Constantly Adjusting Myself.

If you're finding the coronavirus situation difficult, that's okay; It's not easy, by definition.

At the moment, there are so many triggers to panic; if you're not worried about you or someone you care about getting ill, you're probably concerned about food or money. We've never had circumstances like this in living memory, so there's no precedent to reference; the nearest comparison is probably the second world war, but that's only glancingly similar.

In the past few days, my plans for 2020 were upturned, with my main work focus - taking a new show to the Edinburgh Fringe - excised from the diary, with the other two festivals I'd been down for at least postponed if not cancelled too. On top of this, my day job - Mostly Comedy - is on indefinite hiatus, with a JustGiving page offering a temporary lifeline, but the longterm gameplan's concerning; the money we're raising will cover some of our running costs, but I'll be unpaid until we reopen.

The backdrop's also been seriously adjusted, with my wife and me working from home and a close friend suddenly jobless. And we're all holed up indoors, living life like the first two sections of Wings' Band on the Run before the gaoler man/sailor Sam bit.

Under the circumstances, I think we're all doing pretty well. And if I were to offer any advice (while consciously self-applying it), it's to be kind to ourselves and patient. Everything's in flux, and we're adjusting to life on the hoof. And anxiety's only natural when faced with so much uncertainty. When I'm frightened about the future, I try to apply my mindfulness tricks and do my best to focus on just the here and now. And tonight I'm going to try and have a quiet evening in, a bit like that episode of Porridge where Fletcher consoles Godber on how to get used to life "in stir". Though maybe prison analogies aren't the best to turn to, on balance.

Shakerpuppetmaker.

Have Parker from Thunderbirds and Noel Gallagher ever been seen in the same room? The resemblance is uncanny. So much so, I think something’s afoot. If my suspicions are correct, I've stumbled across a secret that will blow the music and puppet industry wide apart. In the mid-60s / mid-90s at least. It doesn’t take long to see the signposts. There’s the similarity between the name of Oasis’ first single, Supersonic, and Supermarianation, Gerry Anderson’s puppetry technique. The Gallagher brothers would often wear Parkas . Live Forever was clearly a reference to Captain Scarlet and Standing on the Shoulder of Giants to the size difference between Noel and his bandmates. The more you think about it, the more brazen it gets. It’s fishier than Area 51, Paul is Dead and JFK's assassination put together. The only glitch to the theory is scale . According to Wikipedia, Anderson’s marionettes were 1’10” and Gallagher is 5’8”. How does he maintain an illusion of avera...

'...I'm Gonna Look at You 'til My Eyes Go Blind."

Over the past week or two, I’ve been on a bit of a Sheryl Crow kick, largely thanks to rediscovering her cover of one of my most-liked Bob Dylan songs. She has one of my favourite female voices, yet despite this, I only own one CD and that’s just a single (her '97 release ‘Hard to Make a Stand’); on that basis, you can only imagine how much of her back catalogue I’d own if I hated her (it would fall into minus-figures). Dylan, conversely, takes up more of my collection than anyone else, save The Beatles and Paul McCartney’s solo work. He’s one of those artists who, when you get him, you really get him - and once I’d tuned into his style as a student, I'd time and again be blown away by his lyrics; he’ll have more jaw-dropping imagery in one track than other people fit in a whole career. These days, I mostly listen to music in the morning when getting ready, and more often than not, this will consist of a suggested YouTube playlist when I’m in the bath, r...

Stevenage: A (Tiny) River Runs Through it.

If ever a river was mis-sold, it’s the Roaring Meg in Stevenage. I just walked past it on my way to the retail park that has taken its name. They’re similarly uninspiring. The river is less of a roar and more of a dribble; cystitis sufferers produce greater flow. The retail park is soulless. What was once a thriving enterprise is nearly devoid of atmosphere, save an underlying essence of emptiness and despair. With a Toys R Us. When it was first built I was excited. Back then, the thought of a bowling alley, an ice rink, a Harvester and a Blockbuster Video within a small surface area was enticing. I celebrated many birthdays on site. There was an indoor cricket pitch there for a while where I once had a joint party with a friend. Why someone with an almost pathological fear of sport would agree to such a venture is beyond me, but I did it. Now, there’s very little at the Roaring Meg of note. The river would be a metaphor for the shopping ce...

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