Pyjamas

ON MY BIRTHDAY, last weekend, I discovered that I am now at an age where I am genuinely delighted to be given new pyjamas. This is slightly alarming. Remember the disappointment you felt as a kid, when you opened a present hoping that it was an Atari games console and discovering it was a set of Rupert Bear PJs? Even though the package was clearly soft and pyjama-shaped you hoped against hope.

But these days I'm pretty chuffed to get them. OK maybe not Rupert Bear (I think he's dead, isn't he?). But those nice ones from M&S which are always modelled by good-looking adonis-types lounging on a chair, barefoot.

Perhaps the reason I like getting PJs as presents is that I tend to end up wearing them all day. A friend of mine told me the other day that in any given telephone conference, 8% of the participants are not dressed. That'll be me then. In my day job I often work from home. I'm still in my pyjamas when I see my daughter off to school. And usually I'm still in them by the time she gets on the bus to come home. I always makes sure I get dressed before my daughter comes home though, partly so as not to set "a bad example" and partly so as to avoid her giving me one of those self-righteous lectures that teenagers are so good at.

There is something fantastically decadent about doing a teleconference in your pyjamas though. Preferably whilst lounging on the sofa sipping coffee from your favourite enormous mug. It makes everything feel a bit less like work and that can only be a good thing. I feel cool and casual like the guy in the M&S adverts. Although I probably look more like something you might encounter on a prostate ward.

So. Why am I telling you all this?

I have absolutely no idea.

But anyway it's what I did yesterday. Until just before Brady Jr got home. Then I had to get dressed and pretend to be a grown-up.

YESTERDAY EVENING was one of those evenings when time seems to disappear and suddenly it's 9pm and nobody's had any tea. (Or dinner if you're a Southerner).

I went with my daughter to the stables to help her do some groundwork with Murphy The Horse. Her confidence is suffering at the moment and we thought it might help her form a better bond with him. It's difficult to do anything like this in the Winter, but now the weather is picking up we can do more of it. With the help of a lovely woman called Katrina who happened to be passing by, I taught Brady Jr how to use Monty Roberts' join-up method. Monty Roberts is the real-life horse whisperer who the film was based on. I'd like to say I learned his technique whilst staying with him on his ranch in California. But I didn't. I learned it from You Tube.

Anyway, Brady Jr did the business. After a little while, me and Katrina looked on as Murphy voluntarily walked up behind Brady Jr and put his head over her shoulder, accepting her as his herd leader. It was a magical moment. Brady Jr's face was a picture.

WARNING: The next bit's about football. If you hate football, don't write to me moaning about it. I don't want to know. Just move on. Go on. Off you go. Go and read a book of poetry or whatever it is you people do.

OK. Have they gone? Right. The icing on the cake yesterday was listening to Wigan Athletic beat Liverpool 1-0 on the radio. I wished I could have gone and even felt a bit guilty for not being there to support them. But life's a bit busy.

It's tough being a fan though, isn't it? The last ten minutes seemed to go on forever. I was convinced Liverpool would snatch at least one late goal. And Wigan were only one point from the relegation zone.

Sitting anxiously by the radio, as if at the outbreak of World War II, I probably didn't look like I was having much fun. And I wasn't. Being a sports fan isn't about having fun, is it? It seems to be about suffering unnecessarily over something that, objectively speaking, doesn't actually matter and over which you have absolutely no control. My mum thinks it's bonkers. But then again, she watches Eastenders.

But maybe that's the point of being a fan of sport (or Eastenders). While we're suffering over the threat of a last-minute goal (or some cockney being beaten up by a gang of "slags" and dumped in a canal), we don't have time to think about the mortgage or Haiti or the bleak emptiness of our own futile existence.

On that bombshell, I'll bid you good day.

I am 41

This weekend was my 41st birthday.

I had my presents and cards early on Saturday morning as my wife had to go off to a conference. Lots of nice books and some iTunes vouchers (as I am old-fashioned and still believe in paying for my music).

While Mrs B was at her conference, I went with my daughter to a music festival that her school choir was singing in. I was blown away by the performance. Their music teacher is a total gem. She's young and bright and enthusiastic and lifts all the kids up so they want to do well. The sound they produced was astonishing.

I felt myself welling up. I was so moved - just to see someone who is so devoted to helping kids fulfill their creative potential, it was... Well, maybe you had to be there. Anyway, I wasn't the worst. There was an old guy in front of me blubbing his eyes out.

Of course, when Brady Jr appeared I had to act all cool. My daughter is not into public displays of emotion. Or private one's for that matter.

Saturday night was my first free one for a while and me and Jane slouched on the sofa catching up on Lost. I love that show even though I have no idea what the hell is going on. It's an accurate analogy for Life - even though it makes no sense, you keep going, with a vague feeling you ought to be enjoying it more.

On Sunday morning, Me and Brady Jr went over to the stables to see her horse, Murphy. Brady Jr has been a bit stressed out over the pressures of horse ownership over the winter, but the sun was shining and there was a relaxed and optimistic feel about the place. It was the first weekend this year that has really felt like spring. People were all full of plans and projects for the summer.

In the afternoon we went out for a late lunch with my mum and dad. I ate and drank too much and thought I might have to be winched out of my seat. It was a pleasant way to spend a Sunday afternoon though. I pity the poor wretches who spent it being dragged round IKEA. Jane remarked that I was uncharacteristically quiet. I think I was just a bit talked out.

On Sunday evening, Me and Jane went to the Frog & Bucket to see Richard Herring's Hitler Moustache. What a great night! The show was funny and clever and thought-provoking and inspirational. He took on difficult subjects like racism, fascism and political correctness in a way that was direct and intelligent, without being preachy, or woolly-minded (or, worse, unfunny). All the way home, me and Mrs B were gushing about how great it was.

As well as being a fab night out, the show also reinforced my feeling that this is the kind of thing I want to do in future. It's different from stand-up. With stand-up, the emphasis is on laughs. People don't necessarily want you to say anything of any consequence - they just want to be entertained.

But a one-man show is different. The audiences are generally more intelligent (and more sober) and they have different expectations. You can't do a one-man show (at least not one as good as Richard's) unless you really have something to say. And the format gives you space to do that - you don't have to be cracking gags the entire time. It's a challenge and an opportunity that really inspires and excites me. (Or maybe, like all middle-aged men, I'm just desperate for the chance to force my views and ideas on other people.)

Anyway, something else also happened at the Frog. I was pricked by the slenderest shard of fame. Someone who I didn't know recognised me as Sam Brady the stand-up comedian. I have always thought I didn't want to be famous and would hate to be a celebrity. But even just being acknowledged by one stranger in a Manchester comedy club was enough to inflate my ego to an uncomfortable level. Fame is such a potent drug. Even the tiniest dose, it seems, can get you hooked. I need to be careful of that. I reckon once you start chasing fame, the fun is probably over.

There were also quite a few comedians and promoters there in the audience. Ben Heal from MUCK came over to say hello which was nice. He even offered to lend me his Richard Herring DVD collection. Might take him up on that.