A lot of life could be seen as a race to get head and shoulders ahead of something. Perhaps some people are racing to get ahead of other people. Perhaps there's a massive heap of shit on your head, and you're clawing your way up it to get to some fresh air. Maybe it's just a matter of racing into the gap between your achievements and your potential. Maybe this last one is the fairest. I don't know.

I'm feeling a bit of all three at the moment. As a potential landlord, there's a whole heap of worries on my head. As a comedian, I often feel like I'm in a race for spots against other people. As a person, I know that, whatever I do, I should be just aiming to get ahead against my own scale. This means learning from the past, and pushing into the future.

Last night I had a gig in London that was cancelled. I used the opportunity of meeting new people at a gig to chat about stuff I'm passionate about: comedy, musicals, whatever. In fact, I even chatted a little about what appears to be a recognised technique for one-night-stand evaluation. Apparently you should prompt a girl to mention her boyfriend or absence of same within the first 10 sentences. Really!?

I could tell the conversation had been friendly, and we'd shared a laugh together. As the gig was cancelled, the promoter was asking people if they wanted to reschedule. To put things in context, the gig was a 5 minute spot, with a low-probability of audience, with the vague promise of getting a better open spot at the club in the future. This is not something I'm quick to put my name down for. At the end of the day, I am no prima donna, but I have some sense of self-worth. A bit of chutzpah can get you somewhere. So I said "On the strength of this conversation, can you not recommend me for the better gig?". Bizarrely, this seemed to work. I think we'd done the usual comedian willy contest, where you work out whether the other person is a noobie, or if they're battle worn and experienced. I've been doing stand-up for a good 4 years and 5 months, so I guess I don't look all fresh-faced anymore.

Whether I'll get any gig on the back of it is a totally separate matter.

Getting to go home at 9pm on a gig night was some flavour of fun I'm not entirely sure about. On the upside, I was in my bed, all showered and washed, at around 11pm. I still couldn't wake up this morning, but that's not a surprise.

This weekend appears to promise a series of appointments. I've got places to go and people to see. There are workmen, DIY tasks, women and gigs. None of these are sexual. Well, the DIY always gives me some sort of thrill, but that's a matter between me and my conscience.

I think, on balance, I'd prefer to curl up in bed with a pizza and a lover, but I don't always get the choice. In fact, I don't think anyone does.

If I could go back in time right now, step through the door into a day in my past, I think I would either walk into last weekend, which was totally brilliant, or onto Wednesday night, which was similarly brilliant, but a lot more compact. Any further back and I'd have to go through a lot of crap again that I can't be bothered with.

I might like to do a remote viewing of some events in my life, just to see how they differ from how I remember them. That's a whole different ballgame, though.

Right. This day has gone on long enough. It's time to return to my alternative life, where I'm switched on and motivated enough to complete household tasks.