June 22nd, Sunday. Gig No. 57, Compass Comedy, Ickenham

I booked this gig cause I lived in Uxbridge. ‘Ooh, look, it’s only one stop away. I won’t have to do that tediously long train journey to do a gig that night. Delicious.’ Then I moved. And I had to do that tediously long train journey to do a gig that night. Fuck sake.

It wasn’t the only reason I booked this gig. Also, it is a decent gig in a nice new venue. A theatre, no less. But not in the actual theatre. In the foyer, by the tea shop. Where you buy tea and biscuits. Not how I envisaged my future as a child. I thought I’d be in big theatres by now, wowing audiences all over the world with my unique interpretations of the flawed tragic heroes of Shakespeare and Marlowe. I used to read biographies of the great British stage actors, like Gielgud, Burton, Sir Ralph Richardson, Sir Lawrence Olivier. One particular quote has stuck with me all these years. A reviewer, critiquing Olivier’s performance of Richard III: “Tonight, Olivier shook hands with greatness”. How grand, I thought. That’s what I wanted to do. I wanted to shake hands with greatness. But tonight, I had to settle for the woman who sells the tea.

The technician there had red eye contacts. Like the Devil’s eye contacts. Creepy shit. He was nursing his baby. Thus adding to the whole general all round creepiness.The other day a guy’s got Regan on his back, this time a someone's actually made himself look possessed while nursing the head of a innocent babe. Am I missing something? I feel like I’m a comedy Wicker Man, and about to embark on some kind of occult kidnap. I’ll have to keep eyes at the back of my head. Which would of course make every thing seem even more delirious and strange. Like some kind of LSD infused fairground of the undead. Me, walking around with eyes on the back of my head. Laughing red eyed demons cackling at me as they nurse babies, amorous old tea ladies offering biscuits and enticing me into their saucy lair. Not really what I expected of Ickenham to be honest.

I have too many blogs to catch up on, I’m off. Here’s a pic of my pay packet for this gig:


This time next year, I’ll be a millionaire. No I won’t, I’ll be hanging around alleys offering to pleasure old men for snacks. I'll won't be 'shaking hands with greatness' that night.

Gig No. 57 done. Promoter Sian Doughty