'One of the best things about having a harp named after you' Deborah told me, as we popped our way through about eight layers of bubble-wrap, in a box the size of a small gazebo, 'is that you get free stuff'.
I don’t doubt it. To me, free stuff tends to mean a complementary lollipop, a promotional biro, or a pudding at Nando's that time I found plastic in my custard tart (what a day!) but Deborah's 'free stuff' was a harp, shipped over from France. The harp was a DHC Blue Light, in a very handsome bronze finish. DHC is short for Deborah Henson-Conant - you might have read her interview last week in this very newsletter! (If not, you can read it here.) She's the world's leading electric harpist, and when I was 22, I moved to Boston to study with her for a six month residency. I lived in the little bedroom between her assistant's office and The Burnt Food Museum in her kitchen. I'll have to tell you more about that another time, but the very very short version is that it's a museum dedicated to the the joyful re-branding of failure, and I once appeared on the news in a feature about America's strangest museums, playing the harp in a fireman's hat. 
(Yes, that’s a flame-print bustier. Neither item was the model's own, more's the pity.)
Deborah was getting ready to play at the Regent Theatre’s 95th birthday celebration, and the arrival of this unexpected package gave her an idea. ‘Let's play a blues duet!’ she said, hoisting her harp around her waist and gesturing for me to do the same with the sparkling new harp. 'We can do it in the concert tomorrow - it’ll be so fun!’ At this point I'd been learning how to play the blues for the best part of two days. So getting up on stage to play a duet with one of the best harpists in the world, in a style with which I felt barely competent, on a harp that swayed when I moved, and swung away when I moved my hands towards it. I’m not sure if fun was exactly the word I was looking for, though the first bit sounded about right.
Deborah is a big believer in learning by doing, and I think that's how she gets so much done, this fearlessness. Or rather, her way of harnessing uncertainty into output. For her, the scarier the idea, the more it must be worth exploring. It’s an extraordinary thing to witness, but having been a disciple of the 'learn by watching carefully and not interrupting' school, I found it a daunting concept at first, to put it mildly. To put it less mildly, I was fucking terrified.
So that night, which bled into the next day (along with my blistered fingers), I did a lot of doing.
Four hours in, and I was an electric harp pro! By which I mean, I had just about figured out how to get the harness on and off. The harness - one of Deborah’s own creations - is made out of a collection of luggage straps stitched together, with a Flik Flak watch strap at the top. Putting it on goes a little something like this: kneel down, clip it on the side, HOIK harp over the shoulder, so it’s pointing out like an arrow, stand up, careful, caaareful, clip it on the bottom - clippedy-clip - now do the buckle up at the top, making sure the velcro on the side is still holding -- and tadaa! You are wearing that harp! (You can’t tell, but I just had to mime putting on an air harp to write out those instructions. Worth it?) This homemade contraption is still the harness I use, and the only downside is the way it sits around my waist, because the weight of the harp then squidges my hip fat (who knew that was a thing?) in some very unexpected directions.
Anyway, ignoring my hip fat for the time being (the working title of my memoirs) once I'd mastered getting the thing on, there was the small matter of moving around. On the day of the show, I had a chilling realisation. Deborah would be doing a couple of solo numbers, then I would join her onstage for our duet. This would mean my entrance would have to be speedy, sprightly and IN FRONT OF PEOPLE.
This isn't something I'd ever had to worry about before. Although with hindsight perhaps it should have been - in my former life as a viola player, I once walked onstage, calm and poised, with all the confidence of a person who's yet to realise that they'd forgotten their bow. I still kind of can’t believe that happened. I got right up to the edge of the stage, but I think I must’ve repressed the actual moment when I looked down at my surprisingly empty right hand, because my next memory, one that makes me cringe to this day, is of me running backstage to find it, and on my return, holding the bow aloft (yes, as much as aloft) like I’d just pulled bloody Excalibur out of the stone.
I didn’t think it would be possible to beat that entrance. Unfortunately, it's harder than you might imagine to shimmy onstage with the effortless grace of a musical gazelle when you have a harp strapped between your legs. Deborah makes it look utterly effortless - she can stride, she can dance, she could probably join a conga line if the mood so took her. But she generously reminded me that it has taken years of practice, as I was very much at the waddling stage.
(You’d think, as a harpist, if I was going to be anyone from The Aristocats, I’d get to be the saucy mama cat - she actually plays the harp! But who am I kidding?)
So much of music is making the things we spend hours, days and years working at, seem effortless. But I didn’t have years! I had approximately three hours. So, what can you do? I decided that if I took big enough steps (not figuratively - we’re talking lunges) I might just be able to make my Boston debut without looking like a I was walking with a balloon wedged between my thighs. And isn't that all one can ever ask of a debut?
Well, it turns out I couldn't even ask that much, because at the end, as I began to lunge offstage, I soon discovered that I'd neglected to unplug my harp, and I just came hurtling back. I managed to lasso myself with my own cable, and then had to lunge away, with both harp and tail very much between my legs.
I don’t think the concert was recorded, so sadly my dignified exit wasn’t preserved for posterity, or for the blooper reel of my life, but at least I have this picture as a keepsake: 
In the top photo I appear to be buckling under the weight of the harp somewhat - either that, or the stage was very windy - but then in the second one I’ve readjusted, and we’re having a great time. And we were! Playing with Deborah was a total dream for me, and the actual music (that small detail of performing) now seemed a piece of cake in comparison to this whole waddle-lasso-lunge situation I'd somehow gotten myself into, so while we were playing, I was having an absolute ball.
That picture is a good memento for all sorts of reasons. I think my favourite thing about it is that when I look at it now, it's hard to believe how nervous I'd been beforehand, but that's totally what comes flooding back. And in a good way! I'm surprisingly happy to remember my sore fingers and shaky hands, my heart-thumping uncertainty and yes, even the fact that I accidentally lassoed myself onstage. Those are all useful memories to me, because then if I'm ever feeling particularly despondent or anxious about an upcoming whatever-it-might-be, and I truly can't imagine that feeling ever dissipating, let alone giving way to giddy excitement, laughter or joy, I can simply remind myself that I know better. Or that at least it could be worse.
The Cameo
My guest this week is Joe Lycett.
Photo by Matt Crockett
What’s your job title/profession?
I am a stand-up comedian, author & sensation.
What would you love for people to know about your work?
That I work really hard to look like I’m not working really hard.
What do you wish people would stop asking about your work?
‘Is it all true?’
What made you/helped you to choose what you do?
Embarrassment. My first gig was such a disaster I’ve been back-pedalling ever since.
What’s your perfect breakfast/lunch for a workday? (What do you actually have for breakfast/lunch?)
Scrambled eggs, smoked salmon, potato waffles, fresh homemade pesto followed by greek yoghurt with honey and blueberries. I am not one for rationing of portions and intend to die as a fat man.
What’s your perfect time to wake up / go to bed? (When do you actually wake up / go to bed?)
I normally go to bed around 1am and wake about 9am. I do try to get a full 8 hours but life is a terrible distraction from sleep.
What’s your alarm sound?
A gentle twinkle on the iPhone - I try to avoid being woken by an alarm as a rule.
Do you have a set morning routine?
Currently all mornings are different, but generally I wake and stare at the phone for between 30mins and 2hrs before reluctantly rising for food. I will oft return to a reclined position post-food to double check I am still capable.
Do you have a dedicated/preferred space for writing? If so, what does it look like?
I have an office space that I rent in the Digbeth area of Birmingham which was described by a friend as ‘looking like your head exploded into a room’. It has a small balcony over which I have extended a four-man hammock. My favourite place to write my least favourite work is within that hammock.
Preferred stationery & tools of the trade? / Essential work items?
I write on my laptop largely, occasionally by hand but I always put the most important stuff into ‘The Cloud’.
What are your work hours like? Do you try and create a routine for yourself or is that impossible given the nature of your work?
When I have something to write for I can be quite strict, otherwise the hours are scattered and irregular. I work in jolts, always better when it is done for joy, rather than panic.
Do you have any routines that you try to maintain when you’re working away from home?
I endeavour to exercise and eat relatively healthily, even though the portions are immense. I make an absolute point of avoiding all reviews.
When you’re on location/on the road, what are the first 5 things that go in your bag?
Laptop. Cables. Wash bag. Headphones. Nintendo 3DS with Animal Crossing.
Do you work with fixed goals in mind or take it day by day depending on what comes up?
Both. Often there are fixed goals but sometimes I just see where my mind takes me. I try to write at least one funny something a day.
What inspires you?
People with control over their inner critic.
What’s your favourite thing about your job?
That, in the main, I am most active when others are not. The streets are clear. The lanes in the pool are sparse.
Least favourite?
The relentless travel.
What do you do to get through days when you just don’t feel like it?
Lavish self-gifting. Perhaps a fine wine. Realistically, back to bed.
Do you have a go-to treat to get you out of a slump?
A long, meandering bath or a lone trip to the cinema.
Go-to work snack/sustenance?
We humans are 90% water, in my case the rest is coconut and macadamia bounce balls.
What’s your favourite part of the day?
The moment my arms embrace the pillow.
Least favourite?
The start of the journey.
How you define a good/successful day?
A day in which I have both made something and appreciated something someone has made. When a kindness has occurred.
What’s been your favourite failure? One that you learnt a lot from, or one that you can look back and say ‘well I got through THAT, I’m unstoppable!’
I have never failed.
Any hot tips for the old work-life-balance conundrum?
Accept that you will never find balance in life, it is inherently unbalanced. Give yourself a break.
Do you have any hobbies/passions outside of work?
I love graphic design, drawing, making solid things. I’ve started making clay sculptures. I like video games, particularly role playing games. I have cultivated a sensational town in Animal Crossing on the 3DS. Rows and rows of perfect peach trees.
How do you make time for them? Where do they fit into your day/week?
I have to force myself to find the time. Each day is another ghost, another unfinished thing.
What’s one piece of advice you would give to someone who wants to do what you do?
Do it. It is quite simple. The primary reason I have gleaned my opportunities is because most people who want to try stand-up haven’t been bothered or are too frightened.
What’s the best piece of advice someone’s ever given you?
Roy Walker: ‘You don’t learn to be funny when they’re laughing.’
What’s your top tip for getting shit done?
The Pomodoro technique. Very simple, very effective in my experience. Google it.
Follow Joe on Twitter: @joelycett.
Check out his website here.
The DVD of That's The Way, A-Ha, A-Ha, Joe Lycett is now available on Amazon and iTunes.
Buy his book! It's called Parsnips, Buttered. (You can hear the fantastic story behind the title here.)
Joe, the sorcerer behind the show names 'That's The Way, A-Ha, A-Ha, Joe Lycett', 'If Joe Lycett Then You Should've Put A Ring On It' and 'Some Lycett Hot' said that the name of this fair newsletter was a pun 'close to divinity'. I suspect he was just saying it to be kind, but nevertheless I fully intend to put it on my resumé and tombstone.
Some Music
February 21st would have been Nina Simone's 84th birthday, so this week's playlist is dedicated to her.
You can listen to it on Spotify here.
A Poem
Ships?
by Maya Angelou
Ships?
Sure I’ll sail them
Show me the boat,
If it’ll float,
I’ll sail it.
Men?
Yes, I’ll love them.
If they’ve got style,
to make me smile,
I’ll love them.
Life?
'Course I’ll live it.
Just enough breath,
Until my death,
And I’ll live it.
Failure?
I’m not ashamed to tell it,
I’ve never learned to spell it,
Not Failure.
From The Complete Collected Poems of Maya Angelou (Virago, 1994).Links!
12 Acts of Peak Laziness That Will Make You Feel Better About Your Own Slacking.
Sweet relief.
I think (No One Knows Me) Like The Piano by Sampha is just unbelievably gorgeous.June Eric-Udorie is taking 500 BAME girls from low-income families across London to see Hidden Figures in the cinema. You can support this beautiful idea here.
Adele's tribute to Beyoncé was a frank admission of privilege. I salute it.I am completely in love with Michaela Coel. If you haven't watched Chewing Gum yet, you have a massive treat in store.
Who Would Win in a Fight: Ant or Dec?
The penultimate paragraph of this one absolutely did me in.Florence Nightingale: Of Myths and Maths.
The prevailing mythology of the “Lady with the Lamp” presents a milquetoast nurse-helpmate. All too often, our stories create one-dimensional women. Honoring and remembering Nightingale as an intelligent, resolute, and queer polymath—mathematician, data visualizer, reformer, educator, nurse, colleague, companion, sister, daughter—gives us a nuanced and multifaceted heroine.
Archiatric uses architecture to depict mental illnesses and disorders. Such an vivid, accessible way of representing psychopathology.
Did you know where loofahs come from? If not, then prepare yourself for a rude awakening.
If, for whatever reason, you need a good cry, may I nudge you in the direction of Bill Murray's account of the last time he saw Gilda Radner?
This video is only 11 seconds long, but it's certainly possible that I've spent upwards of two hours watching it. I mean on separate occasions, but you know, I'd happily crack on with one long sitting.(To my friend Georgia: Thank you 5ever for sending it to me, and knowing that it would hit the spot in a moment of need.)
And that's it! See you next week!
Love,
Katya
The Katch-Up's header illustration is by the brilliant Tamsin Baker.