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I was slightly regretting accepting tonight’s gig in Bridport as we headed out there. I generally only take one off gigs more than two hours away if I am being paid quite a lot, because you have to factor in not only all the travelling time, but the fact that after a late, late night I am unlikely to be in a fit state to work the next day. I don’t actually remember saying yes to this one and hadn’t put it in my diary and only found about it when I saw the venue tweeting about it. But apparently at some point just after my daughter was born I had committed to it, through a fug of tiredness, not considering how tricky it would be to do.
Perhaps I hadn't realised how far away Bridport was (even though I’ve played there before). It took us over four hours to get there (though partly because of roadworks). We hoped it would be quicker on the way home, especially the Cannibal as he was not only driving back to Norwich after he’d dropped me off, but also then going for a five day holiday in France with his wife at 6.30am tomorrow. We weren’t even regretting agreeing to this in hindsight. We knew before we’d started it was a dumb idea. Annoyingly even though Catie was looking after Phoebe last night I’d woken up at 5.30 anyway and couldn’t get back to sleep.
At least it would be OK if the theatre was packed, but of course it wasn’t. We were going to end up driving for six minutes for each person who was there. I could at least knock off a Metro column in the back of the car and read the chilling and fascinating “Jimmy Savile: In Plain Sightâ€. How extraordinary that this man got away with what he did for so long, but was also perceived as a trustworthy (even the most honest and trustworthy) figure by the British public (or the majority of them at least). I have seen people front out lies and get away with them, but this is another level of duplicity and evil and yet the deceit is laced with the truth. He was at least partially up front about what he was doing. It’s fucking terrifying, both that it happened and that no one seemed to take a step back and question what the fuck was going on. The book is pretty amazing. It made me wonder which modern day stars might be cloaking their true selves.
If I believed in Satan I’d think that Savile was a pretty good candidate, although you’d think Satan would come up with a better disguise. But maybe the devil would be clever enough to come to earth looking exactly like himself, but make himself look comical and harmless with peroxide hair and shell suits. That tactic certainly worked for Savile, devil or not.
The gig itself and the audience and the people running it were all great. I was just doing an hour long version of the show tonight, with support, which was also quite discombobulating. I was only going to be working for an hour from 9.15 to 10.15, but the travel and waiting lasted from 2 till 2.
And the journey home was made more nightmarish by road closures and diversions and us driving for 15 minutes in the wrong direction. It was bad enough for me as a passenger, but my heart went out to poor Giles who wouldn’t be home till after 4 and who wasn’t going to have time to go to bed. If this gig had been part of a run of West Country gigs then it would have been fine, but we could have probably got to Scotland and back in the time it took us to drive to Bridport and back. In terms of hourly wage this wasn’t going to be really worth the effort for either of us and we both know it. But you know the delighted faces of those 80 Dorset people almost made the whole thing worthwhile. But they didn’t make it worthwhile.
I am kidding. It was a lovely gig and it was worth giving up two days of my life for. God damn you stupid post-baby Richard Herring for agreeing to do this. You will never learn though, that’s what gets to me.
