I’m sure anyone reading this imagines that the life of a comedian is so fucking rock and roll that even the rock and rollers quake in our wake.
Well, last night I let the average of all comedians slip a bit.
Was in Whitehaven, a place up somewhere, to do Figure 8. The gig was quite nice and I headed straight back to the hotel (not sampling the nightlife (not that I had any intention to anyway) after the chap at the venue said, keep looking behind you when you walk back, Whitehaven is that kind of place”)
So I kept looking in every direction as I tried to avoid running, but going at the same speed as running.
I had my eye on the big Morrisons betwixt the gig and the hotel. And figured that it would be a good place for cheap dinner that isn’t the usual friday night post gig fare of burgers or pizzas.
But whitehaven is small, the gig finished late and Morrisons was shut. Without wanting to risk the prices of late night hotel food i opted for the Esso garage and bought my first Pot Noodle for many many years. And some cans of beer to wash it down with.
I got in and found Ramseys American Kitchen Nightmares thing on the Channel4+1 on the freeview box in the hotel. The rock and roll could commence. As Gordon swore at a dysfunctional family owning restaurant for not cooking chicken properly or something I tucked into my curry flavoured Pot noodle.
It tasted nicer than expected. This isn’t necessarily a good thing.
Two cans of Heneiken later and I’m watching some thing about the economy with sign language and I’m safely in the bed trying to do some work on the computer.
But I can’t be bothered (a perennial problem I have with hotels – my head always thinks – a full night to yourself – think of all the shit you can get done. But then when in the hotel they’re usually so depressing that it’s just freeview and self-abuse, and when I first started doing comedy no hotels had freeview), and after a bit I am fiddling with the settings on my computer and discover that macs have voice control features.
soon enough I am teaching it my voice, and am slurring into the machine, in a room on my own “Switch to Finder” and it does, and I giggle. Or “Tell Me A Joke” and it tries to tell me a knock knock joke, but doesn’t recognise me saying “who’s there”
I just hope there was no one in the next room listening to me drunkenly shouting over the telly “Open Word” “Minimise All Windows” or “Make the pain go away”