Options

I'd been on the phone with the airline earlier in the day for reasons unrelated to my departure, however they'd picked up that I wouldn't make my international flight on my current connection.

Their quick thinking and attention to detail was appreciated, though the time I would lose in the run up to leaving my house forever was about as welcome as a slap with a wet haddock. The woman from the service team assured me she would sort it out and placed me on hold..

"Good gawd fuck" I thought to myself, just as I'm now thinking "I hope my Grandparents have the ability to censor swearwords in their minds". But swearing was required at the time and not relaying that now would be dishonest, which is surely the lessor of two evils..right?

The service team is back with options.. "We can change it for you for $280 or you can book a new flight for $299". Now that's what I call options volume ten!

I sat for a moment, I was too worn down, if I looked at that bit of floor a bit longer, maybe it would swallow me up? "Sir?" "Yes, right, well, the $280 option I guess" I said with as little conviction as is possible to convey a decision of that nature, it's like "you can eat this dog sick or cat shit".. "I'll have the shit thanks."

I'd lost time, I'd lost money and I'd lost self respect from eating all that shit. Not that I really ate any shit, that's not a past-time of mine, but I really want to rub in how bitter I was and it certainly felt like I had anyway.

Feeling not very well, I doubled down the effort, which was exactly like when you're already running, tell yourself to go faster and fall down in a heap. I did not get everything sorted before I left and I really can't apologise to my flatmates enough for that, at least I didn't leave piles of cat shit flavoured vomit anywhere.

I haphazardly packed my bags, got them downstairs and they were placed in a taxi on my behalf.. where I also eventually ended up. I'd frantically staggered there, soaked in sweat, twitchy and miserable, completely out of touch with my surroundings, we were off to the airport.

Sprint

I've been working towards getting to Britain for the last 3 years, chasing my crazy dream like the two foxes I just saw chasing each other outside my window (they have foxes! OMG! squeee!)

Ahem..

The last few months especially have been hard yakka, working two jobs, paying double rent, trying to sell my business, getting rid of my other worldly possessions.. did I mention 'trying'?

I wasn't able to sell my business before I left and the upshot was a lot of running around to make sure it could continue operating in my absence, like the squirrels frantically running around the garden (Squirrels! holy fucking shit! SQUIRRELS! errrmmmeerrggeerrhhdddd)

Ahem..

It meant the run up to my leaving really did become a sprint. In the last few days I regularly stayed up past 4am trying to dot t's and cross i's.. which was part of the problem, I could no longer tell my arse from my elbow.

I chose to stay home for Christmas rather than spending it with the family, not because I wanted to, but because I simply wouldn't make the finish line if I lost two days to be with them. I had fights with friends and family alike in those last couple of weeks, I was emotionally drained, mentally fatigued and incredibly unfit (that's not news to anyone) and I hit the wall.

I spent a lot of time staring at two things like any decision I made was life and death and would alter the future of the world. I churlishly goaded myself whenever I stood still unaccepting of any time spent on my elbows.

It was a hard farcical grind and if there had been judges present I wouldn't have made it to the second round. I was a mess on that last day, a sweaty, exhausted, emotional, quixotic mess. For those I wasn't able to see on that last day, you're lucky, that would have been the grossest hug you've ever had.

Here

I went to work for a major organisation in a far away land, a scary, but necessary prospect off the back of a lean year. In actuality literal as well as figurative as I was poor enough to get skinny, 15 kilos lighter than I am now and I'm not exactly bulging at 75kg.

The work was rewarding and my colleagues gave me open license to be funny and plenty of encouragement to chase my dreams.

For many of them where we worked was what they had been reaching for for many years, it was confronting for some that I'd only had a phone call to come over 3 weeks earlier. I learned to keep that fact under my hat. So often I'd been on the wrong end of years of toil versus dumb luck, this time I really didn't know how lucky I was.

I wasn't there long, but the love and respect of the people in that place is still with me today, still egging me on, still challenging me to go for it. It was so immensely refreshing from the safety first mentality of New Zealand that it made me believe I could do things. Anything.

I was tapping back into who I used to be, bright eyed, confident, precocious, ambitious, a person who constantly tore down the wall of "no's" and proved things were possible. People can't tell me I can't do things any more.

I was told about a course in comedy television in London and I applied, three times as it turned out, but I didn't get in. I guess people can tell me I can't do that one thing. However that didn't stop me either.

The dream is to work in comedy TV, why pretend like it isn't or that I'm not prepared to work two jobs and give up everything to go to the ends of the Earth to make it happen?

So here I am, to chase the dream, to see what happens and see what it makes of me.

Sensible

2006 was a weird year, mostly because it was 10 years ago and that is pretty weird.

I was living in Dunedin doing student radio and student television, I was having fun, as can be seen here

The problem was I was under immense pressure to grow up, have a 'proper' career, a family, a home (imagine) and my recent foray into stand up on the back of years of presenting simply wasn't going to cut it. Or so every single person told me.

I realise now that people were just looking out for me because they cared, the sweeties, but it lead me to believe I was on the wrong track and something needed to be done. So I went to film school and majored in post-production, sensible sound decision making.. which took me a bit off course.

I was now in a long term relationship with video editing, except I wasn't in love. We'd dabbled, played with each others feelings, pushed each others buttons, but we hadn't really clicked. Sure we worked well together, but our relationship was purely practical and eventually when I'd roll out of bed in the morning I'd seethe about having to touch those keys again.

I broke. A bit. My sensible choice had been an unmitigated emotional disaster and while up-skilled with practical abilities and a sound knowledge base, I was in truth blue to the tooth.

While still always laughing and joking, I think at times I could be unpleasant for those who knew me best because I was just so obviously down in the dumps. I felt trapped in the decision I had made, unhappy, but sticking by it because it was the sensible thing to do.

Eventually it was simply better to "fuck sensible". Why paddle round in calm conditions for fear of catching a wave?

Which brings us to 2013.

Miandad

This story begins with a boy, me, more precisely.

I asked my Mum when she first realised I was 'funny', she thought about it for a long time and then told me the tale of a 1 and a bit year old still largely unable to talk who was watching the cricket on Grandma's knee.

Pakistan were playing and one of the greatest players of all time was at the crease, Javed Miandad. That his last name included almost the full breadth of my vocabulary at the time apparently brought quite a chuckle, how funny it was that the player's last name be "Me and Dad".

You could call me addicted to laughter, at the very least susceptible to its charms.. "crushing hard" the kids might say, except they probably wouldn't, maybe "I is sick in the head for funny yeah bruv". Kids.

And I have tried to ignore it, put it down to personality rather than passion, but right now I'm sitting in London.. an awfully long way from home in New Zealand. Not because like so many Kiwis I am enamoured with the fatherland, I'm not. Not because I like big cities, I don't. But because this place of all places is my best chance to make a living being funny and I just can't ignore that desire any more.

So here I am. Flying in the face of common sense or financial stability, personal relationships or family, leaving behind all the good graces of a country people call 'God's own', to be here. Now.

Let's go back a bit and find out how I got.. here.