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Another blistering, exhausting, hilarious and unsettling night of RHLSTP recordings. A packed crowd saw me interview a very good-humoured and patient Robert Webb and a contemplative and probing Louis Theroux who threatened to turn me into the subject of one of his documentaries (which having watched the broken people he usually deals with is very far from a compliment). Whilst attempting to praise Louis for the way he has matured throughout his career I inadvertently called some of the childishness in his early work “patheticâ€, which he kept returning to with mock-outrage (I hope it was mock, but there may have been a bit of non-mock in there). But it was a long interview in which we tried and failed to make sense of Jimmy Savile and Louis rued the fact that he hadn't spotted the monster lurking beneath the surface. There was approaching three hours of chat tonight and by the end I felt battered and a little exposed, but it was a real pleasure to chat with both of these gentlemen and we went to some interesting places. These will be out in about a month.
On the way to the theatre I had boarded a tube. There were a few seats, but a woman had her bag on one and a man was stretching his legs so they blocked access to another one. I stood waiting for one of them to move, noticing that the man also had a small bottle of what looked like olive oil attached to his belt which was casually draped over the vacant seat as well. Luckily the woman moved her bag and I sat there, but the man addressed me saying something like “No room to sit between us.†I couldn't work out if he was making a statement or criticising me for choosing a different seat, so I pointed out that his bottle was also in the way, “The world is full of obstacles†he told me in a slightly threatening way, as if I had come crying to him about his own rudeness and I realised he was probably drunk or mentally ill or both so I pretended to read my paper, though kept wanting to look at his strange tiny olive oil bottle and work out why it was attached to his belt with string.
It's always fun travelling for fifteen minutes sitting opposite a man who you think might explode in inexplicable fury at any second. I hadn't offered any critique of him and had sat somewhere else, so I don't know why he felt the need to interject. But then why did he feel the need to have a bottle of olive oil attached to his person. I don't know if it was olive oil because a couple of minutes later he poured a small amount into the cap and drank it. Then a woman got on and wanted to sit in the seat and he moved his bottle for her. I didn't bother to question why she was granted access without comment, because I thought there was probably no reaon.
As the train filled up on its journey a man stood in front of the olive oil drinking madman. “I don't want your arse in my face,†the seated bottle man said, which I thought showed a rather unreasonable expectation of the transport system. The man was just standing there and not touching this guy. He seemed confused, “Get your arse out of my faceâ€, said the seated man to the man whose arse was some way from his face. The standing businessman did not want a confrontation and walked much further up the carriage. I felt like I was being watched and that if I caught eye contact that I would be attacked verbally or physically. Would I survive two more stops?
The front page of the Standard was about a man who had been killed stepping in to stop a fight. Would I be on the cover of tomorrow's paper, the unwitting and innocent victim of a oiled up maniac.
A woman got on and stood in front of the guy, her arse as exactly as close to the man's face as the businessman's - maybe even closer as she was shorter. But the olive oil drinker said nothing to her. It seemed he had a real problem with being in the proximity of men, like being near a man was some kind of loving or homosexual act. Only someone repressing something pretty colossal could be that upset by that though surely.
Another huge man with a bottle of spirits in a plastic bag sat next to me. He looked like he might be a useful ally if the situation became violent, but whose side would he be on. He also smelled really bad. It was an uncomfortable ride to my stop. But I wasn't pummelled and I won't be on the cover of the Evening Standard tomorrow. One day, but not tomorrow.
Another great signing for RHLSTP. On 6th July one of my interviews will be with Sharon Horgan and Rob Delaney from Catastrophe.
Get your tickets here. Also still tickets for next week with Johnny Vegas and Roisin Conaty and 29th June with (Improvisation my dear) Mark Watson and (Give him a) Robin Ince (and he'll take a smile).
