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I am in a deep groove of Edinburgh preparations as my credit card trembles. Plans upon plans and magnified by the disability, the barriers, the devil being in the tiny detail. I have to know where I can find a toilet after all.

I’m not sure of myself right now. Always the question, contradictory in my own thoughts. Why do I do these things? Go through this stress and torment. Things mounting up, props lost, confusion all over.

I can’t exactly answer this why. For passion and glory? The addiction to speak out, to connect. All that bollocks…

It is fun of course, and addictive, When the moment hits, the perfect high in your performance, the sharp link with strangers through the power of my words. That’s when I know why I hoick my sorry bones up the motorway, and do this sort of thing.

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