Took a train out to Scunthorpe today for a show tonight. I am a train nerd and have rattled over most of the track in the UK but the line from Doncaster out to Cleethorpes was new to me and I found myself idly looking out of the window and taking pleasure in that simplest of things, a train journey, and came to the rapid and correct conclusion that I have it alright. It’s a pleasure to spend an afternoon on a quiet train looking out at unfamiliar scenes and interesting trackside features. Interesting to a wazzock like me who finds old signalling and stuff like that interesting, but not interesting to anyone else. Very much like Mr T, I pity the fool who doesn’t like looking at old Semaphore signals. These are the types that are virtually extinct now and have a red or yellow arm that drops down or is raised back to a horizontal position to marshal the trains. They were gradually replaced by electronic signalling, because they are more accurate and don’t go wrong as easily, but they will never be as attractive as the old sort. Which are called….?
Semaphore Signals, yes. Well done. See, we’re learning something today. I love the old signals (which are still operational on this line, not just there for decoration or nostalgia) because obviously I’d prefer it if it was 1936, and so the journey was as relaxing and delusional as I could have hoped. Actually I don’t wish it was 1936. We’ve been over this countless times, haven’t we. I’d hate the fact there wasn’t any internets or Mario Cart video games and stuff like that. I’d despise it. But living in the comfy 21st Century, I’d like it to be 1936. I hope that makes perfect sense.
It was dark and raining when I arrived for my first visit to Scunthorpe and took a cab to The Royal Hotel where the gig is held and I would be rooming. I sat in my room and did the familiar thing of idly watching rubbish TV trying to get some energy from somewhere to stand up in front of loads of strangers and be amusing. What normally happens is that I’ll try and gee myself up and maybe have a shower but still feel no enthusiasm for the task at hand until I walk on. I’ve got so used to this there’s really no point in fighting it.
The gig was well attended, about 120 people in a room that would comfortably sit about 200 which isn’t bad for a Monday night. They were quite quiet. I didn’t mind so much and enjoyed myself but they were the sort of audience comedians describe as ‘smilers’. They smile. But you can’t hear smiles and so it can be disconcerting for the performer, but after a while they were laughing readily enough and the experience was positive.
I sat in the dressing room and met a fellow comedian whom I’ve not had the pleasure of crossing paths with up until now in my career, Ronnie Edwards. He’s a charming and interesting fellow and we retired to the hotel bar after the show to chew the fat. He practices Reiki, an alternative therapy that can cure people of virtually any ill. Unofficially of course. But he’s been doing it for quite a while and, despite not knowing how it works, has had remarkable results with even the most hardened of sceptics.
He wants to do a theatre tour where he does a bit of stand-up, then performs this therapy on two or three members of the audience, then there’s a break, then he goes into a full-on healing rampage in the second half. I think most people would be like me and be unfamiliar with Reiki and so, with the inclusion of stand-up comedy in the show, it would be fascinating to watch. Look out for this show coming to a town near you.
I got a bit drunk, which is lovely to do after a gig, and went to bed. Even Reiki can’t come close to the healing powers of a pillow at the end of a long day.
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