A Quartet of Candles

I'm just trying to get a handle on things.

Stapler, melon, tree-trunk.

Even things that already have handles. They could use them too. An extra mug handle wouldn't go a miss. Or a door. That could house upwards of a dozen handles. But does anybody try it?

No. No they don't.

***

I did a gig on Wednesday night. The venue was great, the crowd was smallish. I wasn't very good. My ad libs didn't really go anywhere, and my 'persona' was awkward and irritating. I was also getting bored with my material, which can't be a good sign.

It wasn't that bad, though. I got consistent (if restrained) laughs. It was a good learning experience.

Getting there was not good, though.

I had to travel to Witney on the bus. I'd been to Witney once before, but wasn't exactly sure where I was going.

I hate travelling. I HATE it.

I don't hate much in the world. Tabloids, Alex Ferguson, hatred. That's about it.

But the thought of travelling to an unknown place is terrifying.

(This is mainly just travelling to new towns or areas, rather than travelling to other countries. Though it would probably be the same.)

I suppose I just dislike not having control of a situation.

In an attempt to avoid any complications, I meticulously plan everything. I look on Google maps, I find bus/train times, I calculate walking distances, I print everything off and I get everywhere really really early.

I get quite obsessive about it. The unknown bothers me.

The stupid thing is that my nerves about travelling conquer all. So when I have a gig in London, 5% of my nerves concern the actual performance, and 95% of them concern getting on the right bus and arriving safely at the venue.

I don't know where this paranoia came from. And it is paranoia. What's the worst thing that could happen if I get off at the wrong stop? Or arrive somewhere late? Mild inconvenience. But it keeps me awake at night.

So, travelling to Witney (which is really close to Oxford, by the way - like half an hour on the bus), I went through the usual rigmarole.

Hmm. I've never used 'rigmarole' before. I like it. What's the etymology of it, I wonder?

[Alteration of obsolete ragman roll, catalog, from Middle English ragmane rolle, scroll used in Ragman, a game of chance : perhaps from Anglo-Norman Ragemon le bon, Ragemon the Good, title of a set of verses about a character of this name + Middle English rolle, list (from Old French, from Latin rotula, wheel; see roll).]

Interesting stuff! Not from the OED, of course, so can't be totally trusted. I'll get Lucy on the case.

So, I printed off maps and timetables, got on the bus (early), and was on my way.

The trouble with buses, is you don't know where your stop is. Especially if you're travelling in the dark. Especially if you're travelling in the country.

But I thought I knew where to get off ("That's what she said! LOL!"). What I didn't count on was that the bus-stop was closed due to some works. So I was confused and missed my stop. And didn't have the courage to check until it was too late.

That awful, stomach--churning feeling of knowing you've missed your stop is hard to take.

So, what were the awful consequences of this oversight?

The bus driver kindly drove me back round to the bus depot at the end of the route, which was on the same road as the venue.

I got there twenty minutes early.

The lesson should be: Well done. Your preparation and earliness paid off. Everything turned out OK.

But I don't like that lesson. I prefer this lesson: That was painful. With all your preparation, you still couldn't account for an unknown variable. Travelling is for losers. Stay in bed.

And so I will.

It's odd that I've chosen to do stand-up comedy; a job with so much travelling to unfamiliar places. It's like someone with vertigo choosing to become a window-cleaner. Or an arachnophobic marrying an African woman whose husband has just died.

A Black Widow.

I don't know. It's not that funny. And possibly slightly dubious. I could choose something else to illustrate that point. But now I'm writing this paragraph, it seems a shame to go back.

Of course, not all Africans are black. It's flawed. But let's just agree that I've considered to the objections. I'm considerate if not concise.

I should probably get a job that involves me being sealed in a concrete tomb. Maybe something in telesales.

But I also don't like talking to new people. Another requirement of the stand-up profession.

Whenever I'm at a stand-up show, I feel like a child who's playing a role; the kid at the adults' table - doubly embarrassing as I'm older than a lot of them. All the other comics are inevitably really friendly and nice. But I feel like a fraud. They have common friends and experiences. I have very few of either.

I get really conscious of my body language. I try to make jokes, which are misheard or oblique. I try to martial my facial expressions.

The whole exchange is spent with me consciously thinking 'what's the best expression for reacting here?"

If someone makes a joke, do you laugh? Do you smile? Maybe a nod or an ironic eye-roll?

Someone tells you an interesting factoid. Is an audible 'wow' too much? Just a sage knowing nod?

Someone farts. What's the correct reaction? I just don't know. Laughter? Outrage? Or a combination: part-affected disdain, and part-admiration of the audacity.

The thing is, these aren't fake expressions. I'm not covering up my true feelings. I don't feel anything. I'm not amused, I'm not bored, I'm not disgusted: my mind is blank.

My brain has to mechanically construct the facial apparatus to replicate some notion of humanity.

I'm not a good mingler.

Not sure if that's clear.

The trouble is, I'm neither one thing or the other. If I was just the socially-inept oddball, that would be fine. I could just sit in the corner, rocking backwards and forwards, muttering.

But I have the cringe-making trait of being eager to please.

The inarticulate sycophantic mumbly loser is a tricky role to pull off. Most people that have that combination of characteristics don't get invited to parties.

Of course, that may be for the best.

If I was invited to parties, I'd spend ages scouring Google maps for precise hill gradients, and would turn up to the gathering eight hours early.

Maybe I should invent a whole new personality. Someone who's confident in themselves and their ability to navigate a simple bus route.

I'll call him Johnny Securewithhimself. He looks a bit like me, but wears an obscene hat.

***

If the above sounds a bit miserable, I don't mean it that way. I'm just interested in the behaviour of humans, and I happen to be the human with which I have the most contact.

I'm still happy with myself. Most of the artists/people I admire are usually just as socially maladjusted as I am. I like the idea of being outside of the mainstream.

Even if the mainstream is just 'people who talk in coherent sentences' and the outside is 'people who fear trains'.

It's not punk rock, but at least I get to feel like Jeffrey Lewis, comicbook superheroes and Daniel Kitson are really speaking to me. Even though if they were, I'd probably be unable to maintain eye-contact.

Especially if one of the superheroes was Cyclops.


***

This blog should have ended by now. It's like the third Lord of the Rings film, except with fewer CGI elves and less vomit in my mouth.

So.


Goodbye.