Entry for 30th July, 2008

I had to do a speech at a Burns Night at the weekend. It is a hateful task. I am not made for public speaking. I am made for sitting in the house watching the telly. I appreciate that may not sound like much of a talent, but I have elevated it to an art form. I have practised hard.
I have not, however, ever practised hard at public speaking. I get all wound up about it beforehand, and it's no exaggeration to say that the task of writing the thing wasted my whole week, and the thought of having to get up and speak wasted the whole evening. What a peculiar form of torture to subject oneself to.
When I stood up to speak I made the mistake of looking at the audience. They were looking at me expectantly. They wanted entertainment. Some of them were clutching editions of the Complete Works. They had the faint look of Doctor Who monsters from an episode called "Doctor Who and the Death Cult of Rabbie Burns." My legs turned to jelly.
The speech itself seemed to OK. I define "OK" here as meaning that I was not pursued down Larkhall main street by an angry mob of Burns' afficionados shouting "Lynch the heretic."
I class that as success.