I indulged in a slight luxury, getting a 1st class train ticket home whilst The Cannibal drove the tour car home (no doubt on the look out for victims to sate his irresistible urge for man-meat). This wasn't too profligate, firstly because it gave me a realistic chance of doing some work, but mainly because Giles had booked in advance and the ticket was only £53, which given that you got breakfast, lunch, unlimited coffee, a newspaper, free wifi, soft drinks and booze thrown in was pretty cheap. Had I not been trying to write my sitcom (and guide my team to the European Cup final) I could easily have drunk £50 worth of booze. But I did my best with hot cross buns and diet coke. Congrats to East Coast for providing a fine service and to all the suckers in economy who probably paid as much or more than me and didn't get any of the free stuff, take that losers!
And it was all worth it without the calorific intake as I got more work done on my sitcom than I've managed in the last month and also did the tricky job of writing my 40 and 100 words for the Fringe programme. Tricky as I still don't really know what I am going to be doing in the show.
Here they are to whet your appetite
Richard Herring – We’re All Going To Die! Death is inevitable and universal. Let’s laugh in its face while our hearts still beat and our jaws are still attached. “The King of Edinburgh” List. “A solid hour of big laughs” Chortle.
Richard Herring – We’re All Going To Die! After sorting out politics (Hitler Moustache), religion (Christ on a Bike), love (What is Love, Anyway?) and penises (Talking Cock) Herring’s tenth consecutive stand-up show tackles the undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveller returns (apart from Jesus and that canoe bloke). Is death a tragedy or an excuse to have an extended lie-in? Are we snuffed out or forced to endure eternity without bodily pleasures? Death is inevitable, so let’s laugh in its face while our hearts still beat and our jaws are still attached. “A solid hour of big laughs" Chortle
And yes, it's common practice to use quotes from a previous show in the Fringe programme (given that people usually put on brand new shows).
And I got Rasputin to the front door of the Winter Palace by the time the train pulled into London. This was a win. Apart from the fact that I had cleverly left my Oyster card at home so that I wouldn't lose it, forgetting that I'd have one tube journey on this trip.
It did strike me how stupidly lucky and ungrateful we all are. How amazing is it that we can travel from Edinburgh to London so quickly in such comfort, with working lights, toilets and wifi. If any of those things are not operating we feel angry and short-changed rather than gasping in wonder at what the human race has achieved. I found myself suddenly impressed by the fact that there were lights on in the train. I know that's stupid, especially when the more impressive thing is that we were zooming along at a hundred miles an hour. And I know we all take that kind of shit for granted. But we shouldn't really. A person from the 18th century would shit themselves if they saw this. I think even someone from the 1980s would be disquietingly unsettled. It's rare that you have a journey on public transport that is perfect, but we are way too critical generally speaking. A massive moving house has its own lighting, plumbing and internet and there's a luxury bit of it where you get brought food and drinks in your seats. We all have lives more impressive than Roman Caesars and medieval kings, yet we all gripe about them as if we're the most maligned people in history.
I can't remember the last time a long train journey actually made me feel refreshed, but despite hardly any sleep last night and having woken up in Scotland I got loads of chores done when I got home. And the world seemed great.
It was good to get home, although I felt a little unsettled too. I get through the separation on tour by not thinking about it too much (and these last five nights have whizzed by), but it meant I felt a bit detached. But it was great to see my car again.
I'm joking, I mean my cats.
I'm joking, I mean my wife.
It was good to see them all again - there's no point in trying to put them in order. Though whichever one of these objects, animals or people it is that had started weeing and pooing on the sofa is in my bad books. I won't name who I suspect because there was probably something in my marriage vows that forbids it.
