Wobbling

Last night I had a great set at Comedy Masala, allaying the fears I had from not performing for more than a month. I was shaking a bit and I seem to have a wierd whistling lisp as I spoke, but I got my laughs, hit my time and got off. I even got recognised by somebody when I was walking home, which shows I was doing something right.

I was on in the second half though, which meant I didn't get to bed until half-midnight this morning. At least when I woke up I found my door keys, but it meant another day this month where I failed to run; I could have gone this evening but it was my parents' last night in town so we went to a pizzeria at the Marina Bay Sands and then up to the sky park to take in the view.

Somehow a pizza each and a bit of staring took four hours, and then we were stupid enough to take the MTR back to Chinatown, rather than a taxi, which again meant an inordinate delay to get me back to bed. I'm so tired now I can hardly think or type, which doesn't bode well for a productive day tomorrow. However, tomorrow night should be one which we have to ourselves: I'm desperately looking forward to doing absolutely nothing. It's been great to have family in town, but there's been little opportunity for me to sit on the sofa in my pants, eating crisps, and everyone needs to have that banal level of selfishness from time to time.