Those Tassie nights...

Yes I'm totally addicted to blogging. Plainly. Here I am post-first-Tassie-gig sitting on a crappy internet station inside a hotel lobby (which I spotted directly across the road from the gig venue - so there you go, I didn't actively seek it out or anything...I'm not THAT desperate)

Not desperate, but broke. So again, a Readers' Digest version of today:

- getting up miles too early to go to the airport (I actually had to wake my kids up which has never ever happened)

- avoiding stares and snarles from snobby yuppies and airline staff, looking like the bogan single mother from hell trying to stop Caleb from licking the silver poles in the queue while pushing my bogany luggage.

- keeping a cool exterior in the midst of internal stress at Caleb throwing a last-minute tanty during the flight. Damn when that kid wants juice, he really wants it.

- doing a poster-run throughout Huonville and Franklin en route to my cousin's house and being delighted to see that some kind soul had already posted some up

- welcoming my clan into my cousin's house by discovering that Caleb had commenced 'Destroying a Bathroom 101'. I'll spare you the gore, but suffice to say Caleb + bin full of sanitary items + toilet = unmentionable. I'll be amazed if I don't spend the rest of my life dry-retching.

- calling up the local radio stations to see if they're interested in doing an interview about the Franklin gig on Friday and being surprised by them expressing reservation because it's not for a charity. I thought they'd jump at the chance to interview someone about an event (there is hardly ever ANYTHING happening entertainment-wise in the region), bringing comedy to the people and all that, but they were a bit 'funny'. It still may happen...I'm hoping that my plea of 'anybody who tries to make a living in comedy is pretty much a charity case anyway' might help. But I was just a bit taken aback at the response. I guess they're just cash-strapped themselves and we discussed us making a donation to the station, which is fair enough. Anyway, hopefully it will all work out and we'll get a good crowd.

- getting a lovely e-mail from fellow comic and Glasshouse writer Dave Bloustien with reassuring empathy for my current career dilemmas

- introducing my kids to the unmistakable and memory-invoking scent of rural Tassie. Watching them in their element, Ella feeding the goat, Caleb wrestling the cat. Me contemplating, contemplating and contemplating some more.

- driving up for my gig, rehearsing my 25 minute set in the car, hoping like heck I will remember it.

- arriving at the venue, seeing that it is full of middle-aged to elderly people. Feeling my stomach sink. Going to the bar, ordering a beer and re-writing my entire set. I figure the one I've got is not going to work with this crowd anyway, I might as well go for gold in trying to come up with some new stuff and fail gloriously.

- returning at gig time to find the audience has suddenly youthened-up by about half a century. WICKED! Relaxing and deciding to just have fun, which I do. I even bring out the old impro 'Ultimate Audience Member' song and with the fabulous prey of an eighteen year old dole bludger living with his parents and aspiring to make porn (his words, not mine), it goes off.

Much more could I write (when the hell did I turn into Yoda?) but my credit's about to run out. In short, have arrived safely, met some lovely folk and had quite a nice gig. Life's smelling good. Love to you all!