Being the victim of even a minor crime sucks. Because of yesterday's events I felt paranoid and suspicious as I walked around London. I was looking around for potential criminals and flinching slightly when bicycles went past in either direction, especially when (as is often the case in the Bush) the cyclist was on the pavement. Was this guy coming towards me with his hands off the handlebars a potential thief? He certainly had the coordination and skills required. But maybe he was just an inconsiderate twat who doesn't appreciate that the pavement is for pedestrians. I had promoted him from twat to a felon. Was that fair?
I felt angry that someone else's behaviour had changed my view of the place I live and the people in it. Yesterday I had had a grudging respect for him, but today I felt less well disposed to him. It must have taken him a while to learn the skills to carry out his theft and it's a shame he chose to use them for evil rather than joining a circus as an acrobat or something. Which is a profession, as I understand it, that is open to all the disaffected youth in Shepherd's Bush.
As I walked back from the tube tonight, slightly edgy, even though I only had a rubbish Sony Ericsson Pay As You Go mobile in my pocket, it made me sad to think that someone had made the world seem a less good place and that I was suspicious of everyone now. The care free days of my youth are gone. Never again will I be able to casually Twitter on the move without fear of attack.
The world is a bad enough place already. It would be cool if we all did our best to make it seem better rather than worse.
But I understood why people get angry and demand retribution after humiliation or tragedy. As I passed the phone shop that the police had told me my phone would probably be heading I considered going in and asking to see their iPhones and then, when they showed me, just running out of the door with one (even if it wasn't mine). What were they going to do? Call the police? Yes probably. Or just beat me with baseball bats.
Then I thought perhaps it would be a good idea just to firebomb the store, though I did consider the families who lived in the flats above and decided not to do that. Amazing that I could feel that cross, even though I had no evidence that they were in anyway linked to my mobile theft in any way.
One action has turned me into a worse person. Making me hate the world and want revenge.
I wonder if Hitler got his iPhone stolen. Maybe the thief was wearing the clothes of an Orthodox Jew or Hitler just imagined they were and then that's what led to his slight problem with that race.
I am increasingly becoming aware that comedians and dictators probably work on almost exactly the same level, except I will just write jokes about this, whilst Hitler would probably go ahead with the firebombing.
I had another odd moustache moment this afternoon, when I went down to XFM to record an enjoyable podcast (which unexpectedly turned out to be an hour of me just talking about my career - I will let you know when it's up). At the bottom of the stairs up to the reception there was a security guard going through everyone's bags. As it happened he was black and I suddenly felt prickling embarrassment and fear running up my spine as I realised that not only did I have a Hitler moustache on my face, but in my bag I had all my notes for tonight's show and lying next to them, uncovered up, was the BNP election leaflet that I roundly mock in the show. What would this man make of me? He might be able to excuse the moustache as a mistaken experiment, but once he saw the leaflet wouldn't he be offended, think I was a dick, be angry with me? He would have some justification. I could only appear as such a fascist that I would grow the facial hair of a fascist dictator and carry around a month old leaflet trumpeting the virtues of a racist right wing party. I felt a bit sick.
Luckily he only gave the contents of my bag a cursory look and if he saw the moustache he didn't judge me. He was if anything overly friendly to me, patting me on the back and laughing as I went by. Maybe he saw the leaflet after all. Maybe his reaction to my apparent racism was to be polite and friendly and try to prove to me that prejudices based on skin colour were ridiculous. Maybe he was just a nice guy.
He made me feel better about myself and I was relieved he wasn't offended, or that if he was he chose to express this through being nicer than he was before.
We can all go one of two ways.
Choose the good path, my friends.
And tonight on the way back from a gig in Kent I began to see why London does not react to my moustache. On the tube platform there was a man lying on the floor with his head propped up against one of the seats attached to the wall. He could have just sat on the chair, but for whatever reason preferred to stretch himself out and loll. Perhaps he was drunk, but it looked to me more like he preferred to relax while he was waiting for his train and sitting was too tense for him. Yet no one batted an eyelid at this odd behaviour. In fact me and comedian Matt Green (who if the 15 minutes I heard is anything to go by has the makings of an hilarious Edinburgh show - go see him) merely manouevred around him, trying not to catch his eye or make a fuss, aware that only a crazy person would do such a thing. Once we were a few feet beyond him we looked at each other and laughed sardonically as if to say, "London! Ha! Nothing surprises me. Just ignore it and carry on." I realised that this is pretty much the exact reaction I have been getting. No one is going to make a fuss (I hope) because all they see if a coiled spring about to violently uncoil in their face. And it's not worth the risk to stop or stare or ask if the person is OK, because they will probably just kill you for looking at them.
I only have two more nights with the moustache (for the moment). I am shaving it off after my Isle of Wight gig on Friday so that I can enjoy my birthday weekend as Herring rather than Hitler and to give my patient girlfriend a break from having to be seen in the company of such a maniac and to feel this monstrous hair slug against her lips every time she kisses me. I have the photo shoot for "How Not To Grow Up" on Tuesday and can't have the moustache then and then my parents' Golden Wedding on the following Saturday, where I shall be unshaved, but unHitlered (which again I think they will be rather pleased to discover). I don't know how long it will take to grow back, but I have to say that I am looking forward to a little break from this philtrum millstone.
But first I have to survive a night in Birmingham and on the Isle of Wight, where people might not be quite so understanding and cautious around a man with this face furniture. I hope I can survive it all.
And if yesterday's epic entry was not enough for you, you can hear me telling the iPhone story to Andrew Collings for half an hour on our
latest podcast, as well as briefly talking about some other stuff. You can also buy Collings audio book from
Go Faster Stripe. It would be good if you did, as I am pretty sure he will sell zero copies and then kill himself. You can also buy my DVDs as well to cheer yourself after listening to his. Cheers.
