Snacktime

Why have I only just discovered the album 'Snacktime' by the Barenaked Ladies? Andre Vincent played it in the car on the way home from our Wolverhampton excursion, and I can honestly say its was a happy aural realisation. If you haven't heard it, its an entire album of kids songs, including a track called Ninjas which goes like this:

BARENAKED LADIES - NINJAS



How is that not awesome? To answer your question, it is totally not not awesome and therefore a big pile of awesome. Sometimes I forget that songs written for kids are much better than normal songs. Throughout my life I have gathered some favourites amongst the kids song genre and for the purpose of this list, I shall exclude Disney songs otherwise it'll be two blogs worth of stuff. Instead here are just three of my faves, probably missing out louds of great ones:

The Pinball Song - The Pointer Sisters

How is counting that much fun? Up until hearing this song on Sesame Street many many moons ago, counting to 12 was a tedious mind numbing chore. 1,2, 3, yawn etc. I could never count Angry Men or Monkeys because I'd never get past 11. Then suddenly the Pointer Sisters funked up the whole scheme and suddenly it became more than fun to get to 12. It goes along with my motto that adding funk to anything makes it ten times more interesting. I'm still waiting for a funk song about doing your taxes.


The Beastman Theme

Not really a valid song in itself, but it was on the B side of the He-Man theme vinyl I got when I joined the Masters of the Universe fan club a year ago, ahem, sorry, when I was six. What was amazing about the Beastman theme was that it was exactly the same as the He-Man theme except where it should have said 'He-Man' they replaced the words with 'Beastman'. Points for a huge lack of effort. Saying that Beastman was the sort of scoundral who would just steal a theme tune and I bet it made He-Man get proper angry about the whole thing. Above all of this, the vinyl was a thin bit of see through red plastic that actually creased. Amazing.


The Laughing Policeman

Guaranteed to make myself or my primary school friend Finbarr wet ourselves at any given occasion at the age of 4, the Laughing Policeman is a triumph in music. Simply a large deep voiced man chortling to a jaunty tune, it is pretty much impossible not to laugh along. Why is the policeman laughing? Maybe he's used unnecessary force on a demonstrator? Perhaps he's used his status to express deep seated racist views upon innocent ethnic minorities? However you look at it, its pretty creepy.



Tonight I'm doing the London Comedy Improv once again. It shall be brilliant. Here's the link for all the info:

LONDON COMEDY IMPROV TONIGHT

Everything Doin'

I've barely had time to breathe today, let alone blog, dearest readers. So if this blog ends up half finished before trailing off, its because I've passed out due to a lack of oxygen in the brain. I've just returned from a morning of a fun script reading with Shane muthafrkkin Richie - who wants to touch me? What no one? Oh - a haircut, and er, picking up a prescription. Yeah so the last two aren't remotely exciting, but let me tell you bloggees, that I like to keep it real. Sure the script reading was there, which is all sorts of cool but I don't want you thinking I've gone all celeb on you. No, not at all, so instead I got my haircut in the usual place for usual people, and in an hour I'm driving to Wolverhampton. Yeah, all for you lot. Sigh. Keeping it real. So real in fact that I may not be able to pay my bills this week. For you. All for you. Don't you ever say I've sold out. Unless of course you go to buy me and there is none there, in which case, you are fully allowed to say I've sold out. But no other occasion. Because I haven't. I'm so down to earth I have soil in my socks. Or something. That and I stole a twix from the script reading.


I've decided after today that I'd like to do more script readings. What you do is sit down and then read aloud off of a bit of paper. Its pretty good that. I remember as a very small child, getting told off for not reading in my head. Well who's the fool now? Yeah, you, you teachers! If I had read in my head today, all sorts of shit would have hit various Shane Ritchie based fans. There would be a lot of unhappy shit covered housewives. So, I read lots of parts, including one called Little Man, which I felt like it might be hard to portray, but it all seemed ok. So, if you have a script maybe I could also read it? I reckon that from now on, maybe I might just work as a script reader. People would come up to me and say 'hey there you sir, I've got a script here but I can only read it in my head, perhaps you can help?' I would stride up, snatch the script from their hands and bellow out the words in lyrical stylee. Unless it was meant to be said quietly. Because I can act like that and things.


Not much else to say. Yesterday was one of those days, that while mostly fun, could also not have existed and no one would have noticed. Sure people would have gone to sleep on Sunday, woken up on Tuesday and been pretty goddamn confused, but aside from all the worldwide panic, worries that terrorists have gained time control powers and lots of unused sheets on daily calendars, no one would have cared. Between waking up late, smashing a glass while trying to say hello to someone and falling off a sofa while trying to pick up a pen, there was little to keep Monday's validity as a day. An afternoon of recording things for my podcast that I had forgotten to pre-write and therefore didn't really do, with James of the Hingley fame, followed by sitting at the back of Old Rope in a baseball cap loitering with exactly and precisely no intent whatsoever. Both elements of the day were much fun and I'm hugely glad I caught Glenn Wool's new stuff at Rope as it was pretty damn awesomehellagreat.


So I'm making up for yesterday's nothing by doing more than everything today. Yes, imagine everything. I've done that, then made a sandwich. So this is all the blog you get as everything is bigger than I thought and may well take me until about 10pm, after which I'm allowed to play xbox. FACT.

Zobo Domino

I woke up today at 12.30, moseyed around for a while, then ate takeaway curry leftovers for breakfast. This is a sign that either my life is going very very right or completely and utterly wrong. I'm not sure which, but if this is a one off I'll say the former, whereas if it happens everyday till I'm 50 I'm think the latter.


So, as a result as my Rip Van Winkle impression (his student days that is), this blog needs to be brief as I have to go and do many things. I would have had time to write you a lengthy essay about just how hilarious the dance show was yesterday, gone into all the details of the 5 year old boy wearing a silver waistcoat who just ran round in circles looking confused or just how hilarious it was looking at all the male audience members try and look as disinterested as possible when the 16 year old senior dancing girls came on it leotards and did the splits. However, no time for this, so sadly today I will just leave you with something to watch and we'll call it quits on the blog front till tomorrow. I'm fairly sure I'll have less than any time to blog tomorrow too, but what I'm doing is throwing some blog hope infront of you like a wordy carrot and hoping you'll still be back here on Wednesday when things return to their usual essay length of crappery.

Enjoy this:

ZOBO DOMINO

Tiny Dancing Dog People

So the clocks went forward last night, which is the direction I thought they always went in. It often concerns me a lot more when they go backwards. How will they know when to stop? What if they keep going backwards for years, reversing the ageing process and making such films as the Case of Benjamin Button a documentary instead of a fiction? This would be bad not only because it would mess with our heads but also because that's a massively boring shit film. Luckily, last night's clock situation just propelled us one hour into the future, both heralding the Spring and stealing sleep. As a result I truly feel the consequences of dream burglary and were there some sort of sleep police I would definitely record my loss. Of course I could have just slept more to compensate but today such things cannot be done.


Layla and I are about to head to Leamington to watch her niece's dance performance, which could be nice, fun or deathly rubbish. Layla's niece won't be, she'll be ace, but I fear that we will have to sit through hours of other kids prancing around to current pop hits for hours, while being completely unable to heckle or throw things. I'm being horribly mean as the only other time I've ever witnessed such an event was when I went to see my cousin's Ceri and Devon do their dance show years and years ago and while they were both brilliant, there was also a section involving 5-6 year olds dressed as dogs and falling over their own feet that was possibly the funniest thing I've ever seen in my life. They all stumbled on in line, several of their costumes being too big for them and therefore causing instant difficulty. The tiny dog people then spent the whole time being out of time and being too distracted by waving to their parents to do the actual dance. Trust me, it would've been youtube gold. I can only hope for such small child dog costume based antics today.


So keeping it brief, as I need to get ready to go. Just to say, had the loveliest gig in Croydon last night at the Old Whitgiftians RFC. Several people from my old Uni were there, none of whom I remembered and which I felt fairly guilty about. They all knew me, and I didn't know them. Terrible. And yet at the same time I shall be horribly smug and pretend that I'm memorable rather than it clearly being because everyone remembers 'the one with the stupid name/beard/face'.


That's all for today, expect a full dancing show critique on the morrow peoples.

(Washing Machine) Cycles of Life

Its 12.38 and I only woke up 38 minutes ago. That's superbly awesome. Yes, I could have just said 'I woke up at midday' but you'll be thanking me for forcing you to keep you on your toes with simple maths when your brain doesn't deteriorate. If your brain still does deteriorate then you can't blame me. I would firmly point the finger at Big Brother and drinks that are the colour of radiation. Anyway, yeah I slept till midday, I'm like a teenager again! Woo! Take that the best part of the day! I don't care how good you are, I've bypassed you 'cos I don't care! Yeah! Then I realise that I hope this is the only aspect of teenager life I have to go through again otherwise the acne, inability to speak to girls and generally being a twat will all make life hard. Especially as Layla will find living with me more difficult than usual if I just stumble over words when trying to talk to her and get all awkward. So hopefully its just the sleeping in. And as much as I've enjoyed it, I hope it doesn't happen again as I'm now racked with guilt for having slept when I could have got up and done stuff. Its highly debatable what stuff I would have done, and its highly likely that the stuff would mostly have included drinking tea, sitting on the sofa and contemplating what other stuff I should probably be doing and feeling guilty about not doing it but at least I would have been doing all of that earlier.


I didn't make it home until very late last night to be fair. Saying that I didn't actually make anything. Someone else made my home many years ago, I just happen to live it and returned to the pre-made home at about 3am. The gig in Tenbury Wells was much fun like last month, with the added bonus of a sign in our toilet dressing room letting us know that it was the 'worst dressing room in the UK but they are waiting for their lottery grant'. I hope that when the lottery grant arrives they just put a padded seat on the loo and some nice soap by the sinks just to wind us up. And after dealing with all the loony but lovely Tenbury Wellians and eating all the chocolates from backstage (which yes, sounds dubious when you know backstage was a toilet) the journey home was another long one. During that long journey home, Tiffany managed to spill prawn juice all over herself and the back of the car, and many 'how shellfish' gags were made and bad car fish smells were smelt. Today I have already spent a few mins emptying everything from my now crustacean ponging bag and need to work out how to make it not smell. According to the little label I can't put it in the washing machine or in fact do anything to it. All the little pictures have a cross through them which either means I'm not allowed to do that or they are all X-Men mutant abilities and if I do decided to iron it lasers and metal claws will shoot out and people will die. I hope for the latter.


I don't understand why everything isn't machine washable nowadays. They must understand that if an item requires hand washing or some sort of delicate dry cleaning care that I either will never wash it, hoping the dirt just evaporates, or I will stick in the washing machine and hope for the best. 'Oh but you'll damage it' or 'god you stink', either of those responses is not my fault. Make your stuff better clothing/bag/shoe/table/sat nav companies and let me stick it all in the washing machine or the blame shall continue to happen. Oh dear, I've just spilt some tea on the laptop. I reckon I'll try it on a 30 degrees. Should be fine.

Driving It Home

Yesterday I had a post on my blog from a chap called Paul who seemed concerned I had already written off yesterday's blog. This post was on the blog on my Facebook fanpage before you ask, and you were going to and yes I do have one, and yes I set it up myself which screams of pathetic desperation and yes, not many people are fans. Ultimately having a facebook fan page seems more like an exercise in futile self pity and general misery. Since last night and today, someone has left my fan page. I have so few fans I know exactly when this happens, and more importantly I then spend several minutes pondering what I've done to cause a loss of fanbase. Perhaps it was that joke I put as a status update? Maybe they preferred it when I'm trying to be witty or telling them what I'm up to? Could it be I only encourage fans that, much like the creation of the page, have joined through the purpose of pity, but now they've realised I actually inform them of things its got too much? They were hoping for one of those 'adopt a comedian' type schemes where twice a year I'll send them a picture of myself sitting in a tree eating a banana looking forlorn while a poorly written letter tells you I've been fine and well looked after and am currently mating with another one of my species successfully?


Anyway, I digress. Now gress is a different colour. Arf. I'm sure I've made that joke on this blog before. I don't read them, how would I know? Back to the scheme of things, Paul should not have been concerned as the point of yesterday's blog was not to criticise the gig, which was as it happens, pretty good fun. No, it was more to complain about the ridiculousness of driving for a round trip of 9 hours compared to the stage time of overall about 30 minutes. I have the same tonight with a great gig in Tenbury Wells. The offer of staying over was there but due to me being an idiot, I can't. So it means I will travel for about 8 hours today to go onstage for less time than it takes for me to cook a pie. Would making a pie be a more worthwhile use of my time? Lets get this straight, making pies are almost always a better way to spend any time and so that is an unfair contest. If it was anything other than making a pie, tonight's gig would win. Bloody love pie. No, tonight's gig I'm sure will be ace, I'm just terrified that at some point I will mould with my car through prolonged driving, until I become a horrid cross between Mrs Haversham and a Transformer. Great Expectobot or something.


It has been said many times before that doing the circuit is often like being paid to drive somewhere, pick up your cash and drive back, with a short break to rant at some people because the lonely roads have made you mental. I suspect were there a mathematical equation for it, it'd be something like this:

(Time Travelled / Time on stage) + (money paid / how many dicks were in the audience) = overall worth of doing gig

There are of course several variables including whether or not the services inbetween have a M+S, quality of company in the car ride and whether or not they've decided to close the fucking M6 at 1am in the morning much like they did last night the massive bunch of utter twats. Yesterday also had a badly thought out stop at a Burger King where I reminded myself and my guts just why I haven't eaten there in about two years, and no passengers which left my mind wondering several places it shouldn't, such as whether or not I will see a ghost, what would happen if I just drove straight into that oil truck and what the hell have I done to lose that one fan?


Luckily I have the delightful company of Tiffany Stevenson, Brendan Dempsey and Marty McLean to keep me sane this evening. Or at least come up with other theories about my fanpage.


Small extra note: I've just played squash against Tom Craine again. I actually won one set, then through sheer idiocy lost the next two. And there was one rally that was so good we had to high five. I thought some of you may like to know. But also that it should be publicly stated that next week I will bring the reign. Or rain. I may just bring the rain and play another damp three sets.

Unnecessary Thursday

Today is one of those days where I have looked at my gig diary and sighed in sadness about how stupid it is. Today I drive 200 miles to North Wales and then 200 miles all the way back, by myself, for a gig I wont see the cash for for at least four months. I don't really have enough money for the petrol, I don't have the willpower to drive all that way by myself without thinking about Ghost Stories and freaking myself out at least once and I don't really want to leave my flat where I am still horribly addicted to Mass Effect 2 on the Xbox. Still, I have half a ton of podcasts to catch up on, an Edinburgh show to write and the Gorillaz CD to play on repeat till I finally hate it (this won't happen. I'll never hate it). Due to its distance I don't have much time at home today and so I should probably spend this time productively. As it is, the last half an hour has been spent looking at a website called managetwitter.com and deleting over 100 people I'm following as either they no longer exist, or they aren't following me back and I'm super petty like that.


Really, just because I enjoy someone's twitterings it does not by any means mean they enjoy mine, but going through the list, there were several people I know personally and so playground tactics apply. No all I need to do is be big enough to delete the people I admire but are ultimately hugely dull online and eventually my twitter feed will become so empty I'll add everyone again and my entire day will be wasted. Its amazing how such immensely pointless things can take up such a large amount of time. At some point today I will spend several hours inviting all my Facebook friends to the London Improv event next week, knowing a large amount don't live in London, several I don't actually know and another large amount who just hate it whenever I invite them to anything. If only Facebook would have some sort of single button you could press that would send these invites out discerningly to the people who might actually come. Or at least click 'maybe'.


I really have nothing but whinging to convey today. I shall leave this blog here or it will merely descend into a whirlwind of whining. Generally there is little to whine about. This is of course excluding general finances, the state of the economy, the environment, war and the fact my cat Bella just walked on the keyboard and I've had to delete 7 sentences of the word 'kkkrkkrkkrkrkrkrkkrkr' whatever that means. No pretty much all is good, its just that I have to go to Wales, on my own. Note to self: Buy Milk. Sorry, wrong note. Other note to self: Stop booking in stupid gigs. Sigh.

40 Words

I've got to write my 40 word blurb for Edinburgh today and do poster design type things. Yeah, I'm going. What do you mean I said I wasn't going to go? No, I still haven't got any sponsorship or any hope of getting enough money to go. Yes I have just bowed down to peer pressure and my own selfish want to work for a month without getting paid. Anyway, 9.20 at the Caves throughout August (PLUG!). Ahem. The 40 words bit is never as hard as I think its going to be, with more work needed on which quote to choose to make me look less shit, or how on earth have I got 41 words and deciding whether or not to remove all the 'and' words making sure it sounds like a Beckettian stream of consciousness. Here's some of my 40 word blurbs I won't be using:

A hopefully funny show! But we're not 100% as we write this as its nowhere near written and you'll clearly spend your money on someone you've heard of . '...was first on and seemed a bit nervous' Colin on Chortle, 2007.

Big fan of Michael McIntyre's Roadshow? Well this act's never been on it and probably never will but if you don't see his show he won't be able to eat from Sept-Dec. He's got a beard! 'Mostly forgettable.' @biscuitsnail 2009.

Douieb's difficult second show. 'Avatar truly is something else, a wondrously-detailed visual extravaganza quite unlike anything you've seen before.' - Daily Mirror* * Tiernan saw Avatar recently. He may talk about it. He probably wont.

Its only words, and words are all I have to make this show come true. Tiernan has a mid life crisis and doesn't make it to August as he's bought a Porsche. 'Its a nice car' - Layla.


Don't worry I won't be using any of those though I really wish I could buy a Porsche. Actually that's a lie. I'd like a mini or a 1991 Alfa Romeo Spider. More news on Edinburgh things soon. In the meantime, does anyone want to give me £7 grand? Thanks.


Some other things:

- As I was eating toast this morning, I realised I really like toast. I also don't like champagne and everytime someone declares a 'toast for...' someone or something, I get annoyed when it involves champagne and not actual toast. So from now on, I think I might just bring my own toast for such occasions. I think people also secretly like toast more than champagne too and will be pleased. Some of it may even have jam on.


- Last night's Fat Tuesday was brilliant with superawesome sets from Keith Farnan, Jarred Christmas, Joe Wilkinson and Gerry Howell. We also had a special guest appearance from the very lovely Alan Carr who said this nice thing on Twitter:

http://twitter.com/AlanCarr/status/10950452484

Which was very nice of him to say so. As well as the acts, I wasn't shit despite my hangover, the man with the surname Vigilante (who long time blog readers may remember) did turn up and wasn't a crime fighter, but did invent things for a telecom company, and there was a really scary bald creepy man who spent the whole gig staring at the backstage bit where all the acts were standing instead of at the stage. Not nice.

Chortling

Further proof that I am getting old and my body is breaking: I threw up twice from booze pain this morning. This is hugely unlike me. I have a stomach of steel. Some would probably say its more like a stomach of lard. Either way it used to be very well lined and I had, until these last few months, only ever thrown up from booze four times in my life ever, and two of those were to do with a very creamy morning coffee and one to do with a badly smoked cigar. I smoked it badly, it wasn't specially smoked like cheese and done improperly. The fourth time was because I downed 6 pints in a row and then 7th immediately came back up. Yeah 6 pints. Legend/dickhead. Nowadays if I slightly rush a glass of squash I feel queasy and get hiccups. Stupid broken body. It is particularly unhappy with me today, and rightly so. There is a small trail of my drunken destruction through our flat, which working backwards, helps me to piece exactly what I did when I got home.


Half eaten pack of crisps on the table, half drunk can of diet coke in the hall, one shoe in the living room, the other in the bedroom, a Chortle awards party bag slightly torn with its contents strewn across our coffee table, and as Layla told me on the phone just now - in a voice that resonated no humour or appreciation of this whatsoever - 'there was wee on the bathroom floor'. Oh dear. Still was an awesome night and I honored the annual tradition of getting drunk, shouting at people and randomly hugging Tim Minchin, so I feel its all worth it. Highlights for me include:


- Actually meeting Eddie Izzard! Holy shit! Those long time blog readers will know that I have, on several occasions, been in the same room as Eddie, but have not had the courage to go and speak to him, mostly because he's the reason I did stand up in the first place. Well last night I decided to go and say hello because I was a drunk twat. He however was very nice and I'm pleased I did it. I probably said several embarrassing things but I don't remember so I will just pretend I didn't and hopefully will never meet him again just incase its awkward.


- Drinking with the Farnan. I haven't seen Keith since last Edinburgh where we spent countless hours being mental in the Underbelly Cafe, and I've missed his beardy mad self. Last night Keith excelled in getting as much free booze for us both as possible and then adding whisky on top to ruin our faces and subsequently resulting in conversation about devious sofas (don't ask). Keith is doing Fat Tuesday tonight and there is a high chance we will both be a rubbish mess. Hooray!


- Meeting the front section editor from Bizarre magazine, Alix, who was lovely and not at all Bizarre. Next time I see her I hope she meets expectations and has 400 piercings and a tattoo of her face on her face to make her look super defined, and is dressed as a teapot. Anything less and I shall doubt her credentials.


- Dropping a lot of my sandwich on the floor. I bought a sandwich on the way home. I dropped most of it on the floor. This may appear to be quite crap but I see it as an awesome weight loss scheme.


- Standing around with Rich Herring and the Farnan and being labelled as 'the cool gang' by Tim Arthur and 'the facial hair mob' by several others. I feel a 60s kids show in the making. All we need is some funk intro where we race around on go karts and some sort of mystery to solve involving missing milk for the youth centre.


- Fat Tuesday didn't win Best Small Club again. Not really a highlight. More of a lowlight. Still at least that kept within tradition also. I fear that if we ever win it a small black hole will open.


There was a lot more than that and a lot of lovely people and a lot of booze. All in all much much fun.

Tonight is Fat Tuesday and it looks like we may now have an awesome special guest. However ticket sales are low. Therefore I have decided everyone that isn't coming is an idiot. Hope you can deal with that.

If you do want to come, tickets will be on sale here till this evening:

http://www.wegottickets.com/event/70787

Brawling not Caring

Its the Chortle awards tonight and I'm very much looking forward to going along only to hear Fat Tuesday hasn't won Best Small London Club again and then get so drunk I regret it till Thursday. Its nice to have a game plan, and my plan is so game it could me made by Mattel only for family's to buy it and it only get played once at Christmas and never again as there are computers nowadays. I always look forward to the Chortle awards as a social occasion to meet and drink with other acts and comedy people I really like. However the award bits I like less so. Not the awards for all the acts but the ones for the clubs as I always like to pretend that one year my gig, Fat Tuesday, might just get it. But we never do, and so this year I'm just going to expect that as the result and boo whoever gets it. That way if we do get it, it may be awkward as I stand there booing myself. I will be drunk by that point, so its incredibly likely. I'm still a bit ill too, which is highly inconsiderate of my immune system. It knew the Chortle awards were tonight, why make sure my glands are still swollen? That's not a euphemism by then way. Nor does it sound like one. Which sort of settles everything. I shall take my own lemsip sachets to pop into my beer. If anything it'll taste like a medicinal shandy. Or sick.


Yesterday was an interesting one. I did a charity gig in the afternoon and it was one of those sorts of gigs that could have been truly awful or really good. No fault of anyone's but it was a pretty good music gig and then in the middle, comedy was on. The crowd erred on talking through it, little changing their minds. As I walked on stage, something very odd happened. I really didn't care. I'm not sure when that's started happening but I noticed it several months ago. Suddenly I'm not fussed how rowdy/quiet a gig is, I'll just go and do it. Consequently, by walking on and not giving two shakes of a lamb on a shaky stick, I had a rather fun 15 minutes. I have decided that not caring is very much the way forward. Only for onstage things. If I stopped caring altogether I'd probably become a supervillian. If you care a little too much, you become a carer, but if you care far too much you become a Care Bear. That's the rules. So ultimately I shall balance things somewhere in the middle to become a small villainous bear. The gig was also for charity, for the Haiti fund, so I think that's some extra heaven points added right there. As I don't believe in such things, I collect them like Nectar points and hopefully if I ever go visit the Vatican again I can get £2.50 off the ticket price by cashing them in.


The day was topped off with a Twitterbrawl. Those who are non-twitterers won't know what I'm talking about, and when I try to explain it, will think I'm rather sad, but trust me, it was awesomecoolbrilliant. Basically, a large scale virtual brawl like those found in only the rowdiest of pubs, just done via Twitter and 140 character violence. For an hour using the #twitterbrawl hashtag, a lot of tweeters belted each other round the face with no harm actually done and I'm fairly sure all felt pretty good about it afterwards. Its amazing how getting bored now means you can actually have fun thanks to the internet. Before the net, when I wished a few hundred people would have a playfight, I'd have to use my star wars toys and Yoda was always eventually win, which just got dull. But now, real people can do it instead and we can all pretend to be slightly disturbed together. Its when Twitter is clearly at its best and such events make me very much consider doing another Twitter Comedy Club too. Here's another lovely example of internet based lovely fun:

BEN FOLDS' CHATROULLETE ODE TO MERTON

Stuff and Further Stuff

Big round of applause please for the Bullet Points! Everyone's favourite tool for getting out of writing a long blog, and also a dangerous weapon in type font wars.


- LIZZIE AND SARAH

If you didn't see this last night you need to head to your iPlayer now and watch it. Written by and starring Jessica Hynes and Julie Davis as well as a cast of everyone good ever - Kevin Eldon, Mark Heap and the doctor from Jam - it was just excellent. Ok so there were a couple of lines I felt were unnecessary but generally it was the funniest and most well written 30 mins of comedy I've seen in a long time. So to celebrate being given a half an hour of brilliance, the BBC gave it very little advertising and stuck it on at 11.45 at night. Well done beeb. Yeah it was dark, very dark in fact, but it was great and the sort of thing that should have prime time post watershed viewing and a full series. It was the tiny bit of sweetcorn in the huge turd made by various z-list celebrity dancers and the cast of My Family. More please. Thanks.


- PRIORITISING

I've got a really boring bit of work to do on something this weekend. It has to be done by tomorrow and after doing all the fun bits on it, I'm left with a good couple of hours of sheer mind numbing yawnsville. Its my own fault, as I keep putting it off, but I've put it off so long it now has to be done today whether I like it or not. Yesterday there was adequate time to do it, but instead I played Mass Effect 2 for the majority of the day. Sure, you might say, that's not productive in anyway, but I feel I must prove you wrong. For a start, I got several steps closer to saving the human race, stopped an infected line of mechs from building anymore dangerous robots, shut down a slavery trade and destroyed one of the most notorious gangs in the universe. I think that when you look at it like that, any boring work I may do today pales in comparison. Really, it must be quite hard being any kind of intergalactic space captain because once you've saved humanity, where do you go from there? Running a marathon for charity? Seems tame. Taking up extreme sports? Yeah you might be diving from a plane, but noone's firing laser cannons at you while you do it, so excuse me while I stop paying attention. Perhaps, like Buzz Aldrin, you take up rap.

BUZZ ALDRIN'S ROCKET EXPERIENCE


- CHARITY

I'm doing my bit for humanity today by doing a set for a charity gig for Haiti this afternoon. Yeah I will be all a bit self righteous about it. What do you mean I'm meant to be doing it for them? No, no, no. I thought the entire point was I do it and then harp on about how wonderful I am because I've helped people for a while? Isn't that it? But that's what everyone else I seem to meet does. 'I bought the 'Everybody Hurts' single and that means someone can have a rock removed from their leg, I'm so great I am. They'll thank me forever.' I've decided that I really wish charity could be done without people getting the mention for donating it. How about we just give money without having to purchase a shit song, see a show, bath in worms or whatever else it is we have to do? Sorry. This is all a reflection of the fact that even if this afternoon's gig is fun, I am still snotty and in my PJs and therefore not wanting to move. I was hoping by this point you'd all rally to my point of view and I wouldn't have to leave my flat. Ho hum.


- CEREAL DIFFERENCES

I really very little to say today but I'll leave you with knowing that I have mixed my coco pops with my rice krispies. Yes, I know. I'm a veritable cereal rights activist. I almost felt like 'Ebony and Ivory' or John Lennon's 'Imagine' should have played while I did it. Then I noticed all the coco pops becoming rice krispies while the milk turned chocolaty and I suddenly realised I wasn't sure what the message was anymore. If we all mix together, all minorities will be assimilated by the rice krispie people? I got all confused and just eat it all quickly. Tomorrow: Frosties and Crunchy Nut Cornflakes. Seriously, there is no stopping my madness.

Parp

That sound, the sound you hopefully made while reading the title of this blog, is the rare sound of me blowing my own trumpet. I don't do it very often, more importantly, I don't really like doing it, but sometimes, despite my huge inability to play the trumpet whatsoever, I like to give it a small 'parp'. 'Parp' is definitely the right noise for a trumpet. I've thought about it a lot. Some of you stupider peoples might think it goes 'trump' or that perhaps its not an instrument at all, but a card game whereby you see who has the best pet. Well you're all wrong. Its an instrument and it goes 'parp'. Sometimes 'paaaaarpity parp parp parp' depeding on the tune. Anyway, I digress. Now gress is a lovely shade of red. Arf. Sorry. What I'm doing here is taking self-trumpet blowing and muting that horn before it even gets parping.


Sometimes, as a jobbing comic (some might say I'm more of a jobby comic), you come back with a retort or a quip that you feel deserves a small medal. Last night I did one of those that was a) perhaps a tad crude, b) because of the situation can never be used again and c) something I'm very proud of my brain for. My gig at the Loughborough Town Hall started with me talking to a man on the front row. I asked him what he'd done with his day and he said he'd 'walked the dogs'. He was being cagey about what he actually did and when I finally managed to get it out of him, it turns out he genuinely was a gynacologyst. I then said....wait for it....I then said this: 'When you said 'walking the dogs' was that a euphemism because your work today involved you looking at a couple of real growlers?' Parp. There it is. That will never happen again, and while it received a lovely laugh and applause last night I can't help but feel slightly smug about it. I know, smugness is horrible and I apologise but I promise it will stop now.


Just a short blog today but I'll leave you with some of the weirdest pics I've ever seen on the walls of the Mayoral Chambers at Loughborough Town Hall where our dressing room was. I've never seen a more motley crew of weirdos and suspicious types since watching League of Gentlemen and it's one of those things that makes you wonder how much of that show was made up and how much was based on truth.

Night Mayor number 1: The Mayor of Royston Vasey



Just terrifying. No only really knows if that is just Steve Pemberton dressed up. I mean, how do you actually get a face like that unless you are a man in drag? Amazing.

Night Mayor number 2: Dracula



If during the Mayor's time at the Town Hall, I'm fairly sure a lot of people went missing at night. And kids during the day.

70's Sitcom Mayor:



This man could have been a Butlin's redcoat leader. Or perhaps have wondered round with a ventroloquist bear. Sadly he was in charge of stuff. And its likely he was sued for sexual harassment at some point.

Piers Morgan:



hahahahah its Piers Morgan. Hahahahahah. The one on the right that is. Next to the woman that used to be on Eastenders.

Trend Setting

Rather boring theme for today's blog but I thought as its a Friday and my sinuses' snot production rate has improved by 50%, that I would go for something cheeryish (its a word, deal with it). I might add that when I say the 'snot production rate has improved' I mean its got worse. If I was a little sinus manager I'd go round slapping my sinuses on the back, congratulating them on meeting all the targets. However I am displeased with what they are doing and fully hope they are in for some of recession and subsequent factory closure soon as I feel a bit like shit. To top it off, I have to do a gig that's a few hours drive away, by myself, after having seen Ghost Stories on Wednesday, dealing with my own paranoia, Friday traffic, and the rain. Its essentially a bag of bad. That I would assume is the opposite of a bag for life. You might say, ah, but what about bags for death? But they are called body bags, so have a different name and therefore don't count. I'm not sad though. No, far from it. I had a lovely gig in a Primary School last night, which despite its unusual venue was rather lovely. I didn't manage to get the audience to sing Cumbaya during the intervals and no one was keen on having a talk about morals or hearing a song about the number 12, so I just MC'd it as normal instead. Henry Paker spoke to a woman who has a crocheted bed jacket and as far as I'm concerned that should be all you need to know to ensure your impression of the gig was a very good one.


So today I thought I would do one of those slightly cop-out blogs and just tell you some things what I like. As you know, despite my limited audience, I am one hell of a trend setter. I take trends, put them in jelly moulds, leave them there, and then take them out and kids eat them at parties. I am the coolest of all the Irish dogs (trend setter, geddit? Do ya? Do ya?). So let me tell you what's hot, while I am fully immersed in what's snot:


MUSIC

Mostly I am listening to the new Gorillaz album Plastic Beach. Its silly good. I rarely listen to an album on repeat but I have done so many times with this and its not because my stereo is broken. I am a rather huge Damon Albarn fan, and think that pretty much everything he does is good. I bet he even makes good sandwiches and is pretty good at bowling. He strikes me (no pun intended) as that sort of person who's good at all those things. I remember talking to Steve Hall (also a Damon Albarn fan) about all Albarn's efforts and I'm looking forward to yakking with him (that's talking, not a specific sport using large hairy mammals) about aspects of the new Gorillaz album that would bore most other people. It is all good though. A proper album, where each track blends seamlessly into the next while still being hugely varied throughout. And its got Snoop Dogg on it. Some might say that they don't give a shizzle about the D-O-Double Gizzle anymore, but Doggystyle is still awesome enough that I get excited at the prospect he might something as good again one day. He won't. I've bought 6 of his albums since then and everytime its left me angry. But there's always hope. And Albarn uses him, Bobby Womack and Mos Def all very very well. Just bloody go and buy it and then I can talk boring things with you.

I am also listening to Massive Attack - Heglioland which is just incredible. I was listening to the repeated Blagger's Guide to Brizzle / The Bristolian Scene last night and I forget just how awesome most of what Massive Attack have done is. They even made Madonna sound like less of a twat once. That's gotta be quite hard to do, so well done them. The new album has Guy Garvey on it, who I'm fairly sure I can do a decent impression of when I'm driving. I'm not sure if I can do it when not driving, its not been tested. Other albums that I won't go on about but are also awesome: Marina and the Diamonds - The Family Jewels ( I love her. And she already has diamonds so you wouldn't have to buy her any. She sounds amazing), Broken Bells - Broken Bells (It doesnt at all sound like broken bells, which is a good thing), and Gil Scot-Heron - I'm New Here (legend amongst legends).


WORDS

I've decided I really like pretending that all words that begin with 're' take the same meaning as 'redoing'. I've realised I can't really explain it using clever speak so here's some examples:

Rehearse - my old hearse has broken. I must get a new one.
Reveal - My veal storage container is empty. I must reveal.
Remedy - my medi is lost. I need to remedy.

It never stops being good. FACT.


MASS EFFECT 2

Yawn say the ladies. However I will keep it brief. I borrowed this off my friend Mat on Wednesday night and so far have already played it for 8 hours. Its stupidly good. I've designed my character to look like a sort of Lawrence Fishburne and he's friendly while being totally badass and shooting things in faces. When I grow up I want to be him. This may be difficult on many accounts, not least because he is pixellated.


OTHER THINGS

I've harped on about this loads but all the recent ones have been awesome. See this for example:

PICTURES FOR SAD CHILDREN

But a new contender to most awesomesthellacoolbrilliant online comic strip is this:

HARK, A VAGRANT

See? I told you. I know things.


LASTLY:

NICHOLAS BROTHERS IN STORMY WEATHER



Again, more people I'd like to be when I grow up. I hope they bring this to Strictly Come Dancing next season, and that Brucie gives it a go and finally dies.


That's all for today. I suggest if you are at work that you spend the entire day doing all the stuff I've recommended. If your boss has a go, just tell them that you are indulging in what will soon be the coolest things ever as I've said they are and they will have to forgive you. If they don't, I will come back from the future as Captain Shepherd and force them to retire. That's because they will have two flat tyres if I don't. Arf.

Goat Stories

I've woken up properly full of snot today. I hate it when overnight your defence system just packs in and gives up. It started a little bit yesterday with the occasional casual sneeze, and some point overnight levelled up into full on cold. Now I've got a few theories on what it might be. There is the chance that its hayfever. The weather outside is lovely, flowers are appearing, this means that while the world is cheering up, pollen is gearing up to ruin the next month or so of my life. I hate hayfever. Its the crappiest of all fevers, trailing miles behind actual fevers like scarlet, yellow, or dance. How pathetic is it that flowers can defeat me? I should not be given itchy eyes and breathing like a short Darth Vader (or Dith Vider as he'd be known) because of some lovely fauna. I also blame the bees. Stupid bees with their pollen knees.


The other option is that I've had a quiet couple of days for the first time in ages and so while i've been resting, my immune system has decided now would be a perfect time to also have a rest. This is not allowed. I'm all for worker's rights but frankly my immune system doesn't have a union and therefore hasn't ever negiotiated with the manager ie me, when it can have its annual leave. No annual leave for you. During its time off it seems to have downloaded the full cold package too including dull headache, achy eyes and general feeling of wanting someone to look after me and bring me soup. If my cold was an MS Office package it would be MS Office Full Of A Shit Pathetic Cold Package.


I went to see Ghost Stories last night at the Lyric Hammersmith and it was supernaturally awesome. I can't say anything about the show itself as you may be going to see it and I'm wary of spoiling anything, but I will tell you that I am definitely a big girl's blouse. What I mean is that it was pretty terrifying and I'd like to state that most people going to see it will be turned into big girl's blouses to the extent that Andy Nyman and Jeremy Dyson could probably just collect the crowd up afterwards and open up their own chain of shops selling outer garments to larger young ladies. I like to think I am not that easily scared. I like to think that, but I'm completely wrong. Last night's show just added to the long list including spiders, people that squint oddly, museums at night and the possibility of the Tory government getting back in. Thing is, compared to some other people at the show last night, I didn't jump or scream as much as they did which surely makes me a bit hella cool. It's also partly because I'm not very good at either jumping or screaming, the former tending to look more like I've tripped over something and the latter sounds a bit like a fox is choking on a rusk. So when I do either of those things its purely involuntary and last night was the first time since seeing the Witching Hour in Edinburgh a few years ago where I've done both.


Jumping and screaming is all ok really as its all done and over with pretty quickly. I left the show feeling perfectly happy with everything and generally buzzing with adrenaline from the show. Then later, the bad mind stuff occurs. I'm now fairly sure my house is filled with ghosts all over the shop and I spent a large portion of last night avoiding the shower curtain (thanks very much The Shining), under the bed (thanks very much er, Beetlejuice? Hmm. Something else maybe) and generally anywhere a ghost could hide. Herein is the problem. Turns out ghosts can hide anywhere which is why you should never play hide-or-seek with apparitions. They will win, even if you have a detector thingy like Ego Spengler. My only away around my vivid imagination is by constantly telling myself I mean to be scared of goats and I just have dyslexic paranoia. Saying that, if my flat was overrun by goats I would also be terrified. They'd eat a lot of my stuff and there's no easy way to get a shedload of goats out of my flat ie no goat cannon, goat transporter, or goat kart. Geddit? Goat Kart? I don't feel well, leave me alone.


And that's where cold theory number 3 comes in. Perhaps its ectoplasm and I've been possessed. In which case I really hope the head spinning and making things float comes soon, I'm getting bored. Go see Ghost Stories if you can still get a ticket. They've got a midnight matinee next Friday which sounds awesome and I'd consider going again if I could. Trust me, its pretty spooktacular. Arf. I'm off to go hug a lemsip.

Para tirar naranjas en

Happy St Patrick's Day to all you Patrick's and Saints out there. More importantly to all Irish folks and all those people around the world who use today to pretend to be a bit Irish. I know I'm doing such a thing right now. Somewhere in my ancestry, roughly my great grandma on my mum's side, there is inherent Irish. Its so inherent that it probably doesn't remotely play a part in my DNA whatsoever, and no one would ever guess at it, but its so bloody there right now today. My great grandma was sent over to the UK during the potato famine as an orphan. The English folks that took her in brought her up in Derbyshire and she blended in seamlessly, with only the occasional person wondering why everything she said was much funnier than anyone else's words and why she had extreme amounts of luck. So, many many generations later, I honor that Irishness by only ever having been to Galway, having an Irishish name, hating Guiness (yes I've drunk it in Ireland, I still hate it) and setting my sat nav voice to Irish lady. The latter is most entertaining as I have discovered that whatever language you set my sat nav too, the voice has an inability to pronounce 'roundabout'. The English lady pronounces it like a bad impression of Schwarzenegger and the Irish lady seems to pronounce it like she has trapped wind. I've heard Irish and English people say the word 'roundabout' and they both seem to be able to handle it. I'm not sure why Tom Tom have had such issues getting people to say it for them. I assume that there was some sort of in joke at the recording studio where they would make each voiceover artist complete a challenge while saying it, including mimicking 80s action heroes and drinking a lot of fizzy pop very quickly beforehand.


With a lack of stereo on route to the gig last night (Layla had left it in her handbag, and yes, this was nearly grounds for a break up. So it should be too) the 'roundabout' pronunciation kept the journey entertaining. The gig itself, at Surrey University, was a lot of fun as well, but its hard to be as fun as a machine that pronounces general road junctions incorrectly. Its that good old comedy barometer that also means you can spend several days crafting a brilliant gag but a loud three tone fart will still make most people laugh longer and louder. It has taken many years to know that whatever I do, this is generally just how life works and should it all go wrong for me, I'll resort to only eating baked beans and saying 'T-Junction' as though I'm yawning at the same time. All the acts at the gig were awesome, with much lovely stuff from Henry Widdicombe, Luke Benson and Matt Green and the student crowd were also particularly ace too. One, who was studying French and Spanish, told me of the French words meaning the verb 'to Garlic', and 'to put your finger inside a chicken's bum to see if there is an egg there'. Lovely. He also let us know the Spanish sentence to say 'to throw oranges at'. I don't remember any of these words, but I wish I did for all of these are things I never learnt from the Tricoloure books and I can forsee many a time in Spain when I will want to check if I can throw oranges at something. The student explained it is useful during the festival in Spain where people throw tomatoes at each other, as if you tried to throw oranges, you would be told, using that word, that you shouldn't. I feel this is a huge misuse of the term and I would hope there is a similar festival where you can throw oranges at things but not tomatoes. Then perhaps a third festival where you can throw watermelons and people generally just get injured.


Today I am celebrating St Patrick's Day by going to the very Irish British Library to do some work. Yes, that's right, nothing really remotely Irish. Maybe a little Northern Irish but I won't go into that just incase I'm wrong and I get blamed for things. I've already mentioned oranges in this blog. Lets just leave it there. I have very boring things to do so shall resign myself to doing them in a place full of knowledge and quietness. I've never been before and I hope the bits I can't go into include all the old comics or today will be a huge waste of everyone's time and I will just have a look at the first ever Beano's. Irish Beano's of course. Then tonight I'm going to see Irish Ghost Stories at the Irish Lyric Hammersmith. It will no doubt make me hugely scared and possibly incontinent, with the following few days involving me being fairly sure I'm surrounded by ghosts and not really sleeping till April. Hooray for fun times!

Quiz Strom

Today has already been a maelstrom of things. By that, I mean I got things in the mail that made me go all strom like. No, I don't know what a strom is either, but it sounds like something similar to my morning. A cheque made out to Tiernan Diouet was interesting, and then the strom was further fuelled by the DVLA telling me I'd sent an outdated licence to them and now have to send them my newer one with correct issue number or I'll lose my licence forever and go to court. I don't have a newer licence, have never been sent a newer licence and yet the sarcastic woman in Swansea insisted I had definitely definitely been sent it. She is not aware of how anal our filing system in our flat is and how all possible important driving things go in one special slightly broken cat haired covered folder. In that folder there is no such 'newer' licence and I am in firm belief the woman just needs £20 to go out on the town in Swansea and this is her way of scamming it from me. My slightly more worrying fear is that I will pay for it, send it off and it will return with my name as Tiernan Diouet on it.


After yesterdays strom about questions I thought I'd create a blogstrom about my T Quiz strom that I do on Twitter. Some of you who are frequent Twitterers will know about this, while others of you are still stuck in the past and don't know what a twitter is (idiots, strom). For the latter of you, I've been having much fun getting bored and deciding to hold impromptu quizzes on Twitter, known as the #TQuiz. These generally involve questions I've made up in my head with answers that barely relate. Recently the winners have been sent a CD of my old Edinburgh show, but before that no one got anything as they were very hard to win. I have had to change the rules slightly so that funniest answers win, but all questions must be given some sort of a reply for them to count. Anyway, yawny bits aside, I dug through my old #TQuiz attempts from a few months back and thought I'd post them all up here in a mega TQuiz. Only smarties have the answers. LIES. I have them too. They are at the bottom of the page for you cheaters. For those of you that have played it before, why not play with your eyes closed? Strom.


Note: There is no prize for these apart from the sheer joy it will bring your tiny lives. Sorry I meant chives. Tiny chives. Oh and last night's quiz isn't included.


Here's the first ever #TQuiz questions! STROM!


TQuiz from November 5th 2009:

Q1: How much wood could a wood chuck chuck if both its arms had been cut off and replaced by huge mechanical diggers?

Q2: What is the cockney slang for a criminal psychologist?

Q3: What word am I not thinking of?

Q4: What qualification do people who study dog's temperatures at uni get?

Q5: Who says I can't stay out till midnight on a Wednesday?

Q6: Which of these is the odd one out: ONE OUT, OnE OuT, Ooonneee Ouuuuut, 1 Out, whoooon oot.


TQuiz from December 2nd 2009:

Question 1) If I were a hammer I'd.... (please complete the sentence).

Question 2) If a liger is half lion, half tiger, what is a wartolphinasaurus rexickenabbiteopard?

Question 3) When is a yoghurt not a yoghurt?

Question 4) If I have a DVD player to play DVD's and an Xbox 360 to play Xbox games, what do I have to play the xylophone with?

Question 5) 5?

Question 6) The language of Epseranto is named so for what reason?

Question 6) Havent we already had a question 6?

Question 8) blue, knob, Leicester, wensleydale. Which is the odd one out?

Question 9) What on earth do you think you're doing with that?

Question 10 - Final question) John rode in on a Friday, stayed for two days, then rode back out on a Friday. How did he do this?



#TQuiz Feb 22nd 2010:


Q1: Two's Company, Three's a crowd what's 27 and a half?

Q2: Chaka Khan, Chaka Khan, Chaka Khan, Chaka Khan, Chaka Khan, Chaka Khan, Chaka Khan, Chaka Khan?

Q3: Oh Shit! Bears! ?

Q5: Complete the sentence: Mochachocalatteyayah?

Q6: :-) ?

Q7: Complete the pattern: courgette, cigarette, courvette....?

Q8: If I was travelling at 93mph and you were travelling at -7cm per year, where would we meet and what shoes would I have on?

Q9: Nine? Nein? Nin? Ninny? Nanny? Nonny? No?



AND HERE'S THE ANSWERS FOR YOU YOU CHEATY PEOPLES!


Answers

Nov 5th 2009:

Can't find the answers for these. You'll have to live in mystery for ever. Or in your home. The latter is better.


Dec 2nd 2009:

A1) I'd have smashed up my keyboard typing this.

A2) Very bloody dangerous. Back away! Back away now! Too late. Its eaten your nan. I bloody told you.

A3) When its a greeting to your friend Ghurt eg 'Yo! Ghurt!' See also Heyghurt, and WhyhelloGhurt.

A4) A tiny silver spoon made from space dust. Its makes it go proper plinky plink.

A5) Twelvety Ninens. Can't believe no one got that.

A6) It was invented by Esper Rantzen.

A6) Havent you already had 6?

A8) , was the odd one out as it was repeated 4 times. The others are all types of cheese. Leicester is also a place. Wensleydale isnt.

A9) Dancing the dance of the monkey king! And you shant try to stop me for you will be torn apart by raging capuchins!

A10) He was a timelord. And he had a misprinted calendar that said everyday was Friday. And he was on the planet Friday.


Feb 22nd 2010:

A1: Its a mega party conga led by half a man Stan! (He lost his legs in the Persian war, he then found them but left them on a bus)

A2: Yes? (Note: This can only be answered if you are actually Chaka Khan)

A3: Don't worry, it was said by a slang speaking yout. We are just surrounded by manys. Oh Shit! Manys! ?

A4: On a Cumulus Nim-Bus!

A5: I just want a tea! Just a tea dagnabbit! Just a frikkin shitty tea! Yaaaarggh *people die*

A6: If you didn't open the bracket you can't close it. I will just assume that you have no concept of grammar.

A7: Put them all together, blend for 5 mins and you get a lovely Patricia Arquette.

A8: We would never meet. I'm a vegetarian. I don't do meet. And I would be wearing very burnt galoshes.

A9: Shit! German Jesters! ? !?


The sun is in my eyes. I didn't think my eyes were big enough to contain a mega ball of fiery gas but you learn something new everyday. I shall now go. BYE!

Tiernan Talks Back

Sometimes you lot post comments on this blog. Not always but sometimes. Whenever those sometimes are, your comments appear to contain questions, loads and loads of bloody question about this and that and something I've written and how do you vote for me in the upcoming elections, and what is the chemical equation for hellfunksupercoolness and other things. You're like some sort of horde of Magnus Magnussons drinking Magners and holding Magnets. Well today people Tiernan Talks Back. Yeah. I've even written it in capitals so it sounds like a show that may end up being on Channel 5. However rather than me answering your questions, that show would involve people telling me to do things and me replying with really sarcy comments, the sort that were I in school, would get me detention. They would then say 'How dare you talk back to me like that?' at which point the jingle would play, lots of dancers would come out and I'd serenade the crowd with a funk tune called 'Tiernan Talks Back.' I'm already pretty confident that will have no trouble being commissioned.

Right so lets go for this in a backwards order starting with yesterday's blog comments. These will be dealt with in a sassy cocky style, reminiscent of someone you might work with and hate.



Robin Miller asks ' I demand some form of recognition in your Glasgow Blogsplosion... for I got up early I did ;)'

Tiernan Talks Back ' yep. Sorry. There you go. You've now been mentioned. Happy now scrambled egg face? Except you weren't mentioned in the blogsplosion as I can't go back in time and fix that (although I could edit the blog but I won't so there). So you won't ever be happy really. Ha! (PS was ace to catch up).'



Knox Overstreet asks far too many questions including ' Who won the air race?'

Tiernan Talks Back 'stupidy Firman did. He persuaded everyone on the plane to rock forward and despite only a 15 minute headstart, beat me by a whole 20 minutes. I hate wizards.'

She also asks ' when do London get one of your progress gigs?'

TTB ' April 19th. I'm not telling you where or what time. You will have to roam the streets knocking on doors till you find it.'

And finally she asks ' when people spontaneously combust, what happens to all their bits?'

TTB ' they are exploded separately during spontaneous com-bits-tion.'



From my blog 'Ignore This Blog pt 2' a few days ago Tainted Harmony asks ' oooo. Did you have to slide down a water slide to pay for it? '

TTB ' No. The water slide was removed once they worked out that they could only put 100ml of water on it for security reasons and so people were just getting stuck.'



From the note 'Happy Birthday Fat Tuesday!' Sarah Bennetto asks 'where have all the years gone?'

TTB ' Mick Hucknall has them. He keeps them for himself in small jars in a large cupboard. That's what he says in 'Holding Back The Years' anyway.


That's all the questions from the last week or so. If you have anymore, please feel free to ask and 'Tiernan Talks Back' shall become a recurring feature.

Glasgow Blogsplosion

I feel I may have shot my own leg off by promising a blogsplosion in today's blog. I'm sure there's a better more appropriate term for hindering yourself than 'shot my own leg off', including just saying that I've hindered myself, but as it is 'shot my own leg off' is going to be used. The reason I say this is because two days ago when I promised said 'splosion of bloggery, I hadn't really thought through what one of those is. For this blog to actually explode you wouldn't be able to read it, if you tried you'd probably have to wear special safety googles so you don't go blind, and the terrorism police would see it as a sign to shut down all the blogs ever incase we used words that terrorists use eventually only allowing the illiterate and muted to roam around freely. So I'm sure you don't really want that to happen and I can say fer sher that I don't want that to happen either. So to make this blog something more than you expected, why not read it whilst sitting upside down? The rush of blood to your head might make you feel slightly like you are exploding. Or you could drink a lot of whisky/booze of your choice, then eat some gunpowder and hopefully while reading this you might spontaneously combust? In fact definitely try the latter. Not enough people spontaneously combust anymore and its something I certainly would like to see more of. I often get tired of hearing these MPs going on and on about anti-social behaviour and this bloomin' Nanny State, well I say, you should be able to just explode if you want to and leave your feet behind. In many aspects it makes digging graves a lot easier, is better for the planet than cremation and leaves loads of shoes over that can be given to charity. I've gone on a bit too much about this now, but I've started to get passionate. Maybe I'll start a facebook group.


There is, I shall be Frank (you can be Susan) a lot to say in this blog so I won't say it all. I have only just got home and so to limit my wafflings I have put things in the oven and want to finish before they are done. The things in question are food items, don't worry. I haven't just filled it up with potted plants, cellotape and bits of string (this is generally what I imagine when people say 'things'). But it has been a really grand weekend of much funnery, and despite having a general lack of sleep I seem to have powered through it ok, only stopping to have a hangover midway on my flight home while a large man's elbow repeatedly poked me in the ribs due to our limited seat space. There is a possibility this rib poking caused the hangover, and that maybe that man should have been shouted at for my churning stomach and general feeling of wrong, but some credit is possibly also due to the amounts of booze that were enjoyed last night. However that booze was enjoyed and after four shows and travelling and a man poking you in the ribs with his elbow isn't quite the same sort of reward. No one has ever gone to collect their MBE only for the Queen to get the Royal Chubster to come along and slightly dig you in the small of the back with his knees, it simply isnt done.


All hangover pain was much worth it though as all four shows were great fun yesterday. Notable moments included a small boy in the front row of the Kids Comedy show at the Stand telling me he 'has a friend who named his pet goldfish Hitler', and an English student at the much fun Stockholm Syndrome gig who claimed she couldn't say words beginning with 'i'. My solo show got a very low attendance of only 10 people, four of whom I knew, but as it was a show 'in progress' with 'progress' being said somewhat sarcastically, it was actually perfect. I gave the whole thing, huge unfunny gaps and lack of links included, a nice run through with some gags and banter either side and I felt really pleased I'd said it all. Notes have been made by Brett and Paul Byrne and further work shall happen. The other six people I didn't know were all very lovely too and one couple in particular turned up at the Stockholm Syndrome gig too so I did 20 minutes of stuff they hadn't heard, which they were very nice about. Shows were followed with will power taking a side step to stop blocking the route to the bar and several hours, a great Fullmooners, and nearly setting fire to Andrew Maxwell's hotel room/air hanger later, and I finally made it to bed 22 hours after my day had started.


All in all I realised I really love the Glasgow Festival. For the last two years I've turned up, had a lot of gigs and then got quite horribly drunk. It seems the former can only happen with the latter attached like the follow through on a good bowl. I don't really understand cricket, or bowling, or a bit of a man's hat or whatever it is that people mean when they say that sort of thing, but it seems an adequate comparison. Whatever it means, I am very happy about this and will most definitely be returning for another year. Well done Glasgooians, you're a nice bunch of peoples.


There's loads more to add, but let's face it, we've all had enough blog for today. If you've spontaneously combusted you won't have made it all the way through anyway. Hope you didn't make too much of a mess and hopefully you were clever enough to stand somewhere that means you've left your foot in the door.


PPS - Completely unrelated - Gil Scot-Heron's latest album is hellaawesomefantasticbrilloaceness.

Ignore This Blog pt 2

I warned you yesterday that today's blog would be worthless, but here we all are. Lucky for you, you're not actually 'here' as I'm sitting in Luton Airport's departure lounge, a place that happily dances across the boundaries of being the skankiest rip off agents in the airport world and being ambassadors of the future. Case in point: I spent 10 minutes looking for a clear plastic bag to put my 'liquids' in before going through security. I've done this many times before and I am, if I may say so myself, a dab hand at putting things in bags. But today, unable to find a bag on the way into security I panicked and asked an angry looking red haired security lady where the see through recipients of my 'possible threat' toothpaste were, and she grunted and pointed me towards a machine where for £1 I could buy 4 contained within a kinder egg shell opened only with extreme violence. £1??? For some bloody fancy CIA sandwich bags? Has there been some study that proves real terrorists don't carry small change? Or are they hoping that buy ripping people off at every angle they just won't bother with the hassle?

Just as I was considering writing a letter on a website I took myself to Pret A Manger and I was able to pay for a sandwich by waving my card at a thing. I don't know it's official name, but thing seems right as it was proper futurey. I waved, it beeped, sandwich paid for. Immediately all bag payment issues were gone. Thank you The Future for such joy. Damn you Luton for knowing how to appease my anger.

I should be in Glasgow by 10ish, and will land 10 mins after Pete Firman. He has declared via Twitter that we are having an 'Air Race'. I think he has only said this because he has a headstart and will definitely win. Being a sucker, I've accepted the challenge. I hope he gets horribly delayed in the name of sport. Knowing him, he'll use magic to slow time or something. I bet he magicjed some free plastic bags from his sleeve too. Security didn't think about that did they? I'm going to suggest all wizards are declared at customs.

Full Glasgow report tomorrow in my much awaited blogsplosion!

Ignore This Blog pt 1

The next two days of bloggery are going to be very brief and probably somewhat dull. I've given you that forewarning, so if needs be, you can just turn back now and ignore things till Sunday. Go on. This is your only chance. Have you gone yet? Good. Idiot. Now everyone I shall reveal the secrets of the universe. I'm not allowed to tell idiots so I had to divert their attention. Turns out everything in the entire known universe is made of Lego. Yeah the 4 piece square blocks mainly. You have to have a strong foundation. I know, I know. Right that should have driven away the rest of you who'd hoped I'd say something important. If you are still reading I'm thoroughly disappointed that my blog readers believe that everything is made of Lego. Although admittedly, they do have some rather good Lego bits nowadays so its only a matter of time.


So yeah, today I have to write things. I've landed myself in that conundrum once again where I have a whole new show to do tomorrow at the Glasgow festival, but it turns out, its not finished yet. Don't get me wrong, its more finished than when I was in Leicester, but its still not really finished very much. Only 4 people have bought tickets to tomorrow's show and I fear it may be another repeat of the LCF where I awkwardly say unfunny words very fast to a few very awkward people who feel awkward to be there. What I'm hoping is that it sells really really well so that I say unfunny words very fast to lots of silent awkward people who feel awkward collectively. Anyway, writing this here blog doesn't help any and so I'm going to make today's and tomorrow's pretty brief and then slam you down with a megatastic blogsplosion on Sunday. Yeah you heard me, a blogsplosion. You'll read it and it'll be like loads of words exploding in your eyes, which I suppose ultimately, would be hugely uncomfortable. Sorry about that. Maybe you shouldn't read any blogs till Monday. Monday will be blogsplosion aftermath with lots of fall out problems, injured blog victims and a Fox blog news crew saying the Middle East did it. And the Liberals.


What I will tell you about el quicko, is that at last night's gig I had to tell the promoter to remove two cokeheaded messed up women who had snuck into the gig without paying, sat in the front row and talked and tried to heckle throughout the second section. The gig itself was not the easiest anyway, with an awkward overlit room, no house music during the intervals and too many acts but 99% of the crowd were lovely and so it seemed to work. Till 'they' arrived'. Now normally, they would be removed pronto. In fact they wouldn't have made it past the door person. But being that there wasn't a door person, they got past them very well. So after a bit of unnecessary banter with them I said to the promoter that they needed to leave and he couldn't see why they were a problem. Now maybe I've been spoilt with gigs lately, gigs where there haven't been any idiots to begin with, but I had a problem with these two twattish girls. So did the other acts. Maybe we are just snobs that hate it when people who've paid £10 a ticket have to have their night interrupted by non paying arseholes who were the level of drunk that should get them evicted out of most bars. Eventually, they were removed. But only after they'd been to the loo several times and back, talked through two acts then told one of the staff they had paid and he completely believed them. I'm in Hampshire tonight. Its unlikely this will happen. Or at least if it does they'll be heading to the stables to take very very high quality drugs which should make a slight bit of difference.


Right, you've stuck around and you've seen what's happened. Tomorrow's blog will be about 7 lines long and sent from my iPhone as I dart from my stupidly early morning flight into Glasgow City. Expect the worst.

Spotted

I have a huge spot on my nose. Its one of those large bright red ones that were I standing by a beach, boats would think it were a port beacon and crash into the shore, or if I moseyed down a runway, would cause planes to miss the landing strip by a mile. Luckily I wouldn't do either of these things. Especially not mosey down a runway. Who does that? Well those dudes with the table tennis rackets, but no one else. And even then, I never see them get to play table tennis so I'm sure they only do it once or twice before realising its proper dangerous and stop. This spot is so very wrong. I'm partly scared it will grow into another nose, or worse, another head. I still don't understand why I continue to get spots. I am less than a year away from being 30. Do 30 year olds still get spots? No. And this furthers my belief that I stopped growing at 15 and now am constantly trapped in a teenager's body. Hence height, spots and occasional crackling of voice. The latter only happens after I've been drinking or talking into a tannoy so it doesn't really count.


Certain factors are meant to cause spots, primarily diet, but as I don't diet, that can't be it. What seems to be the cause is any form of stress or big gig occasion. That's right, everytime I really really could do without a big spot on my face, a big spot on my face appears. Its like a facial rebellion against me ever doing anything of note. Not that any of these things are of note, but I suspect so far this nasal volcano is a mere warning incase I ever do the Apollo or something like that whereby my entire head will become a poppable pus filled vessel of disgust. Sorry, this blog has become rather graphic, and I apologise. I just don't like waking up and wondering why Rudolph is looking back at me in the mirror. Still perhaps I should find the silver lining. Should there be a snowstorm, I can guide people out. Should I decide on a career as a clown, I won't need a red nose. I won't decide on a career as a clown. I'm not evil enough. Should I ever get measles again, I've given them a head start. Actually that last one really doesn't seem positive at all.


My large nose spot accompanied me and Layla to Chris Cox's show last night at the Pleasance. I have previously promoted it on this blog before but hadn't actually had a chance to see it myself till last night, and let me tell you people, its really bloody good. He does lots of clever things that some of which (using previous Derren Brown viewing experience) I could grasp a sort of guess at, but then he would do something else with it that would baffle my brainbox. He is a tricksy one and whilst I thought his show was ace, I will probably never ever trust him again. That's what happens. I did however nearly ruin one of his tricks by shouting out the second thing in my brain rather than the first and consequently the first one came up. I blame my brain for this as it generally leaps between about 6 things at once in such quick succession I'm not sure which one is which. I have to admit that I am also really proud of this, and wonder if were he ever to turn evil that I would be able to battle him in a mind war. Then again, chances are, he made this spot happen as revenge. If that's the case, I bow down to his might and shall leave his mind be. Don't mind me Cox, don't mind me. Arf.

Anyway, his show is at the Pleasance in Islington till Saturday so go along. Unless you live miles away. But he'll know that so its ok, and that's why he's touring the UK next week:

CHRIS COX - MIND OVER PATTER


Tonight, I'm going to back to Northampton. Don't all get jealous at once.

International Day of Awesomeness

I'll be honest, I really didn't want to blog today. I was aiming for a cheaty non-blog, whereby I would briefly mention how brilliant last night was, how un-brilliant my hangover today is, and how anti-brilliant staring at a computer screen is for the aforementioned hangover. I shouldn't really call it a hangover as it seems sadly very far from over, with small moments of reprieve ruined by constant quick returns of wanting to be sick. So that's what I wanted to blog about, but then I was alerted to this:

INTERNATIONAL DAY OF AWESOMENESS

I'm quite sad today is the day of awesomeness as yesterday was hellasuperawesome, which is a new word I've made by adding lots of great words together. You should try it. Other good ones frikkincoolacebrilliantuber and megachillinfunktastic. Those words are so good that spellcheck can't even consider alternatives for them. Last night's gig was as good as it possible could have been and better, and I can't stress how hugely grateful I am to Robin, Matt, Kevin, Holly, Danny, Eri, Lucy, Carl, Isy and Phil for doing sets for nowt so we could have a big party and give all the dosh to charity. The crowd were the nicest possible crowd in the whole world and even endured my tiresome and rather poor pass the parcel, which I renamed 'Pass the Farcel' as it seemed more appropriate. Last night was so good, that I have pretty ruined any chance of today being awesome. Don't get me wrong, there are bits that will be awesome, such as seeing Chris Cox's show at the Pleasance tonight and refusing to get dressed till at least 6pm, but overall, I am in awesome recovery. Or awescovery.


So, with risk of being kicked to death by Chuck Norris, which I think you'll find is a day-to-day possibility anyway as all it takes is for Chuck to kick something or someone somewhere and the repercussions will eventually involve you being kicked to death as well, I'm asking all of you to be awesome and perhaps just read an old blog of mine instead (Monday's was particularly good). Or maybe draw a picture of a dinosaur. You're wondering how that would work as an alternative? Well pictures of dinosaurs are generally awesome, so by me telling you to draw one, and you drawing one, we both get classed as having done awesome things. Maybe you could even draw a stegawesomeraus like the one below that appears to be eating a giant chocolate bar with broccoli?



That's it from me. I actually can't cope with writing more. You'll have to go and be awesome by yourselves. I'm sorry to let you down, but lets be honest, we are pretty awesome anyway. Or some of us are anyway. See what I did? See? Oh god. Bye.

Happy Birthday Fat Tuesday!

You know those moments when something occurs that makes you feel really old? Often parents say its when their kids have birthdays, wondering just how time has flown by quite so quickly and where its all gone. Well today its my little comedy club's 5th birthday which just seems completely mental to me. I mean, don't get me wrong, it feels like its been running for years and years and its probably older than five but through its different incarnations, venue changes and various co-promoters, I can't really remember when we started. In its current venue, The Compass (formerly The Salmon and Compass), its started 5 years and two months ago almost exactly, with several months before that at the Old Parr's Head where it started and stayed until the alcoholic bar manager tried to fight our headliner and subsequently kicked us out. We are that rock n' roll.


5 years (plus a bit) in the world of comedy clubs is both a long time and a not very long time. Get with my cryptic riddles say you, but I shall explain. Compared to the legendary Downstairs At The Kings Head or the Comedy Store, we are merely a sapling, existing for only a fraction of their quarter century of mirth bringing. However, when put next to all the many many small clubs that have come and gone, we've managed to survive for bloody ages. How have we done it? Er, I honestly don't really know. It was originally set up by myself and American comedian Matt Devlin because we were rather sick of the crap open spot clubs and wanted to run a little den where we would have some newer acts but also a proper headliner. Our first few headliners included people we'd gigged with and pleaded with to do a gig for pittance, giving away all door profits to paying the venue then as a bar tab for everyone else, generally meaning we lost money. We started to build up a small following, which just continued to get bigger and bigger and several years later we've now sold out nearly every gig for the last two years. Various other things have changed too. Matt went back to the states and was replaced by Jamie Douglas, who was then replaced by my friend Georgie who just recently handed over the job to another of my friends, Rosie. Much like the Doctor's assistants, Fat Tuesday has had a constantly changing rota of people that have put much care into it. Luckily none of them were shit like Martha.


I'm still not 100% sure why I run it. My original intention was that it would help with contacts in the comedy world and also MCing experience. Now I have both of those, and I don't make barely and money from it, still occasionally losing money when I overbook acts, the only answer I have is that its bloody fun and I like that others enjoy it. Over the years we've had lots of special guests that I would never have expected to come along and play our tiny gig, including Al Murray, Frank Skinner, Stephen Merchant, and many others. While I enjoy MCing it, I think I enjoy seeing people I like in a small room. Its how comedy really should be. Tonight's show all the dosh is for charity exactly for that reason. We are going to have a party for fun's sake with many of the acts who enjoy playing the gig, to loads of audience who enjoy being there. Frankly I think that's enough. And just incase it isn't, we have cake, party hats and a pass the parcel full of crap stuff.

I wanted to do some lists of best ever moments, worst ever moments and trivia like that, but I'll be honest, its all blurred into one big 5 year mess of memories, so if you are a FT attender, please leave some of those below in the comments section and I'll try and mention them this eve.

Instead I found a load of pics from our first few gigs at the Old Parrs Head, so enjoy while I look at myself from that long ago and sigh at my youth:

1) Our FT Banner. Made by my during my enthusiastic graffiti days. The paint all cracked and started to smell so it had to go.




2) Moi, in a shirt that hurts the eyes.



3) Isy Suttie being rather excited about being outside the house. She's used to going outside now. How times change.



4) Russell Brand, our first ever headliner. Wonder where he is now?



5) Stephen Carlin and Sarah Bennetto. Long lost twins.



6) Our first flyer, as designed by Matt Woods. We have now opted for a more sinister looking pig.



7) See? Years of comedy have corrupted him into smoking and dropping the c-bomb. Courtesy of Idil Sukan.



8) Finally, one of our first posters featuring Andre Vincent looking like he's just woken up and Mark Watson as a child.




Here's to 5 more years of silliness!

How To Make The Oscars Better: A Simple Guide

I'd entirely forgotten that the Oscars had happened last night until I switched on the TV this morning for my usual burst of This Morning. Handy that the show is titled the same as the time I watch it and I can't help but feel it constantly deserves a small smattering of applause for such ingenuity. Then again, it would be funnier if it was called 'Tomorrow Afternoon' just to confuse many of its more fragile viewers into thinking they are constantly trapped in the past. Or future. Depends on how such a fragile mind works. So yeah Oscars and stuff, how on earth could I forget about the biggest event in Hollywood you ask? Well, question asking monkey, its probably because I'm not in Hollywood. More importantly, I think it shows that perhaps film types aren't trying hard enough if I no longer remember their biggest ceremony. I bet it was the talk of the evening last night. 'Tiernan isn't watching, what are we doing wrong?' Well I hope they take it seriously because frankly there was loads they do wrong every year.


Firstly, I'm pretty bored of seeing people wearing fancy dresses walking down a red carpet. Lets replace it with one of those disgusting puse old man pub rugs, and then get everyone to wear a costume from the film they've been in. Last night would've been amazing with several Na'vi strolling along dodging fag burns and sick stains, while some er, damaged lockers, trundle alongside them. Secondly, I think it should be held in a zoo instead of a big hall. I have no reason to justify this, but I often think more events should be held in zoos. Think of an event, put it in a zoo, its automatically better. Weddings, yawn. Weddings in a zoo. Awesome. Funerals, triple yawn. Funerals in a zoo, monkeys on the coffin, someone batting the vultures away, incredible. School play, someone kill me now. School play in the lions enclosure, edge of your seat amazingness. So the Oscars too, could benefit from being surrounded by various species of wildlife.


All films, for the course of the show, shall only be referred to as 'fillums' and if anyone says otherwise their entire movie is disqualified. Then we need some categories which people actually care about when they go to see a film: Most People Deaded In A Fillum, Best Glimpse Of Boobs/Ass/Cock In A Fillum, Best Use Of A Swear That Kids Will Quote In A PlayGround For Years To Come In A Fillum. Finally all the speeches are time limited and have to contain at least one phrase that they pull out of a hat that have been written by a loony person in another language and its been translated into English. How brilliant would it have been hearing Mo'Nique in the middle of her acceptance speech for Best Supporting Actress just suddenly say 'Argh! The Snakes ! Take the snakes, my eyes from them Herbert!' or something.


I swear I should so be allowed to run the Oscars. Until they let me, or at least adhere to some of my rules, I shan't be watching them again. Full of dull. Well done to Kathryn Bigalow though for being the first acclaimed direct woman. Before her, women were generally thought as being pretty indirect - blaming you for something without saying what it was, crying about things without mentioning what they are etc. So well done to Kathryn for just dealing with things directly. I bet her husband Deuce Bigalow is really pleased. Maybe it means he can stop being a gigolo now.


Tara Flynn has written an even better blog about the Oscars today too, which made me laugh muchly. You should have a ganders here:

TARA FLYNN'S OSCAR BLOG


I'm guest hosting Old Rope tonight. I have no new gags. I wanted to go home early and write some but in the afternoon I heard Lional Blair say 'fuck' and frankly that threw the rest of my day out of order. There should be some sort of law in place to stop that happening. I spent a good hour wondering if I'd seen a glitch in the Matrix or if I'd witnessed a sign of the coming apocalypse.