The title of this blog gets half of its name from the road I have lived for the last 20-odd months, the other half is from the 1990s Mountie-cop show. I will not be going into any detail on either.
I am writing this now from my new house in Wood Street. It is the fourth house I have live in London and is much quieter than my previous place. So, I should be able to have a better relationship with sleep, at least far as my ridiculous lifestyle permits.
But one thing I have learned this week is that it is not the best idea to do a gig if you’ve spent the day moving house. I had the day off work on Friday for the move and then had the gig I run in Walthamstow during the evening.
My brain didn’t seem to be functioning properly and my set can only be described as a shambles. It was fine when I was just talking normally, but when I tried doing some material, words didn’t seem to be forming fully. Or if they did form, then they were in the wrong place in a sentence.
Thankfully, I had a lifeline in the form of our resident troublemakers, Frank and Nigel. Things are always much more lively when they are involved with proceedings. Interactions with them have been known to completely derail a gig before, but fortunately some derailing was exactly what I needed to get back on track.
Actually, after rereading that sentence, perhaps my brain hasn’t fully recovered yet.