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Happy Ian Gunpowder Day to you all.
There isn't a much more pleasurable way to start the day than by having a conversation in raspberries with my daughter. We're at the same comedic level for the moment and so this is a whole lot of fun for both of us. For years I'd thought that people who were parents were premature maturions, trying to pretend they were more adult and better than us childless norms. But now I realise they just had kids as an excuse for another 10 years of childhood.
My wife bought Phoebe a book called “Everybody Poos†today, which just has cartoons of lots of animals and people and explains how they all poo. It's the best book ever. Because everyone knows that everybody poos so this is just an excuse to do a book about poo. And you can't argue with the comedic genius of that.
Frame 67 of Me1 vs Me2 Snooker went up today. Again it made little difference to the kickstarter campaign, which makes me wonder if the 3000 people who are still downloading the podcast are not even bothering to listen. The deal is I do it as long as someone is still consuming this fine work of art. So you uphold your end of the bargain. Or the nihilistic comment on the way that life is just a waste of time where we do nothing but pointlessly compete against ourselves is lost. Or added to. I can't really work it out. Art is complicated. I am glad I am mainly doing comedy. Cos that just comes down to the fact that everybody poos and then pointing that out.
Maybe art does that too though.
It was a slightly stressful evening getting across town to do a preview in Norwood or Croydon or somewhere. I arrived five minutes after the show was meant to start, but it didn't really matter. A man arrived a bit later than me and made his way down to the front during my second joke. He was wearing one of those slightly flamboyant cloth poppies, which I am not sure I really like. I saw a woman on the TV wearing a sparkly glittery poppy. Is that the spirit of the enterprise? Maybe it is. Maybe all those people died for us to have the choice about whether we were going to make Remembrance Day about ourselves and try to make ourselves looks better and more important than the stupid old paper poppy idiots. Making your own choice is very important. But I took the piss out of his floppy, posh poppy anyway. And apparently he was the Mayor of Croydon (they give that to anyone with more than 12 of their own teeth) or something so that made it doubly funny. I am only impressed if the poppy has been freshly picked from the fields of Flanders. Preferably by a war veteran and coated with his or her tears. If you're going to make it a status symbol then do it properly.
It was a good little run out of the material in front of a really good crowd (even the King of Croydon enjoyed it), though one man fell asleep during the main show and he was right at the front in a brightly lit room. But I took it in the spirit it was intended (that my show was dull) and incorporated it, but let him sleep on. I was pretty tired too and would have loved to have had a kip. But professionally I waited until the drive home.
