The door

According to Chortle, Jo Brand reckons that lots of comedians are mentally disturbed.  I'm not sure I agree.  http://www.chortle.co.uk/news/2010/11/18/12170/lots_of_comics_are_mentally_disturbed . 

I performed at Belly Laughs, Worthing last night and it went really well.  Really REALLY well to be precise and the guy asked if I'd be prepared to travel over there on a monthly basis.  I said I would but I know that my inherent laziness will kick in and I'll end up weeping real tears of anguish at having to come up with fresh material every month. I am a prolific writer but I'm a lazy-arsed routine learner.  I remember the debacle that was my 'Funny Women' competition set at Komedia, Brighton.  Yeah I'd been ill for about a week before the gig and had had spent hours stuck in traffic getting there (it was not only a Bank Holiday weekend, the Brighton Comedy Festival AND it was bloody hot) but I had cobbled together a load of old shit made up of some of my old routines.  Minute I got on stage I pretty much forgot everything and had spent the time trying to engage with an audience who seemed to be miles away instead (it was a bloody high stage).  It was pretty cringe worthy and I have learned my lesson about ensuring you know what the fuck you are going to say BEFORE you get on stage.

Here are some sad things (sad in a pathetic way) I want to document.  Having spent too many winter gigs being lost in the dark trying to find/leave venues I decided to get a Sat Nav and boy, I bloody love the thing.  Got to and from Worthing soooooo easily.  I picked the man's voice and have named him Timothy.  I just wish he sounded hot rather than authoritarian.  I guess that with the authoritarian voice I do jump to his commands, I'm sure I'd argue back with a hot guy, decide I no longer fancy him and then get really uncontrollably angry whenever he told me to do something.  The second sad thing is that I left the house tonight to go pick up Chinese food but spotted 2 giant red rubber bands on the floor outside the house. 

"Ooooh, lovely big rubber bands!" I'd exclaimed (out loud and with no shame), bending over to pocket them before anyone else could. 

I'd felt more excitement than I had done all day.  What the hell was THAT all about?  It wasn't until I was back in the car that I realised how unbelievably pathetic I'd been.  Who sodding well covets abandoned rubber bands in the street?  I think I'd even looked over my shoulder conspiratorially as I was standing back up to make sure it wasn't a trap or in case someone was about to leap out and claim them for themselves.

Leading up to this moment I'd lain in bed pretty much all day under the guise of having had a late night when in fact, I'm just a lazy bitch.  I'd refused to get up to answer the phone, walk the dogs, go to the loo (despite the pain in my bladder) or take food and water.  Then, housemate (and Tidiness Nazi) Steph nipped out to the shop.  I tell you, no more than 3 minutes after she had gone someone rang the doorbell.  Horrified I just sat there in bed, my heart pounding.  My brave hero of a dog ran in and hid with me in my room.  What the hell were we going to do?  There was no one available to answer the door!  Breathing heavily and eyes wide with fear I moved to the landing to listen out to see if I could gain any insight of who was at the bloody door.  As I moved with stealth the person then KNOCKED!  With a muted yelp I ran back into my bedroom and hid hoping that whoever was there would just leave.  After a while I thought I was safe and started to venture out of the door again but then the person knocked again only harder as if they knew I was in!  OH MY GOD. 

Then it sounded as if they were knocking the kitchen window. 

The persistence of this person made me seriously consider going down stairs but it was 4pm and I was wearing obvious pyjamas and had make up smeared all over my face.  I looked at myself in the full length mirror wondering if I could disguise the fact that I'd wasted a precious day of life by refusing to leave my room but alas, I could not.  I miserably picked up the hair slide which had travelled over night to some weird part of my head and miserably tried to fix my nest-like hair as THAT would make me look as if I'd been leading a worthy life all day (sigh).  I looked around for a full length coat to hide the obviously pyjama-age but as I didn't have one my search was pretty much useless.  I made the decision that even though the persistent door knocker might have some important information to impart I had no alternative but to continue to hide and gently weep with fear over the thought that I might be forced to engage with a stranger or even worse, A NEIGHBOUR!  It was a fucking nightmare and it took what seemed like ages before the knocker got back into their vehicle and drove off. 

Shit!  I hope it wasn't the police telling me Steph had been in a horrific accident and was asking for me (I'd thought with guilt).  Turns out it was the postman trying to deliver a parcel.  Damn.

Something similar happened last year when I had to hide from an elderly neighbour who absolutely would not stop knocking the door and calling through the letterbox.  I had been hiding with my back against the wall and had quietly phoned Steph in fear and panic to tell her of the trauma I was experiencing.  Her response?  "Answer the fucking door then!"  See? No help whatsoever.  This woman had been so persistent that I was being drawn to the fact that I would have to answer the door but then how would I explain the huge delay?  It's not as if I live in a mansion and had been in the south wing or anything.  That had been terrible, I'd have had to crawl on my belly to reach the door but in the end I just put my hands over my ears and said 'la la la la' to myself over and over until she either went away or died on the step.  Her voice had been getting weaker and weaker.  Oh why won't people leave me alone?