Saturday 16th September 2006

I appreciate I’m lucky that my job principally just involves standing on a stage for a short amount of time talking nonsense, and that’s why I don’t often mention gigs here because it would soon get annoying, but I’ve always said that the hardest bit of the job isn’t the performing itself, but getting to the gig in the first place.

True, many people have to face a long commute every single day and I don’t envy them that but sometimes us useless, no good comics also face arduous and unenjoyable journeys, today being a case in point. Waking up in London and knowing your afternoon is going to involve getting to Kendal in the Lake District isn’t so bad on the face of it, but getting to Euston and being told the timetable was invalid because… because it was, is always going to make it a chore rather than a pleasure.

The best way to do this journey would be to catch a Glasgow train and get off at Oxenholme, a short distance from Kendal. That would be easy but all the Glasgow trains had stopped for the day at about two p.m. (I’d just missed the last one) and I was faced with the prospect, after consultation with National Rail Enquiries by phone, of the journey being impossible. My only option was to get a train to Manchester, then rush for a connection to Preston that would be in the station when I arrived from London, then from Preston go to Oxenholme, where another train would take me to Kendal. It was going to take hours and I didn’t like the look of that narrow Manchester connection.

I rang my beautiful agent and explained the problem, trying not to sound as if I was trying to get out of it or making excuses. Apparently there was a comic playing the same club tonight driving from Birmingham, and I could get there easily, so I rang him but he’d got his diary mixed up and thought the show was yesterday, therefore he wasn’t doing it tonight because he was booked elsewhere. Comedians are stupid, never get involved with one and certainly never manage one.

I got on the Manchester train which took a long, slow diverted route and approached Manchester a good three and a half hours later. I was told by phone that a comedian was travelling from Manchester but he was already 30 miles into the journey to Kendal. It all depended on this Preston connection. I legged it over the distant through-section of Manchester Piccadilly, platforms 13 and 14, and it was sat on the platform about to leave. I got on and drew breath as the doors shut. I would be okay now.

Sat around at Preston, then got on a Glasgow train (which can’t have come from London, God knows where it came from) and eventually arrived at Oxenholme. It was getting dark and there would be a long wait for the train that would take me the short distance to Kendal and so went outside to look for a cab. Eventually I asked a couple if Kendal was in walking distance and they confirmed that it was, and so I set off down a country road, in the Lakes, carrying my bag and feeling surprisingly chipper.

It had been a long journey but it was a pleasant evening and I remembered that I was quite lucky to be in this lovely part of the world with only a short stint on stage to interrupt my evening.

It was a long walk into Kendal but eventually I got to the venue, which looked full, and checked into the youth hostel that connects to The Brewery Arts Centre, as all the hotels didn’t have vacancies. I was told there was only a dorm room available, and that there was a curfew of 11.30pm, which I thought rather old fashioned. Like a Blackpool boarding house.

I explained that I was a comedian playing the venue next door and that I might not have finished work by 11.30pm. This was a fib because I’d already arranged to go on first out of the three acts so I could then relax and enjoy the town. What I meant to say was I would be out having a laugh at 11.30pm. Anyway, the guy checked the entertainments brochure to see if I was lying, and then agreed that I could have ‘The Code’. The Code is the code to the door that will be locked after 11.30pm and it seems they take The Code pretty seriously in the Kendal Youth Hostel. If you know The Code, you must guard it with you life. He also gave me a proper room and not a dormitory seeing as I’d be getting in late. So there was one available after all… hmmm. Still, wasn’t complaining.

Gig was okay. Did quite a lot of new stuff which was risky, but you’ve got to take risks. Then Mathew Reed got up and blew the place apart with a very polished set. He’s one to watch.

Out on the town afterwards with a comedian who’s name I shamefully can’t remember and his friend Sally. There was a pub/nightclub/hotel called The White Hart and that’s where it all went down. I like going out with strangers after a show, it’s what makes the job fun. Not the stage bit, and for the love of God not the travelling bit. Meeting people, and becoming a trustee of The Code. That’s why I do this. I don’t want fame. I want codes.

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