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There have been a lot of early starts this week and after just two nights of gigging I found myself struggling to keep awake on the drive to Oxford. Luckily I wasn't driving. It was my turn for a lie-in this morning, but I woke up at 7.30 and so decided to go along with Catie and Phoebe for the baby swim session they were heading to. I have done this a couple of times before, but am the only dad I've seen there and the other mums asked if my turning up and doing the pool duties was a Mother's Day present. Which I hadn't thought of - that'll save some money on flowers - but speaks a lot of the state of parental equality. A dad doing the swimming session is seen as a magnanimous gift rather than part of equal duties. And as much as I am trying to do as much of the baby duties as possible, I am clearly falling short (even if I am a kind of hero for getting up early most mornings when I essentially work nights).
Phoebe didn't enjoy me being in the pool with her though and was unusually moany, perhaps wondering why her mum was sitting watching while her dad inefficiently ducked her underwater and failed to sing along with the songs properly.
We walked the three miles home afterwards - stopping off for a coffee and for me to write my Metro column, so maybe all this early morning effort was the cause of my later exhaustion. I was on at the Oxford Glee, so there was the usual tugging at my guts as we drove through the city where I had been a student and the queasiness increased as I tried to come to terms with the fact that it had been nearly 30 years since I'd first come up here. You'd think for the many times I consider the passage of time that I'd be able to get my head round it, but it actually just gets weirder. How was that three decades? Some kind of time-thief has definitely made off with at least twenty years of my life.
A poster I had signed was on the wall of the dressing room, revealing that I had played this venue two days before my wedding - “My last gig as a single man†was what I had written, somewhat tempting fate and putting a lot of hope in the belief that my wife wouldn't divorce me. So far so good.
After all the big theatre gigs it was nice to get back into a comedy club. It was sold out tonight. That's only around 210 people, but the front row was close enough for me to slap in the face without even having to over reach. But everyone behaved so I didn't have to and it was a really enjoyable gig. I ad-libbed some stuff that I've already forgotten and my phone failed to record the second half again, so it might all be gone. But I am enjoying doing one off performances of never to be quite repeated jokes. Maybe tomorrow I'll learn to listen back to the shows, until tomorrow I'll just keep recording them and not listening and occasionally failing to record them. I wonder if that had been the pitch for the Littlest Hobo whether it would have gone on to the success that it is today.
I was too full of adrenaline to go to bed when I got home and watched future President Trump firing the Incredible Hulk on Celebrity Apprentice US, which had a man on it who looked like all of Limmy's characters rolled into one. I hope President Trump will use his own children as advisors when he's in the White House. How utterly extraordinary that it's a possibility this man might rule the most powerful country in the world. For five minutes. Until he fires all the nuclear missiles or is killed by his own bodyguards. I think it's fair to say that we're fucked. Which is a shame, because he's not bad as the American Alan Sugar and I presume he won't still be making this show when he's President. It's much more of an advert in the US though, for Trump himself and this week for the internet company that the teams were making commercials for.
Another frame of Me1 vs Me2 Snooker went up today. From what I recall this one settles whether we stay in Europe or not. I genuinely can't remember the outcome or even which player was playing for which side. Don't tell me. No spoilers.
