Hello Everyone,
I'm writing this substantially long-overdue blog from my hotel room in Christchurch, New Zealand, where the management have very thoughtfully left on my desk a platter of cheese and a card with a picture of a gecko on the front and a message inside asking me to call them "if the bed sheets are tucked in too tight?" It's an unusual welcome note, but in the past 3 months of touring, I have received my fair share of strange gifts including a book on 'Mastering Body Language', a tartan cap with fake ginger hair sticking out the sides, a T-shirt with a somewhat disturbing stencil of my face on it, and a travel iron. Such gifts are always gratefully received but occasionally do result in some serious head-scratching (especially the tartan cap). One lady in South Australia (I forget where) baked me some muffins and left a note which read "best enjoyed with a long black" ,which I was later extremely relieved to find out was a style of coffee. Occasionally I get something quite special, like the very nice couple in Brisbane who presented me with some rather lovely limited edition prints, none of which had my face on them.
I have just completed another marathon tour of Australia and I'm now 5 shows into my New Zealand run. If you are interested to know how Kiwi audiences differ from Australian audiences, then I would draw your attention to a couple of young lads at the Civic Theatre in Auckland a few night's ago who only turned up for the last 20 minutes of the show. Then after taking their seats in the front row, one of them proceeded to casually make a phone call. The story gets even more astonishing when I found out that the guy he was calling was at the back of theatre! I'm pretty sure The Nutcracker Suite doesn't have this problem when it tours? When challenged, he proudly handed me the phone and asked me if I wouldn't mind saying "hello". It took enormous restraint not to take the phone from him and smash it into his stupid little face. Apart from that little incident the New Zealand shows have been going rather well.
I have now been on tour since the 31st of January and I think it's fair to say I'm ready to go home. That first gig in Mount Gambier back in January seems so very long ago now. I was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as I bounded onto the stage that evening in stark contrast to the weary, ashen-faced wreck appearing dutifully from the wings of late. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, and providing that light isn't an oncoming train, I think I'm gonna' make it. It's been a long slog, and I am absolutely shattered, but it's also been a lot of fun. There have been many highlights. The great Australian cities of Melbourne, Sydney, Brisbane, Perth and Adelaide (yes, Adelaide) provided a strong backbone to an extensive regional tour all around Australia which saw me take in everywhere from the jumping university towns of Armidale to the sleepy retirement centres of Horsham (sorry Horsham). Along the way, I met many great people, and a few arseholes. The crowds were generally fantastic and, (with the exception of Coffs Harbour), extremely well-behaved. And now there are only a handful of shows back in regional Victoria when I get back there next week for it to all go belly up.
I would like to thank everyone who has been supportive on this tour, which means I would definitely NOT like to thank Telstra. Apparently if I use my phone anywhere outside of Melbourne's CBD, then I am technically classed as 'roaming' and start to incur the kind of charges that suggest I am not so much using my phone as putting itthrough a private education. Apparently the 'plan' I'm on does not support me moving around while I talk. I'm pretty sure when Alexander Graham Bell made that first call he didn't open with "now, before we go any further Mr. Watson, can I just ask you what plan you are on at the moment?" Nor, did he imagine that one day his landmark invention would result in giant call centres full of people who want to kill themselves on the phone to people who also want to kill them. Anyway, other than Telstra, I have had nothing but support and encouragement from the good people of Australia this past 4 months and I would like to thank you all. (I just won't be doing it by phone).
I head back to Edinburgh on the 3rd of June, where I'm hoping to have 12 days of rest before I head out to the Chicago, Toronto and Montreal festivals over June and July. It will be a short, but necessary stop back in my home city of Edinburgh. Heaven only knows what bills and sheriff's orders await? All I know is, for a full 12 days I will be able to sit in my flat and enjoy the fact that I don't need to pack a case, get on a plane or think of jokes (well, 2 out of 3's not bad). I have torn out a few interesting recipes from various magazines over the past 4 months, so maybe I will set to task on a few of them, although quite where I will find fresh kangaroo steak in Edinburgh is anyone's guess? I'm looking forward to seeing my nieces and nephews and opening with the obligatory "my, haven't you grown?" before being kicked in the shins and chased around the garden by a giant 16 year old. It's strange to think that because I've changed hemispheres, in the past 4 months I have jumped from winter to autumn, to winter and now soon to be in spring. But then, I've lived in Scotland most of my life, so it's not so unusual to miss out summers altogether.
The seasons have changed and so have I. With the end of every tour comes the hope that you are a better comedian, a little wiser, a bit more relaxed, and a little closer to finally settling down. Maybe all or none of these is true. All I know is, I'm down to my last clean T-shirt, but unfortunately it has a stencil of my face on it. My trousers are dirty and crumpled, but with the help of my trusty travel iron, the audience will never be able to tell the difference. And there are a few more grey hairs on my head, but nothing a cap with ginger bits sticking out the sides can't hide. I have no idea when I'll be back to this side of the world, but until then, thanks again. Stay safe. And keep laughing.
Danny