Cher and Cher Alike

Well shoot my socks off with a whippety pistol if yesterday wasn't a pretty good day. I mean, obviously, yes I did a 10 hour round trip to perform for 10 minutes and had a seriously dodgy Chinese meal which has left me feeling decidedly delicate, but overall I really enjoyed myself.

Today I am super tired. I feel like all the skin on my face is trying to have a quick lie down on the floor. There's a definite downward motion to my features today. I think the person who sits opposite me in the office booking pen might be trying to check with NHS Direct if I'm OK. She keeps whispering things down the phone and leaning round the monitor a bit to try and get a better look. I'm helping her out by dribbling a bit, scratching furiously and complaining that the air tastes like blue.

However, today is also shaping up to be a good day - I've just eaten a very under ripe banana (long may the stomach cramps continue) and I am actually able to listen to the radio at work for the first time since I started this whole process. What a difference it makes to remind yourself that the outside world exists when you're staring down the wrong end of Richard Branson's wallet all day.

I've just got that feeling today like everybody knows I'm a bit grubby and a lot tired. The soles of my feet look like I gigged in a coal mine last night - what on earth do they clean the lino with in North North Wales? Weirdly, everybody in the audience last night was fiercely proud of their Welshness and declared so with their thick Scouse accents. What? That's like me sitting on a fence singing "I've got a brand new combine harvester" in my best South African clipped tones.

I couldn't even be arsed to put eye liner on this morning - I knew it would have been frustratedly rubbed, toddler style, all round my face by about midday. I'd prefer my eyes to have no perceived boundaries than to give off that vague heroin addict aura by smearing my make up all over the place. Without eye liner I tend to look a bit frayed round the edges - it's much harder to pinpoint where the damn things are if you don't draw round them. I maintain my fervently held belief that women started drawing round their eyes to help out hapless men whose own eyes were cleavage dwellers.

Tonight I'm going to apply a bit of the dark stuff and head over to Hammersmith to give my new material its second outing and see if I can say the punchlines after the set up this time... fingers crossed.