Johnny Vegas

Johnny Vegas

So there you were, a nurse, in a club. You were patient, funny, with the same kind of acceptable gift for the darker sides of humour. An equal ability to laugh at adversity without sacrificing empathy. I fancied you, I won’t lie, but I also thought we had so much more in common.

We started off discussing awkward moments – me as a patient, or visitor, and you the administrator of care. I drank some more and wanted to prove to you that I wasn’t just about joking around these moments, that I felt we had a kinship. I went on to explain how I deal with the prospect of death all the time. ‘Oh, I had this shocking gig in Wakefield, died on my arse …’ I then proceeded to tell you all about me, my routine, my dread of going to work at times.

You asked me politely, because I was already testing your social graces, ‘But you must enjoy it, otherwise why would you bother?’

‘Well … it’s a living I suppose.’ I thought by saying that I could retract all of my past fifteen minutes of egocentric nonsense.

You said your mates were waiting and wished me good luck with it all – the comedy and that.

I’m committed to comedy, much more than folk might realise. I’ve suffered for my art but been paid handsomely at times for trading in my passion for a stronger pension. I think of that night more than I should. Not because I’m weird and obsess over the misconception that a random chat meant she might have been ‘the one’. I think of her before gigs, before telly spots, before having to be funny when I can’t be arsed. I think of how she stormed every shift and put me to shame, made my parents smile through excruciating pain. How she had her own grievances but left them at the hospital doorstep and brought something more than I was capable of to every day she gigged.

I’m a people watcher. I’m fascinated by how and what motivates folks’ functionings. Yet, sat in many wards, over many years of late, wishing for the best on behalf of those I hold dearest, I honest-to-God was able to switch off, stop trying to focus on the motivations or backstories of those who worked the wards and simply surrender to an unusual peace made up of gratitude and admiration.

I wish I could bump into that nurse again and just say ‘thank you’ in passing, praying that she might believe the sincerity experience has woven into it.

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