In the Warwick pub. Bless.
What a week. I just got back from a super quick tour out west with the Young Guns of Comedy to Goondwindi, doing a gig for a conference of agronomists! I nearly died when I spotted my father-in-law in town (a wonderful, gentle soul who has never uttered a swear word from his lips apparently and who thus far, has never seen me onstage) and spent the next hour trying to talk myself out of a heart attack. He works in the agricultural field so it was not a stretch to think he might be there for the conference!
I breathed a huge sigh of relief when I scoured the gig room and did not spot him…only to have somebody tap me in the shoulder and say “Hello Jenny!” MY FORMER HIGH SCHOOL TEACHER.
She introduced me to her lovely husband, then said how much they were looking forward to seeing me perform.
“Well,” I gulped, “it’s probably a bit different from what you might remember from school days…”
“Oh I hope so!” she beamed. “I hope it’s a bit raunchier than that!”
Cut to me scouring the room to find the couple who had been together the longest and guess who won? Da da da da! MY FORMER HIGH SCHOOL TEACHER.
I couldn’t see a freaking thing from the stage, so to my surprise and delight, halfway through my little conversation with them, they appeared right before me and jumped on up for a chat. I told the audience about this surreal blast-from-the-past that was occurring before their eyes. I think we bonded.
The gig was rocking. The trip was fun. Not the least reason of which is I got to hang with many comedy-passionados, including a long-overdue reunion with one of my favourite peeps onstage and off, Greg Sullivan.
Brekky in Goondi twas impressively delish.
The view from my hotel room. ROCK AND ROLL.
We got stuck for an hour or so on the way back in a little town just out of Goondi, as we were nearly running on empty, as, it turned out, were said little town’s petrol bowsers.
Cobwebbed Bowser. Yet another band name I shall never use. Sigh.
We amused ourselves by eating, stretching and buying nearly everything in the general store.
Stretching in front of the tour bus. Clearly.
As fun as it is on the road, I do love coming home.
My kids treat me less like unpaid help and more like a love-beam.
And I treat them like THE PINT-SIZED MINIONS THEY ARE.
My best audience member.