Men in Uniform

I did some stand-up on Tuesday night. I hadn't expected to be on, so was poorly prepared. Luckily, I was wearing a suit, which made everything ok.

Suits are lots of fun. I felt like I was playing a character, which nullified the nerves. I tried some new things and some old things, and it seemed to go pretty well.

I should wear a suit all the time. I feel protected in a jacket and tie. Like returning to the warmth and safety of a polyester womb. There's something about having the wherewithal (or the wearwithal) to have a matching jacket and trousers that creates the illusion of competence.

I might start sleeping in a suit. It would get quite hot, but I'd get some serious dream props.

Lack of material caused me to take a long time about everything. I spent minutes looking away from the mic stand, and then back at it. It was like a doubletake, except more. Double-doubletakes. Loads of them. In a way, I wish I'd done nothing but that.

I'm hoping to one day excise all words from my stand-up. I can be an increasingly annoying Charlie Chaplin.

Like Charlie Chaplin.

***

I don't know if it's worth fighting August's poor post count. Maybe I should cut my losses and aim for an abundant September.

But I can't help but keep plugging away. I'm like Rocky. Fighting an enemy no-one cares about, in an arena no-one can see, for a cause that no-one could possibly support.

There's something admirable about futility. There's something especially admirable about Admiral Futility.

He could have changed his name, but didn't.

He stayed strong.

Even though he wasn't in the armed forces.

Admiral Futility: the bravest window-cleaner in all of Aldershot.