The Last One

They say you never realise you've run your last marathon until years later, when you finally notice you haven't been for a run for months, and you haven't put on that tatty pair of shorts and vaguely smelly t-shirt in order to disappear for ten miles. I wonder if the same is true of comedy; you don't go out with a bang, you just go out less and less, and more and more infrequently, until one day you realise it's been a year since the last time you stood on stage in front of some baying drunks, and you're not sure if you miss it, or miss missing it.

I'm not sure if I'm burned out, or worn out, or just distracted right now. Six months ago, in a job that seemed more like a source of perpetual aggravation instead of gainful employment, it was easier to focus on comedy. At the moment, blessed with a job that's exciting and new and which I actually take some pleasure in, comedy has been taking a bit of a backseat.

Perhaps it's that. Or maybe it's the almost constant travel I've been doing since I got married, seeming to never be in the same country two weeks running, or it's the intimidating thought of starting from scratch again in Singapore that's nagging at me and making me look for excuses.

Or it could just be that I've spent the last two weeks drinking like a sailor who just came ashore, and the reality of anything is that you have to get some calm in your life and focus without being distracted, and my Quest To Drink All The Kinds Of India Pale Ale In Existence is downgrading everything else.

We'll see. Tonight is my official last show in Hong Kong, and though I'm sure I'll be back some time, life has a way of playing tricks with you and I don't know if that time is the week after next or the week after the next decade.

Less than three hours to go now.