7811/20752
A romantic breakfast with tour manager James at our posh hotel. We both had smashed avocado. He complained that the coffee had grounds in it (I would never dare). I like to have a high maintenance tour manager. It makes me look like less of an arsehole (than I actually am). See manager of that pub - I am LOW MAINTENANCE. Even with gritty coffee it felt very luxurious and I slept OK (though still woke early of course) so day one of the tour has been a success.
It felt a bit like cheating on Catie. If I am in a nice hotel eating smashed avocado she should be there too, not at home, looking after a child who had gone from puking to getting hot and having a weird rash. At least I was thinking it wasn't fair - I think quite a few touring comedians just forget they have a family at home. And for a one-off it does feel like a holiday. Sadly I miss them a bit too much after that,
We were home by lunchtime and so I got to look after Ernie while Catie and Phoebe went out. He was a bit too low energy to do much though. Foolishly we took him out for a family dinner (to thank Catie's dad for picking us up from London after our holiday), but both Ernie and I were feeling too knackered to really enjoy it, so I took him home again and slept on his bottom bunk.
And he did some more puking throughout the night, so I was right back to reality. Though I could really have done with sleep, I leapt up every time (except maybe the fifth time where I was a bit slower). Having a sick kid is horrible. Especially if you're not in a hotel 150 miles away. We will get him to a doctor in the morning, don't worry.
He's a good lad and he took the unpleasantness pretty well - it's been a full on few days for him.
Given I've been tired and ill, it's weird that I started thinking about whether I should start drinking again this weekend. I don't think I am going to - I am three years and four months in (something like 1213 days) and I don't think I want to return to the 3am panic attacks (especially if I am dealing with a puking child - he might be dealing with a puking adult). It's fucking ages though isn't it? Maybe it'd be nice to have the occasional glass of wine with my wife again.
Cut to me in the gutter, covered in my own piss, very much single.
