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A gig with a difference…

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To Hong Kong then for a gig. I’ve been here many times before to play the fab comedy club out here but this gig is a little different…

To begin with – an Upper Class seat – so normal for my eldest, but new territory for me.

I am met off the plane and whisked off in a golf buggy leaving my fellow upper classers in my wake, no doubt wondering who I am, or was…

They all catch up with me at the queue for immigration which is a little awkward – and so I stand in line trying to exude important yet casual…

My golf cart driver has told me to meet him after I have passed through immigration. The airpot is packed. Teeming with people.

So here I am in China – a small bloke with dark hair and glasses, hoping to find another small bloke with dark hair and glasses in a sea of small blokes with dark hair and glasses!

Remarkably, I am found. He already has my hold bag. Can you believe that? That’s how important I am…

Outside the terminal – illegally parked is a Rolls Royce Phantom.

My jaw drops. Really?

This Saturday, I am doing a comedy gig at a village hall in Kent. But for now, I am a comedy Emperor.

Actually, the Rolls is not for me and if anything, I am relieved.

Dwarfed by the Rolls is a boat of a Mercedes that I hadn’t yet noticed. It is black, it is sleek and it is mine.

A driver leaps out. He knows my name, Mr. Holland. He is another small bloke with dark hair and…

I slide in to the armchair in the back of the car and I am on my way. To where? I am not sure but it definitely isn’t going to be a Holiday Inn.

Immediately, in to the ride, I am handed a wet towel and given a wifi code. I don’t use either. I just sit and think about the gig and how much they’ve laid out already for me.

All very welcome and kind of them, thank you. But at what cost? And the question that is now on my mind is;

How funny do these people think I am?

The Merc swings in to the hotel.

A bell boy opens the car door for me.

An elegant lady is waiting to greet me. She is European, tall and does not wear glasses.

Mr Holland welcome to the Four Seasons.

People grab my bags.

I don’t check in. This has already been done for me. I don’t wait in line. I am Dominic Holland.

At least, I hope this is who they think I am.

I panic a little and I wonder if they think that they’ve booked Tom and got a Dom.

After all, it is only one letter?

We sweep through reception. People waiting in-line for check-in look over to stare at me. Actually, they don’t but I imagine that they do because by now, I am fully playing along with this whole star thing. I am owning it baby. I can make super-heroes don’t you know?

In to my room now and of course, its massive with a harbour view. The sleek lady explains a bunch of stuff but I don’t take any of it in.

Since landing in HK I have done nothing. Everything has been done for me.

And so I wonder if someone can do my set for me tomorrow night?

‘Is there anything else that I can do for you, Mr Holland?’ The elegant lady asks.

‘Write me some jokes?’

She doesn’t laugh. Why would she? She has no idea who I am or why I am here.

So it was a risk on my part and it did not come off. Usually I have a good instinct for these things. When to joke. What to say.

So, her stoney face is understandable but is still a set back.

It’s jet lag I tell myself.

I have a full day to get ready for the gig – a gig at which I will need to be funny.

And bloody funny I will be…

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