Blutax.
I'm pretty sure if you sped up my life using some sort of time-distorting technology, the resulting image would be of me, constantly surrounded by receipts, pulling together the records for an eternal tax return.
Consequently, I find myself in that back-aching arched-over position once again. If it weren't for the fact it's nigh-on possible to sit in a way that's comfortable and convenient when going through the myriad of receipts and invoices I've collected across a tax year while they're spread out across the floor, I'd probably go say I actually quite enjoy doing it; there's something satisfying about charting my life from coffee shop to venue to coffee shop, tying together the loose ends of another twelve-month journey. The only sticking point is that in doing so, you get a timely reminder of the money you spent and how little you've earned; such is the curse of the self-employed performer.
As it stands, it's clear 2017/18 was a year of speculating to accumulate, with the hope this accumulation will come at some point between now and my death-bed. It saw the second of three consecutive solo Edinburgh Fringes, plus work-in-progress dates in Bath, Brighton, Cambridge, Hitchin and London, and then more dates in London post-Fringe with the intention of getting some industry people to see me (which actually only resulted in a visit from Chortle's Steve Bennett to tell me I'm not a comedian in his generous, supportive and unbiased eyes). While it was a year of general growth it was an expensive and frustrating one too, although my inclusion in the Daily Telegraph's 20 Funniest Jokes plus a Comedy Central gags list was a bit of a confidence boost, as was the continued success of Mostly Comedy. I just wish I knew I could cover any potential tax bill without selling a kidney; what I need is the same accountant who looks after Starbuck's and Mark Zuckerberg as it seems to work for them, though would doing go by symbolic of me joining the dark side? Probably...
Consequently, I find myself in that back-aching arched-over position once again. If it weren't for the fact it's nigh-on possible to sit in a way that's comfortable and convenient when going through the myriad of receipts and invoices I've collected across a tax year while they're spread out across the floor, I'd probably go say I actually quite enjoy doing it; there's something satisfying about charting my life from coffee shop to venue to coffee shop, tying together the loose ends of another twelve-month journey. The only sticking point is that in doing so, you get a timely reminder of the money you spent and how little you've earned; such is the curse of the self-employed performer.
As it stands, it's clear 2017/18 was a year of speculating to accumulate, with the hope this accumulation will come at some point between now and my death-bed. It saw the second of three consecutive solo Edinburgh Fringes, plus work-in-progress dates in Bath, Brighton, Cambridge, Hitchin and London, and then more dates in London post-Fringe with the intention of getting some industry people to see me (which actually only resulted in a visit from Chortle's Steve Bennett to tell me I'm not a comedian in his generous, supportive and unbiased eyes). While it was a year of general growth it was an expensive and frustrating one too, although my inclusion in the Daily Telegraph's 20 Funniest Jokes plus a Comedy Central gags list was a bit of a confidence boost, as was the continued success of Mostly Comedy. I just wish I knew I could cover any potential tax bill without selling a kidney; what I need is the same accountant who looks after Starbuck's and Mark Zuckerberg as it seems to work for them, though would doing go by symbolic of me joining the dark side? Probably...
