Burns
I didn’t post yesterday as I was too busy being in an utter and blind panic. Mark Coverdale (find him on Facebook, he loves it when people do that) are performing a ten minute story at a local Burns night – that’s Robbie Burns, not some sort of first-degree Fireworks night support group.
I think we were asked to do it because I run a comedy night and he is friends with someone who runs a comedy night. The coincidence is uncanny. But that’s because I believe most things happen because of me. Wind, sun, the weekly shop - that sort of thing.
I’ve got no idea about Robbie Burns, which is less of an issue than having no idea about what constitutes a good ten minute short story. Mark gets the easier job of drawing pictures that illustrate (illustrations if you will) the words I am saying. I have to write a ten minute story (that’ll take about a month) and read a ten-minute story (that’ll take about 6 minutes). And I have to do this on Burns night, on the 25th.
This is all ridiculous. I know Robbie was a right slag, according to Wikipedia, but that only gets me 30 seconds in. I need another 9 minutes 30. When I’m usually asked to do a 10 minute stand-up spot I can easily fill it up with poorly-received audience banter, long period of silence or curling up in the foetal position and sobbing like a baby. Not on the 25th, this shit had to be loaded with narrative.
So blind panic for the rest of the weekend it is then. For now, I am going to an event in my Google calendar that has appeared as a reminder named ‘Friday night fuck-fest’. And I am 15 minutes overdue.
