At The Roundabout, Take The First Exit...

I've been on and off the road since 1994, first as a comedian, then as an actor and now as a singer.  I've probably had every kind of experience in that time that one would normally associate with my profession.  When I'm performing, there is perhaps no greater buzz imaginable; it is, quite simply, the best job in the world.  But it is a job and I'm under no illusion that it's anything other.  

I suppose I have a somewhat pragmatic approach to what David Gilmour once referred to as "this dangerous but irresistible pastime".  I don't hang around schmoozing after gigs, chasing tail and praise.  When the last note has been sung, I'm out of my tux and into my scruffs and I'm loading the gear into the car, ready to hit the road and go home.

Because home is where I live.  Home is where the heart is.

Counting those long white lines

Truly, the greatest post-gig thrill is hearing the dulcet voice of my sat-nav as she tells me: "At the roundabout, take the first exit and then take the motorway."  Oh, joy of joys!  Because the motorway is the last leg of my journey home.  It doesn't matter how long I'm going to be on it, thirty minutes or two hours, because now I can coast along, unhurried, reflecting on the highs and lows of what's just happened onstage.  A bit of Eno on the car stereo and I'm in a state of mellow bliss.

When I first "went professional", the after-gig experience was a big deal.  Every show was followed by a party.  We're not exactly talking strippers and dwarves here but at the same time it was pretty full-on.  As the work increased, it was clear that every show could not be followed by a Bacchanalian shindig.  These days, I return to a silent house, a cup of coffee, a cheese sandwich and Netflix.  And I am happy.

Peace.

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