Oliver's diary

5Sep

OLIVER BREMN has a fan

A seven-year-old in a yellow coat walked into the shop and handed me a flyer for her cat's birthday party. Crayon stars. A cat in a party hat. My name misspelle…

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4Sep

The Grip, The Pint

The neck thing. That's what I keep coming back to. Pryce crossed the room, hand out like he was going for the shoulder, and then it wasn't the shoulder — it was…

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3Sep

Six flyers in Stretford

Tom Hardman. Two inches taller, or maybe I shrunk. Manchester Uni halls — so he did the version of life I was supposed to do, the one where you go and you pass…

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2Sep

gaffer on the chin

I had gaffer tape on my chin. The whole five minutes. The Northern line bit, the callback I'd workshopped, the polite laugh I'd been hoping for — all delivered…

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1Sep

Bravest, right.

Marcus Pryce put it up at ten in the morning and I read it four times before I put the phone face-down on the duvet. Bravest thing I've seen this year. Tagged t…

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31Aug

The chest didn't do the thing

The mum bit held. I need to say that first because it's the only sentence I've been able to write since I walked out of the venue. Not hit — held. There's a dif…

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30Aug

The costume is off

The costume is off. That's the thing she took — not the secret, the suit. The panic in Leeds, the way my chest folds before I walk on. That was mine to carry. N…

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29Aug

The Car Park Lad

The flyer wouldn't come off clean. I knew it before I pulled — that tape had been up there since the first preview and it decided to take part of me with it. Th…

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28Aug

The Frog and Bucket boy

She said it twice and I still don't know which one I needed more. Pryce had his arm round my shoulder calling me the real thing while mum stood two feet away in…

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27Aug

The hoodie stays

She was in my hoodie tonight and I said the words about my mum out loud for the first time. The real ones. The ones I've been carrying around like contraband, t…

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26Aug

I Booked Her In

I hate that the tear went into the steak jus. It makes the whole thing feel embarrassingly literal, like my body finally got bored of waiting for me to say the…

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25Aug

The room saw it first

The room saw it before I did. Halfway through the Leeds middle and my brain just leaves. Like someone pulled a plug. I stand there, mic in hand, eyes wide, and…

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24Aug

Mum read it twice

Mum read it twice. That's the one I keep circling. Not the podcast, not the anonymous quote — mum read the sentence twice at breakfast and asked if it was about…

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23Aug

Hands in the cold air

Holborn's done it. He's told the room what I told the mirror and the curtain and three years of pretending I don't shake before doors. Watch his hands. Three wo…

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22Aug

before she finished the sentence

I said yes before Sandra finished the sentence. Three weeks ago she moved me to six o'clock and I sat in the courtyard pretending to be on a call so nobody woul…

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21Aug

We're walking, apparently

The woman in the café called me "the Pleasance lad." Not my name, the bit's name. And her daughter loved the car park thing. I sat there with my tea going cold…

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20Aug

The Corridor I Didn't Walk Through

The flyer is still there. That's the bit that gets me. The Pleasance has put James Holborn's face right next to mine on the courtyard wall and you can see mine…

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19Aug

The catch-up still in my pocket

I sat on the bus and read my mate's text and smiled like a child. Haven't done that on a 35 in years. I haven't told anyone about the Soho thing except Steve, a…

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18Aug

The bar laughed. She didn't.

The bar laughed. She didn't. That's the whole night in two votes. Cara — Manchester via Camden, bottle-blonde, very direct. Three times she's seen the hour. I w…

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17Aug

No comment, borrowed

The review landed at 8am. "More in him than he is yet letting himself show." Scalpel, not a compliment. I read it three times on the bed and felt like I'd been…

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16Aug

The win and the wound

The hour landed. That's the honest way to start, because if I start with anything else I'll be sick. The hour landed. Holborn had his notebook open at the back…

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15Aug

Mum said it about the A-levels

Pryce grabbed me on the Pleasance steps like a nephew he'd been bragging about. "BBC4 desk, this is the lad." The producer's hand stayed on mine a beat too long…

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14Aug

She said stop narrating

She came to the flat. Not the corridor. Jeans. My Pleasance hoodie from July. I keep starting there because that's the part I can't get past tonight. She stood…

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13Aug

Did the thing and didn't write it

I have the best bit I've had all month and I didn't do it. Three blokes in a close off the Cowgate, middle one wide as a wardrobe, shoved me into the brick and…

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12Aug

Two notes higher than regulation

Two notes higher than regulation. That's how mum's voice goes when she's loading the cannon. I could hear it from the first syllable — the lift, the breathiness…

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11Aug

Don't Trust the Quiet

I lied to mum about the bookshop bloke. Three words: a nice chat. It wasn't. A man from Soho who's been at this longer than me leaned in and said he'd been watc…

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10Aug

Two rooms, one name

The bookshop boy thing. Someone stood by the tea urn and called me the bookshop boy in front of the man I have been carefully not looking at. That's the joke of…

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9Aug

Wet patch and the draft board

The coffee thing is in. I can't kill it. It's already a bit for Tuesday and I haven't even written it — mum handed me the tissue and said "same as when you were…

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8Aug

the chest did the actual thing

The chest. The real one. Not the bit, not the anxiety I joke about on stage. The same one I had on the District line in March and told nobody — not Yara, not mu…

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7Aug

I saw her mouth it

The chest line. I knew. I knew it never quite sat right and I left it in anyway because I wanted it to be the one that worked. I have been wanting things to be…

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