I might get a break again, and I might get back on telly. If I don't, I'll just keep doing stand-up and doing the best gigs I can.
My job is to make people laugh. If I've upset them instead, then I haven't done my job properly.
When I phoned up and said, 'Mum, I'm doing a 52-date national tour with Eddie Izzard,' she said 'That's nice, dear. How are you?'
Edinburgh is a world city, visited throughout the year for its beauty and history, but in August, it is the City of Hope. There is something very exciting and romantic about performers of all shapes and sizes, honing their stuff for the biggest arts festival in the world.
I even like the Scottish weather because, like everywhere in the U.K., you can't have great beauty without lots of rain.
Seeing a full room of punters queuing for my show is always heartening.
When I do a show, I jot little notes for me to remember, and when the show is done and forgotten, I chuck them all over the car. My wife goes nuts.
Because it's such a good car, I think we'll have a Multipla till the kids leave home, which is tragic because I could probably afford a really nice car!
I've been recognised in garages. I'll be paying for my petrol, and I'll see this guy looking at me, thinking, 'Is it him?' Then he'll be looking at my car: 'No, he couldn't be driving that car.' I've actually had two people say to me:,'Hello Dominic, I thought you might have a better car than that, mate!'
For comics, Edinburgh makes no financial or medical sense. Get an audience; that's the first task. Once the punters are in, simply make them laugh for an hour, and then sweat on the critics.
I got heckled by a woman, and my riposte fixed upon her unfortunate hair texture, only for her to remove her wig and reveal to the room the horrors of chemotherapy.
Never trust a television executive.
