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Great news to wake to that Brett Goldstein has won a fucking Emmy for Ted Lasso. Thoroughly deserved too, but it was great to see how universally loved and respected he is in the business. Everyone seemed genuinely delighted by the news. He is a nice man, a hard worker and very talented, so it's good to see that that can be a winning combination. Lots of people are two of those things, not so many are all three.
Back in 2018 I saw his brilliant stand up show on a flying visit to the Fringe (and he was nice enough to look after me and take me to see another show). As great as Brett was I remember that the smallish venue wasn't full. So it's very satisfying to see him wowing the world within three years. I suspect he won't necessarily be back at the Fringe soon (but he might be) but if he is then I don't think you'll be able to buy a ticket on the day. Hooray for him. And for Ted Lasso which is a genuinely excellent show.
No RHLSTP today (though apparently Craig the cameraman turned up at the theatre) so I was able to get on with the script writing. It went OK and script two is maybe a few solid hours away from first draft status and I have an idea of where the next three scripts will lead us. I'd quite like to get script 3 done by the end of this week, though I think that's unlikely. But I can't hang around too much.
I still feel like I wasted a lot of today, but the trudge has been going on for months and this was a leap forward compared to most days. I am not sure if the scene that I end on might be better at the start of the next episode (and whether it might get bumped forwards because I have too much other stuff in episode two. The series is set at the end of lockdown two and I also don't know if that will seem good or bad by the time this thing is broadcast (and I notice Alison Steadman is starring in a TV sitcom about a family going through lockdown which might stamp on my toes a bit), but ultimately I think that that 18 months apart has been such a defining period for family that I have to take it on board. And what I am writing about isn't much about Covid anyway. Covid has just mucked up everyone's narratives. Like it did.
I will feel a lot less shit when there's four scripts written and a whole lot less shit when there are six. If that ever happens. This week I have a fairly clear run at it so we'll see.
And I had a profound realisation. I thought that I had put on my lucky £35 pants for the Taskmaster Champion of Champions record last week, but on going through my pants door I realised that I had misremembered which pair they were. I was in fact wearing a "normal" £20 pair of pants. I wear the expensive ones so rarely (really only for TV records and when I think I might pull - so that's basically never) that I had forgotten what they looked like. So there was me thinking I had a secret weapon for victory and I was just wearing underwear that conferred no extra luck whatsoever and which if anything probably removed some luck. I am not getting my excuses in early, because although no one seems to credit it as a possibility I might have been victorious BUT if I didn't win then it was all down to the pants. I am beginning to wonder if spending £35 on a pair of pants that I won't wear because they are too special and which I can't distinguish from other pants was actually a waste of time.
And yes I am aware that spending £35 (and even £20) is fucking ridiculous, but the magic pants make me feel special. As it turns out, so do the non-magic ones as long as I believe they are the magic ones. It's almost like pants are really magic and that the people charging tens of pounds for something that costs pennies to make are the real warlocks. But I doubt the money makes them happy. They must spend all their days feeling deep shame about the con they are pulling off.
Of course if I was a really terrible person (rather than just a mildly terrible one, like you are too) then all my pants would cost £35. But I only did it once and still feel guilty about it. And I was the one being tricked, so think how bad the warlocks must feel.
Also losing a bollock (and then some weight) meant that I was able to pull into service about ten pairs of pants that I bought around about a decade ago that were a bit small for me. With a huge bollock lost they became a good fit again and I have worn them all again. So that extra ten pairs of pants essentially brings the cost of my expensive pants down to £3 a pair. An amount that would still bring my grandad out in a cold sweat - THREE POUNDS for a pair of pants??? - but which makes me feel less like a frivolous, wasteful pant-based Elton John.
