Secret hand gelling spotted
Tuesday 29th October 2024
It was a difficult weekend, culminating in my worst gig for the last 3 months on Sunday. Being the type of guy I am, over analysing everything, I’ve tried to look at the reasons for why this might’ve happened. My prep was spot on. My choice of material for what was my hardest gig of the week, not biggest in terms of stage time, but hardest because of what was at stake, perhaps wasn’t right but I was thinking long-term here (I’ll go into more details here on the next episode of ‘This is NOT a Podcast’). I think the reason it didn’t work out for me was because I wanted it to work out too much. I was thinking too far ahead. I’m not saying I was complacent, but things are so tough and have been for a while, that I was badly hoping the gig would go to plan because I needed the win, a win. Any win, but especially a big win and this would have been just that.
Instead, I had to own what was an unusually below par performance for me. It stung. It still stings, but that’s life on the circuit.
I went into THE café yesterday afternoon for a couple of hours of underwhelming writing. I’ve only been into THE café twice since the summer. This is the extent of my mental malaise. It takes a lot for me not to go to THE café and even during the hardest periods of my life, I’m talking right before funerals, I have been in there, unable to do without that place. But I am engaging with so little right now that I have simply not cared for going in there.
I’m missing my uncle. I’m missing any income, I know that. I’m struggling with how understandably difficult my aunt is finding things. I hate where I live. Hate is a strong word but it’s apt for this and it’s just impossible to work when you live somewhere that makes you so unhappy.
So, I was in THE café yesterday, going through the motions yesterday, barely engaging with what I was working on for next Monday’s Brixton Book Jam, and The Beard, the affable barista, was in there. I hadn’t seen him on my last visit a fortnight earlier (my first since the summer). He was speaking to a customer as I walked in and he was angling for the handshake, I think, but I didn’t want to take it for granted so I settled for a gentle arm on his shoulder/upper arm, immediately questioning if I had been too overfamiliar.
I took my usual table these days now that my 2001-2020 pre-pandemic spot has disappeared and moments later The Beard (now shorn of the beard but heavily stubbled so he might be regrowing it) was over with my decaf latte and I led on the handshake for fear that I’d just left him hanging on it.
We SMALL talked, catching up later on ten Hag’s sacking as Man Utd manager, and as soon as he returned to the bar, with my bag still on my lap (I always feel this is a camp look for a guy), I snuck out the fragrance-free hand gel and gelled up. The woman over to my right, just inches away, spotted this. I wondered how well she might know The Beard and if she might then share this visual with him. At my peak, no one would’ve witnessed the hand gelling. I’m getting sloppy these days.
I have three more gigs this week. Last night’s one went okay. This week’s gigs culminate with a pro spot in Wimbledon this Saturday night. (See gigs list in links below)
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