked someone I'd never actually met before (though Rebecca and I are social media pals), but I reasoned that I wouldn't baulk at asking a male guest I didn't know if he'd ever attempted self-fellatio and so it would be sexist to not treat a female guest to the same sort of delight. And with this great blow for feminism the podcast got off to a fine start.
Time whizzed by too and after the nearly five long and stressful hours it took to get here, the one hour of work was gone in a flash. And I was soon driving to a Premier Inn in Thirsk to have a late dinner and a much needed sleep.
I ordered a couple of small starters for my dinner as I didn't want to get too stuffed before bedtime, but a mix up in the kitchen meant that instead of getting a starter portion of chicken wings, I ended up with a sharing platter. As it was an error on behalf of the staff I was not charged more for them, but it felt rude to the wingless chickens who had kindly given up their last chance of flight not to eat them all. I didn't think it was possible for me to eat them all. It turned out that it was possible.
Just seven months ago this would have felt like a beautiful victory, but I'd capped off a day where I'd kept within my calories with a late night chicken feast and my only consolation was the lack of carbs. And the possibility that I had ingested enough wings to get the power of flight via osmosis.
Would I be able to make the most of a night away from home to catch up on my sleep? Of course not, I was up at 6am as usual. With a gut full of chicken. And still bound to the earth by the unforgiving force of gravity.
Here's this month's newsletter with news of more Edinburgh guests and information on becoming a badger and all the marvellous things you will get.
Check it out.
And there's a slightly weird
bonus RHLSTP with Fiona Allen out today. The actual chat was good, but it was recorded in a tent in Henley in front of a very small audience, who enjoyed it a lot more than it sounds like they did (the heckles were only in fun too, though it's hard to insult a town when there's no one to respond - it does make it sound much harsher and actually meant that it was - though 80% of people in Henley are cunts, so that probably didn't help). I was actually rather proud of the way it worked anyway and how we kept it on track, but it was quite a different atmosphere to usual. And leaves me bamboozled about how the podcast can sell 1100 tickets in some places and get 25 people at others.
Hope you enjoy it anyway! This one is audio only. Probably luckily!
