Thursday, December 31, 2009

Here Endeth the Decade

Its the last ever day of 2009, and, much like the end of every year, it feels pretty much the same as the middle of the year or the beginning or any other bit. Without meaning to sound bah humbug or whatever the NYE equivalent is, I'm never really that fussed about the promise of another year. It might be a 'new' year in so much as we haven't yet gone through the passage of time that is the next year, but as far as I'm concerned we've had loads of years before, and I pretty much understand how they work. I might just wish people 'Happy Another Year'. It sounds like I'm grumbling, but I'm not. Its just that over years I tend to find of all the days of the year, NYE tends to be the most disappointing. I've only ever had three good NYE's. One involved working backstage at the Hackney Empire and getting bought drinks by the Divine Comedy despite only being 15. So I got paid NYE rates and got drunk with a band I liked. Good times. The next one was when I was 18 and me and my friend Stefan were between parties and had a bottle of champagne and some chips in pitta. As it struck midnight we were in a phonebox calling our friends and wishing everyone a Happy New Year before rocking up at another party for several hours. That was also the night we found a street lamp that turned on and off when we walked under it. That was possibly what led to us not making the next party for midnight.

The third best NYE I've ever had was last year when me and Layla stayed in. Yep. Boring old farts, but that's what we did. We made a three course Thai meal and watched Jools Holland's pre-recorded Hootenany and then went to bed. That, for me, was better than spending shedloads of money on disappointment, and having to queue for the first month of the year for a bus or tube home. Its a nice way to end the year too. With someone I actually want to be with rather than surrounded by idiots I don't know who are so drunk they won't remember midnight anyway. We are going for Thai again tonight. We shall welcome 2010 full of massaman curry and tempurah.

Lots happened in 2009 that I was pleased with, and last night was a lovely final show of the year to go out on. I thoroughly enjoyed being part of the London Comedy Improv, despite initially being worried about having Christmas brain. It was a really refreshing change from stand-up, as while weird things can happen in stand-up that cause you to improvise, its not the same as completely improvising anything. Brendan, Tara, Briony and Kirsty were a joy to work with and I'm going to make it an aim of mine in 2010 to do more of that please. The London Comedy Improv's next show is on January 18th at the Pigalle Club in Piccadilly Circus so you should make it an Another Year's Resolution to go.

I was going to do a mini 'Best of 2009' list to end it all, and then I remembered that its not just the end of 2009, but also the end of the 'noughties', which in my opinion weren't that naughty at all. Except for the illegal war that was naughty. As were all the expenses claims and the banks fucking everything up, and terrorism and actually lots of things. Ok, they were pretty bad. In fact, lets put the entire decade on a naughty step. I'm not sure how you'd do that, but its nearly the future so we'll find out soon. If however this decade was some sort of indication that decade behave as their media names dictate, then as of tomorrow, its the Teenies. So I guess it'll be full of hormonal outbursts, stabbings, teenage pregnancies, acne and sexual awkwardness. Oh joy. Anyway, as I couldn't be arsed to do a whole best of list of anything, I will just leave you with what was one of my favourite tracks of the last year and I still listen to on reply endlessly. Its just beautiful. Enjoy and wherever you spend this evening, have a very happy end of 2009 and a joyous embarkment into the wilderness of 2010:

Wednesday, December 30, 2009

A Year of Bloggery!

As of today I have blogged everyday for an entire year! That's 365 blogs, which is 8 million paragraphs, 670 trillion sentences and 900 bazillion words*. I've used more words than you've had accidents on a space hopper**. There have been some cheat days, and there was the one day in Bestival where I was completely unable to blog and Layla did it for me:

Some have argued that was my best blog. They are people who I think smell of buckets of poo. Apart from those few though I have written lots of things and all for my one reader Randolph that reads it. So as today is a special anniversary blog of sorts, it shall be split into two sections. Firstly, the best of the year, where I hand pick the best blog of each month. Yes its hugely self indulgent, but its also my blog so I can self-indulge if I want to. Its suddenly become clear why those weren't the lyrics for Cyndi Lauper's song. It wouldn't have caught on quite so well. Secondly , I stupidly asked people on this blog and on Twitter what they'd like to see in my year of blogs blog so that section is for them and their stupid requests. Gooooooo blog!


T's Blog Picks:

Over the year I've written some stuff that I've managed to turn into comedy material, some stuff that has made me wonder why on Earth I write every day when I have so little to say, and some stuff that's made people worry that I should be admitted to some sort of home. Here, just for you, are a list of the best blog from each month of my year of bloggery:



I only wrote two blogs in December, so here's my very first blog ever, under the title Things To Say and Douieb. I wrote some before this but they all had a striking resemblance to something written by a turd with a turd pen and were as infrequent as my paychecks. If you read through it you will see my target to get healthier has hugely failed and I'm in the same slob like position as I was 365 days ago. Nice to see me create my targets and fail them all massively. Actually I haven't failed them all. I did survive the recession. This is mostly because I have been poor my entire life so I don't think I noticed any difference.



My post has never become any more frequent. The man upstairs disappears for even longer amounts of times. In fact once he was gone so long his brother-in-law knocked on our door asking if we'd seen him. We hadn't, so me and Layla then suspected he might be dead. We made an agreement not to call the police until we smelt things. The man upstairs has also done nothing to rid himself of my suspicions that he is a big paedo. When myself and Wendy Wason taught her daughter's class stand-up at her primary school, the entire class wrote me a thank you card. It was accidentally posted in the door upstairs and I have never ever seen it since. I am worried its been used for all the wrong reasons. I did watch the rest of that season of Lost too. If the final season doesn't answer things I will personally send JJ Abrahms some nasty things. Not that they'll get posted to him anytime soon.



I am still scarred by the incident and hope the kid in question has been run over.



This was still my favourite day of the year. Our new sofa is awesome, but I can't help but look forward to the day I slice its stupid sofa face in two and kick the fuck out of its stuffing. Sometimes I wonder if I'm in the wrong job.

Here was what the sofa looked like when I totally slayed its furniture head:




Two from this month. Read the first one mostly but the second one's first two paragraphs are a story that I kept forgetting to tell in my Edinburgh show. I might do it on Jan 8th when I do my show for the last time. But I'll probably forget.

MAY 09


This event is one of many awful things my cats have done and another notch in the wall towards me supporting the fur trade. Luckily this hasn't happened since, or if it did I would invent a cat-a-pault and launch the little shitwagon over several houses.



The death of a beard. Its back now of course, but at the time, I felt positively cold faced. I also really need to start a book with that sentence. Maybe that will be a target for 2010.



No need to read this blog but skip down to the picture. Still one of the best bits of drunken vandalism I have seen to this day.



The best day at the Edinburgh Fringe 09. I still haven't recovered from it. I mean I have but its more fun to blame Mark Watson's 24 hour show for any following fatigue. I will try and carry this blame incase I ever suffer from ME and can sue him.



The first and last blog I will ever write as a pirate.




This month gets two. Sadly the second one was never responded to by the highways agency. Should it happen again I will get really angry and write an even more angry letter. Then calm down and forget about it. That's how I roll.




Two again. One would think that I liked my blogs even more in the last few months. Actually its more that I remember these better and can't be arsed to sift through all the old ones. Laziness overrides arrogance.


And two for this month as well:


A small tale what I wrote to honor International Pretend You're A Time Traveller Day


Some useful tips for driving.

And now we're back to doh.



One thing I have learnt from all this blogging is that whenever you ask people to comment on something you've written they don't. Also when you don't ask people to comment they don't either. Essentially I'm fairly sure no-one reads this blog ever. However I felt I should ask the people what they'd like me to blog about today and unfortunately they all came up with crap responses. My second lesson learnt, never trust the opinion of the public. So in response to the few things what I got replied to, here you go:

PENGUINS (as requested by @lobsterlinguini)

I became caught on a loop of wildlife programs this morning, starting with Michela Strachen on channel 5 harping on about some tiny alligators and just generally being excited that she is still on TV despite her skin looking as though someone has stuck a vacuum cleaner in the back of her head and sucked all her insides out. This was then followed by a program about penguins, with possibly the most monotone presenter I've ever heard. I can't remember his name as it was droned out of my memory by the dulcet sounds of boredsville. However, with mute on, it was an awesome show. I've decided that whenever you see footage of penguins walking it is best to imagine the theme tune from the A-Team or something similarly action based. I also learnt that there are a type of penguins called 'macaroni penguins' which brings a whole new meaning to 'macaroni cheese' which I will now never eat again. Macaroni penguins discard their first eggs only looking after the second and third ones. The first then become bait for predators and they let the little penguin foetus get attacked to crappery. They are the Chinese government of the bird world. I also saw an advert for DulcoEase, a tablet that softens your stools. You know you are watching channel 5 when these sorts of adverts appear as it applies to their usual target audience of thick shits.


This blog now contains both my heart, soul and dick. Why not use them to create your own weird sort of Tiernanstein's monster? It would mostly pump blood around its cock, which it would use to hop about on, mostly to seriously good soul music. Something to do on New Year's Day methinks.

PICCADILLY AND OXFORD CIRCUSES (as requested by @misswizz)

Some time ago (it may have been on this blog) I stated that I have constant disappointment that Oxford Circus and Piccadilly Circus are not real circuses. This also applies to Cambridge Circus and any others of the same name. Don't go getting my hopes up only for me to find a distinct lack of firebreathing jugglers and men in top hats keeping lions at bay with chairs. It seems to be a trend for certain places to raise expectations only to slam them down by providing nothing of the sort. Covent Garden for example. Where is the garden? I see only crate slugs getting money for doing fuck all, but silver painted fuck all, and a paperchase. I want garden! I suggest this becomes the campaign for the teenties or whatever stupid name this decade has. How much happier would you be if everywhere contained its namesake? Ealing Common could be filled with real commoners. Holborn could have an entire factory that makes holes. Knightsbridge - knock down Harrods and get a big bridge that's guarded by a man in armour with a sword. Out of London you've got places like Winchester which should be a huge competition where the victor wins the North West city of Chester. And so on and so on. Lets get together and do this people. If we can make Rage Against the Machine Christmas number 1, we can make sure Gaydon is where the homosexual mafia leader is based.

A BEAUTIFUL POEM ABOUT ME ( requested by @MrLisaKeddie)
AND ME. AN ODE TO US WIMMINS ( requested by @thesophie)

There's no wimmin of a higher pedigree
Then the lovely Lisa of Keddie
Always a smiling and never a frown
Plus her fringe only cost Five Pound

Johnson can be slang for a cock
But Sophie Johnson wears only a frock
For a lady is she, and definitely not a he,
Tho' peek under her dress an' you'll be shocked

Ah lovely wimmin,
They should all get a trophy
I likes them all
From the small ones to tall
But the bestest are Lisa and Sophie ***

That's it! A whole year of bloggery. What will next year bring? Well more words probably. And if not, maybe semaphore or ancient pagan symbols. If you have any words, symbols, or pictures you would like to see more of, please let me know. I am now going to improvise away my whole day in preparation for tonight's fun at the London Comedy Improv Christmas Thang at the Phoenix. I've plugged this loads already, but if you're stuck for something to do tonight, trust me, it'll be awesome. Here's the linkery:

* please note these facts are all lies.
** this fact is true. Unless you are Hughbert Jameson the unluckiest Space Hopper racer in the world.
*** Layla is actually the bestest. She will fight you both Sophie and Lisa. Be wary.

Tuesday, December 29, 2009


Some of you long time blog readers may remember this:

Well today is the day we finally go and get a new freezer. 'How on earth have we survived so long without the ability to freeze foods?' I hear you ask. Well, its simple really. We have a tiny tiny freezer in our fridge, big enough to fit a single show or perhaps a weasel in. As we only ever eat frozen food that is exactly the size of a single shoe or a weasel, it has been adequate. In fact not having a freezer made me feel a bit like a food revolutionary. The idea of frozen food was taken and punted over a wall where it defrosted and went off given someone food poisoning when they found it and ate it. We don't have a microwave either, and neither of these things have proved any kind of culinary problem so far. Apart from when wanting to reheat last night's curry, or make a baked potato really quickly. Or get tomatoes to a level of heat where they can burn through someone's face. Ultimately thats what a freezer and microwave are there for. To give superpowers akin to that of Iceman and Firestar to grub. Well I'm a Spiderman fan first and foremost so I eat all my food covered in webs. No wait. I don't. I'n not really sure where I'm going with any of this. Well finally we've decided we should get the big broken freezer out of our kitchen and replace it with one that works and makes ice and I can put things in out of curiosity just to see how long it takes to turn to ice, such as squash, biscuits, a shoe, or a weasel.

I've no idea how you go about shopping for a freezer. I'm assuming you check if it fits in the space you need it to in your kitchen and then you ask if it freezes things. If the answer to the former is yes, but the latter is no, then you probably shouldn't buy it unless you like big empty boxes in your kitchen. If the answer to the latter is yes but the former is no, then you probably also shouldn't get it unless you like damaging your kitchen to fit it in. I reckon thats all I need to know. I might also ask some random question just incase I stumble upon a rare opportunity to get lucky. Question such as 'does it freeze time?' or 'does it freeze our mortgage interest rates?' or 'Does it play Ice Ice Baby as I put ice cube trays in?' If I can find one that does those as well, I'll be very happy.

Tomorrow I will do some lists. People like doing lists as the year comes to an end, and tomorrow my first year of daily blogging ends, so there will be a cheaty list of blog type moments, looking back at the faves, the worsties and the out takes and the deleted, er, words. If you have any requests, let me know. I probably will ignore them, but you may as well try.

Monday, December 28, 2009

Undoing Things

I have decided that I am currently conducting an experiment to see if I can do so little with my time that I 'undo' things. Perhaps resulting in a creation of masses of negative energy which in turn could open up a tiny black hole which would then suck in all the excess fat I've gained. It'd be like the Hadron Collider, and is probably just as likely to work anytime soon as well. Don't get me wrong, I have done some things, but on the grand scale of doing, my contribution to keeping the world going round is at an absolute minimum. Also everything I have done has involved eating foods containing mostly sugar and fat. The more of them I eat the less I can do. Eventually I will be forced, out of sheer body mass, to never do anything again and I will become a victim of my own indulgence. Yesterday, after returning from Layla's brother's house in lovely Leamington Spa, we went to see her friend Kate's new flat. This is all within order of reasonable things to do and Kate's flat was really nice. Where it all went wrong was the choice of house warming gifts we gave them. I stopped the car on the way and Layla darted into the shops to buy a small carrot cake. A slightly sugary choice, but mostly healthy. Probably. It has carrots in it and carrots are meant to be good for you. Unless you eat too many and your skin goes orange. That's what I've been told anyway and I can only assume that many women in Liverpool eat tons of them. But as Layla returned to the car with said cake, she noticed that the shop also sold selection boxes of Krispy Kreme donuts. With a nod from me, she headed back in and exchanged them for the pack of sugary evil. Krispy Kreme's are so bad that the people that made them were so high on fat and sugar and their fingers so pudgy, they were unable to write either of the words in their name correctly. Most of the box were devoured and I'm fairly sure I felt my heart wave a tiny white flag.

I spent yesterday evening watching the repeats of Alan Partridge on BBC2. It was one of my favourite comedy shows back in the 90s and I forgot just how superb some of the lines are. Knowing Me, Knowing You was a gem, but its the first series of I'm Alan Partridge that has such incredible moments of pathos. The moment where he tells Sally Phillips's receptionist character about the graffiti on his car was just amazing. That era of comedy was probably the most influential to me, with shows such as Partridge, Brasseye and Spaced presenting really clever and lovely writing with superb performances. I like to complain about how poor television is nowadays, and I was pretty much grumbling to myself how the best things on this Christmas have been repeats, and then I caught the Outnumbered Christmas special and laughed out loud lots. I feel like a fool for missing its previous two series and feel some purchases must be made. Which in turn will lead me to sit on my sofa more and eat things and land me in the conundrum that I was already in. If only there was no decent comedy at all anymore, then I might be forced to go for a run. Can all you funny people stop it for my health and safety please?

We've got friends coming round for dinner tonight. Dinner. Again its food based. Very soon there will be enough of me to make another Tiernan. Its lucky we have a three seater sofa.

Quick plug time again before I stop blogging before it makes me out of breath, probably:

This on Wednesday, will be awesome. And its free. If you're in Londinium you should come. Its also an incentive to leave the house:

And there are still tickets for this! Loads of people said they would come if I did this show again. So far, they have all lied. Why not prove you're not a liar? I promise I will make sure I can waddle to venue and do the whole show without having to sit down:

Sunday, December 27, 2009

Risky Monopolising

Some say that the only way to find your true inner self is to go on some sort of namby pamby journey of self discovery, the kind that gap year students spend the rest of their lives boring people with. Others seek religion to do such things, assuming that their God whichever one or many it may be, helps them find out who they truly are. Sadly, sometimes it turns out they are fundamentalist nutcases. I have shunned both of these and yesterday I realised exactly who I am as a person, and it turns out I am a ruthless money grabbing capitalist dog. How did I discover such things? Well, my real personality would say you could send me five monthly installments of £49.99 just to find out the secrets, but I wouldn't want to post my address here incase you all come round my house and paint rude words on the wall. So instead, here, just for you, is the true path to self enlightenment: Monopoly the board game. Its incredible what board games and a competitive attitude can do to people. Last night's game lasted nearly four hours and involved all sorts of vicious percentage deals, immunity clauses and telling a 7 year old girl she can't count cash and that she's swindled our money. There were no concessions for younger players and no niceties in terms of swapping or auctioning properties. Never have I heard such comments as 'Are you alright for money over there?' dripping with such sarcasm as someone's last £100 orange bit of paper is paid into the bank as 'Income Tax'. It was the sort of game that made you wonder if one of the episodes of the Apprentice should merely have Alan Sugar watching via cctv as the contestants play a massive game of the world edition Monopoly and see who comes out tops. I was in a team with Layla's sister-in-law's sister, Christina, who having worked in banking type jobs for several years, is vicious. Without her I don't think I'd have been in the winning team, but I relished every moment of asking those poorer players to cough up upwards of £900-£1400 for landing on one of 'our establishments'. We had all the blues, all the pinks and the double whammy of Mayfair and Park Lane, which along with some shifty tactics ensured a swift victory. Residential houses were bulldozed down for hotels and people were sent to jail for just being in the wrong square on the wrong roll. When our main nemesis team featuring Christina's fiancĂ© and Layla's sister-in-law Sarah mortgaged all their properties and declared themselves bankrupt it took all my willpower not to get on the table and do a victory dance. That and the fact I would have set alight to my trousers on the candles. It was horrible but brilliant and it gave me a temporary insight into what life must be like for a big evil rich banker. Then I realised I preferred not being a purveyor of evil and I also liked not having friends that say 'Yah' instead of 'Yeah'.

I forgot how awesome board games are. The past few years, computer games have completely taken over, making you forget that nothing brings out the true evil bastard in a person quite like a good board game. Last night's venture reminded me of what I will forever know as the most mega game of Monopoly I've ever played. Myself and seven of my good friends, Star Wars Monopoly, some booze, and tons of crafty and brutal strategies culminated in eight hours of gaming that would have made the Dark Side wince in despair. Entire corporations were formed between players, business deals struck, and my friend Wilz going bankrupt and then making himself a loanshark for hire who would break other players legs rendering them unable to move for five goes, if you paid him enough cash to do so. That is board game playing at its finest. Its only the games that allow you to take the role of those that in reality would be classed as right-wing elitist scum that work in this way. Those that allow you to, say for example in Risk, step into the shoes of someone who doesn't care about human life. Countless times at university, I would command my armies into enemy territory as a decoy, knowing one of the other players would make them cannon fodder and remove my tiny plastic dudes from the board within minutes. They were scenes that would not seem odd in Saving Private Ryan or other war based film classics. Well, only if there was a scene in those films where the special effects budget had run out and actors were replaced with tiny plastic dudes being pushed over by a seemingly giant hand. Which some may say might ruin the entire atmosphere and effect of the film leading up to that point. I say that actually the first 30 minutes of Saving Private Ryan would have been awesome if they had done such things. It could have escalated to some of them getting burnt by a magnifying glass, or eaten by a cat. All in all these things give me a tiny insight into what my life would've been like if I'd become a war general or a rich banker. Then I realise that I prefer to not be a spawn of the devil or have friends that say 'Yah' instead of 'Yeah'.

I'm now home again. If I was to list what I ate yesterday I'd probably be sick. Then as a consequence of being sick, I'd have an empty stomach and would be able to eat loads again. As it is, I think I'll be full for several days. I could probably not eat a morsel till at least Thursday and survive adequately, like some sort of fat drinking camel. I have worn myself out typing this much and will have to slowly wean myself back to normal life by perhaps leaving the sofa once today, then maybe, if I can handle it, twice tomorrow, until maybe by next week, I'm able to walk again for more than 5 minutes without wheezing and seeking some cheese or wine. Don't pity me, I am hugely content. I shall wallow in my newly gained waist size and imagine how I might go about charging everyone that visits our flat for simply 'landing' on the property. We've got several friends coming round tomorrow, I could make a packet. Even better, I could build three other houses on our house, then knock them all down, build a hotel and charge them thousands! Everytime the postman delivers a letter - £1200! Everytime my parents visit! Mwhahahahahahaha!

Oh god I think laughing like that has pulled a muscle in my side. I must heal it with trifle.

Saturday, December 26, 2009

Round Two

My stomach and guts are having issues with me. Whilst I am really very happy with the vast amounts of booze and food I consumed yesterday, they are less pleased. Yet, what neither of them know, is that they will be subjected to the same level of destruction again today. Yeah! Take that guts! While some may see the festive season as a celebration or a time to be with family and loved ones, I definitely also see it as a challenge as to how much I can consume before I am defeated by grub. If the adage 'you are what you eat' is true then based on yesterday I am a terrible mutated amalgamation of delicious things. I ate six different types of cheese. Six! And that was before and after dinner. There was also trifle, pies, roast potatoes, cake, chocolates, crisps, nuts, crackers, brussell sprouts, shallots, spinach souffle, more chocolates, more crisps, dips, and the odd vegetable but not too many incase I over did it. Typing all that makes me feel proud. It also makes me feel a little sick and very heavy. So far I can still fit into my jeans, but halfway through yesterday the belt had to be taken away. I reckon that by 2-3 o clock today, they will have to be replaced with an expandable waistline or there will be no hope.

Yesterday was a pile of awesome at my parents house. Got some ace presents, with my favourites being a Fred Perry tshirt from Layla. Its just like the one Damon Albarn wears, although I suspect that now he will say he wears a Fred Perry tshirt just like Tiernan Douieb. And amongst other ace things, Layla also got me these:

I will now spend every day wearing these showing them to people and saying 'I pity the foot' until it becomes tedious and tiresome. Then I will continue to do it until it becomes funny again. And then again until it becomes tiresome.

Motions are being made to hurry up as we are driving to Layla's brother's house in Leamington Spa today to have Xmas Day 2: The Return. More presents and. sharp outtake of breath at the thought, more food. So before we head off, here are some quick thoughts:

- Watched Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince yesterday. Layla hasn't seen any of the films, I've only read the books, but somehow since previously saying JK Rowling was a thief who stole all her ideas from Tolkien and many others, my Dad has completely turned his opinion round and become a big fan. The film was good but I cant work out why, with such a large budget, there are still a large amount of child actors in it who could have been replaced by wooden statues and still have conveyed more expression.

- Doctor Who. I didn't hate it as much as I thought I would. I didn't necessarily like it though. I also really hope that in the next episode Catherine Tate falls down a manhole. And dies.

- We didn't play any board games yesterday. Mostly because we were physically incapable of lifting even a Scrabble piece. This is sad as I feel like it is the annual chance to prove who is the clear champion of the Douiebs every year. We shall have to go through 2010 as equals. Not good.

- My parents kept their cat, Rusty, outside all day and me and Layla felt sad for her. After some protesting they let her in. We turned our back for one second and she started eating the nice cheese. She was kicked outside again. No more protesting.

- My brother very kindly got me and Layla a Eurostar voucher. I have told him I will wait some time before using it as I worry the people that were trying to board from Monday might still be waiting.

- I played my Christmas playlist. It got turned off 6 tracks in. Fail.

Some other things:

- The 'Curiously Cinnamon' did not taste 'bonkers'. In fact it definitely did not also taste 'curiously cinnamon', nor did it have a 'new taste' at all. I may spend time next week writing a long letter of complaint. I feel horribly let down by all its promises of bonkersness.

- On Dec 30th I will have written this blog everyday for a year. Up until then, if any of you blog readers, old or new, have any favourite blogs, or least favourite blogs or bits of blogs that have been left unanswered and you want answers or a follow up for, then please let me know. I intend to finish a year of blogs with a tie-up of all of these things. If none of you comment, it will be a hugely dull one.


- the Blogger spellcheck doesn't accept the word 'Brussell'. Yet 'tiny cabbage' would just confuse.

Time to man up and deal with the culinary onslaught once again.

Friday, December 25, 2009

Merry Christmas!

Look its Christmas, so I'm not really going to blog. There is drinking and eating to do, so little time to write waffle and if I did it would all be writing waffle on what I'm going to eat and drink, which by the way, is loads. And forgetting my selfish nature you probably don't have time to read any of this anyway today. So instead, I just wish you all a very Merry Christmas, a happy Doctor Who special and so much food you eventually regret ever putting solids through your lips.

And lastly....

Define yule

For Fb readers:

Thursday, December 24, 2009

Christmas Eve Playlist

IT'S CHRISTMAS EVE! I typed that as though I was excited. I am a bit, but not loads mostly on account of being over 10 years old. Its also because I got given a present from Santa early yesterday. It was a massive spot on my forehead, bright red like a burning beacon to herald others through the snow. I wonder if its a sign that perhaps he wants me to be the new Rudolph? Although the thought of a man chained to a sleigh is more S+M than Santa Claus, and I cant say I entertain the thought of staying up all night and working on Xmas Day much. What the spot probably is, is some sort of penance for eating like its Christmas Day too early. Last night myself and Layla indulged in a bowl of pasta so big that had it been thrown at a child that child would've been covered in pasta. Admittedly, if you threw almost any size bowl of pasta at a child they'd get covered in it, so its not a good analogy. Instead, imagine a bowl of pasta. Now make it bigger. Bigger than that. Bigger than that. No wait, back one. Now put cheese on it. I assume you start at exactly the same bowl of pasta as I had and you should get there. If you eat pasta out of a mug or something then it won't work. It will also be evidence that everything you do is wrong. The pasta was so big that we only worked through the first half of LOTR: The Two Towers (extended edition, we aren't that weak) before both of us fell asleep before midnight. I know. I know. I haven't crashed out that early for many years and it was brilliant. You could say I was pastasleep. Ha! Ha ha! Oh god.

As its the big day tomorrow - in that I will eat so much food I will physically grow bigger - today's blog shall merely be a small playlist for your listening pleasure during tomorrow's mayhem. It is highly possible that your family have no taste and will insist on playing jingly music that makes your mind want to claw its way through your eyes and throw itself at your dad. And no one wants that during lunch. My family are fairly good with mostly festive classical things, followed by whatever me and my brother wrangle onto the stereo. However, on Boxing Day we are heading to Layla's family and no doubt her nieces and nephews will insist on some serious dross. So to avoid all aural distress try this for a playlist. Some tracks you can download because its Christmas so nothing is illegal:

T's Christmas Playlist:

1. Go Power At Christmas - James Brown
2. Everything Is One Big Christmas Time - The Magnetic Fields
3. Hey Guys! Its Christmas Time! - Sufjan Stevens
4. White Christmas - Esquivel
5. Santa Claus - The Sonics
6. Christmas In Hollis - Run DMC
7. Christmas Rappin' - Kurtis Blow
8. Santa Claus Go Straight To The Ghetto - James Brown
9. Getting Down For Xmas - Milly & Silly
10. A Hazy Shade Of Winter - Simon & Garfunkel
11. Calling On Mary - Aimee Mann
12. Winter In America - Gill Scott Heron & Brian Jackson
13. Frosty the Snowman - Fiona Apple
14. White Winter Hymnal - Fleet Foxes
15. Christmas Eve - Gorky's Zygotic Mynci
16. The Blizzard - Camera Obscura
17. Silent Night - Tom Waits
18. Fairytale In New York - Florence and the Machine & Billy Bragg
19. The Last of The Melting Snow - Leisure Society
20. Hallelujah - Jeff Buckley

Have it :

Enjoy! And if you don't then here is a bonus track for you miserable bastards. (Also one of my favourite Christmas tracks ever)

Have it in your Christmas Face:

One track I didn't put on there is Tim Minchin's awesome 'White Wine In The Sun' but I think you should have to pay for that one via iTunes so there.

Blogs over the next few days will be minimal as I will be in a Xmasified stupour. They will be there though so do check once you've got hugely sick of your family. MERRY BLOODY CHRISTMAS EVE!

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Curiously Cinnamon

I've just finished all my Christmas shopping. It should have been finished yesterday but there was one person to buy for who was difficult. There is always one. Every year I nail all the present buying in a single shop based movement, only for one awkward individual to step up to system and catch me off guard in the world of retail purchasing. Well fuck you, difficult person. You got served. I found your pressies in a 25 minute journey to Covent Garden. On tube, off tube, buy gift, on tube, off tube, home. SLAM! Frikkin SLAM! Next year if you even try that shit you are getting nothing from me. NOTHING! So on my big tick list of Christmas things which isn't really that big, most things are done. Presents - conquered, food shop - slammed in its stupid face. Seriously, we bought most of Sainsbury's yesterday. Using the age old excuse of 'well it's Christmas isn't it?' I bought all the cheese, all the wine, random things that come in small pots and taste nice, and a bottle of fake Baileys. The fake Baileys is an essential for this time of year. I don't particularly love Baileys and I constantly learn year after year, only to then forget again, that if I mix it with beer/wine/anything ever I get sick. But still, that sickness must be put aside, because no other boozy drink tastes like supping from the teet of an alcoholic cow, and what could be more festive than that?

I found two things at the supermarket that you need to know about. FACT.


This must be the most boring piece of Star Wars memorabilia ever.


There are many things wrong with this. Firstly, anything that is meant to taste of cinnamon should not be 'curiously' cinnamon flavoured. It would be curious is despite all the cinnamon flavourings, general opinion was that it tasted of bacon. That would directly cause a level of curiosity from all those who indulge in its cinnamon squareness. If you are curious as to the cereals cinnamon taste I would perhaps put it to you that you are startled or bewildered by many things being as they are and I would perhaps also suggest you shouldn't be allowed out on your own. The second very wrong thing is the notion that it has an 'indescribable taste', despite having already explained it is 'curiously cinnamon'. Being hugely pernickety, I would also say that the word 'indescribable' is a description. I would also worry that so far the cinnamon taste is only curious and no one can really describe it, which rather puts me off eating them and is pretty poor promotion to someone like me who would like a definitely cinnamon tasting cereal. Then, just when you think they can't take logical food definition and lay a fat one on it any further, they then use the term 'New Bonkers Taste'. I'll be honest, that caused me to buy them. I haven't yet had a bowl, but if the taste is not remotely in the same ball park as 'bonkers', if it doesn't hinge on the complete and utter unbelievable insanity that that tagline states, I will be writing some stern letters of rage. I am expecting full blown, all out bonkers. I want to eat it and for my mouth to spak out in all proportions and for it to taste of pink elephant turd and fairy faces. Proper bonkers. I'm waiting for a sensible time to do this just incase it is truly bonkers and I have to write off a day. If it is also, as 'bonkers' as they say, I will allow the comments on 'indescribable' (despite now also describing it as bonkers) and 'curiously'. I will also forgive them for changing the name from Golden Grahams, a name which also used to upset me on account of them neither being golden, made of gold or have anything to do with any Grahams I knew.

Anyway enough of that. Its festive and being festive I have to spend today cleaning up. I don't see why. Jesus was born in a barn. I bet it stank of horse shit. Our flat smelling a bit like dust and gone off food is almost a tribute. Layla disagrees with this. She also didn't want me putting a donkey in the garden or getting three wise men to hang around outside our house for a few days. So today is cleaning day and the longer I make this blog, the more it delays me starting, so I'm very tempted to type until my fingers bleed. This will cause unfestive rows though and so instead I will merely leave you with my favourite few Christmas Cracker jokes to get you through the day. I wrote the first one last night and its made some people in Israel think I have mental health issues. So I wrote more too. Enjoy:

Fave Christmas Cracker Joke Number 1:

A cream cracker walks into a bar on Christmas Day. No one eats him. It is Christmas so no one is there. If it was any other day then someone would've eaten him as the human race is yet to understand the sentient nature of savoury snacks. It is not realised that everytime a cracker is eaten, in a distant galaxy where they are the top of the food chain and eat cheese on people, a small ritz cries, knowing he has lost a parent or friend. 'Phew' said the cracker 'thank god for baby Jesus'. As he walked across the empty establishment, a dangerously leaning ashtray fell off a tabletop and crushed him underneath reducing him to mere fragments. Gutted.

Fave Christmas Cracker Joke Number 2:

A cracker from Texas has Christmas at his caravan. He doesn't understand Christmas and so decides to shoot all the presents he has been given. Luckily they are all empty cans sitting on a wall and that was what he was meant to do with them. Everyone is happy and has a lovely day. Except for his brother who was putting the cans out and is now dead.

Fave Christmas Cracker Joke Number 3:

Robbie Coltrane spent Christmas day in character as the the famous criminal psychologist from the ITV series. It rather upset his family when he suspected several of them of murder, drank all the booze and then demanded to be witness to the autopsy of his nephew who was not dead.

Fave Christmas Krakatoa Joke:

Best gift to buy someone on Krakatoa for Christmas 1883 - A large ashtray.

Fave Christmas Kraken Joke:

Q: How much is that Kraken?
A: 20 squid.

Please use those wisely. And if you can't then just shout them at strangers.

My website has some new things on it. Have a look:


Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Shop Til Everyone Else Drops

Today is the day I've been dreading for a long time. I knew it was coming and its been looming all year. Today, friends, I step forth and head to Westfield shopping centre in an insane attempt to get everyone's Christmas presents. Thanks for you concerns. I feel there is nothing else I can do, and no one can do this for me. I just have to man up and head into the madding crowd. I still don't know what madding means. It doesn't even sound like it should be a word. Why isn't it maddening? Why would Thomas Hardy mess with words like that? Oh god, so many things to worry about. I'm trying to devise a plan. I've looked at the Westfield schematics and worked out what shops I need to be in and when. I've also looked at all emergency exits and escape routes should zombies attack, or more likely, I need to escape after punching someone to death for forgetting their pin number while in the queue infront of me. If there's time I'm also going to build a large suit of armour with a giant plough that attaches to the front so I can just scoop up dawdling idiots and throw them aside. I have a feeling this last bit may stop me being allowed into Westfield at all and so it could ruin the whole plan. What I need is a taser, or something small that will just make people keel over without effort or suspicion on my part. I've never actually been to Westfield before, but Layla assures me its a good idea. Oxford St is too snowy, slippy and even more full of twats. Islington is too posh and whilst great to buy someone an arty piece of worthless junk, its useless for anything anyone actually wants. So all in all, our only option is to head west.

I shouldn't have left it this late, but I have only just been paid for things, so it had to happen. I attempted some yesterday before Old Rope, but I was thwarted by the blizzard. I have decided that any snow I was in was a blizzard. This is hugely double standards as whatever snow anyone else was in, that they couldn't get out from or made them unable to travel, was just light snow. By saying this it makes me look like a weather explorer, a snow defeater and it makes everyone else look just a bit crap. I will continue to over emphasise weather conditions like this in order to boost my self esteem. The only problem with this is that if I am to ever encounter actual extreme weather I will have to state that its the end of the world to make people believe I was actually in any danger. Actually to be fair, if I ever encounter any extreme weather I'll probably not survive so that solves that problem. Lots of people had problems getting to Old Rope last night. Not the audience, they were all there, but the acts. They weren't. For a while it was only myself and Matt Kirshen and I was wondering if we both needed to preview a wholly improvised new hour of stand up each. Luckily this was not the case and instead I did some new which didn't work, some old which didn't work, and I thought up one new gag on the spot which did work. That was annoying. The night was much fun overall and topped off by a great song about a Jesus hat from Nick Doody and an excellent set from an exhausted and ill but brilliant Robin Ince. I am now all finished gigwise and everytime I say that I feel like doing a small no gig jig. This feeling will last about 3 days until I feel gig withdrawals and then panic about money.

No more words from me. I must head forth and deal with the most evil of beasts, the Christmas crowd. I have just seen on Twitter that Nick Frost is there too. I may take my cricket bat and hope for some sort of Shaun of the Dead re-enactment.

...bash 'em in the head. That seems to work....

Monday, December 21, 2009

Shaking A Fist Mildly at the Machines

In the car on the way back from a lovely afternoon gig of fun at Christmas Huzzah in the Red Gate Gallery, myself, Sarah Benetto, James Dowdeswell and Tom Bell had turned Radio 1 up to full volume eagerly waiting to hear just who was Christmas number 1 this year. Its not something I'd ever particularly cared about before and its probably nothing I will ever particularly care about again, but as they declared Joe X-Factor bloke to be number 2, the car went a bit crazy. Not the actual car, as though it was a transformer with its only purpose in life to be interested in the sales of music, that would be odd. No, I mean all of us, did a big cheer and a loud laugh and Tom Bell declared it to be our 'Obama moment'. While I wouldn't put it anywhere near the scale of such things, I was really really pleased. Before I spend time batting away the dissenters, here's my reasons for happiness about it all:

1) I bloody love that track.

2) All Christmas hits compilations from now on will be awesome purely because I'd love to be at a do where they play one and 'White Christmas' seamlessly blends into Zach De La Roche saying 'fuck'

3) It shows that when people can be bothered they can all pull together for a specific cause. Its a shame this sort of mentality doesn't occur with political movements. I can only hope that this will make people realise its worth banding together for a worthy cause. Unfortunately most worthy causes won't annoy a man who is tabloid wallpaper, nor be dealt with by clicking once on iTunes and thats why I reckon this is probably not the start of revolution. Still, its nice to dream.

4) It was the most downloaded single ever, which means we are now in the future. This will also confuse any Luddites who got excited that the track was by people who like smashing machines, but also needed a machine to download such things. Hooray for confused Luddites.

5) They do swears which means most radio stations cant play the whole track. This makes me giggle a bit like a naughty child. Tee hee hee.

6) It means Rage will come over here next year to gig. This means I might get to see them live and can tick them off the list of people I really really want to see live. Then I'd only have Tom Waits, Jimi Hendrix, Jeff Buckley, the Wu-Tang Clan circa 1995 and Nick Drake left. I have a feeling that unless Tim Travel* is invented, I may never achieve this.

7) Rage have donated loads of money to charity. So have many of the people that bought the single. That's proper goodwill. I didn't though. I'm well poor.

Yes they might not all be the best reasons but here's to the dissenters that say its a bad thing or something that we are all making too much fuss about:

1) Joe Mcthingy Thingy didn't 'deserve number 1 more than anyone else in the world' as some woman on the radio texted in. I would argue there are far more people that deserve number one. Firstly there are all those who've released a song that they wrote, sung, performed all by themselves and isn't a big pile of dogshit. Secondly there are people that could do with the dosh more than Joe. There's a homeless man who often sits near Covent Garden playing a traffic cone like a trumpet. Personally I think he deserves number one more than Joe.

2) Yes the Rage track is 17 years old and perhaps it would have been nice to have a new track as a number one, but then again the Beatles got number one a few years back with a track that was over 40 years old and also no one recently has released anything decent. If its a choice between something old but good and something new that makes dogs and bats wail in despair, then I'll go for the former.

3) Yes Sony own both Joe and Rage so noone's the real winner except them. Well SyCo don't get any profits from Rage so thats good. Rage are also donating loads of their profits to Shelter, so I'd argue that Shelter win too. But also the victors are those people that wanted a change in the music charts. By standing together and stating that the general state of music was terrible and didnt reflect a large part of the population, I would say we won. I'm including me in the winning team there. Its rare that gets to happen, so I'm doing it. I'm sure had Jon and Tracy Mortor got to hand pick who was in the team I would be last against the wall with a boy who picks his own nose and eats it and the kid with a built up shoe.

I can't think of other arguments, but if you give them to me I will bat them away with a racket of reason. Or more likely I will put my fingers in my ears and sing 'lalalalalalal' until you go away. I like Rage Against the Machine so I'm probably hugely biased. For any non-big Rage fan, may I recommend KRS-ONE's 'Rapperz R N Dainja' Chain Me To The Gear Remix, which is by Tom Morello and massively angry. I also like the Zach De La Rocha and Roni Size collaboration 'The Centre of the Storm' and lastly the Rage cover of Cypress Hill's 'How Could I Just Kill A Man'. Listen to all those in succession and its likely you will have to punch things for a while or attempt to overthrow the government. Merry Christmas.

* please note Tim Travel is a more effective way of Time Travel in that you will travel specifically to an era, and arrive closest to the nearest or most relevant person called Tim.

Sunday, December 20, 2009

Dog Beer and Bus Death

I'm sure its a case of having a vivid imagination but last night's journey home, and in fact most of the evening felt like a minor version of Final Destination. I like to persuade myself that by avoiding injury/insult/other things beginning with in, except insulin which I need, I build up that bad karma for later so it will come back and get me. Then if I make it through the entire day without dying that I am definitely the champion of things. Its a pretty good target to not die during a whole day. I think it puts me ahead of everyone who does die, but also means I achieve winner status on a daily basis so far. Last night, as I drove me and Carl Donnelly home through a maelstrom of winter weather hell, we tempted fate by speaking of the worst car crashes we'd seen, and times Carl had nearly killed himself through drunken idiocy. I don't have any of these times as when I'm drunk I tend to operate in a way that means I will avoid all deathly possibilities and instead aim to find somewhere to sleep. My interesting drunken stories mostly end in me trying to sleep in a skip/doorway/cupboard/nightclub/bit on a train where people keep their bags, which is no way as exciting as Carl's tales of nearly falling of the 7th story of a hotel. Anyway, this chat was happily had despite the snow pelting down and occasional road skidding in the slow lane as the fast and middle lanes were snow and slush respectively. I can't help but doing such things is tempting fate. Its pointing out to Sod that you are clearly there and that his law is bound to be inflicted at some point soon. Whilst I am, in most respects of the word, an atheist, I do truly believe that there might well be a deity called Sod, who spends his days in a warehouse in East London, clicking away on a computer that allows him to puncture a tyre there, get someone splashed by a passing car here, or fall down a manhole where ever possible. Despite these beliefs we defeated the snow and rather enjoyed driving through its oncoming frost. Once into London I dodged several arsey taxis and then as a coup de gras, was just three minutes from dropping Carl off, when I nearly killed us both by driving into a the path of an oncoming bus. I couldn't see out of the passenger window and as I edged out past a give way sign I asked Carl if he could see anything coming, and he made a very timely yelp of 'A Bus!' which caused me to brake just moments from getting ploughed down by an angry beeping bus driver. I was very grateful Carl noticed the bus, and angry that out of all the road vehicles that could have been approaching, I failed to notice the largest and most obvious. It was lazy and stupid and I've never been more pleased to get all the way home and not be dead. As I descended the small stone steps to my front door, I slipped on the last step and grabbed the handrail just in time to stop me having face and back ruin. Close but no cigar Sod. Close but no cigar.

The day up until that point had been nice but mostly uneventful. My last nightime gig pre-Xmas was nothing special and the crowd were, at most, adequate. They sat there. They laughed sometimes. Some were slight dicks. Nothing to hard to deal with, nothing too fun. In fact it was no way as interesting as earlier when I had stomped around pet shops with Layla's brother looking for a new rat cage for her nephew. After several failed attempts at big retail park pet shops such as Pets At Home, we stumbled across a little shop that smelt funny. Thats the way you know a pet shop is proper. The big shops were all clean, the staff knew nothing about animals and the shelves were mostly empty, but as we stepped into this little foul smelling, dark grotto of a building, it was obvious they kept animals. One of the staff spoke as though he had the mind of a six year old, but the body of a man, grunting out words in broken sentences. He was clearly the sort of bloke that spent more time talking to gerbils than people. They knew everything about rats and every other creature. I was tempted to spring an odd question on them about caring for a duck billed platypus, but I felt they would have batted it down with ease. They had whole shelves of 'spider water' which I assume is water for spiders and not water that has been pre-filtered by tiny arachnids in Buxton, and bags of blood worms which looked like a swimming collection of paper cuts. The one item that truly intrigued me though was the bottles of Dog Beer. They were proper glass bottles with a picture of an overly happy alsatian on the front, claiming that inside was special beer for dogs. This poses many questions. The first being who on earth decided that dogs might want beer? Not being a dog owner I don't know if they stare at owner's alcoholic beverages with a sense of want. Perhaps they do. But even so it can't be good for them can it? I know St Bernards wander round with a little barrel of rum but I didn't think it was for them. Maybe I've had it wrong the whole time and dogs are infact huge pissheads? This would explain the expression 'hair of the dog' and also 'sick as a dog'. Dogs have possibly set all standards for alcoholism. If this is the case then I fully applaud them having their own beer and look forward to seeing ranges of different types of dog booze in shops soon. Especially the single malt range of Whuskie. Or Alesation. that's all of them. Sorry.

I'm doing a gig this afternoon, then that is it. No gigs till Xmas which is stupid exciting. The gig this afternoon should be lovely too and with any luck I wont nearly die from buses on the way there or back. If you live in or near Brixton and would like to come, see details here:

And I shall leave you with today's Wordia word, which is once again, me doing something:

Meaning of mistletoe

Saturday, December 19, 2009

Leeds Greetings/ Leetings

Just a few thoughts today as blogging comes courtesy of my phone, which is, at the best of times, an irritating device to write a text on let alone an entire blog. There is much to say so tomorrow may be a mega one but until then:

- despite what the advert suggests, Waitrose is definitely not the only place to be this Christmas. I suggest spending it with loved ones. I doubt it'll even be open.

- my new favourite hobby is watching women in high heels with no jackets fall over constantly on Leeds icey streets. Last night there appeared to be two policemen who's job it was to go and help these women get up. They must feel like they have reached the prime of their law enforcement career.

- gig last night was lovely. Prime moments include a man in the front row being distracted from the second act because his mate had farted and a woman in the man's loos trying to justify her position there by saying she had 'dropped her phone'. I can only assume she meant 'threw her phone' and it was her only known method if definitely seeing cock.

- I had the coldest sleep ever. I was fairly sure I'd wake up upside down and hung by large bits of meat. I didn't.

- If you live near or in Brixton, then come along to a lovely free gig at the Red Gate Gallery tomorrow afternoon hosted by me. I can't link to it so just google it you lazy bastards.

That is all. I'm going to defrost.

Friday, December 18, 2009

Big Frosty Dickhouse

Its not snowy near my flat. I feel a little bit like I've been cheated by the weather. On the one hand, this is a good thing as I have to drive to Leeds today, and any snow mayhem would surely make such an adventure difficult. I say adventure, but until they put loop the loops on the M1 or giant snakes like I've recommended, then it will only ever be a lengthy grey trail of dullness. I have been told that it is definitely pretty snowy nearer to Leeds so I worry that by not snowing where I am, the weather has given me false pretences in order to really mess me up later on. I'll be slowly lured out of my warm flat, coerced into believing my 200 mile trip is going to be a breeze when in fact its going to be a big frosty dickhouse. I used that term to describe the weather last night and I have since grown fond of it. I often wish actual weather reports would use such language. Sometimes when it says 'heavy rain' I think, well just how heavy is it? Is it raincoat heavy or just hoodie heavy? Whereas if one of those GMTV weather girls turned up and said 'its a shitstorm of rain shit' I'd know it was jacket heavy. Or if they said 'its like sky piss', I wouldn't worry to much. Ah, as typing this, someone on Twitter has told me that it is pretty bad in Leeds. In which I shall now pack provisions should I be trapped in the car for more than a day. I am like an arctic explorer if the arctic was a big grey motorway and you were allowed to drive all the way down it to the poles. Essentially I am nothing like an arctic explorer.

Last night I did my only corporate of the season, for a friend of mine who I have known since uni. It wasn't just for her, that'd be weird. No it was for her Christmas works do, for her company, which I still can't entirely work out what it does. No before I proceed with this, it was nice. The people were nice, I was treated nicely, feedback has been that they enjoyed it muchly. But I didn't. They had no idea I was going to be on, and as they were tucking into their desserts, I stumbled on stage to do 30 minutes of hilarity. The first 15 went well, and then I made a joke at the expense of the MD and it turned out they all really like him, so the next 15 became a tad tougher. Laughter suddenly became disparate and I struggled to realise what I'd done. I carried on and I got them back on my side, then lost them again, then got them back then lost them again. It was like a game of ping pong with their concentration. I walked off stage feeling a bit as though I hadn't done a great job. And then lots of them told me I had. It makes you realise exactly why comedy clubs are great. This works do wasn't expecting me. Then they didn't know what style of comedy I would do and then when I started talking to them, they couldn't just feel comfortable laughing at any audience banter as they all knew each other and had preconceived relationships with everyone. Essentially when it comes to how to make a comedian's life easier, gigs at works dos probably shouldn't happen. When it comes to making works dos more fun, gigs at them probably should happen. I've decided that I will become an entirely selfish comedian who is only out to make my life more fun rather than anyone elses. An anti-comic. If they are laughing I've lost but if I'm laughing I win. Hmm. I have a feeling this might not work.

Tomorrow's blog will be done from my iPhone as I won't have my laptop and I'll no doubt still be stuck in a snowed under car on the M1. So if there is no blog, just watch this:

It was posted on Twitter last night by the awesome Terry Saunders (@terrysaunders) and I stupidly watched it just before I went to bed. This meant ages of lying in the dark contemplating just how incredibly insignificant I and everyone else is, what the rest of the universe is all about and then I remembered my favourite mental theory about how perhaps we all just the atoms in giant people's bodies and then they are the atoms in even more giant people's bodies. I like this theory because it is both completely mental and also means I could essentially cause someone to be really ill without having to do much. I am considering becoming a scientist but not studying anything and just telling people that theories like that are correct because I've checked. I would then say that the bits of the universe we can't yet map contain an entire planet of people that look like Nicholas Parsons and one where blancmange is the king. Then I would say that I had a tom tom with the map of it all on but no one else could have a look. I like science.

I am now going to drive to Leeds. Wish me luck. If you can't wish me luck at least when I become a frosty dead snowman, put a nice hat on me and stick a pipe in my mouth. Thanks.

Thursday, December 17, 2009


Today's blog is a mostly visual one on account of me not having a lot to type about. Its odd but these last few days I have got large amounts of much needed work done, which has, as a consequence, affected blog abilities, tweeting, facebooking and any other activity that I usually revel in. I wouldn't like to put two and two together and get four, mostly because I am of the school of thought where that should become 22. Thats because you said 'put them together' and not 'add them together'. Its very different and you should really think about how you say things otherwise should the opportunity for a magic lamp wish appear its highly likely that you will end up wishing for yourself to be more happy only to be transformed into one of the seven dwarfs. I imagine most genies to be total bastards who would do such things. They have been trapped in a lamp for years, and if I was in a similar lamp captive situation I'd be a total shit to anyone too. So, what I'm saying is, whether I like it or not, my lack of tweeting etc has given me more productivity elsewhere. I don't want to entirely blame my work on not using the net as much as usual and there is a small chance it may be down to other things. Lately, for example, I've eaten a large amount of artichoke hearts. I'm not sure why, but recently its what I've enjoyed eating a lot. I think there is a subliminal carnivore in me that knows that that is the closest I will ever get to eating meat, and within weeks I'll probably be chewing on potato eyes and ears of corn. I don't think artichokes posses any kind of amazing brain boosting abilities, but if it isn't artichokes, then is has to be the internet.

I'm not sure what I'll do if it turns out to be what it obviously is and the cause of all my procrastination is the web. I could try and persuade everyone to stop using Facebook and Twitter till I get all my work done. I don't feel that would be too selfish. It is the season of goodwill after all, although I do keep felling that if there is ever a time of year when people get angry its now. In fact, despite this whole Xmas 'festive' thing, people are generally shit around now. Its a combination of shitty weather, shitty crowds, shitty spending money you don't have on presents that aren't for you, and that its shittily not quite close enough to you getting off work. What everyone forgets as they barge past each other with resentment, is that they should be bloody happy now as January is worse when they all go back to work, still poor from Xmas present giving, fatter than they were and with even shittier weather. Oh except January does have my birthday in it, so I think its awesome.

So anyway, for the last few days, my generally stealth demeanor has been because I've been getting a new showreel done which is now here. Have a look and please rate/comment/pass on to people who want short bearded diabetics for their telly and film things. I know thats the trend in films at the moment so I'm sure to get something soon. Here it is:

For thems on Facebook where it just deletes video links as though there were never there, in some sort of covert CIA type way, here's the direct link:

The other thing I did was another Dave cartoon strip. For anyone who didn't see the last one, its here:

And here's the new one:

Lastly, if you are worried about January being horribly miserable then why not come along to this:

Yes its terrible self-promotion, but its my blog and I can cry if I want to. I don't want to cry, I'm relatively happy. So instead I harass you with links for things. I'm now going to do more work.

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Snow Joke

'Ooh look its snowing' says everyone this morning, which is both observational and correct. Its nice to know the country is not sitting in no windowed rooms staring at the TV all day. Without meaning to sound all miserable and that, I'd really rather the snow waited till next week to happen. Not for Christmas or anything, but more because I have gigs this week and places to drive to which will no doubt all get cancelled if the snow gets worse, because everyone decides its an easy excuse to bunk off. I fully agree with this ethos, but not getting sick or holiday pay, if I can't get to Leeds on Friday then someone doesn't get a Christmas present. Simple as. So as a note to my family: if you want gifts, you'd better start gritting all the roads. Get going.

Thats possibly the most negative start I've had to a blog all year. I blame it on the fact that I'm getting a new showreel done today which means I spent a large amount of time yesterday watching footage of my own face. I hate watching me at the best of times. I often feel like having to sit infront of a mirror when getting my hair cut is some kind of evil mind game involving me getting so bored of my own face I will state that any haircut I get is fine just so I can leave. Therefore watching hours of my own face, doing bits of videos that I no longer like or feel have any credibility, feels as though it could be used as some sort of Guantanamo Bay type torture. Admittedly I think inmates might think they would have preferred that to water boarding, but they haven't seen how stilted I was on the Orange TV pilot. Excuse me while I retch thinking about it. I don't like having to go through things that I've done and state which best I'm best in, although at the same time I don't trust anyone else to do it. My parents would probably say it was all good. Layla would choose all the bits she liked which I would no doubt think were rubbish, and the cats would just scratch all the DVDs. I'm not sure why I'd even contemplate asking the cats in the first place, but that's what watching your own face for hours does to you. The worst was choosing music for the 'montage bit'. Ideally I'd like A Tribe Called Quest's 'Oh My God!' because it has the line 'When's the last time you heard a funky diabetic?' in it, but somehow I felt it might be inappropriate for casting directors. Ultimately I wanted something that said cheeky, and yet clever and versatile. So I settled for a recording of white noise and some subliminal messages that flash up and say 'hire me' every 20 seconds. Thats clearly a joke but as I type it I wonder if that would be a brilliant plan. Then I'd get hired for all sorts of telly things and the only person who could stop me would be Derren Brown as he would remain unaffected.

Must now go and edit my face lots at the place where they are going to make the previously mentioned showreel. I shall put on my snowboots and venture out.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

I'm Going Slightly Mad

I'm sure everyone has those days when they have a small moment of clarity and express genuine concern about their own state of mental health. Today is my one of those days. It was only as I woke up and got out of bed that I realised I had spent the entirety of yesterday wearing my boxer shorts back to front. I realise that I have given various pieces of information there that many would not be privvy to usually, such as my choice of underwear and also that I do pretty much only sleep in my pants. I have pretty much only ever worn boxers as I think that no matter how ungainly your naked body looks, boxers have the ability to make you like slightly less of an idiot. Y-Fronts however exceed in boosting your bodily deformities to the highest extent. Were you a man of geeky, skinny build then Y-fronts will somehow suck even more weight off you, making you appear to be Mr Muscle's bitch, someone who might snap in two if you stubbed your toe. At the same time, if you are, like myself, teetering way past your BMI limit, then y-fronts have the magical ability to give you membership to the official naked troll club. The only way y-fronts can work is if you are a big hella hunk of man and even then its only if you don't have your name sewn into the insides incase you lose them at the gym. So boxers it is, and I have never worn boxers back to front before ever. It did strike me as odd yesterday when, in need of (to put this as uncrudly as possible) a widdle (that didn't work. Shouldve stayed with piss or slash. Damn) it took an unnecessary degree of fumbling to find the buttons for the er front bit and in the end I gave up and used a certain degree of contortion. I have never bought boxers without a front bit or without buttons on, and yet I fully accepted that this pair didn't have any. At the same time I couldn't understand why it was slightly uncomfortable sitting down all day, failing to realise that I was pressing my arse into some the same tiny buttons that were missing from the front. There is no reasonable explanation for this other than perhaps my own deterioration of mind.

Other things have caused a level of worry too. There was this morning when I went in and out of the house 5 times due to me leaving various different things inside that I needed with me, only to find three of them were on my person the whole time. Once or twice is forgivable. But five times? Five times? It managed to do that magical comedy thing whereby I laughed at myself the first time, felt irritated at the next three and then by the fifth was a giggling wreck at my own incompetence. That aside, the other reason for my anxiety is that yesterday was the fourth time lately I have been told that work I do for people doesn't pay much cash but I will get hugs. Now I am far from an anti-hug merchant. Hugs are pretty important and I like a good hug as and when necessary. Only from people that are deemed hug worthy mind you. Anyone who squeezes too firmly or weakly is gone, as is anyone who smells or I just hate the sight of. All of you do not get hugs. But generally hugs are good. I am also, I would say, an expert hugger. Some people just know exactly how hugs should be carried out and I feel I mastered this at an early age. If there were badges that said 'hugging master' then I would hug them. Some might say hugs make the world go round. Those people are idiots who have not studied science properly, and I class them in the same band as fuckwit creationists. But despite my appreciation of said embrace, they are not an accepted method of payment. Hugs will not get me food or pay my bills. I doubt if I hugged the man at Tesco's or the gas man that it would change that either. Why would you think you can get away with paying for people in hugs too? My only thought is that rumour is going round that I have Downs Syndrome. While not meaning to be disrespectful to anyone that does, they are the only people that might appreciate such payment. I worry that backstage at gigs acts and promoters discuss how I will do a whole 30 minute set for a hug but they have to be careful as I'm stronger than I look. Either that or they believe I am some sort of soft toy, cue several jokes about stuffing. I am neither of those things. Money please. Any hugs that follow are a bonus. For you.

The last hint of my madness was when I went to see As It Occurs To Me, Richard Herring's live podcast, at the Leicester Square Theatre last night. I have a full memory that I purchased a ticket, and remember seeing the confirmation webpage but as I arrived at the theatre they assured me that no such thing had ever happened. I went back to check through my emails and no confirmation email appeared. Luckily Andrew Collins came to rescue and had a spare so I got to see the show in the end which was a relief. Its been a great series of 10 podcasts and I've really enjoyed listening to them on my way back from gigs in the middle of nowhere so it was great to see the last one live. Without meaning to ruin any of the podcast should you not have listened to it yet, its a brilliant last show and I'm very glad that Rich will be bringing it back in 2010.

Lastly, to prove I'm not mental, here's one of the words I recorded a definition for on I am mental on purpose here and that means I can't actually be loony. Or maybe it means I am super loony. Oh dear. Either way, enjoy:

Monday, December 14, 2009


Today's blog is split up into mini-blogs. This is because today's blog arrives later than most and my brain has had time to wake up. Usually I write this blog as the first thing I do in the day. Admittedly that's not until about 1pm, but still by that point in the morning (its still morning then because I said so) I'm a bit sleepy so can only cope with one or on good days two things to blog about and think of words for. I've already done work type stuff today so I've been thinking loads of things. It doesn't mean this blog will be any better than usual. Far from it. It will probably be a diluted ball of the same amount of words just loosely dangled over many things. To make life more exciting for you the topics will not be in chronological order, and will range between some longer ones and some shorter ones. Strap in blogees, for the multi-blog!


The film trailer for Alvin the Chipmunks 2 states 'There have been sequels, there have been prequels but there has never been a...SQUEAKQUEL!' Do you know why there has never been a squeakquel voice over man? Because it is the shittest most horrible word anyone has ever made. Its got two Q's in it fr fuck's sake! You can't even write it in scrabble. Not only that but the film is a sequel. Its part 2. That means your squeakquel is still a sequel. You haven't thought it through at all. It looks like a heap of chipmunk toss too, summed up by the man in the cinema sitting behind me merely saying 'that looks wrong on so many different levels'. I'm not sure what levels they are but I assume one is a squeakevel. Idiots. This film was only saved by the St Trinians 2 trailer that appeared after it which temporarily burned my eyes with its radioactive levels of mediocrity. NO ONE LIKED THE FIRST FILM! THAT DOES NOT MEAN YOU GET ANOTHER GO!


The man at the till in HMV yesterday had a sad expression. There was a large tent in the courtyard of the Islington N1 centre blasting out endless Christmas music. As with all shopping areas and large public displays around this time of year, it didn't play any interesting Christmas tracks, like anything from James Brown's Funky Christmas, the Leisure Society's 'Last of the Melting Snow', or anything from Surfjan Stevens Xmas album. No, instead it played Slade, Wizard and Mariah Carey to the point where shoppers were getting angry and more irritated, staff were getting more angry and irritated and even the DJ looked as though he felt like couldn't inflict this sort of pain on the planet for much longer.

Luckily I have the ability to move and so was only subject to aural rape for so long, whereas HMV man was unable to escape his little corner only a few meters from the jingle playing tent of Christmas gloom. He started packing my purchases and I decided that I would reach out and speak to him, hopefully bring some joy to his day. 'Simply having a wonderful Christmas time' rang out and I asked him how many times he had heard it that day. He replied with 'Too many'. I offered commiserations. He chuckled and then, he suddenly burst into song and sang along with it. He gave me the bag with my DVDs in and said with a big grin 'Well if you can't beat them join them!' I smiled back and as I walked out though that maybe he was right. He has shown strength in the face of adversity. Perhaps Christmas music has been sent to test our willpower. It would explain why year after year every track has that special something that takes it from being just a music track to instead a specific type of mental torture. Maybe some Christmas tracks started out ok and quite nice and executives knew that would not be enough to cause its listeners to be disgruntled and five years olds to think its great, and so they added the sound of bells ringing until all its test subjects felt the need to barge into each other and complain about the time of year. Then as I reached the tent where the DJ was I thought no. The HMV man was wrong. We should just beat them. With big pointed sticks.


I'm going to the last of Richard Herring's As It Occurs To Me shows tonight. Hooray and yey.


Or as Terry Saunders wonderfully put it on Twitter (@terrysaunders) 'Some cunt won some thing'. I hated it. I hated all of it vocally and most importantly, online. Layla asked me, as for the umpteenth time I stared at the screen and shouted 'fuck off' as the losers from last year appeared dressed in women's clothes and told people to put their hands up if they liked moronic music, why on earth I was watching it then. I also saw someone on Facebook say the worst thing about Twitter was that people they liked watched programs they hate. Well to both Layla and that person, its partly because we only have one telly and Layla wanted to watch it. I was sat at the laptop across the room but its nicer sitting next to my girlfriend on the sofa. The real reason though is that it provides comedy fuel. I hate so many aspects of the manufactured pop karaoke nightmare that is X-Factor, but I bet you Twitter is a damn sight less funny next weekend with the lack of animosity that X-Factor brought to it. Sad to see you go X-Factor. I do hope lots of repulsive idiots with no personality and an uninteresting standard way of singing all audition next year to keep me hating.


I won this as part of the #tweeshirt competition from on Twitter the week before last (@clothes2order). I am very pleased with it although can't help but feel wearing my own joke on a tshirt might make me appear more than a tad vain. On the other hand I'm considering wearing it at gigs and just pointing to it when I want a break. Maybe I should get jokes printed on all my clothes and do a dance like those women did to that Daft Punk song? I've struck comedy gold here people. Comedy bloody gold.


Layla has bought some more tiny baubles for our Christmas tree. DOES SHE NOT REALISED THESE ARE EVEN EASIER FOR THE CATS TO REMOVE AND DESTROY? Today I have found two baubles in one of my socks, one bauble in my bath and one in the bath. WHEN WILL THE MADNESS END?


They are proper dicks. Firstly the mass child abuse scandal in Ireland, and now it said in today's papers that they stopped the production of the next two Dark Materials films because they 'promoted atheism'. Yes the latter pales in comparison to the former, but it still just adds a notch onto its most fundamentalist believers being a pile of dicks. I suggest that next time any film with a strong Catholic film, say the next Narnia tale, is in production, all atheists should protest about its strong Catholic theme. Perhaps complain that if children see it it will unfairly make them believe in nonsense and they may be swayed to spend hours of their life hugely naive.


I saw this yesterday. I liked it lots, but cant say I loved it. It could be partly because they have got a full film from a 10 page book which means large parts of it felt like filler. Or it could be because I just couldn't work out what the film's message was at the end of it. This could be because I'm an idiot. I did however love the soundtrack. Well done Karen O. I also loved Max's monster suit and I have decided I want one.


I did some filming for today. I won't tell you all the words as I will be posting links around to them all over the place when they go online. However, one of the words I wrote a joke about yesterday. Feel free to use this as your Christmas joke for this year:

Q: How do you make a christingle?
A: Tickle his nads.

End of multi-blog. I hope that like multi-grain cereals you found it nutritious. Or at least like I find multi-grain cereals, with too much milk and now its all soggy but you can drink it like a shit milkshake. A shitshake.

Sunday, December 13, 2009

Telly Hell

Proper blog today. Although it could easily be have been three paragraphs of me trying to figure out what random brain disease caused the British Comedy Awards to give Peter Kay the Oustanding Achievement in Comedy Award. I suppose it is an outstanding achievement that a man has released the same stand-up set on three different DVD's which basically screams 'stupid fucking idiots' at his fans, thats he's who's only written one good TV show, which was co-written by two other people that Kay never gives credit too, and that he's repeatedly has treated other performers with the same disregard as he might for a side order to pizza that no one else finds funny ever, is somehow still treated with respect. Its a shame, as unlike in previous years the BCA's seemed to only partly shit on comedy this year. There were well deserved awards to Graham Linehan, Psychoville and In The Loop, all proving that decent comedy is respected. I was particularly pleased with In The Loop as it showed that someone out there realises intelligent political comedy with a very funny script and great acting is superior to Sacha Baron Cohen showing his ballsack to people. Who would've thought? Of course I'd also have liked to have seen Stewart Lee get the best Live Stand-Up Comedian, but sadly we all knew it was going to McIntyre. I'm by no means a fan of McIntyre, but he is very good at what he does. Its just a shame what he does is saccharine-fueled family friendly unchallenging toss. Layla actually cringes when he's on telly. Its an amazing thing to see, like a someone being stared at by Medusa. She all sort of seizes up and pulls faces as though she's just been forced to suck lemons. She says its his voice. And face. And hair. Either way, it pleases me lots.

I'm getting into this whole Saturday night staying in, eating and watching telly type thing. It makes me feel almost like a normal person. Sadly I've realised that aside from the Thick Of It, the average normal person is horribly patronised by large amounts of torrid viewing on a Saturday night. Last night the viewing flicked between watching not every famous people dance, and people who will soon be not very famous, sing. The soon to not be famous singers had the luck, last night, of singing with famous but needing a career boost singers. The girl who is a live action version of Disney's Goofy got to sing with Michael Buble, who is quite possibly the most creepy human being on the planet. He appears to something wrong with his face that means even when he's singing happy songs, he appears to be imagining how he might commit some sort of prejudiced violence. He was only out creeped by George Michael who looks ever more and more like he could be running a dodgy kebab shop. He got to sing with an androgynous child who no doubt wishes he was grooming, while Robbie Williams sang with himself but with a slightly swollen face. Then some other people all slapped each other on the back lots and Simon Cowell dipped his cock into a pot of money as other idiots spent money calling in to say boygirl and bigface were better than stupid one.

Then there was the British Comedy Awards, followed by the aftershow party on ITV2 which was hosted by some woman who didn't know anything about comedy, or presenting, or cameras, or holding her face still. There was also Leigh Francis as Keith Lemon trying his best to suck humour from the atmosphere like a comedy vacuum. Yet I still watched. I watched all of these programs and ate a baked potato while doing so. Next Saturday I am gigging. While it might be seen that I am entertaining those who have chosen to have a night out, I think infact they are saving my brain from stopping oxygen flow to itself in order to drown out the televisual horrors I've submitted it too.

Wow, today's blog was angry. It wasn't meant to be. I'm going to see Where The Wild Things Are later today which has got me very excited. Especially as I've been looking for them for ages.

Saturday, December 12, 2009

Blog Fail

My internets are broken. I can only assume one has a hole in or something. As a result there is no blog today. Easy cop out you might say but I'll have you know my law enforcement team are not easy. It's all because typing on my iPhone makes me angry, I've eaten a lot and I'm sleepy. As alternatives to bloggery today why not re-read yesterday's which was worth two blogs? Or watch some videos of Tony Law as I gigged with him yesterday. You can pretend what I may write about how awesome he was. Or you could go to iPlayer and listen to the latest installment of the Tom Craine show from BBC Bristol Radio featuring yours truly (ie me), Tom himself and Jared Hardy. It's rather good.

Tomorrow there shall be blogs aplenty. Unless there is still a hole in the web and the world wide sider hasn't fixed it.

Friday, December 11, 2009

The Myway Code

I'm sure sometimes many of you are driving along and you see a road sign and you think 'well I haven't looked at the highway code in many years, what does it mean?' Well as an extensive driver myself, I have taken it upon myself to update you all in what some of those more obscure signs mean and how they can help you to navigate the British roads that little bit better and safer. We'll start with two I saw last night:

FOG PATCHES - This is an advertisement that was ok'd by the government back in the 60s after far too many people had become addicted to mist. For a while mist filters were handed out but it was discovered that this did not help for those that were heavily addicted to cut down. They would merely have extra mist to make up for what was filtered out. After some later discoveries in science, fog patches were created to help people to wean themselves off mist. The natural development would be from fog patches to small bags of hot breath until eventually they no longer felt any addiction.

SALT SPREADING - a general public warning. Salt is spreading. It started at Salt Lake City in the USA and is gradually making its way around the world. There has been a rapid increase during the winter months and certain towns and villages may become completely invaded by salt. If you see this warning near where you live, proceed to cover your house in wall to wall slugs to stop the salt from infiltrating your living space.

KEEP APART TWO CHEVRONS - Chevrons, much like Chinese Fighting Hamsters, are particularly violent creatures when in each others company. A single chevron would make a rather lovely pet. Its arrow like head often making it seem as though it is smiling. However two Chevrons together looks more like army insignia and therefore they tend to bite at each other until they both lie dead.

MAJOR ROAD WORKS - This is a memorial to Major Road Works who was one of the most influential leaders in the British Territorial Army during the blitz in World War 2. Many paths were damaged by falling doodlebugs but Major Road Works was very quick to repair all transport routes, until one day he sadly died falling backwards over a traffic cone and into a mine. If you see this sign whilst driving, the correct procedure is to remove hands from the steering wheel and salute.

ROAD ACCIDENT 40MPH/50MPH/60MPH etc - This signifies exactly how many Men Per Horse have been injured in the aforementioned accident. As is well known, most motorway accidents are caused by joy riding equestrians, with sometimes up to 70 Men Per Horse injured in any particularly violent pile-ups. It often occurs when a group, perhaps a fox hunting pack of toffs, attempt to leap over all three lanes of cars at once, often failing and dying instantly.

LOW BRIDGE AHEAD - Sometimes, as we all do, bridges get pretty sad. Especially those over troubled water. When driving under or over a low bridge, please wind down your window and offer it words of encouragement. Suggestions include 'there there, you traverse the gap between two points very well'.

GIVE WAY - There is a general way shortage every since Little Miss Muffett eat most of them, whilst curds tend to be in full supply. If you have spare way, you can donate it here into small boxes by the signs.

HIDDEN DIP - Somewhere near this sign is some carefully disguised dip. Depending on the area it may by a savoury dip, such as hummus or cream cheese and chives or if you're especially lucky, it may be a sweet dip such as sherbert or chocolate fondue. The correct procedure if you're lucky enough to stumble upon one of those is to immediately stop the car in the middle of the road and go and have a looksie for your treat.

P - This area has been sponsored by the letter P, the number 12 and the number 6.

That's all for now. Safe driving kids! Although if you are a kid, you shouldn't be driving.