Second Chances

Facebook says no. I can’t write any more notes. Every couple of weeks most of my 103 notes disappear. I’ve tried emailing someone about it, but there’s no-one to email. The best you can achieve is a post on a message board that you can’t guarantee anyone reads. Which is nice.

Thankfully I saved them, but as a little word of advice, make sure you’ve got any notes, movies or photos, make sure you back them the fuck up.

Not that I’m a complaining kind of mood, though. We had a result last week. The pictures have been all over Facebook, so I won’t go into detail. Sadly, though, I was so drunk that the rough outline of a speech I spent an hour thinking about as the awards began was forgotten as our names were read out. I was also so drunk that I couldn’t stand by the end of the evening, and the next morning I had to leave a note for the maid apologising. For the mess, I mean. Again, I won’t go into detail. It’s a shame though, as I remember very little about the previous night. I spent most of Saturday in bed, and still feel shit, four days later. Way to go, McGario. One of the best nights of my professional career, which I remember sod all about and have probably mangled my liver.

Because I was drinking like a (nervous) fish before the awards, I missed my chance in the spotlight. I didn't actually miss it, you understand. As usual, I'm quite able to move, and generally talk when under the influence, but the lights won't be on, and I won't remember any of it. Sadly, though, unlike my Facebook notes, I couldn't back up these memories when I malfunction and I'll never get them back. Sure, there are videos, but I'll be offering good money to have them deleted. All because I got the fear.

Every weekday morning on Radio 2, there's a charming little feature called 'Pause for Thought,' one of the few elements from Terry Wogan's old breakfast show that made the cut into Chris Evans' format, where each day a guest delivers some words of wisdom (Don't get me wrong, as a TOGG for many years I wanted to dislike this new young?! upstart edging in on Terry's turf, but I have to say I really can't fault his show. At all). Today was the turn of a regular contributor chap called Father Brian D'Arcy's, a priest from Enniskillen in Northern Ireland, and his chosen subject was 'Best Friends.' Something he said really struck me.

"The only thing that can stop us from what we want to be, is that wee word, fear," He said. And he's right, you know. I've lost count of the opportunities I've turned my back on, for no other reason but my own insecurities, of which there are many. "Courage," he went onto say, "is so important...it helps us to act in spite of our big genuine fears."

So, I’m sitting here burning karaoke CDs trying to get inspiration for the coming audition, and trying to pluck up the courage to try out to them out to my wife, knowing that she’ll rather watch Eastenders, but hoping she’ll pick the one I think will be ok to sing.

This time I’m under no illusion, though. I’m going to pick my song before I go, and even try and learn some lyrics. I know how long I’ll have to wait, and even if I sing my heart out, I probably won’t get to the next stage. But I can get over that and still make the most of it. Unless I smuggle in a hip flask, there'll be no using drink as an excuse this time. I'll remember every euphoric moment, or, most likely, every sphincter-clenching frown and a shake of a head from a judge. Clear as a bell.