“Earlier this year, before all the doors locked and we were forced to gaze at each other from afar, a friend of mine decided it was about time we went to see Bill Bailey. I agreed, a long time fan of his, and also with an ulterior motive, to attempt to corner him and pitch him a show about birds. We then promptly forgot about it. A month or so later I woke up with a gasp.
“But how will he learn about the bird show?!” I exclaimed silently, for there was nobody in the room to exclaim at. I texted said friend and we scrabbled around frantically for tickets. The London show, alas had sold out in minutes but there were tickets available in the Lake District (far away, limited public transport, cold) and in Bridport (still far away, slightly warmer, local bus service). So we booked for Bridport and waited for the date.
On the day we decided if we were going we best make a day of it and thus began my seaside adventure. After getting an ice cream in February and angering some seagulls by not sharing it with them, we found ourselves on an isolated cliff side path. It was populated only by the foam of the sea waves and a couple of local dogs. The sound of them bouncing off the great sandstone cliff behind me left me in awe as I sat in the sand and stole my companion’s fluffy hat to use as a windjammer. There I recorded the attached noises complete with the scampering of the native whippets. It was idyllic.
Bill Bailey was of course excellent and we even managed to corner him after the show. I forgot to tell him about the bird show. One day…”