Polly Does NYC

Well, New York was wet. Somehow we must have smuggled some refugee raindrops on the belly of the plane from Blighty and they bred like rampant rabbits on contact with US soil.

I had a gig in Brooklyn the Friday we arrived, which I managed to pull off quite well considering we decided to go for a long boozy lunch to celebrate our arrival. I had been warned not to use the ‘f-word’ in my set so I spent the best part of the seven hour flight cleaning up my act and committing wholesome adjectives to memory. The set carved into my mind, I took to the stage, and began bantering with the audience to put us at ease. Two sentences in… ‘It’s so great to be here. I love this fucking city…’ Whoops. Followed by, ‘Shit! I wasn’t supposed to use the f-word!’ Double whammy.

But hey, they all laughed and it got better from there. Unfortunately I was at the only comedy gig in the history of New York devoid of Jewish people, so my well constructed Jewish jokes bombed.. well, maybe they just weren’t funny. Revised versions coming soon to a Jewish audience near you.

My two number one supporters Clare and Jackie are big gym bunnies and so I was forced to go running in the park every morning – which I saw as penance for caning the credit card. ‘Run harder, spent faster’ became my mantra. All great until you’re half way round the park and nature is knocking hard on the back door, with not a ‘restroom’ in sight. Finally when I was doubled up and limping along, praying to God that I make it home in clean shorts, a big stone restroom appeared out of nowhere like a mirage. Inside, the good lord himself led me to the throne where I sat on a padded velvet seat and cherubs patted my bum with rose petals. Nothing ever felt so good.

Praise the lord! Jesus is alive and well and living in a public toilet in Brooklyn.