Sunday, January 23, 2011

Like An Elephant

There is little worse than having to relearn something you are stubbornly sure you already know. I do this far too often in life, just assuming that I could describe osmosis, square roots and other elements of early school life without ever researching how it works and often causing huge scientific disasters, fires, and massive money losses. Ok, none of those things. Generally I'll just give advice to a child and they'll get their homework wrong, causing a detention and a loss of respect for 'Uncle Tiernan'. Hmm, uncle Tiernan sounds creepy. What I'm trying to relearn now is my last Edinburgh show. Its 100% definitely definitely in my head. I repeated those words everyday for a month, I said them many times before that and rehearsed them in my own head and out aloud at least another 30 odd times. So they are totally and utterly embedded in my brain like a long need to avenge my father. My father doesn't need avenging, so that was a crap comparison. At least, I don't think he does. If he does he hasn't told me, which is good as I have a lot of other stuff to be getting on with.

So totally and utterly there. I'm not sure how many more times I could say it to reassure you that my brain is like a vault and only I have the key. Except, it appears I've lost the key. I might have eaten it or left it under a plant pot, but which one, I'm not sure. As I went through the show yesterday it had more holes in it than an Emmental cheese in a Hollyoaks script. I'd get 15 minutes in and have to go back to add something in from 7 minutes that's crucial for a callback later. How has this happened? Surely I should be able to access the depths of my brain and pull out that full hour in an instant and perform it to its fullest as though I'd be touring everyday for months, just without the bored, dead look in my eyes? The look that's saved for the audiences. Clearly not. So I'm revising. Hard. It'll be gold by tomorrow but today requires slugging through my own words which is akin to looking at photos of yourself aged 17 with curtains knowing full well that you looked like a div and trying to pretend they are fond memories. Well, that's not entirely true. I mean, I was a div at 17 and I did have curtains (on my head, and windows, fact fans), but I am still pleased with this show, its just that time away from it makes you critical and I feel Monday may have some added lines.

So cramming began yesterday which meant I spent several hours on Assassin's Creed, tidied up, cooked a curry from scratch and then watched the British Comedy Awards taking it in turn with Tom to shout or cheer for different people as they appeared. All good rehearsal then. I won't comment much on the awards as its the same result every year. I was annoyed Shappi, Sarah Millican and Isy didn't win anything, and I was very pleased for Horrible Histories and The Thick Of It. Aside from that it was merely an exercise in seeing how many offensive tweets I could write about everyone that appeared. Except Lauren Laverne as she lives down our road and I'm still working on plans to make her our friend.

The show is tomorrow by the way, should you wish to see it for its final time. I really feel like all that hard work needs a final send off before I bury it in the confines of my comedy notes graveyard (4th draw down in the chest of drawers by my desk, fact fans) and I really get going on show number 3 and 4 (yes, two of them). So if you could come and test my memory, please do. If all else fails I'll make my Warwick Davis joke from last night 15 times over. It will at least fit in with the theme 'Littlest Things'.

Tickets here:

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