I spent the
morning of my thirty-fourth birthday (which is today) walking my mum’s dog.
It was a nice way
to spend it. He’s always pleased to see me and he’s good company. I tend to
walk him most Thursdays, but I haven’t been able to for the last few weeks, due
to other commitments. I think he still remembered me, though he’d probably give
the same enthusiastic reaction to anyone who turned up at the door. He’s
not much of a guard dog, that boy.
I began the day by running for the bus. This is always a good way to start. By the time I
sat down, I was sweating copiously. I was surrounded by teenagers on their way
to school; all far more comfortable in their own skin at that moment than me.
How can this be the case, when I’m in my mid-thirties? The more I tried to
control my perspiration, the worse it got. I looked like a human water feature.
I managed to get
my secretory glands in control by the time I got off, which was a relief. I
didn’t want people to think I had a problem. Not that problem, anyway. No one likes a sweaty Betty.
After I completed
my dog-walking duties, I caught the bus back to Hitchin. I went into the office
to tinker with some stand-up material, ready for a gig I’m doing next week. My
enthusiasm for it has waned a little over the last few days, which is probably
a combination of a natural come-down from my Brighton run and frustration with
my Chortle review, which felt like an attack from every angle. I know it’s
rubbish, and I know I’ll get past it, but it adds an unnecessary background
noise in my head when I’m working. How easy it is for one person to flippantly
affect the mindset of another, and in doing so, unwittingly unravel
months of hard work. Shame he didn’t proofread what he said before he posted it.
(“Donut?”)
I listened back
to bits of March’s Soho Theatre gig to help me decide what to put in next
week’s setlist – and lo and behold, I heard laughter. That’s the thing to hold
onto. If people find Citizen Khan funny, there’s still hope for me.
P.S. I spotted
this magazine on my mum’s dining table today.
Surely that title's an oxymoron?