Plugs

 I can't get my telephone to put photographs on my laptop.

 What I've done is put a wire into a hole in the telephone, and then the other end of that wire into a hole in the laptop, and made sure that the two ends of the wire have the right pictures on them and match the holes, and the little picture of the wire that becomes three wires appears on my phone and then... Well, something happens then, doesn't it? They're supposed to go "Hi" or "I've noticed you've stuck a wire into us, would you like to move stuff through that wire, like those photographs of tents or – You probably don't even remember what you photographed, do you, it's so long since you uploaded any of them."

 "Yeah but who's fault is that? I did my bit. I put the wire into you two guys. And it's the right wire, do you know how many wires I have? Now it's up to you to put the things through the wire."

 "What wire? Who are you even talking to, Simon? This conversation isn't happening. That's the problem, surely."

 "Yes. Good point. Thank you for being so understanding... Hello?... Hello? Helloooo? Looo booo? Mah. Just singing. Singing to myself – Oh yeah, photos– Oh no."

 And of course no photos means no blogging (I don't make the rules.)

 UNLESS, say, someone suddenly posted online a short sketch show in which I was asked to appear back in January, alongside many excellent people who have actually appeared in other, actual things.

That's me in the corner. No, the other corner.

 

 The invitation to be in "Spats" came from Ed Morrish, who also produces "John Finnemore's Souvenir Programme" (the third series of which we're recording at the moment) and look, there's John, and Maragaret Cabourn-Smith. And Dan Mersh in a moustache suddenly! My film work is far too scanty to convince me I actually know what I'm doing yet, but I'm happy at least with how I'm doing it wrong in this. Enjoyee. Right, I'm off bright and early tomorrow/today to Bristol, to appear in Hannah Ringham's "Ghostphone" in which, covered in paint, shouting a little, and armed with a baseball bat, I lug detritus around a chamber of strategically orchestrated abuse. Much more my comfort zone. And it's excellent to be working with Hannah again. Those of you reading this is in Bristol, why not come along and see it?

 Because you won't be getting any photos of it, I can tell you that.