It’s all coming back to me now…

So I was talking to/eating ten tonnes of cheese with a friend last night, and we got talking about how life is going in general.

It’s not bad…but obviously there seems to be room for improvement.

I took myself down to the emergency department on Thursday morning after I nearly feinted in Tesco’s the day before (glam) and waking up with an inability to stop shaking. On the bus down (because I still had the wherewithal to realise I was NOT going to pay £4 an hour for parking) my arms felt fizzy, and the heart attack I keep being told I’m going to get seemed like it was well on the way.

***Spoiler*** it wasn’t.

Those in the know might well recognise all these symptoms as a panic attack. Which it was. Not my first, but one of the worst. I don’t get them very often, and certainly not when anything in particular has triggered it.

I was sent in to see the GP, and she sat me down for a little chat.

Doctor – So, what do you think has triggered it?

Me – I don’t know *sadface*

Doctor – Are you particularly stressed or anxious at all?

Me – Yeah, I guess. I’m self employed so it comes with the territory.

Doctor – What do you do?

Me – I’m a comedian.

And I promptly burst into tears,

There you have it folks, that’s where I’m at. I’m doing the thing I love, what I’ve always loved, what I’ve always wanted to do and now that I’m attempting it full time, I’m breaking down.

I think it’s because 99% is admin.

I have so many ideas, so many things that I want to do, but by the time I’m done photoshopping for flyers and posters, filling out applications for festivals, calling theatres and asking for tour dates, messages clubs for gigs, and all the millions of shitty, fiddly things I need to do in order to stop me feeling like I’m swimming through treacle, I’m exhausted.

Obviously, I didn’t say all this. I just said ‘Yeah, it’s all going OK’ and crammed more Stilton into my mouth to force down the feelz.

But it IS going OK! Next month I’m doing talks for Leicester Red Project where I get to introduce a fabulous film. I’m debating in Cambridge. I’m doing a fundraiser for National Ugly Mugs. I’m literally doing everything I’ve always wanted to do – making a living and helping other people through a medium I love. Comedy. So why so serious?

I think it’s because I’m just not making the time to be creative. And during the conversation, my blog came up.

We both used to be prolific bloggers and tweeters, but we’ve just slowed down. Now all our posts seem to be ‘Gosh, haven’t done this in a while’, and that’s really disparaging. When I write, I want to be writing something. But maybe that’s not the right way to think about it? Maybe I should just blog for bloggings sake? What say ye?

I feel like I’m in a coming-home rom-com when I log on. I dust off the cobwebs, take a brief look at the dumbass comments I’ve gotten (and the nice ones, thanks!) and think I’m just better off IRL. I’m a Reece-WItherspoon-New-York-lawyer come back to her home town to sort out The Old House, and instead of going back, I stop and fall in love with my old high school boyfriend and realise that being Reece-Witherspoon-New-York-lawyer isn’t half as good as being Reece-Witherspoon-cupcake-maker. The Blog is The Old House. I’m going to give it a lick of paint and get back to shooting the shit on the porch with a beer.

So yeah, even if I just end up writing about old rom-coms, it’ll be something.

As for me? Well, I’ll be fine. Especially as life as a comic isn’t actually that far removed from life as an escort –


It’s nice to know that someone, somewhere, still wants to see me in my pants*.

*This, by the way, is a reference to ‘Single Comedians Trying To Impress You’, a show I took to Edinburgh last year featuring…well….single comedians trying to impress the audience. On our last night, we did a ‘swimsuit’ edition, all the comedians, and even some of the audience, in our pants. It was genuinely glorious! And, it seems, will return in 2015!


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