I am a fairly disgusting sight right now... I’m doing my best impression of a dirty old man as I sit in the corner of a pub drinking having a quiet drink and eating my dinner. This may not seem at first sight like a particularly mangy idea but let me just come clean that I’m fair gulping a cider and black, and my dinner is a bag of pork scratching. Yes, I know pork scratching are technically not food and I’ll be very ashamed of them when I’ve finished but they were what I wanted and damn it I am going to enjoy them without your scrutiny.
Just to ensure I get to the end of the greasy, hairy bag without your furious stares and judgemental silence, I am writing this blog in a Word document which I will publish later when I get home. Which is now, or a few hours before you’re reading this, but a few hours after I have written it. Ah, the magic of time travel. This blog will be created 3 times in theory... once at the point of writing, once at the point of publication and again at the point of reading.
I think the above paragraph was a desperate attempt to not feel like a dirty old man in the corner of a pub (with impending cholesterol and heart disease problems) by talking about clever stuff. It’s not really worked out that way so I might as well admit that I’m only publishing it later (now, before) because I’ve mislaid my dongle and so can’t access the internet right now. I’ve also just wiped my piggy fingers clean on my thighs so let’s just assume I’m disgusting and move on with the blog shall we.
The feeling of failure as a human being is not helped by the table of foreign students next to me who all chose delicious smelling food from the Chinese menu for their dinner. Curses to my love of pig skin. Not that I shall feel about it – some women like leather handbags, I like pig skin dinners. Horses for courses...
Why am I behaving like the parish pant wetter? I shall tell you... I am gigging at this pub tonight but I did not really have time to go home between my exhibition at Earl’s Court today and getting here to the gig. Regular readers will know that they do not exist, so I will explain again that I’m at an exhibition this week and have to do a 30 minute presentation tomorrow entitled ‘A Short Guide To Video SEO’. In this 30 minute presentation there are lots of facts, some statistics, several power point slides and no jokes. No jokes. For 30 minutes I have to stand before a fuck load of people and try and talk. Not allowed to reference the front row, not supposed to try to make people laugh... only allowed to enlighten and explain.
Oh. Holy. Cow.
I’m genuinely worried I can’t do it. I’m not sure I’ve ever achieved such a feat – is it physical possibly? How does one recovering from forgetting their words in a non-comedy presentation? How do you render yourself the people’s focus for 30 whole minutes and resign yourself to the idea of them leaving without telling you you’re so brave? What will they discuss on the way out if they’re not adoring your timing, wit and innocent charm? They’re going to be an ‘audience’ that isn’t there to see me? They just want information? I don’t understand!
Potentially this is a very good thing to happen to me. It will burst the bubble of egocentrism that has formed like a Johnson’s emissary around my inflated brain. But I don’t want it to happen. Perhaps I shall just not go home between now and the presentation and then they will be wondering why the greasy girl who smells like a dog chew is cackling over her Google search result slides. If you can’t be funny, I reckon the next best thing is performance art right? And a mental breakdown certainly constitutes performance art right? Right?