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The As It Occurs To Me Kickstarter is, I think, falling slightly short. According to kicktraq.com we’re heading for just under £90,000, and after a couple of strong days things have slipped back again. My feeling is we’re going to miss our ambitious target, which would be a shame. I think the backers are out there (and we only need about another 1500 people to join in the fun or if we can get a few money-bags to put in for higher rewards we can get back on target ), but maybe they don’t know about it yet. Let them know, if you know them. I will attempt to push it hard in the next couple of weeks, but my guess is we’ll peter out at around £75,000...
But the motorcycle clothing catchphrase T shirt design is now up here
And we might be adding a couple more reward levels to see if we can get this thing over the hump(kin).
We had planned to go to Sunday lunch with friends today, but their daughter has just contracted chicken pox and whilst our baby will need to get that, I am not sure the week after a bad ear infection is the best time. Also chicken pox is such a fun illness (if you like being itchy) that it’s a shame not to remember it. I remember it well and feeling quite pleased that I had got it, so I’d hate to deprive my daughter of that memory.
It was maybe a good thing that we didn’t go to lunch because the drive home was tough, even leaving at 11. I was exhausted from the week on the road and a restless night with Phoebe (though also because I had one pint of lager near to bedtime and so that meant I was up every hour or so - being old is the worst thing in the world). This has been an exhausting week on tour with many miles under our belts (and possibly my trousers under Giles’ belt). I was pretty sure we were nearly on the home straight now, but I totted up gigs done and gigs to go and we’re still not halfway through as yet. Not that I am sick of doing the show by any means, or even wishing it was over - I think there’s a long way for this particular one to go and much to explore - I think I am just so much more tired than usual that I sort of assumed I must have been further along.
We rolled into Shepherd’s Bush at about 4 and in spite of exhaustion made it out for an early dinner, eating Mexican street food (though I doubt anyone is eating this stuff in any Mexican street and if they re they aren’t paying so much for it) and having a couple of drinks. These simple little meals feel like pure indulgence when you’re a parent. Just a few minutes of what we would previously have taken for granted before our monster of a daughter began demanding all of our attention. Our waiter circled the items we were having on our menu and wrote his name at the top. He was called Chris. You don’t usually find out your waiter’s name and though you’d think it was just basic manners to know and to treat him as if he was a person with a name, it felt weirdly alien to be calling him by his first name. Even though he was about 25 years younger than me, it was somehow like being allowed to call you teacher by his first name. But Chris brought me one of the wrong items, which I might not have noticed or remembered if he hadn’t kindly circled my order on my place mat menu. “Chris,” I said, “I actually ordered the chicken version of this.”
It felt even weirder calling this stranger by his first name when he’d done something wrong. In fact for these circumstances I think that the restaurant should let us know the surname of the waiter too. Because it would have more impact in chastising him, like we were disappointed parents. “Christopher Harris, we ordered the chicken,” and so on
“So you did,” said Chris, unable to lie because of his own earlier efficiency. He cheerfully got us the right thing. That's just like Chris. We gave him a bigger tip that usual. So well played Chris. Your over familiarity paid off.
