Piff and Waffle...

I have noticed of late that much of what I write seems to hold better as a spoken piece than written. It’s an odd thing, but I can sit and read it back to myself and it seems to have no grounding; yet if I read it aloud there is substance and context… not sure what to do with this realisation such as it is, but there you go.

Were I the kind of person looking to tout notoriety, I guess I would be taking these works out as performance pieces or something… but we know I am not so instead I guess they will resign to the deeper corners of my hard-drive with all those other things I have cast aside until I find an appropriate voice for them.

I know why this is the case. I have been busy of late, so have not been facing a blank sheet of paper or computer screen to do my writing; everything is coming to me as I perform the idle tasks of my life. I used to drive a lot as part of my work and found that often I would have composed reams of poetry on my journey which all sounded fantastic at the time but was forgotten about once I reached the end of my journey. This led me to carry a dictaphone, recording what came to me to transcribe later (which in turn led to some very interesting journeys when I found myself commissioned to write some of those piece you don’t tell your mum about… but we shan’t say more about that…) and I now find I am almost constantly talking to myself as I go about such mundanities as cleaning windows, mowing lawns and hoovering.

*Digressing slightly, the little attention-deficient child within me feels the need to draw attention to the fact that whenever I try to type the word ‘hoovering’ Microsoft in its wisdom seems to think I mean ‘hovering’… I know it’s a proper noun, blah blah, but really do you think I am flying around my living room holding onto my little digi-dictaphone recording these ramblings? –well not this one, as this is purely written at my desk… but you know what I mean! Were I able to hover, I’d be using the skill more constructively than that – maybe getting the cobwebs off the ceiling, cleaning light fittings, reaching stuff on high shelves… you know, all the kind of stuff you need a tall guy around for – or a stepladder… but you can’t watch a stepladder do the work for you, can you?*

But anyway, in case you were wondering; that is why I have been quiet of late. I am writing. Loads. It’s just not particularly relevant here. Or maybe it is, but because it’s stuff I see as more than the rambling nonsense I think you expect of me I am looking for an excuse not to share; just in case you don’t see what I do in it.

If anyone watched Kevin Bridges’ new show “What’s the Story” last night (ok, a more diligent person would have probably reviewed it first before assuming you may have just seen it, but there are people who watch things without waiting to be told to, I am sure!) I guess I can liken it to his therapy session.

For those who didn’t, the set up is such:

Kevin visits a psychologist who happens to mention she recently saw him live. He asks “Did you enjoy it?” Her response: “Is that important to you?” And like a pair of squabbling siblings, they continued in this “What are you doing?” “What’s it to you?” way for quite some time, Bridges refusing to move on until she admitted to having found it funny; which then elicited the somewhat predictable “You are just saying that”.

This makes me view the whole after-show ‘meet and greet’ most comedians do slightly differently. Is the intention as we perceive it; to show how down-to-earth they are, to give something back to the audience in the form of photos, signatures, hugs and handshakes; or is it an attempt to still the doubts and insecurities of someone needing the constant approval of others? After all, the first thing anyone says to the comedian at these sessions is some gushing statement at how great the show was, how funny, that you liked them already from that thing on TV but love them even more now – those who didn’t enjoy a show won’t queue to say so; they are the ones slipping out of the theatre before the lights are even up just in case they bump into the star accidentally and are asked what they thought about the performance. No, we don’t want their opinions. These people happy to queue for an age in spite of having been stuck in a dodgy theatre seat, doing the awkward arm-rest wrestle with an invasive stranger for a couple of hours (or even worse, with one of those irritating guys who also insists on sitting with their knees spread wide leaving no leg-room either!); these are the ones to tout for compliments and praise.

Anyhoo… packing away the waffle-iron now, as believe it or not I do have more constructive things to write about!