If my mother is reading this... well, I'll be very shocked, but, nevertheless I would like to make an announcement:
I have just cooked 3 meals simultaneously. Yep. Domestic goddess? I think I have taken the crown today for the most domestic person ever to live on the Old Kent Road.
Why am I cooking three meals simultaneously? Because, once I leave the house at 1pm today I have absolutely no more time to do anything useful (like cooking) until next Tuesday. How is this possible?
Today I'm off to seriously North Wales. I don't mean just a little bit above the centre of Wales... I mean, the top of Wales which is so high that if you go any further you are not only wet but you are also emigrating. I'm going all the way to the top of Wales to tell some jokes for 10 minutes and then I will be home at about 3am ready to sleep a little bit and then go book stuff tomorrow.
After booking stuff I am gigging and then booking stuff and then gigging all round in a fun little cycle until Friday where I strap myself into a wet suit and go and bother some fish. This is the sort of week that will be about Chapter 4 in my autobiography. Laura's autobiography will go something like this -
Chapter 1 - An explanation of how, had I been a piglet I would have died young, being the runtiest of my litter. People will chuckle at my weekly weigh in always being 2 stone 13 up until the age of about 10 and about my desperate desire to be a boy. There will be several photographs of me with my brilliant boy hair cut and probably wearing some terrible patterned leggings and dresses that would have been a gift from my Godmother in South Africa.
Chapter 2 - The teenage years of being quite moody to the point of eye dampness nearly everyday. What I'll do here (to make it look like I was a little cooler) is dress up these years of being a pain in the ass so that it looks like it was all just a bi-product of being so confused over wanting to be a performer so much. In the foreword (by whichever one of my sisters wants to do it the most) it will be explained that I was genuinely just annoying and melodramatic.
Chapter 3 - This will be the University years where I was introduced to the concept of performing live comedy by some incredible guys who taught me a shiteload and went on to have pretty cool careers themselves. Then we'll cover the whirlwind first year where everything seemed like it was going to fit into place without any much difficulty.
Chapter 4 - This little bit I'm in now. I might start it with some gritty realism about getting my heart smashed to pieces and not really concentrating on anything other than getting very drunk for a few months, but then I will be forced to warn all comedians pursuing this path that if you want to get anywhere you've got about 4 years of doing very similar gigs over and over again and wondering if anyone is ever going to notice that you're super. Even if you do very well at all of these gigs, you're still going to have to do billions of them. And some of them will be in North, North Wales.
I really hope Chapter 5 will be where I get a phone call telling me I'm going to be an event host for some really aces things and I will get to travel the country hosting live events and being a personality. I will also get given lots of free shampoo and suddenly people will cotton on to the fact that lifeless hair is nice too.
Chapter 6 will document Gerard Butler's ruthless pursuit for my hand in marriage. It will begin with him sidling up to me at a charity fundraiser I'm hosting. He'll tell me that he has seen some of my early videos on YouTube and he thinks I'm funny. I'll laugh a little (because I have no idea what to say) and then have to rush off because I'm so busy - he'll probably be a little confused by my seeming lack of interest but it will only ignite his passion further. The next week I'll receive a beautiful bouquet of flowers, he'll have read somewhere that I adore fresh flowers, and the note will say - "I weighed 2 stone 14 until I was 8. From one late bloomer to another. Gx". At this point I will decide I have to call him, within the first 3 minute I'll have mentioned my IBS twice and have admitted that sometimes I watch 300 whilst holding a can of Lynx Africa. He will think this is sweet rather than insane and we'll arrange a quiet dinner. We get a helicopter to Cornwall for our quiet dinner and the rest is history...
Chapter 7 will chart my rise to fame as an honourary member of the Harlem Globetrotters (it's a long time dream of mine and I refuse to give it up just because I'm not technically qualified in any way).
Chapter 8 will be all about how comedy has slowly changed the world etc etc and then the book will finish because I won't write the bits about being a crazy old woman for a few more decades.
Just for now though I'm going to go to Northern North Wales and continue on with Chapter 4. Safe in the knowledge that however poor and tired I am, if I end up becoming 2 stone 13 again it'll just be a lovely call back for a joke somewhere along the line.