The early starts continue. Full of a strange, manic energy that surely can't last. But it'd be incredible if it does. It feels like a super power that gives me twice as much time in the day and that I am buzzing around like some kind of fly. I am Superfly.
I went for an early morning run, the sun rising over the pregnant Thames. I thought I might just do a couple of miles, then bumped that up to five and then, when I got into a comfortable pace I decided to carry on and do the full (almost) seven mile run that takes me between Hammersmith and Barnes bridge and then home. I passed the people on the way to work and felt full of life and freedom. If only this could continue beyond the jet lag mania. Perhaps I just need to start taking drugs.
After I'd crossed Barnes bridge and started the run back towards Hammersmith I had an odd few moments. I was looking at the seagulls sitting on the river, clearly thinking they were ducks, the seagull idiots and then I noticed something bobbling in the water. There was a biggish bubble of black material, it might have been some rubber or a tyre, but as I got closer it started to look very much like a waterproof jacket - I could see the arms flailing out from the main body of the coat which was puffed up, like it had been blown up like a balloon. But was it full of air or was it full of a person? It was hard to tell with the murky Thames water. The coat definitely looked filled and it was easy to imagine that a head and arms and legs were submerged beneath the water, but as much as I stared I couldn't see anything. I was 90% certain it was just a coat and that there wasn't some unfortunate soul lying face down in the fetid water. But the 10% uncertainty made me stop and look quite carefully to ensure that's all that was there. Should I ring the police just in case? It would mean hanging around on the banks of the Thames, all for some disgruntled cops to have to rescue an anorak. I figured that if I couldn't actually see any part of a body that I was safe to move on and to be fair, if there was a person there he or she wasn't going to be running between the bridges any time soon. I had to meet my bank manager in an hour, so I left the possible cadaver to be discovered by someone else. The shame of wasting police time outweighed the community spirit this time. If nothing else it was a Christmas present for those gulls.
And I still had loads of my day left to have meetings, see friends, do some Christmas shopping, do press interviews, do my gig - tonight's crowd a little more reserved, with a whole front row of grumpy looking elderly people - their faces screwed up and cross looking like bog bodies (maybe they were the ghosts of bodies left to float in the Thames) - and then go to a party. Sleep is for losers. I can't believe what a world of adventure is out there for those who dare spend some of the day outside of their bed or dressing gown.
I had a couple of pints at lunch (figuring that my 75 minute run had earned me that), which was just enough to give the afternoon an extra fizzle on top of the amphetamine effect of jetlag. I walked past a poster for the "Hangover II" DVD which proudly boasted, "Twice as mad, twice as funny." Presumably than the original. Having seen both films I can tell you that it is definitely not twice as funny. That's not just a matter of opinion. That's a fact. It's half as funny at best. The advertising standards agency should amend that quote. "Twice as mad, half as funny". I think we'd admire the honesty if the film makers acknowledged that. And I think that's quite a good formula for comedy - two times the mad equals 50% of the funniness. Doubling the madness halves the amusement. Increasing madness does not make something funnier. If something is mad to begin with and that works then making it mad will ruin everything. If something is not particularly mad then making it more mad will also wreck it. It's pretty much the formula of how to fuck up comedy. In my drunkenness it felt like the comedic equivalent of e=mc2. 2m=f/2 (where m is madness and f is funniness. This is empirically true. Does that mean that f=4m though? I am so useless at maths. I have managed to make the secret of comedy to be four times as mad. Which doesn't sound right at all. Two A levels in maths I have. A nerd will sort it out for me I am sure.
