And which is more - you'll be a writer, my son.

I'm sitting in Starbucks prior to appearing at the rather wonderful Krater Comedy Club at the Komedia here in drizzly Brighton. I wouldn't normally think this blog-worthy - and it probably isn't - but I thought a few words about the rising fear and tension a performer endures before going on stage would be interesting from the perspective of someone actually living through it.

Problem is, I'm not. I mean, I am living through the period directly prior to a gig, but tension? Not really. I love Brighton, but I think getting here at 2.30 for a gig starting at 8 (stage time, around 9.10) was patently absurd. I had a hearty lunch at Bill's (why would anyone go anywhere else?) and then whiled away an hour viewing a house (we're thinking of moving here one day) but really, it's only an hour from London and I could've left at 6.

I've got into the habit of arriving insanely early for things like voiceovers, the rationale being that I usually cycle so need to cool down first over a nice cup of tea. Nothing worse than leaving a foetid patch of sweat on a studio chair, is there? Yet, although I cycled to London Bridge Station to catch the Brighton train today, I think a five and a half hour cooling off period is a bit over the top.

So, here I am just around the corner from the Komedia, knocking out this blog and about to be turfed out at 7. I have a very respectable and weighty bag of sweets from the hip little pick 'n' mix shop in the North Laines which I'm thinking of raiding on a bench somewhere to while away some more dead time, but I'll be scraping damp sugar from the bottom by 7.05 and be feeling bloated, nauseous and only marginally closer to kick off. You need a bit of tension to get up there and do your stuff, but right now I'd be happy if they locked me in and left me here overnight.

Well, there we are. An ill-considered, stream-of-consciousness, unedited blog. Was it all worth it given the paucity of insight and wit? Don't answer that.