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: