why you should never google yourself, epilogue

As an epilogue to yesterday’s story, it is worth mentioning that my mum phoned me yesterday afternoon.

“Well done for changing your google search result,” she said. “I had been deliberately not telling people how to find you.”

I didn’t even know she had been googling me, despite the fact that the entirely fictional opening three minutes of my act is is based on exactly this kind of embarrassment…

(insert your own point about life imitating art here)


1 Comment

  1. No story about the strange gig I saw you do in the hotel basement in Piccadilly where the drunken scotsman got up with you to do a song about anger wanks? That was a weird gig (unless all yours are like that)

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