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My wife and daughter headed off for a brief trip to Paris today and I was left in the house alone. There must have been times when I've been solo since the birth (I was when I choked on that apricot stone), but today it felt especially quiet and empty. It wasn't entirely unpleasant and I enjoyed lounging around with nothing much to do until Giles turned up to pick me up for the gig in Canterbury, but there was something about it that tugged at my insides too. I've grown used to my daughter's shouting and tomfoolery and missed it to the extent that at one point I mistook a dog yelping in a garden somewhere for my baby in distress. Not that my daughter sounds like a dog. Just that I was freaked out by how quiet things were.
As with so much of parenthood something is great and awful simultaneously. I loved and hated the silence at the same time.
Off to Canterbury tonight, not quite sold out but a bigger audience than last year, as seems to be the case nearly everywhere (though not in Birmingham or Wolverhampton - did I do something to upset the West Midlands?). When I stepped out on to stage I hadn't really psyched myself up or made any attempt to remind myself of the show after the three day lay-off, but it came out fresher and sharper than it has for a while and I realised it's because I am no longer ill. It was quite a tough week last week, but only now the mild lurgy has left me did I realise the impact it had had. Or how much fun it is to perform when you're well.
As I came on stage it looked like I had had my earliest ever walk-out as a woman seemed to be leaving, but she was just an usher heading for her seat. A few minutes later there was quite a kerfuffle as a man seemed to be staging an incredible slow walk-out. It turned out two men were leaving but as they were near the front it was impossible to ignore them, for me and the audience. A a performer you're always a bit on the defensive, assuming an early walkout or comment is hostile and as two men were going it did feel like they'd had enough less than ten minutes in. One of the men had a long beard and looked like a mixture of Jesus and Rasputin and in my slightly tired state I was once again left wondering if I was imagining this. When I pointed out the resemblance to Jesus, he said “I've left my bike outside†which left me bamboozled, until he said “Christ on a Bikeâ€. We had fun with it, though I was confused and a bit slow on the uptake as the reason it was taking so long and the walk-out itself was not malicious and in fact the second guy was helping Ras-Jesus out as he was disabled (I can't really see everything from the stage, so am not even sure now). Five years ago I might have launched in too hard, but I allowed my befuddlement to do the work and didn't embarrass myself by verbally attacking the men.But interludes are fun and should be treated as such. When they came back, I had to stop again, but anything different makes the show more fun for me and the audience enjoyed it too. In the second half I had been left a Twix on stage (it's part of a routine I do) and I gave it to Ras-Jesus, who seemed happy enough with his mediocre snack.
Back home to an empty house and I'd been meaning to take advantage of the situation and play some Me1 Vs Me2 snooker. But I was too tired, so did a bit more tweeting about the kickstarter which seems to be gaining the necessary momentum (though not a foregone conclusion). We've added a new "Worst Boy" level that might have turned the tide for us. I hoped that I'd sleep in late in my baby-free house, though I knew I'd be awake by 7.30 whatever. I was correct.
Helen and Olly podcast is up here - youtube
vimeo
itunes
Someone has started a crowdfunding site for my rubber plant which I mention in the intro. No one has given anything to that!
