The phone never rings. Insomnia is becoming your regular sleeping partner. You have a whiteboard and markers but it’s been blank for way too long. Lazy long. If you were a hundred percent honest you drink too much. After all, you live above a pub, you calmly rationalise. It’s normal isn’t it?

You sit bolt upright in your unslept bed. It’s 4am. The next moment, there you are, in front of your whiteboard brandishing your many coloured markers like a rabid Jackson Pollock.

You’ve got it into your tiny little mind that the room downstairs in the pub could be used as a comedy club. You’ve trained after all, and gigged in all sorts of situations and places as actor, comedian-clown, entertainer, whatever. You can do this.