Let's get this show on the road ... Photograph: David Levene
Lichfield is quite a small town, and tonight's gig is pretty much in the centre. Had I known either of these facts, I would have just parked the car anywhere, walked in, and asked someone. But, with the twin fears that either a) Lichfield is a surprisingly vast conurbation, or the more likely b) that the gig might have been to some degree "out of town", I did six or perhaps seven too many laps of the place, looking for a mention of any of the roads listed on my route.
My method of finding places I have never been to before is to plug the postcode into the AA website. It works pretty well. Except when you make a mistake. The point where I part company with my print-out is just as I am entering Lichfield. If you have satnav and you go the wrong way, you only have to put up with the superior tinny voice telling you to turn round (with the clear connotation that you have always been something of a disappointment). By the print-out method you are, from that crisis moment onwards, entirely on your own. This is freestyling.
I have also forgotten to bring the promoter's mobile number, so I can't find out where the gig is. Luckily, he calls me, and makes a polite enquiry about whether I am planning on arriving. I was aiming for 7.30, so I thought the gig was scheduled for 8pm. It is practically 8 when the call comes, but the promoter sounds fairly calm. This is because the gig is actually due to start at 8.30, but I have been tactically misinformed. This lack of faith in my punctuality is as disappointing as it is warranted.
The news from the phone call is that I have temporarily stopped the car about 30 feet from an entirely appropriate car park, which, in turn, is about 30 yards from the venue.
I am on first tonight, which always suits me because I am quite a big fan of going home. I go on stage for about 20 minutes and tell some jokes, many of which are recognised by the audience as such. I leave, wishing the next act well, and hope I can find the car park again.
It's easy to find. Less so the way home. Lichfield, cheeky old thing, is terribly well placed for the M6 toll. In my effort to avoid paying the toll, I'm rushed into a turning which, I soon realise, makes me not only pay the toll, but also travel in precisely the wrong direction. At this point -£3 down - I resign myself to penury, come off the toll road, rejoin the toll road, now travelling in the right direction, pay this time £4 (there is a surcharge for travelling towards your destination), and make the rest of my way home with that kind of resigned smile that says the world is out to get me, but I have decided to find this fact amusing. It's a smile I learned from David Gower.
Today, I've spent six hours driving my car, and twenty minutes telling jokes. I call myself a comedian, but I seem to have eighteen times more reason to call myself a driver.
