I was a little bit more with it tonight, but only a little bit. It had been a long drive to Harrogate and I should have arrived in plenty of time, but some fucking idiot had to go and crash and ruin everything, so I scarcely had time to sit down and have a banana before I was on stage.
It's a lovely theatre in Harrogate and there were about 300 in, which is superb for a Monday. But also thrillingly for me one of the BNP Euro MPs is from here so I was able to lay into the crowd with double venom for their failure to vote. Which was rude of me because they were very much onside right from the beginning and I was having lots of fun, even if tiredness made me stumble a bit and also forget two small sections of the show. I only spotted the second one when I was just starting the reincorporation of the idea, but luckily then realised I had forgotten to talk about my post-death plans for Mrs Thatcher and had to fess up and try and take the audience back to the point where I'd missed that story out. Luckily my embarrassment and the stupidity of doing such a thing was as funny (if not funnier) then if I'd done the show right. People love it when you fuck up. I rarely do and it's a sign of how tired I already am that this can happen when I am so familiar with the show. Though that's not unusual. When you've done a show this many times you can go on to auto-pilot and not be paying as much attention as you should be.
But post show I was really started to flag. I went out for a curry with promoter and York City fan Toby, but when I had sat down and ordered I suddenly became aware that I wasn't wearing my coat. I must have left it in the dressing room and the theatre staff may have locked up by now. It had my car keys in it and if I didn't get it back tonight I could be stuck in Harrogate for the foreseeable future, with all their BNP supporters. It didn't bear thinking about.
I ran out into the street and Toby went to check I hadn't left my coat in the car when I'd dumped off my props and buckets. It was only as I ran past the car that I suddenly recalled that I had taken my coat off when I'd got into the restaurant and put it over the back of my chair. Of course I had. Because that's what you do. So my useless addled brain had panicked for nothing. Like the twat that it is.
I blamed Toby who should at least have seen the coat once I had got up and came back to see the waiters laughing at me. One of them had explained to the other that I thought I'd left my coat behind and he had pointed out that it was on the chair. How it must have pleased these Asian men in this town of at least one racist to see a white man being so dumb. Though I suspect they have plenty of evidence of that on a nightly basis.
I do at least get a night off performing tomorrow, but am going to head down to Wales to rilll there.
I haven't yet got a song for the tour yet. Usually there is a song that I either like a lot or that dominates radio play as I drive around. A couple of years ago (or was it three?) it was Shine by Take That, which I really liked and which I felt held promise for me that success was round the corner (which it kind of has been, though the progress continues at a slow and steady pace) and last year it was that one that went "Go baby go, don't forget the rhythm, don't you dare!" which I didn't really like, but I liked the idea of people daring to forget the rhythm despite this dire warning.
This year the closest I have got is the dire Robbie Williams song which sounds like a parody of his work and which starts "How do you rate the morning sun?" I don't like it at all, finding it turgid and trying a bit hard to be witty (and failing) "How many stars would you give to the moon?"
But I have started to enjoy it despite this simply by changing the first line to "How do you rape the morning sun?" And I imagine that Robbie Williams is so perverted and desperate for sex that he is trying to work out the logistics of having non-consensual sex with a massive flaming ball of gas that is so very far away.
I imagine you'd need some kind of heat resistant condom, even if you could overcome the problems of finding a rocket and getting close enough to enter the star with your penis without burning to a crisp. I imagine it would be a suicide fuck for Williams, but one that would be worth it, for at least having overcome a difficult problem.
But if that was your sexual fetish then it would be a difficult and unfulfilled life for you, as you dreamed of taking the sun by force, but knew that such an unGodly union of primate and astral body would be all but impossible. You would have to come up with such a mournful and plaintive song in the hope that some mad scientist might hear it and make your dream come true.
But imagine if the sun gave its consent at the last minute.
Of course if you were so minded you could imagine that Williams is singing "How would you rape the mourning son?" and presume he is singing of his desire to have sex with a child who is grieving the loss of his parents in some kind of horrendous accident. That one is at least more achievable, but somewhat darker. Even though in some ways the sun is more important than the life of one human child I think most people would applaud Williams if he managed to rape it, whilst you'd be hard pressed to find anyone who would forgive him for using his star status to bugger a bereaved boy.
Which is why I prefer to imagine the first image when I listen to the song. But to be honest either notion immediately improves it beyond all measure.
Perhaps Robbie, you could rape it from earth by creating a massive telescoping metallic penis with some sensors on the end which connect to your brain giving you the sensation of having sex with the sun without actually having to risk being burned up by it??
It's the best I can think of.
Good luck with your insane plan. Usually I am against rape, but if you manage this it will be one small spunk for a man, but one giant multiple orgasm for mankind.
Yup, childishly changing or mishearing one word in a popular song certainly helps fill those long hours on tour.
