The British comedian muses on reality, memory and identity in his brilliant two-hour show
This is a very specific point in time.
I’ve been waiting to have the idea for this show for weeks, for months. A space held open in my head waiting for the idea. For months. I’ve done previews and I’ve booked the tour and I’ve stared at the internet and I’ve made chicken and I’ve tried not to worry. But the idea has not come and I have worried. I’ve worried and doubted and waited more and more and more. But then today, having dropped my dad off at the train station and met my friends for some coffee, Whilst driving home to write this (very overdue) brochure copy - dreading the thought of heaving half lies and optimistic promises into something vaguely intriguing but not developmentally restrictive - half way home, it happened. Somewhere between East London and South London - It arrived. The Idea. Just like that. Like a child, late home from school, oblivious to the worry and the panic and the phone calls. It just walked in and sat down like it wasn’t even a big deal. So now I’m typing this in my bedroom because the boy who lives next door is playing the James Bond theme on what I assume to be a trumpet.
And you have to trust me.
Two hours ago I didn’t have the idea. Now I do. And it’s going to be good.