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Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson


I've just spent the last four hours, on the phone and online, writing a ton of reviews of comedy shows for the update of Comedy Lounge that should - fingers crossed (I've near broken all my fingers now, the amount of time I've spent crossing them in the last week) - be going up tomorrow.

In the background, I've had the Robbie Williams film Nobody Someday playing on the telly, and it's horrifying to see just how unhappy he is. Which of course gets you thinking about just how unhappy everybody is. Even doing the one thing he has always wanted to do - headlining his own international tour, playing his own songs with his own band, performing in front of tens of thousands of people, Robbie confesses that he's still waiting for the day when he stops hating everything, and starts to enjoy it. The same, I'm sure, can be said for almost everyone in the world. It certainly applies in my case.

It's a Saturday night, and I'm sat in the house writing up reviews because I don't have any money, I don't have anything better to do, and we have a deadline that is coming up to the two week overdue stage. At times like this, we often start to wonder what we're doing all of this for: why we go through sitting in two days and nights every month writing steadily over the phone and over the net; why we spend all the money travelling around the country to see these shows and talk to these people; why we suffer through the tedium of our day jobs just to make the money so that we can keep travelling around the country doing what we do; why we do what we do. For example: we recently travelled halfway around the country especially to meet up with one fairly famous comedian, in order to carry out an interview that had been promised for the last year and a half. We went out of our way to accomodate their wishes, and to work around their schedule. When we got there, the interview was rescheduled twice, and in the end we spoke briefly to them at 2 in the morning, and had to leave to travel back home early the next day. That was the whole weekend, and a lot of time and money - both of which we can ill afford - completely and utterly wasted.

To say it's a labour of love would be to use a twee and insufficient phrase to describe the stupidity of regularly doing what we do. However, I think that I'm suffering from too much introspection, and the horror of having to accept a job that - more than ever - I really and truly do not want, just because nothing has been going my way for the last two weeks. Basically, I'm having a sulk, that's what's happening. And I swore I'd never do this on the weblog.

Oh well.

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