Monday 16 December 2013

Ego

If you define success by having your son cry as you leave to do an open mic gig then I have nothing left to achieve. He was in tears as I entered the lounge room to say good bye. We had just been wrestling, which is our new thing. He jumps on me,  threatens my sternum, I tackle him to the ground trying not to wince and we repeat for about two hours. He wasn’t expecting this next move. The phantom elbow that is the absent father. ‘Sorry son Dad has to try out his new joke that he wrote in the shower.’ As my ego is my prison of choice I leave the weeping ball of wonder and light, make my way to the train and head on in to North London to give it some quality posture.
The gig was a poorly run open mic night which I hoped would surprise me. As a rule I love open mic nights, I love the successes, I adore the failures and I respect the courage. You do have to be strong. My favourite part of this night was being introduced, ‘The headliner is great so stick around but can the three remaining acts stick to time as it’s getting late. Anyway the next act is (he glances at a list)... Adam (he looks hard at the sheet) Vincent, Adam Vincent... please Adam Keep it short (he said that on the mic before saying off mic yet loud enough for all to hear) Really keep it short.’ Wow! Where was that pep talk at the start of the night? What a prick. My mind remembers my son crying at the doorstep, a lump begins to appear in my throat which is only defeated by a rage that I do my best to channel into my material. The joke, the very reason I made the trip was lost in a vacant anger. I had a paid professionally run gig the next night, why not try the new line then? Ego.