Yes, we are in Manchester, despite trying kill each other and fighting furiously (me winning every time of course) we are in the land of ENGLAND for the WORLD CUP! Everywhere there are St.Georges flags, women in red and white bikini’s and small kids with painted faces. It’s really cool actually to see people behind their country.
I got a phone call yesterday from an agent asking me if I wanted to do comedy at the Scottish famous music festival T in the Park, but I cannot do it as I am booked elsewhere at the time. Which is a shame, but I am not good at letting people down on the other booking.
I did a radio show last night after my gig at Jongleurs; it was for BBC Radio 5 live. The guy was chatting to me about my book and comedy and I was tired, I hope I came across ok.
He asked me a few times, how -after being sexually abused, coping with my mother’s murder and living with gangsters-did I find it easy to be funny and why hadn’t I fell apart by now?
Well, I find it hard to explain that one, but it just IS.
He went on again trying to figure me out and when I told a funny story about my mum, he was aghast that I could laugh about her, knowing she had been murdered!
I can laugh at my mammy, she was funny, obviously I am not laughing at her being murdered, but I know she had a wicked sense of humour and would be proud of what I am doing with my life. I don’t think I can explain to people why I am not a nutty crazy nervous wreck.
As for my mammy-
I am constantly aware that she died at 47 and I am now 45, so I am going to live every day for the next two years, doing everything I want to do, and fuck the scary consequences. I don’t mean I will do irresponsible stuff, I will just make sure I will enjoy everything I do, and stop letting the stress of life get to me.
That’s why I am doing three shows this year at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival.
Everyone thinks I am nuts…but fuck it!
Why not? If the critics hate me, if the audiences don’t turn up, if the in-crowd mock my attempts…then I will still enjoy every second, because I am still here and still alive and my mammy isn’t, she never got the chance to do anything.
She will be up there cheering me on, I know this.
I miss her terribly sometimes; just small things make me remember her.
It can be piece of music, or a smile I catch in the mirror or a smell.
I wish she was still here, she would truly enjoy stand up comedy, and she would come to gigs and sit at the back and laugh her ass off. My mammy was as crazy as a cat on crack.
So here I am today in Manchester trying hard not to argue with husband, although his Aspergers syndrome is in full swing at the moment (it makes me want to slam a door into his head) When I speak and inadvertently say a certain word that he may latch onto, he associates it to a song….for example I said a few moments ago ‘I need help with this’- he burst into the Beatles classic ‘Help’ and I had to stand until he had ran out of steam with the song, before he would actually help me!
So far today he has sung three lines in full blast of The Eagles, The Spice Girls, Oasis and Elvis.
I may have to kill him, I think if I went to court and explained how fucking annoying the bastard is, the court would let me off the hook.
I mean how many days can you go with some retarded Rainman singing replies to questions with a weird word/song association without actually sticking an axe into his head?
My second edition of ‘Nancy Del Ollio’s World Cup Diary’ is on BBC Radio 4 today on ‘Loose Ends’ at 6-15pm UK time. I write the piece and it is recorded by an actress._