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Comedy is the only way forward for me…

I have been trying to BLOG and TWITTER for weeks now but my urge to communicate anything about what is going on with me has gone.  Maybe it is that all that’s happening to me is that I spend an inordinately large amount of time going to children’s party’s and thinking of the perfect cake that I am going to make for my baby’s birthday which will trump all competition. This is not me…

Every evening I watch the news and find that my drive to become more political is ensuring that I become heartily sick of my twitty account.  Of course I care about parties and clothes but  – actually – that’s not true. I don’t actually care about parties and clothes any more. I care about those poor children getting shelled shot and tortured in Homs, I care about every kid I see on the bus whose teenage mother is shouting at them and feeding them with sugar. I have become a walking tear machine. I cant even see a child without wondering and hoping that it is fed, watered, happy and teeth cleaned.

I watch Question Time and even cry when one of the murderous panel of politicians or smug novelists are attacked by the other panelists. Why do I do this? Because they were children once. I had to turn off the Descendants starring Clooney the other day because it features a dying mother leaving two children, one a confused and slightly plump ten year old.  How she reminded me of me! I felt like my insides were about to turn to a sort of lightly salty liquid jelly.

I even feel the need to donate money to every disaster fund that comes up, this is after spending the first thirty eight years of my life never even buying a poppy.

WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO ME !!! THIS CAN NOT GO ON! I feel that my life has been so severely restricted by the universal suffering of children and my response to it that I am severely hampered in what I can do, watch, see, even buy.

At the same time I have given up trying to change the world through the theatre, it aint never going to happen. Or even film or TV. What I might be able to do is change it through crying.

If I carry on, the current trickle will turn in to a stream. If I record and watch all the Emergency Disaster Fund commercials on Sky plus, my tears will soon become a river, which will flow through the South of England, sweeping up all of you who are sleepwalking your way through life, not thinking of all the poverty and destruction, the violence , the obesity and bad diet of the poor, the tragedy of alcoholism, the terror of joblessness and disability. Don’t forget the elderly and the horror of loneliness, or the plight of illegal immigrants.

My river of tears will rise like a tide of absolution and we will all drown in the righteousness of my sorrow.  We must all think about other peoples suffering daily, weekly, hourly.

So what is my problem? Why cant I just relax and get on with my own life? Having a child made me realise that all I want is to be happy, and I cant be that if everyone else isn’t happy.  Does this make me the most selfish person on the planet?

There is only one way I can see to resolve my dilemma. How to be a faintly vaguely actively political person and still fit in my desire to be a bourgious mother who feels that home baking an Iggle Piggle cake is to triumph over all rivals.

Only stand up comedy can satisfy my desire to be the egotistical bastard that I know I am and also the fundamentally solid person who cares too much about the world.

I am currently writing a show about the futility of worry and the art of cake icing.