Following on from yesterday's post which, obviously, left you on absolute tenterhooks and no mistake, here's how my birthday evening went...
It started off touchingly, when the heat team gave me a surprise card and gift, even though I don't work on the staff any more. Very cool indeed. Then came steak and wine, before it became time to head over to The Drill Hall, where the Laurence & Gus try-out evening was held. It happened downstairs in a small-ish and very hot room, before an audience who were constantly on the verge of wilting. Nevertheless, it was a good session, with some hilarious new stuff. And I had a sketch in! Thankfully, it went down pretty well, with laughs and everything - despite coming straight after the evening's finest gut-buster of a sketch, about a gingerbread house. And I'm taking Gus saying "What an odd sketch" afterwards as a compliment. Yes.
Also discovered that L&G want me to rewrite one of my other submissions, so need to get to work on that before Friday, when the final recording session takes place. Exciting.
So that sounds like a pretty good birthday, right? Could have gone home and been quite content, right? Oh no, there was more. And I'm about to sound somewhat like Patrick Nice, from The Fast Show.
So there I was in a Camden boozer, when I happened to see a Time Lord, sitting across the room. Specifically, Matt Smith, who will be the next Doctor Who, come 2010. Mad. He caught me recognising him, and it struck me that his life must be a bit like Tyler Durden's right now - full of people who know who he is, giving him secret nods and smiles across crowded rooms. Thankfully, I resisted persistent Tweet-demands from TV's James Moran to kiss Mr Smith ("Do it now!" he shrieked, while repeatedly stabbing himself in the leg with a toasting fork). However, I was just drunk enough to strike up a conversation with him and quickly ascertain that he is a ridiculously nice man. How. Mad. The universe might often seem random and cruel, but every once in a while, it relents and throws you a bone.
Combine all that with the confirmation of a Ridiculously Exciting Journalistic Job, and you had just about the best birthday ever.
Which was nice.