17/01/07
St David's Hall, Cardiff -
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It was to be a day trip to Wales yesterday, but it didn't quite feel that way.
Cardiff is another place (like Birmingham) that I may have been to on too many occasions recently. You can get overfamiliar with somewhere I think. I wasn't too much feeling like going, not least because my car failed it's MOT on Monday and I have decided not to fix it.
It's a horrible feeling to say goodbye to a car, but the fact that it has been becoming temperamental and that it's done over a hundred thousand miles and that it has grown a dent and the fact that I spent a fortune on it at a garage in December and then less than a month later it failed it's MOT at the same fucking garage all seems to point to me not investing further in it. I did that with my last car and regretted it the moment I found myself in a ditch with an airbag in my face.
So I am without a car of my own (I own one - I can see it through the window looking all sad and dejected, but I'm not going to fall for that, it can look as sad as it wants - I'm not spending more money on it), so am driving a girl's car.
Anyway, as I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted by myself, I wasn't looking forward greatly to Cardiff.
As I drove over the Severn Bridge, the rain was sheeting across in high winds. I normally like driving in extreme weather, but that's because I am normally not genuinely thinking that my car could be blown off this fucking bridge. I made it to the toll booth on the other side and, such was my relief at surviving the crossing, I decided to break up my journey by haggling the fee.
They don't really see the funny side of that. Nor do they like you trying to blag your way into Wales by saying that you need to check that your friend is in there first. I managed to get in for £5.08 rather than £5.10 - even though the lady (who started off moody but I reckon kind of fancied me by the end of our exchange) said that if she let every car do that they would lose thousands of pounds. I countered that if she let a thousand cars do it they would only lose a tenner. I don't even know if this maths is right, but she gave me a nice smile and raised the barrier.
The city centre of Cardiff has always been a happy place to me, but yesterday it was gloomy and wet and sad. It is undergoing all roadworks and stuff too, and the Christmas lights were still up but not turned on, it felt like a living room the day after a party. I was given a guided tour of the city centre by my SatNav machine, got very angry with it (the machine), switched it off in a huff and opted to try and find St David's Hall by myself and then when I finally did, I realised that my SatNav had actually been taking me the right way so immediately felt guilty. No wonder my possessions ultimately choose to throw their hands up rather than deal with me any more.
The gig was in a foyer, which appears to be becoming common practise in theatres these days. Fuck knows why - it doesn't really lend itself to performance for my money. It was pretty full though, with a folk of all ages, and with the exception of some gobby self-righteous 'lady' at the front of the room, it was a nice enough gig.
On the subject of the 'lady', and I kind of don't want to mention her as I am merely giving her the attention she craves, she left me slightly baffled. She first of all got in a huff because I mentioned BUPA, and started getting on her high horse about disagreeing with private healthcare (which, ironically, I sort of believe too), but then she started trying to edit me. She said that I shouldn't have mentioned it as it was not needed in my "story". I wasn't actually doing a story, I was just saying that I had been visiting a BUPA hospital. I then was speaking about doing some writing late at night, and she announced that if this was my writing I needed to work harder...which may have been a good heckle if I had actually fucking started my act, but as all I had done is give her the floor, it kind of shot her in the foot.
Not that she noticed sadly.
Then she announced she was going to the toilet.
I don't reeeeeeally know why she was so upset, but - and I don't say this with any pride - that's not gonna stop me from trying to upset her further.
Her husband sat staring into his pint all the while, no doubt dreaming of the life he could have had if he had not ended up lumbered with this gobby cow. Whilst she was in the toilet (when she eventually did go, there was a lot of theatrics and waving her arms about on the way) I tried to interrogate her husband further, in an attempt to get to the bottom of what her beef was.
I put another audience member on guard at the toilets to warn us when she was returning (by making the sound of a giraffe) and began the interrogation. The results were inconclusive. There were no results. The only conclusion I could put forward is that eloquence and communication weren't too big a priority in their house...fair enough really...why try and have a conversation when grunts and big arm gestures will do? And, as compere John Robins said in the dressing room afterwards, why try to involve yourself in a show and yet be unable to reply to the simplest line of questioning once you are involved?
Both of them sulked like children for the rest of my part of the show.
I liked that a lot.
I concluded my forty minutes by saying I had really enjoyed the gig but for 'no good reason'. As I was driving home, having chosen not to stay at The Big Sleep (once the novelty of thinking you are staying at John Malcovich's hotel wears off - just as you get to the lift - you realise it's just a hotel, and not a great one in my opinion...the pillows are lovely but who puts carpet on a fucking chair? I just couldn't face it...couldn't do it), I started to ponder as to why I had enjoyed the gig.
And I kind of worked it out I think.
As I said, the audience in there were of many different ages, and presumably social backgrounds. I certainly didn't blow them all away with my exquisite comedy that I do brilliantly, but some sections were really into it. Some of them really got what I was doing last night, particularly when I was being naughty. The ones that didn't were still very smiley and nice, and I threw them a bone from time to time to keep their attention, but I was really enjoying the feeling of not belonging on that stage in such a nice building.
I swore even more than usual, I turned into a naughty boy and deliberately misbehaved. I can have something of the demon about me now and again, but last night it was just cheek, and I got the feeling that there were big sections of the audience who were enjoying encouraging me. That's why I enjoyed it, and that's one of the reasons that I usually love my job.
At it's best, to me, it feels like just talking with friends who think my behaviour and naughtiness is hilarious.
And if these friends who think I am hilarious have also brought people along who have never met me, and they just sit open mouthed at the fact I am getting away with this until they eventually, despite themselves, start laughing too - then more's the better.
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17/01/07 @ 09:50 · http://www.myspace.com/skydiverbabe Permalink
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