This week marked two years since I arrived back from New Zealand. I had been travelling for more than 30 hours, then passed through through an eerily quiet Paddington Station in country now in lockdown.
Seeing the train arrive at Stroud was a sight to behold for a weary, blurry-eyed traveller. I walked the two-ish miles home with this sun shining in a clear blue sky. Then I got home and received an amazing welcome from my dog, keen to make up for ten weeks we’d spent apart. I think the past two years have probably done that. Spending time with her has definitely been the best thing about living back home in times of Covid.
But obviously, the main reason I’m writing about the passing of a point in time is that not a lot else is going on at the moment, other than hops. And there has been a lot of growth in that area, but I have to ration these moderately interesting things by week.
Two years on, I’m much better off financially while being much worse off comedically. I’ve lost the drive to want to do gigs at the moment. And I don’t mean the car. Yep, I’ve still got it. The car, I mean.
At the moment, I am opting to not Fringe this year. Until I’m back in London, I probably won’t do many gigs. It’s partly due to laziness, and partly due to the petrol prices really not increasing the appeal of driving 30 miles to do ten minutes for no money. I mean, I obviously get offered loads of paid gigs but turn them down in favour of the prospect of being left out of pocket.
In a year’s time, I hope I’ll have something more interesting to write about than passing the three-year mark from getting back from my last trip to NZ.