Typically, without the cameras to make me self conscious, I felt I did a slightly better and sharper performance at the Bloomsbury tonight, but it's hard for me to judge and I am happy enough with what we got yesterday. Both gigs have felt special. It's been very satisfying to have had two sell out shows in this big theatre (even if I suppose last year I sold more tickets, just over a much longer period) and as I've observed before if you can just get to the point where you have 500+ people in the audience and you're on a big stage, it's pretty hard not to have an amazing gig. The hard part if getting all those people to come and see you. If you've followed the tortuous journey on this blog over the last decade you'll probably appreciate that. Hopefully the 1000 people who saw the show this weekend will tell their friends about it and I can do the same again on the extra dates at this theatre on 15th and 16th May -
Book now if you want to see the last performances of this show. With just 13 more gigs to go in the next 45 days, the hard work of the tour is now over, and next week I can concentrate on writing my wedding speech (and maybe finally getting some other writing work done) with only my gig in Oxford on Thursday to distract me.
My fiancee was out on her hen night tonight but I tried to not think of the awful things she'd be doing with whipped cream. Personally I am going old school and having my stag night next Friday, the eve of the wedding as it should be. This might be seen as risky, but my hand is a bit forced as my best man lives in Devon and can't come up to the big smoke twice (the Devon donkey only pulls the cart to the edge of the world-Bristol- once a month in any case). But luckily all the men coming along are old and fucked and will want to be in bed by 11pm. I can't imagine any of them have the energy to spike my drink and handcuff me to a lamppost in Aberdeen and I think we'll do something gentle and refined and the only whipped cream we'll see will be going into our decaffeinated coffees at the end of evening. Nothing can possibly go wrong. Cut to....
It wasn't until I was back in Harpenden, alone in the flat, counting up the SCOPE collection money (very impressively the two London gigs raised over £1500). I realised that I had just had my last ever Saturday night as an unmarried man. I should have been out, living it up, licking whipped cream off a stripper's semi-erect penis, as I have most Saturday nights over the years. He's quite annoyed about it as I often wake him up. But he doesn't call the police does he? Not every time. He wants it. I will miss him.
I am not feeling nervous or terrified about what's coming up in a week's time, though I am not sure if I just haven't processed any of it yet. My main concern is that I might have put on a bit of weight over the last fortnight and might not fit into the suit (looks like the tailor was right to be suspicious of my claims that I'd get thinner), but I am now a member of a gym and have six days to shed half a stone. Is it OK to be looking forward to my wedding? Big party followed by a short holiday, followed by spending the rest of my life with the most beautiful woman in the world. What can possibly go wrong?
Hope the writers of the sit-com that is my life might take the day off for once. Though I have a feeling that that isn't too likely. Bring on the stag night in a prison cell with a tattoo of a spider's web on my face!
