The Mullet seemed to be unusually quiet when I arrived in THE café. just before 15:00hrs. He’d grown out the damage he’d wreaked on the beard after his recent attempt to re-point it. Some would’ve taken the option to simply shave off the Mephistopheles-like beard and start again or trim it back to stubble. With his slightly red hair, it would’ve been back in no time, but he decided to front it out and re-grow it while keeping the underwhelming pointy look for the best part of a week.
I remember a similar moment myself in the spring of 2016. I’d done it one Saturday morning and by the time we reached the café, I was already coming under pressure from my unimpressed then-partner to reconsider the direction I’d gone in with my beard.
The weekend, spirit-wise, was tricky, particularly Sunday. I did a lot of reading and probably too much contemplating. Certainly the loneliness is a problem for me and the turning point, the trigger rather, for this, seems to have been last month’s fraud attempt. I don’t know why. The lack of gigs as the circuit slowly grinds into gear this month has also played a part. I need to keep busy. The future is exciting in some respects, at least on the stand-up front, but I feel jaded and very low.
I left the back-up café on Saturday evening before the waitress dimmed the lights and lit large candles on every table. I’d not made my escape in time the previous Saturday and as she lit the candle on my table, after expressing my opposition to the visual (it cut no ice with her), I felt like I was suddenly out on a date with myself. Tragic.
On Saturday night, I listened to the Liam Smith – Chris Eubank Jr boxing on the radio, flicking between Talksport’s often-jarring Fight Night and Five Live’s Boxing Night where the high-pitched Steve Bunce often sends me into despair. Like probably everyone, I was surprised at how abruptly and early Eubank Jr was despatched. I think I know enough about boxing to think that his recent aborted catch-weight contest against Conor Benn has possibly done some damage to his health. It could be he’s simply too big now to campaign at 160lbs and may have limited punch resistance at the weight. If he’s going to have a future in the sport at 33, it may have to be back up at super-middleweight. Still, what do I know, eh? Stay in your lane, David.
At lunchtime today I ran a fairly decent 5.5k, the cold meaning I was out in 6 tops and two bottoms (plus double-socked). While it’s this cold, there’s little chance of me doing more than that. I don’t like running full stop, but I find it even harder in this weather and the leggings.
Over the last few days, I’ve made attempts to buy better gloves, first from the Nine Elms Monster on Friday and then today, in Asda, Clapham Junction, but neither was stocking them. It seems that regardless of it being -1 in London, stores have their gloves-selling season and it makes no difference whether it’s freezing or not. Once that glove-selling window is over, the gloves aren’t coming back.
I ran into Future Me in the café this afternoon. He was in his charcoal-coloured duffel coat and asked if I’d been okay. The last couple of weeks I’ve swapped my hours around, mainly to avoid chatterbox M, and am currently holed up in the café in the late afternoons. It just means I’m not being interrupted and can focus on my work.
Gig wise, the calendar is getting very populated from next week onwards. This week, so far, I just have a small spot tomorrow and a gong show in Vauxhall. A week on Saturday I have my biggest pro gig to date in north London, booked by the legendary stand-up promoter Ivor Dembina. I’m looking forward to that. In less than a year, I’ve gone from being rubbish to securing prestigious spots like that on pro bills. I like to think I’m doing something right.
Pic: Sam Eley
Meantime I’ve been working on my new material. Hopefully that’s ready to be rolled out in the next month. As if it wasn’t challenging enough to learn new material (being a writer, the writing side is easy), I find it even harder now I have to wear glasses. I find that enormously frustrating.
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