Saturday, July 9, 2011

Proportional Grumping

It's 7:29am and I've just had a conversation (with myself) over breakfast about when it is appropriate to say you're having a bad day.

Do you have to wait until you've been through at least two sections of it before you promote yourself from "bad morning" to "bad day", or can you just wake up and look around and roll your eyes?

For starters, would you please look at the weather? See that perfect blue sky? That's me that is. This is the best reason in the world why the British public should be clamouring for me to make more theatre... every single time I schedule a rehearsal there is glorious weather outside and I am missing it with my poor, delirious cast. You can bet your bottom dollar that next weekend will be totally sizzling and then from the second I set foot up north for August, the South will be bathed in a glorious Indian summer while we invaders of Scotland have to swim to our free venues to perform to people whose skin has attached to their anoraks.

Why else am I grumpy?

All my own fault really... I let myself have a night off last night - a totally off night (I had wine, ice cream, sausage sandwich and I watched Elf... I am sighing at the memory). So naturally I woke up at 6:43am realising that I could not possibly fit everything that needs doing into my weekend.

Night terrors are my speciality so I'm quite used to waking up a bit frightened, confused and annoyed at something arbitrary but when they happen too close to normal waking up time, it means I just have to prise myself out of bed and go and start sorting out whatever it was that I was worried about. Hence I'm now working through my to do list at what is now 7:42am (because I got distracted by fricking Twitter) and wondering where to hang my washing out to dry that it can stay until tomorrow.

I think the grump has been brought on by having dreamt about the ex last night. Please all gasp accordingly - both of you.

It's never a good thing when you wake up as a comedian and realise that the best your imagination can come up with is someone else's joke.

I'm not really one for reading anything into dreams so I'm not unduly worried but it is a little annoying - I can only imagine it's like going on a diet and then waking up to find that sleepy you has eaten a whole cake. In my dream I was very small and when my ex and I hugged I only came up to his tummy button... am starting to think this sounds more like his dream than mine... He kept putting on shoes and telling me off for something or other.I'm sure a dream interpreter will tell me that this means my fear of tummy buttons comes from the time someone shoved a shoe full of ex boyfriends into mine and then told me I was too small to argue. I'm just going to chalk it up to an insane sugar high from the ice cream and the fact that it was a fucking dream.

I could be at Lounge On The Farm right now (excellent hippy music festival in Kent where people take their organic children to help them experience hay bales) but because of rehearsals for Ink, QimP is soldiering on without me. Be strong my brethren. If, on the minute chance you are reading this on some portable device from anywhere within the grounds (or actually just in Canterbury) you should go and see what all the QimPy fuss is about.

I bet Jack Dee never worries about waking up grumpy - people sort of expect it from him. Stupid happy persona - whichever dickhead thought that up for me deserves a good kick in the kidneys. Shit things happening to him must be a real money spinner, I'm the sort of dense comedian who decided to be delirious about everything. Arse. Let's just hope my gig tonight is a good pick me up... are you in Bournemouth? No? Well then it's probably not worth you travelling to the gig to see what I do.

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