By nature, I am not a modest man. Maybe you find that easy to believe. If so, I apologise. If not, I’m ashamed to say I think that’s good. And I’m rightly ashamed to say it because saying things that are good about yourself, I was brought up to believe, is a shameful thing to do. Not very shameful, but slightly shameful. Like a crafty piss behind a wheelie bin. Rude.
I may be outwardly shy and non-confrontational but sometimes, inside, I well up with a megalomaniacal self-belief that I want to scream from the rooftops. Sometimes, as is characteristic of many professional performers, my confidence collapses and I’m inclined to tedious, consolation-seeking self-pity. But then I think up some adequate joke and my brain is immediately telling me: “There you go, Mr Amazing, you did it again!” When something I’ve done has gone well, I want everyone to know. I itch to get the knowledge of it into all of their heads. Fortunately for anyone who meets me, I understand that it is not permitted for me simply to tell them.
