One whisky too many last night (and I didn't have a lot, just should have had one less) and I wasn't really in the right frame of mind for all the work I have to get through. I decided to mainly rest up and reserve my strength for my gig tonight.
I did have the energy to pop to the gym in the afternoon and lost track, before heading down to meet Giles outside the hotel. He was embroiled in a parking dispute. A woman had returned to her car to find it up against our rear bumper and her daughter, in the passenger seat, said that Giles had reversed into her. But Giles was adamant that he had been sitting in our people carrier, without turning the ignition or being in gear. He said that all he had been aware of was the car behind bumping into him. There was no damage luckily, but it was amusing to see his indignant response to the accusation. It seems most likely that the teenager in the car had accidentally released the handbrake and her car had rolled forward and she was attempting to pass the buck so she didn't get into trouble. Or maybe Giles just enjoys the attention and had done all this deliberately because he enjoys getting into arguments with middle-aged women and is turned on by minor altercations. I know which one I think it is.
We were off to the Chorley Little Theatre, which is always a pleasure to visit as it is run by comedy fans who want to put on the best show possible for their enthusiastic audiences. It's efficiently run and they treat the acts with respect and politeness and consequently comedians want to go there. In the old days all theatres provided acts with food and drink as a matter of course, nowadays you sometimes have to push them to give you a couple of bottles of water (some will even charge you for that, even when you've sold out the room). But there's no such mean spirit in Chorley, where there were sandwiches and snacks and the ubiquitous Chorley Cakes. They seemed aware that I might be on a diet though (I don't know how they are monitoring me), because there was salad and fruit and low cal sandwiches, so I managed to navigate the smorgasbord without going over my calories. In fact I held a few back anticipating my yearly interval treat of a tub of ice cream.
And they didn't let me down. It was a nice energy boost at the midway point. If every venue did this... then I would be dead of a heart attack by the end of the tour... but this level of just making a few simple gestures to ensure the act feels welcome means that this venue will always be on my tour roster.
So far the three nights of this jaunt have passed quickly, but I miss the human and cats back at home. Tonight I dreamt that Smithers had deliberately put his head in a burning fire in the fireplace (which to be fair is the kind of dumbass thing he would do) and then when he inevitably set his head on fire he said "Ow, my head." Maybe that was the point I should have spotted something was awry, but I rescued him anyway, telling him that this was all his own fault and luckily somehow the flames had not done too much damage. But who will be there to stop him if he tries that while I am away. He can shout out as much as he likes but I think my wife will ignore him, reasoning foolishly that cats can't talk. I must tell her to lock him in a Hannibal Lecter style restraining staight jacket and mask for his own safety.