Final Debate: My Review / Tiernan Talks Back

This blog shall be in two sections. Firstly, my official clever, well informed and intelligent review of the political debate last night. Then, because several of you have asked for it, the brief return of Tiernan Talks Back. Oh yes. So here we go:


The Final Debate: My Review by Tiernan Douieb aged 29 and 3 months, 21 days and some hours and minutes


I only listened to the first 10 minutes of the final television of the political debate last night and within that 10 minutes, what I understood was it was generally Cameron going on and on about how Brown has fucked everything up. Then you had Brown telling everyone that Cameron would fuck everything up. Whilst inbetween Nick Clegg must have felt a bit like a child who stumbles into the kitchen to find his parents having the sort of argument that may lead to divorce. He kept sort of popping up and saying 'Hello, why can't we all just chat about this a bit?' It was admirable until he realised it didn't work and then changed format to the pointy kid at the playground while two others are fighting who just says 'well you're both dicks' a lot. This was then retaliated by Brown and Cameron ganging up together to patronise little Clegg about how shit his policies really are. It was much like an episode of Grange Hill I felt, only with the 'just say no' message being applied to the other parties.


Basically what I got from it really, is that I still don't have a clue who I'd like to run the country. According to polls that were made and analysed by papers owned by Tory supporters, Cameron won the debate last night. I'm not sure how he did this, as once again no points appeared to have been allocated by anyone and what he kept saying was that the working people would generally be punished for living if his government gets in via extending the retirement age, and freezing public sector pay. I mean, he didn't say it like that. He used clever explanations like saying that 'Labour's leaflets clearly cost £6 bazillion to make so we should probably stop leaflets. No more leaflets anyone. Ever. If you have a leaflet you're breaking Britain. Oh and by the way, millionaires, feel free to keep even more of your dosh.' I really really hope no one votes for him ever.


Brown's mistake was not coming straight out and saying 'I'm the PM. I can say what I frikkin' like. You're all bigots. And idiots. And you there with the glasses, you're a dickhead and I hate you.' Then run around high fiving everyone. I mean, sure, most of the country would hate him for such things, but I think it'd be ace. I bet if Obama called someone a 'bigot' or some other slur everyone would spend days telling the 'bigot' that they totally got served. If I ran the country I would so use some of my power to call people whatever I liked and enjoy it. This is probably why I am not running the country. Sadly instead Gordon 'Eeyore' Brown just appeared a bit like a sad senile old lady who just kept repeating the same thing over and over again 'we are the only party that can deal with economic recovery.' They possibly are, but unfortunately Brown isn't shiny like Clegg or Cameron and looks like he's anti-botox causing an inability to smile, so therefore, televised debates really aren't in his favour.


And Clegg. Well everyone likes smiley, happy Clegg. But while he is smiley and happy, can he actually do the big job? After the ten minutes I heard and the various radio shows and talks afterwards, there does seem to be an air of excited kid about LIb Dems policies. 'Oooh and then we can get rid of that and do that and then we'll go there and change this,' none of it having all that much explanation as to how it will work. Last night on BBC West Midlands ( I only listen to the coolest stations) on the way back from Wolverhampton, the Solihull Lib Dem MP was talking about how they will just scrap University Tuition fees. Brilliant. I'm all for that. Then the presenter, and the Labour, Tory and other guests all questioned where the universities would get funding from otherwise with the country in such a deficit and unable to help. And she kind of just mumbled a bit and self faded out. I also use that technique of getting out of difficult arguments. But again, I am not aiming to run the country. Actually, I am, but realistically I have as much hope of getting anywhere near the seat as anyone from UKIP. Ha.


That was my review. It probably hasn't helped a bit and wasn't particularly insightful but there you go. I've really enjoyed the televised debates and I hope they continue to happen. I was terrified at first it would be like Parliament TV which is as exciting as watching images of dead goldfish floating on top of a stagnant tank. Several static images of sleeping old upper class men is not very exciting at all. But this has been good. It means people have gained a much bigger interest in this election than they have in a while and it feels like more people than ever are actually paying attention to how the country should be run, which is brilliant. I'll be honest, it hasn't really changed my decision as I've already decided who I'm voting for but its based on the individual campaigner, not his party. My local MP has always been awesome and I'd quite like him, his anti-war, left wing and general good views to stay, so that sorts that out then.


Now for Tiernan Talks Back: The Return. Going backwards starting with yesterday:

Yesterday's blog Full Mooning prompted several responses from Anonymous. Anonymous tends to post a lot, and I'm pleased that he, she or whoever is such a regular poster.

Firstly they say 'Why didn't security toss the wankers (wankettes?) out on their arses?' Followed by a second post, who I will pretend is the same person, saying ' That's such a shame. I don't understand why people feel this sense of entitlement towards celebrities. They are also human beings: you don't own them, as much as you might objectify them. Treat them with respect.'.

Well Anon, er the second bit isn't really a question. So, er, yeah. I agree with you. The first bit though, I should point out that the audience were not really wankers or wankettes as such. Just people who hadn't been to comedy before, probably ever. Or a show of any sort for that matter. They weren't malicious, but at the same time, weren't particularly paying attention to anything ever. I suppose they were wankers. As to why security didn't chuck them out? Well, it was a very tiny gig and as such, security was non-existent. The gigs we do can range from an audience of 20 to 1000 and even with the larger numbers, gigs sometimes stupidly don't provide security. Like the gig I did last October in a theatre where a man got on stage and tried to punch my face. No security meant I was fending for my tiny self. Its a bit ridiculous, but it basically comes down to managers being very stingy with cash and not wanting to spend it on the protection of innocents. I make it sound like they might hire Robocop.

Also on that blog HowlieT says: 'My mum was a psychiatric nurse and always used to claim that the patients were more mental on a fullmoon. So it must be true.'

Again, can't really reply to that. All I will say is 'Ha! Take that Nick Doody!'

And Jonathan Tisdall says 'I can't help feeling that I started this'. To which TTB says 'yeah you did. So did the moon. Stupid moon.'


Going back a bit to 'This Is The News' from April 26th -

Kin Bang says, on the second debate: ' I thought they (the MP's) looked a lot dapper this time round.'

I'm assuming Kin, you missed an 'i' out in that word.

Cantus says: ' I believe the case is more that Edgar Wright is a poor Tiernan Douieb impersonator struggling to make ends meet by throwing to together the odd blockbuster movie with his mates. I tend to think you sound quite a lot more like a chap I heard on Talksport Radio a few months ago. The host kept referring to him as Teenan Doobebubble so I know you're a different person.'

Let us find this Teenan Doobebubble and destroy him. Along with Tiernan Dweeb fellow and Timan Doobie who keep stealing all my gigs.


That's all for Tiernan Talks Back this week. Mostly because I can't be arsed to write anymore today. Any questions?

Full Mooning

There is a bit of a unproven theory in the comedy world that when its a full moon, gigs tend to be more than a little odd. Its not an uncommon theory that people go a bit bonkers when the moon's all big, round and shiny like Wayne Rooney's face. For a start the Met and Sussex police employ more officers on full moons (see here: http://bit.ly/2QB7Wv), because they say people are a tad more violent and aggressive. I think it may well be that they are just as drunk as usual, but can see each other better. Similarly, burglaries are easier to do without torches, and should you need to kidnap your best alien friend and cycle away from the coppers, there are fewer better nights. Full moons also affects women's periods. They had a particularly hard time in the 16th century due to continuous full moons. Then of course there are werewolves. And personally, when I see some idiot mooning out a limo, I feel more violent and angry than usual.


In terms of comedy though, its general knowledge that audiences are weird on that one day a month. Not necessarily bad, unlikely to be great, but definitely weird. Is it a fact? Well no. And skeptics, such as Nick Doody, would say 'such a thing has not been proved and therefore cannot be true.' I'd say to you skeptics that there is no proof that ghostly ninja boy scouts exist, but then who comes into my flat at night and ties knots in all my electrical wires and headphones? Huh? There is some sort of full moon proof. The staff at the Komedia recently recalled to me a particularly rowdy gig a few weeks back that happened to be on a full moon. Pete Graham at the Kings Head makes a note of any gigs that seemed a bit off and goes back and checks them against full moon charts and 9 times out of 10, they match. The other time it's just an annual dickhead outing. They have those and you must be careful not to confuse the two. If you do, just remember, Neil Armstrong didn't fly and land on a dickhead. Well he might have done, but it wasn't on camera. I'm not suggesting anything.


In terms of personal proof, I've only ever gigged on a full moon a few times and some of them have been mad, some have been fine, one was cancelled and one was a Comedy 4 Kids show where a child told me vampires didn't exist. Little prick. But then there was last night. If last night wasn't caused by the full moon then I'm not sure what it was. The audience weren't all dickheads, only some. So unless the annual dickhead outing allowed friends and partners, I'm assuming it can't be that. At first, all involved assumed it was because it was openly advertised that Noel Fielding was on. When such things happen, you know the audience will be only Noel fans and will therefore give less than a shit about the acts beforehand. It wasn't actually that they gave less of a shit, but during the first half there was general chatting, laughter in some very odd places and a man in the very front row who decided to pretend he worked at Butlins and kept getting up in the middle of jokes to get more booze. I was compereing and nobody really wanted to give me any information at all when I talked to them. So I did material. They also didn't like that. If I knew how to juggle I'd have done that instead, but I guess they would have remained unfazed. By the second half they were more lively, but still a tad weird though Tiffany Stevenson did a great set and got them onboard a bit more.


Then Noel went on and we quickly realised that while they may well be Noel fans, they are possibly the weirdest fans he has. He started his set brilliantly, but was constantly heckled by shouts asking what he had done to his now blonde hair. He had about 6 or 7 jokes to retort with about the very same subject, but this did not stop them asking repeatedly throughout the 40 mins he was onstage and even at one point, tell him they preferred him with brown hair. Several of them acted as though they were on some sort of a date with him, just constantly asking questions such as 'How's Julian?' and generally making every attempt to not let Noel actually do a set. As Tiff rightly put it, it was like the live version of the Heat 'Spotted' section with one girl pointing out very loudly that she had seen him in her local 24 hour store. When he finally got going, much of his material, whilst keeping us backstage highly amused, seemed to confuse them and fairplay to Noel, he just had fun with it. Afterwards as I spoke to one of the more sensible audience members out front, two of the girls managed to get backstage and berate Noel about his hair till he left. People are lovely.


So why were they like that? Well you might say, its because they knew Noel Fielding (who's name means he has to sift through Christmas wishes. They didn't like that joke yesterday) was on and therefore all the loon balls were attracted to the gig in the first place. Yeah that's reasonable. But you are still wrong. It was the bloody moon wasn't it? Full bloody moon. Hence why they were all lupey. See that wordplay? Eat that wordplay. EAT IT! As Nick Doody said to me last night, if I am to blame such things on the moon, then I will have to blame all gig results on the status of the moon that evening. I'm not if status is the right word. I can't imagine the moon updates its facebook with things like 'got another crater on my face. OMG!' or something. Well, Doody, I think such things can be done. I'm in Wolverhampton tonight and I will bet you that along with the moon, whilst I'm on, the audience's attention will definitely wane.

Even Stevens?

I was going to go for a run again today. Really. Promise. Thing is, my legs haven't quite recovered from Monday's jogalong yet and so I thought it'd be best to, er, rest them a bit more. Sure, I was all up for that 'hey keep on keeping on' or whatever it is cool people say. They also say things like 'let's take this shizzle down town' and ' oops upside your head'. Possibly. I could very well be confusing cool people with disco song lyrics. Either way, I may well start to say all those things and eventually they will become cool, just because. My current most used phrases seem to be 'plan, Stan', 'awesome, Dawson' (that's courtesy of Gina Lyons) and 'shit yeah'. The latter feels like an odd one out. I should probably exchange it with another phrase that ends in a name, but there are few that sound as good as 'plan Stan' and 'awesome Dawson'. I mean, 'even Stevens' is a phrase only said by complete morons. FACT. It doesn't actually make any sense. 'Plan Stan' is saying 'yes that is a plan, and your name is Stan, hence why I call you it.' 'Awesome Dawson' has similar meaning. However 'even Stevens' seems to mean 'things are even like Stevens' which makes no sense at all. Unless I am completely misreading this and that there was a man called Stevens who was exactly even on both sides of his body and therefore a freak of nature. If so, then that phrase is fine. But there aren't any others are there? 'Juicy Lucy' sounds wrong. 'Pogo Hugo'? 'Spaniel Daniel'? 'Save the Panda Miranda?'


So, like I was saying, I was all for pushing the leg muscles more today, but I discovered yesterday, as I decided to stroll from my home in Finsbury Park to Muswell Hill in the lovely sunshine, that post-run legs don't work like they should. Walking down any kind of stairs or hill was very painful, but I could handle that bit, because I am a man. And a little man at that, which means I have big man powers but condensed. The bit I couldn't handle was when my legs just occasionally decided to buckle a bit without warning. As a result I stumbled infront of several people who all had to withhold smirks. There is nothing to make you feel more like a proper twat than when your body rebels against you. No more buckling please, unless its to do with shoes.


I know these blogs have been littered with bullet points lately, but that's because I keep thinking lots of things. Sorry about that. Blame the world for being busy. Stupid world. So here we go:


- Poor Greece eh? How sad to be reduced to 'junk' status. I've been to Greece before, and its not 'junk'. Some of its beaches are lovely and those are ancient ruins, not rubbish! I presume this now means Greece will be bagged up and dumped onto a trash site somewhere where it will take over a million years to decompose? If so, I hope that they bag it up in 100% recyclable bags or its just not right at all.


- Yesterday afternoon was spent sitting in Andrew Maxwell's garden having a BBQ with him, Paul Byrne, Pete Johansson and Maxwell's kids. Flynn, the older one, insisted me and Pete had Pokemon stickers for our iPhone, and we both agreed without thinking this through. It was only later, whilst sitting on the tube, playing with my phone, that I noticed people staring at me slightly oddly. Everyone looking a nearly grown man with Pokemon stickers. I'm not sure if it made me look mentally ill, suspicious or like I'm a child with an aging disease, but either way, the stickers are now gone. Well, I say gone, but they are on my filofax. Hella cool.


- Feast ice creams have got smaller. This means they are even less of a feast than they were before. I mean, if a medieval king had asked for a feast fit for himself and someone had brought him a feast ice cream, they'd definitely have been beheaded. What I want, when I open that wrapper, is something that could feed 40 plus people. Get it sorted Walls.


- I haven't yet seen the Labour ad directed by Stephen Hopkins, of 24 fame. I really hope they've gone properly overboard and included guns, bombs, and Gordon Brown running around twatting people while shouting ' I need your vote! I cant tell you why! You're gonna have to trust me.' Perhaps then cutting to Cameron threatening to raise taxes and help only the rich, unless they can stop him within the hour, followed by an elaborate chase on bikes. The whole party toing and froing has got pretty silly now anyway, they may as well have fun with it.


That's all. Must get back to, er, leg resting.

Brain Holiday Time

The comedy part of my brain appears to have shut up shop since yesterday. Yes, yes, 'what do you mean only since yesterday?' Har-dee-har-har. Seriously, especially as my humour gauge is waning today, it closed up its comedy shutters at around midday yesterday and it hasn't yet come back. I wish it had given me notice or put a sign up before I spent 2 hours at Tom Craine's house trying to do writing, but instead I sat there completely brain dead wasting time. The rest of yesterday was much the same and I have a feeling today will follow a similar premise. I think that all people who do creative type work ( yes, yes, 'what do you mean creative?'. Har-de-har-har) should be allowed two days off every now and then as 'brain holiday' time. During this time we are only allowed to watch completely vacuous telly programs, read some fiction and go on Twitter without procrastinating from something else, and be allowed to just write status updates of what you are actually doing rather than a gag. If such a two day 'brain holiday' had been allowed, then I'd have taken mine several weeks ago, rather than when I need to write loads. Stupid brain, letting me down in the heat of the battle. I hope I never have to go to war alongside my brain as I can totally imagine it leaving me behind. Actually my brain can imagine itself leaving me behind, which goes further to prove it hates me. Stupid brain.


So I'm leaving this blog here today. I actually have nothing for you or for me. I suspect a large portion of today will be spent staring at the wall or maybe, if I'm feeling particularly adventurous, going outside and staring at someone else's wall. This could get people freaked out, so I'll try and ensure I stay inside.

Jog On

I went for a jog this morning. I know, I know. What the hell was wrong with me? Turns it out its my health. My health is hugely wrong which is why after going all the way round Finsbury Park once at the sort of pace a sloth would overtake whilst sleeping, I had to go home and have a good long sit down. I've now had some chocolaty cereal, and not moved from the sofa for two hours. This is also partly to do with my legs seizing up. Frankly, I may never move off the sofa again. It wasn't actually as bad as I thought it might be. I think the biggest hurdle was the massive gate I had to jump over. Arf. Actually it was leaving my house in shorts. I wasn't sure how the world would deal with the t-legs on show, and as soon as I left the door, a few ladies did indeed swoon. Swoon is a word that is not used often enough as far as I'm concerned, so I was pleased these ladies swooned. Or at least they would have done, if they'd been around. As it was, not many people were around and those that were thought nothing of a man in shorts, partly because many people in this area jog in shorts and partly because its Finsbury Park and I could have run along with my cock out and no one would have paid much attention. Its sort of expected round here.


So now the trick is keeping it up I guess. Problem is, it wasn't that fun. How to make jogging fun? I'm not sure. I will try jogging to podcasts or good music. Think that should help. Or if it doesn't, I may have to pretend, much like in yesterday's blog, that I am chasing someone or something. Or maybe running away from zombies. Although that could be bad as at the end of the jog I'd like to go home again, but if I get it in my head that zombies are there I will never return and instead shack up somewhere with lots of stairs that I can block off using furniture and hide there for 6 months till the army clean up the situation. What might be better is getting hooked on feeling smug about jogging. I definitely feel some of that right now. So smug, that I might tell lots of people about it. Most of them will already jog and therefore, not really care. But that's fine, I will still tell them and they will just not want to talk to me and so I will go and tell other people. Eventually people will get so annoyed with me telling them that they will run away when I am near and I will have to run after them to tell them. Thus giving us both exercise and making us both very smug. Aces.


Some more things:

- Doctor Who was properly scary this weekend. I watched it on the iPlayer so Graham Norton didn't interrupt, which I was rather pleased with. Well done Moffat as it was actually all a bit scary and I really can't wait for next week's show. I am now very scared of all statues ever and will not be able to turn my back on Eros next time I'm in Picadilly Circus just in case.

- Apparently in the marathon yesterday, the record was broken for fastest superhero. I find this a little demeaning to Superman who is faster than a speeding bullet and the Flash who's faster than 99.9% of germs.

- At my gig in Cambridge last night, a woman worked on the training program for NIMROD. I was very torn between my hate for warmongering BAE systems, and asking her nicely to use NIMROD to search for the socks I'd ever lost.

- Most important! I am doing my solo show in Brighton next week, on two different nights! Yes! Two! Why? Don't know! Hooray! So please come. One of the nights is election night, so come along and then we'll all go and watch the telly and shout at David Cameron together. It shall be fun. Here's the FB event page with ticket links on it:

BRIGHTON SOLO SHOW

Driving Thoughts

After driving 260 miles this morning, I now have three hours at home before heading off to drive another 60 miles to Cambridge. I'll be honest, I want to do nothing more with my three hours than sleep, so let it be known, this blog is written with slight resentment. It's all self resentment, don't worry, but resentment it is. So, here, very quickly, are some thoughts before I watch Doctor Who and have a snooze:


- London Marathon

It was the London Marathon today and I fully and utterly respect everyone doing it. Except maybe Gordon Ramsey. That's not anything to do with his marathon running though. Everytime I hear about the marathon a small thought bounces round my brain that it's something I should do at some point. Then, very quickly, the thought that follows it round is the reality of how much it would hurt, how much I hate running and how much I can't be arsed. Its sad that that's the case. I used to always say that because of my diabetes I couldn't do it, but then some utter utter 92 year old diabetic fuckhead ran it. What a total arsehole. Not only did he prove that diabetics could run it, but also that really really old ones could, so me, being a young one of them had no excuse. Except I do, and its laziness and boredom. I reckon, with severe training, I could do the running bit. What I could handle is the extreme boredom of running for that long. I'd wander off and look at stuff, buy an ice cream and eventually forget where I was and have a sit down. The only way I think I could go for the whole event is if someone got a bus to drive along side, just slightly faster and someone persuaded me I had to catch it. Every so often it could slow down so I could bang on the doors angrily, the driver could flip the bird at me, which would drive me nuts, and would spur me on to chase after him as he sped up again. Bit elaborate, but I'd like it.

So anyone that's running it without any of that deserves mention. Especially Terry Saunders and Wendy Wason as I know them. I haven't sponsored either of them yet, because I've been broke, but at some point I will. Unless they didn't make it, then they can sod off.


- Lazy Horses

On the motorway these last two days, there have been a lot of cars/4x4s/vans pulling trailers with horses in. I can't help but feel those are the laziest horses around. Sure, times have changed and that. Not everyone goes around on horse back now, especially as they've transferred horse power to cars. Still not sure how they did that, as cars run on petrol and not glue. But surely horses are gonna get fat doing that aren't they? If someone wants to get a horse from one place to the next, then they should ride it there. It'd be environmentally friendly (except when they fart) and much better for everyone involved. Except maybe the horse. Of course, it could just be natural evolution. Back in the day, everyone walked places, then we used horses, then trains and cars and planes. Whereas horses used to walk, then carry us, now they go in cars. Possibly in a few years all horse races will involve a small jeep pulling the horses around in a truck.


- Gigs

Last night's gig was odd. I'll admit, I wasn't on top form thanks to having slight car head from drivingness. But I will still do the lazy thing and partly blame the audience. The crowd, while nice, didn't want to show you they were nice. They smiled, nodded and occasionally actually guffawed, but only occasionally. A table at the back talked all the way through, until noticed by any of the acts, at which point they would be quiet and then wait till we started again to carry on talking. A man approached me in the interval to say he'd really enjoyed my set, but noted that the crowd were quiet and that people were chatty at the back, before saying 'I don't understand why people do that'. Neither do I. But I have thought about it a lot. I'm guessing its some sort of psychological disease that means you can only talk when its really inappropriate. I assume these people are unable to converse at any sort of social event, but get them in a library and they go bonkers with chat a-go-go. Jobs interviews are squirmed through with little input and are often failed, yet quiet carriage on a train and its like speaker's corner for dickheads. After the first section the gig got much nicer and the crowd warmed up a bit due to the compereing skills of Dan Nightingale. Sadly, I was on first and so spent the rest of the gig eating crisps and staring at the chatters, hoping that if I did it enough they'd realise I drove 250 miles just so they could talk through me and hopefully that would cause their heads to explode. During the second interval the woman in the group collapsed and they all had to leave. Proof of my Jedi skills.


- Mini Jedi

Speaking of Jedi skills, before I left yesterday, I saw a small boy on my road, dressed entirely in proper Jedi robes. I was seriously impressed and, I must say, a bit jealous. Then I noticed an older boy sitting on the pavement next to him, fixing his bike. Hand back those robes. You are no Jedi if others have to fix things for you. I expect next time I see that boy, for him to be fixing all the bike bits together using simply his mind or I will brand him a fake.


- Vocoder

If I ruled everything, I would put an immediate ban on any music artist ever using a vocoder again. If they wanted to, they would have to fill out a form, play me the track and explain exactly what benefit it would having them sound like a really shit robot. If they could not justify it, a man called Baz would smash their vocoder with a stick and they would be told to start again. That is all.


Off to Cambridge tonight, where my entire drive will consist of me shouting how much I hate being in my car. Thanks.

Remaking Do

In about 15 minutes time I will embark on spending most of the rest of today in a hot car. I will be driving said hot car, I won't just be sitting in it in a pathetic David Blaine like stunt. Admittedly, most of his stunts are pathetic but at least there is a possibility of him dying. Whereas sitting in a hot car, while it may kill a dog, at most, it will probably just make me lose a stone in weight. Thinking about it, perhaps I should sit in a hot car more often. I am going to be in the hot car for about four and half hours today, then do a gig, sleep and then be in the hot car for four and half hours tomorrow, come home then get back in my car for at least another hour and half and do another gig. None of this is either very interesting or very surprising to anyone who understands how comedy works. Sure, they say, its all about 'the timing'. Or perhaps even 'being funny' or something. But anyone who really really knows about comedy, will know that its all about sitting in a hot car for so long you begin to question your own existence and start to have sympathy for sardines. Admittedly sardines are dead when they get stuck in a tin. They also don't have to drive that tin, do a gig, then get back in the tin and drive it home. If they did, I daresay sardines would be a lot more expensive. Not that I know how much they cost as I am a vegetarian (a proper non eating fish one) and so don't buy sardines. Alright?


That wasn't what I wanted to talk about today anyway. Last night I saw that my friend Mat had complained on Twitter that the Ricky Gervais show was just animated versions of the Rick Gervais podcast and that angered him. I partly agreed. In a sense that is hugely lazy television, where instead of repeating something in a slightly different format that many Gervais fans will have already heard, they could have put a whole new program on, featuring new comedy talent. Chances are they wouldn't have done, and the slot would have been filled with something else far worse and everyone would have got even more angry, as that is television's job. One day TV will have angered everyone with its sheer lack of quality and we will all submit to watching it without complaining (as many do already), at which point it will show only really high quality programs so we complain that we have to think. If telly was your friend, it'd be the friend that shaved off your eyebrows when you were asleep just for 'a laugh', knowing full well it would just make everyone think it was a prime twat. So, the only reason I only partly agree with Mat is that at least this podcast hasn't been done in a telly format before, and Gervais has also commented on how ridiculous it is that he is getting paid for something that has already been in 2 different formats. Not that he's complaining, the rich bastard.


What I am far more annoyed about are all the programs and films that have been made before, but for some reason, are being remade. I watched the Prisoner remake earlier this week, and it wasn't bad. Great cast of Jim Caviezel, Ian McKellen and Jane Ayre (don't know her real name. Yes I could google it, but I prefer to pretend she is Jane Ayre), and the set and graphics are ace, especially as Rover now looks real rather than an angry beach ball. But, and this is a big but, there WAS NO NEED TO MAKE IT. That's it. No need to make it whatsoever. The original Prisoner was amazing. Admittedly I don't remember it properly as I've only seen repeats many years ago, but I remember thinking it was incredible and reading about it and other people's views, it was incredible. They've released it all souped up on Blu-Ray and I very much want to get it. So if the original was that brilliant, and they can make it look shiny and new, why make an entirely shiny new version that will be good, but not as good? There is no reason. Like there is no reason to bring out an A Team film, no reason to have remade Clash of the Titans, no reason to remake Arthur with Russell Brand, no need to redo V and definitely no reason at all to remake Nightmare on Elm Street. Arguably, there was no reason to make the original Nightmare on Elm Street. Sorry Freddie fans, but it was toss. If he can only get you in your sleep just drink Red Bull and fucking deal with it.


Surely people are still having ideas in the world? I have loads, all the time. Some are terrible like my idea about a film called Horses For Courses, but then some movies are terrible. But at least they are terrible new movies rather than remade terrible old films. I also have some great ideas like Horses For Courses 2: Ponies For Homies, and so I'm sure other people must be having great new ideas too. What scares me, is that there must come a point where all the films ever will be remade and then they'll have to remake the remakes, until eventually, like Chinese whispers, every film becomes a a horrible pastel version of what it originally was. Like the Get Carter remake which managed to keep the name of the original but somehow forget everything else about it that made it good and instead a production company just vomited over a script and let Stallone dance on the vomit. Its happening with music too. Too many covers around instead of new songs, as though songwriting is an age old concept that has died out over the years. I like covers, especially when its cold and sheets aren't good enough. But do we really need to hear a bland idiot sing a song a bland idiot had only sung a year ago?

All I'm saying ladeez and gentlefolk, is can we have a little originality up in this motherfrikkin hizzouse? Or something like that. And if you are from a telly company and are about to remake Tony Danza's 'Who's The Boss?' or have a script from someone who has remade the Bill to start as soon as the cancelled series ends, or if you are a film company want to remake Bad Boys with Usher and Will Smith's son, then please think again. Get your phone, call me, and we'll discuss Horses For Courses 3: A Camel For Rommel.


Not a hilarious blog today, but I think you'll find its true. All of it. If none of you agree, I'm going to cut and paste this blog into every blog for the rest of the year till you concede. In fact, I may do that anyway, as it saves a lot of thinking, and effort and care. Oh wait. Oh that's why they do it. I see. Right. I'm off to go sit in a hot car.

This Is The News

Today I shall be commenting on news things. Yes, you heard me. Except you didn't as this is typed. You heard the voice in your head that you think is my voice. I hope its an apt representation. If not, then please imagine it as sort of James Earl Jones crossed with Tom Waits. Then speed that up so the pitch is unbearably chipmunk like, then slow it down a tad, then change it a bit. It will probably still sound nothing like mine, but I'm curious to know what you come up with. Why not record your brain thinking it and send it in? Thanks. I often actually think my voice sounds scarily like Edgar Wright's voice, and when listening to the commentary on Spaced, Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz, have several times got angry as to why I still haven't been paid for that work, only to realise I'd never done it in the first place. Damn that Edgar Wright and his similar sounding voice and more successful career! I am shaking my fists right now. I'll be honest, it's making it harder to type, so I'll stop. Its times like that I'm jealous of octopuses and the god Kali.

Anyway, here's some thoughts on current news. Firstly, I have been listening with a confused ear about all the compensation fights to do with airlines not paying for people's hotels or paying for them but not for all of their food etc. I fully agree that the people stranded shouldn't be made to pay for all this, but let's just take a step back and look at the situation. Unless you standing at the top of some stairs or a cliff edge. In which case, stay where you are and be careful. How can anyone really be to blame for a volcano erupting with a huge ash cloud? Can we blame the Government? Not really. The airlines themselves? No. If either of those had the capabilities to control exactly what landmass does, and if they do then I don't think we should be blaming either of them for fear they will act revenge by causing a tsunami or earthquake. Can we blame Iceland? No. Not unless you want to blame its actual landmass, which I suppose is to blame, but not the Icelandic people's fault. Again, unless they have shamanistic powers whereby dancing in a certain formation will cause ash explosions. No, I say we look into detail here at what most insurance companies would call such an incident. They would say it is 'an Act Of God'. Therefore, the church should pay everyone compensation. Depending on your faith, depends on which God you should claim to, but I daresay the Pope probably has enough to just sort everyone out. He should have had a word with the big chap/chapette/thingymajig and just asked them not to do it. Sure the Pope already has a lot of apologising to do right now, but I think that means that a bit more won't hurt him much. I swear, its times like this, I should definitely be king of the world.


Second news commentary for today. I watched the second leaders debate on telly last night. Actually that's a half truth. I heard the first bit on the radio whilst driving home from my cancelled gig. Hearing it on the radio gives you a slightly different view of the whole thing. For example, everytime Cameron spoke, I could imagine his face morphing into that of the devil and Gordon Brown and Nick Clegg standing behind him flipping the bird and pulling 'unuh' faces. I understand that sadly, this did not happen. It does make it more fun though and I highly recommend you do the same next time. I caught only the second half on telly and was disappointed to see that instead of the shooting gallery I'd hoped they were standing in, they were instead on some sort of game show studio. I waited and waited and waited for the bit where they got to hit the buzzer and guess each other's catchphrases bit it didn't quite happen. Instead they all just bickered and quibbled in a way that probably made a lot of the countries 6 year olds feel pretty grown up. Brown said the phrase 'get real' a lot, hoping he could appeal to the high school teens of California in the mid-90s. Sadly no one pointed out to him they can't vote in this election, so it was a wasted attempt. Clegg said he wasn't a man of faith, which means he will now no longer get George Michael's vote as he's very sensitive about people not buying his singles. And Cameron, well Cameron's stance seemed to be to say 'fairness' a lot. Not sure what type of 'fairness' he meant but I'm sure he also mouthed 'blue eyes and not Jewish' and I worry about how close to the BNP he really is. He also kept saying Gordon Brown was spreading 'fears and smears' which rhymed quite nicely. I have seen Labour's leaflets and they do not contain any sexual health tests, nor any ghost stories. So there you go. They then all talked about immigrants having caps, which I think means they can play in international matches; old people paying to be cold or something and whether or not the Pope is actually Emperor Palpatine.


Ultimately who won the whole thing? Well that's what everyone seems to want to know. I'll be honest, I don't really know. I found them all really annoying and a bit creepy. If we want to know who actually won and was the best then I suggest the next debate finishes in a Gladiators style obstacle course, a sing song and then a still art competition.


I was going to talk about something else but I took a phone call in the middle of this blog and its got me confused. Two other small things. Small things 1: I'm in Brighton tonight at the Komedia with the excellent excellent line-up of Rob Deering, Paul Sinha and Seann Walsh. You should come along. I'm in Hartlepool tomorrow and I'm just telling you both these things because lots of people ask when I'm going to be in Brighton and the North East. Not at the same time. That'd be too clever.

Small things 2: I have been asked to write a blog for the website iamstaggered.com mostly about the issue of getting married. It will be a weekly thing where I generally state how little I'm doing and how angry Layla is getting at me doing not much. I will try and refrain from writing wedding things in this blog unless necessary, so read that one too. First one is here:

MY BLOG ON IAMSTAGGERD.COM


That is all. I'm now going to write to the Houses of Parliament with my application for King Of The World.

Cereal Loser

This is one of those weeks this week where funds are a little tight. As soon as Saturday passes, things will be all ok again, but up until then there is little cash for various things including necessities. Yesterday I had to wisely spend a small bit of cash on some food to sustain me and Layla for another couple of days. What did I end up buying? The new cereal with crunchy bits on the outside and Nutella on the inside. Yes, I am a child. It became quite clear to me as I came home with a bag of chocolately breakfast food as our sole source of sustainable grub for the next two days, that had I gone to market to sell our only cow, I clearly would have come back with magic beans. What is wrong with me? I can blame part of it on the slightly exciting looking packet and the promise of sugar, but mostly I just don't think I should be allowed to do responsible things like food shopping by myself. Its clear that I lack the essential survival skills to be able to do such things. Were I ever on Can't Cook, Won't Cook, I'd spend my entire budget on ice cream and watch as Ainsley Harriet frowned. To be fair, who doesn't love ice cream? Or magic beans?


This does worry me in general. I'd like to think that if it came to it, I'd be brilliant at survival. If stranded on a desert island or lost in the rainforest, I pretend that I'd be the person you'd want to have around. I'd be the head explorer who knew how to kill tigers (but I wouldn't because they are becoming extinct, so I'd just put them in sleeper holds), make Michelin starred meals out of bits of tree and build entire campsites with some canvas and skill. In reality I would lose our only machete having tried to throw it at a parrot at the beginning of the trail, would have used up our torch batteries in my Nintendo DS and eaten all the last food supplies in one mega sandwich I'd made during a 'midnight feast' that I hadn't eaten all of anyway and instead left it lying around which would attract bears.


The thing is, and I know I shouldn't, but I do blame society for all this. If, on the way to the loaves of bread, vegetables and other food, this red packet of sugary fun hadn't been so obviously in my way, I would have made it to the other items first. It was placed knowing that it would appeal to my childish mind and I would have no choice but to be seduced by the idea of unnecessary sweet breakfasts that will eventually damage my heart/kidneys/soul but on the way be much fun to eat. Well damn you society. Damn you. As a result, today and tomorrow will be mostly cereal based. I reckon that I can have it with milk for breakfast, perhaps just dry for lunch, with a cup of tea in the afternoon and then to finish off with some ketchup at night. Excuse me while I sob into cereal bowl.

Incohe-Rant

I'm gonna have a bit of a moan today. Moooaaa. There, that was a bit of a moan. Tee hee. No seriously. Its not often anything bothers me and to be fair this doesn't bother me that much. Not as much as say, someone constantly flicking my face. That would make me really upset. Chances are though, that won't happen. At least I hope so, otherwise I will have to stop looking forward to the rest of my life nowish. So, what's on T's tits today? (Don't you love the alliteration?) What kind of chip sits upon his short man's shoulders? What bug does he bear? I don't how you'd bear a bug? I guess you'd have to paint a bee brown and attach small claws and bear ears. Oh dear lord, that really should happen. Bear bees anyone? Sorry. Back to the subject. Last night's Fat Tuesday was brilliant. No that wasn't what annoys me. I'm not some sort of weirdo. We got a lovely 58 people, and each and every act was excellent. What annoyed me is that its the third Fat Tuesday in a row that we have had slightly lower numbers than normal (we sell out at 82), and all three of those gigs have also not had any 'TV names' advertised. This is not to say the acts haven't been brilliant. Far from it, they have all been acts I wish more people would see because they are excellent. Yet, due to not knowing the names, less people have attended. I know there are other reasons people have been along: its nice weather, people also have lives, the ash cloud, maybe. But its noticeable because gigs we have coming up with bigger 'names' have already sold better than some of the last three gigs. I would hope that after running the club for over 5 years, people would know to trust that we only book the funnies, and it shouldn't matter if you've heard of them or not. Come along, be educated. Everyone there last night had a great time, and it was a top gig. The only downside being is that once again, instead of me earning anything from it, I make a substantial loss, again.


To be fair, this is also because I am a bad business man. I like to pay our acts properly, and I don't like to charge the people too much for coming out on a Tuesday. This equals the lovely balance of people feeling like they have a bargain night of awesome acts. It also means I am consistently broke. Unless we sell out. Which we do with a 'telly' name. And this is where you realise that programs like 'Mock The Week' are slightly damaging to comedy, driving audiences not to see comedy as a whole, but just those they've heard of. Its the same in a lot of entertainment fields. I know of three different actor type friends who cant get anymore voiceover or ad work because all the celebs are doing them. It worries me a bit, because by celebs taking all the work, there's less ways for someone new to break into the work and eventually the system will destroy itself. I've just read that all back and realised I've sort of jumped topic without bridging it very well. It made sense in my head. This is why I didn't do very well with essays at university. That and the whole 'not turning up to lectures' thing. Ahem. So I'll go back to my original point as it makes more sense.


All I'm saying is that people need to take a chance on comedy they haven't heard of. You never know who you might see. There are chances you might not enjoy it, but surely that's part of the excitement? Except at my gig, where you will enjoy it. FACT.


Right. That wasn't really much of a rant. Nor did it make much of a point. I'm still a bit irritated, but now that's partly due to the fact that I've realised I haven't succinctly got my point across. Grrr. Worse than that, if you read this blog, you are probably the sort of people that go and watch all sorts of comedy anyway, so this really doesn't apply to you. Sigh. Right, I promise that when they work out how, I will make you all time vouchers for 10 minutes of your life and give them to you so you can have the portion of your life back that it took to read this. I'm going to go kick some bins like a teenager that's angry and doesn't know why.

Oh and I've started a game I mentioned on this very blog, right here on my FB page as my status. 58 replies so far. Please join in. Its much fun. Unless you hate words. Then it's toss.

THE 'RE' GAME

Concoctions and Consequences

Once again, much like the renegade master, I have somehow not left myself enough time to blog. Actually its not at all like the renegade master. He generally leaves enough time for most things, particularly giving power to the people. I often wonder if he works for N Power or something. I say I don't know how I've ended up with no time for blog but its primarily because after my preview last night, drinks ensured with lovely people and I ended up at Tom Craine and Nat Luurtsema's house drinking the very wrong concoction of rum and bitter lemon till 3am. Nat swears that it is a 1920's anesthetic and I can't say its my favourite drink in the world, but when its all that's available to you, it its more than fine. I worry when I say things like that. I feel its only one step away of agreeing to have turps and ribena because 'hey, at least its booze'. When I am found dead in a park with merely a capri-sun and a half drunk lava lamp in my possession you will know it has gone too far. And so, as a consequence of drinking actions, I have had today, a hangover of proportions that were not at all relative to the amount I drank. I'd say not only were they not relative, they weren't even a family friend. They hadn't even gone to school with the night's drinking. They hadn't even passed it in the street once a few years back and said 'hello' thinking it was someone else. I'm tempted to keep this analogy going for sometime but I fear that once again, its only amusing myself. Ultimately, to summarise, its nice and sunny. Now to winterise. Brr its cold. Sorry sorry sorry. Basically I AM HUNGOVER AND HATE THE WORLD. Thanks thanks, I'm here all week.

Not only did hangover mean I got up much later than I wanted to (actually a lie. I wanted to get up even later, but the day's happenings meant I couldn't) but I then had to meet with one of the perpetrators of my boozey outcome, Mr Craine, once again to prepare for a meeting about a thing that we completely hadn't prepared for. There is nothing like a deadline to force good ideas out. Well there is, but it usually involves a hand gun, a very bright light and shouting, but that's mostly considered illegal. Meeting was survived and went better than thought and finally I am here typing dull sentences of bloggery once again. So here, back once more, which is again similar to that renegade chappy, are everyone's favourite blog avoidance bullet points:


- Me and Tom did our very early previews last night at the Compass. Only 8 people showed up. 8 lovely people mind, but compared to the 47 that said they'd attend on Facebook, it was a tad short numberwise. I know that Facebook is essentially digital lies, but I expected at least 20. Saying that, as previously mentioned mere sentences ago, those 8 were a very good crowd and if anything made it only more like a proper Edinburgh show at the festival. Only all 8 wanted to be there, as opposed to the few festival goers you get who just want to avoid the rain. It all went well. Tom's preview was great and will be a top show, and mine somehow lasted a full hour and ten minutes. Admittedly, as put by Mr Paul Byrne (who be directing tings), large chunks of that can just go, but its nice to know I need to lose stuff rather than gain it. Although I could gain gags. That might help.


- RIP Guru. Arguably one of the greatest rappers of all time, and as far as I'm concerned, part of one of the greatest rap groups ever, Gang Starr. Even if you are not a rap fan, I urge you to check out pretty much anything they ever did (except maybe The Ownerz album which was a tad pants) because its all amazing. I wanted to try and make this a bit witty, but to be honest, I'm just a bit sad he's died. Very young too, at 43, because of cancer. Today shall be spent playing the Full Clip: Decade of Gang Starr album loudly to the extent that next door get annoyed.


- I seem to keep gaining Twitter followers from the Observer article on Sunday. I really can't complain, but I feel slightly under pressure to only tweet comedy gold. As is my nature, I mostly haven't, and some have already left. I may have to twead carefully for a while until I get so many followers that eventually I can just be hugely dull and tweet what I'm having for breakfast much like most of the celebrities. If it does get to that point though, I promise I will only ever eat exciting breakfasts to keep you all happy. Like eggs Benedict. But made by Pope Benedict. Actually, on seconds thoughts, I really would want anything made by him. I'd worry it had been tampered with by several priests and he'd serve them up all damaged with little apology. Sorry. I really shouldn't be typing a blog today.


- Fat Tuesday tonight, and still tickets left despite the fact that Tony Law is on, and that Tony Law is brilliant. Proof, I think, that people are idiots. If you don't want to be an idiot, then buy a ticket from here before 6, or at the gig after 6:

FAT TUESDAY TICKETS FOR TONIGHT

Its bloomin' Time Out recommended and everything.

That is all from me. I could keep typing but I fear it would only be bad news for us all. Goodbye, unless you are a pessimist and would prefer a badbye. (See? Sorry again. I will tiptoe quietly away)

Currie and Rice

Despite me saying I would make yesterday's blog brief due to having to write my Edinburgh show, I spent the rest of the day not writing my Edinburgh show. Well ok, I probably spent about 5 minutes with pen actually on pad making some scribbles, about 4 hours staring into space with a facial expression that would not have gone amiss on a lobotomy subject, two hours eating cake with my nan and 45 minutes shouting at Saturday's Doctor Who episode which I finally watched and was a huge pile of shit. More on that below. So ultimately I am 5 minutes further than I was when I did my show in Glasgow at the beginning of March. This is not very hopeful. Today must be spent cramming joke writing in every spare second, apart from those spent saying 'aaaaaaarrrrgggghhhhh' out loud, walking in circles and wondering if the ash cloud will shroud tonight's venue so I can just avoid doing it. I like the word shroud. I'm not sure I've ever really used it before. I like to think it means a very quite cloud. It doesn't. Stupid bloody Edinburgh shows. Yeah I've got an idea, yeah I want to go to the festival with that idea, no I can't be arsed to write another hour. I'm seriously contemplating just doing jazz hands for 30 minutes before climbing out of the window and running away. To be fair, I think that'd be fully worth the £3 it costs to watch the previews tonight. So once again, let me skimp on proper bloggery and fire the bullet points of babble direct through your eyes and into your brain sack. No it won't hurt, you'll be bored before you even realise. Blam:


- Last night I spent far too long laughing at myself for thinking of a 70s cop show starring Damien Rice and Tim Currie. I'm sorry to everyone affected. I have been trying to think of other awesome celebrity team-ups since, but have only got Joss Stone and Kate Moss - whenever Joss rolls in her beema, Moss can't keep up. Paul Young and the band, The Free and Christina Ricci and Shane Ritchie. If you have more, then please add below. To the comments bit that is. If you get into my blog and edit it, I shall be sad, and also amazed at your computer wizardry.


- Wow, Saturday's Doctor Who was terrible on Saturday. Despite being written by the brilliant Mark Gatiss, it appeared to be a watered down toddler's version of the show. It may as well have been called Doctor Hey. I'm also hugely sad that the daleks are now being made by Apple. However, conversely I do look forward to the iDalek, the Dalek Nano and the Dalek Shuffle, which as rightly pointed out by my friend Rosie, sounds like the best dance ever. I suppose there had to be a crap Doctor Who episode at some point this series, otherwise the expectation of a shit episode would get too much and when it finally did happen we'd all be so angry we never watched it again. At least now, its all over and done with and I can look forward to next week. Thanks Mark Gatiss, thanks.

- I have said this many times before, but I do wonder if Snoop Dogg's favourite cake is a Lemon Drizzle. It would make sense.

- I should be halfway around the world on a lovely holiday right now. Its not because of the ash cloud that I'm not. Its more to do with money and the fact I haven't booked a holiday. Also it would mean I didn't have to do my Edinburgh preview. I do however feel properly sorry for those trapped or stranded here or abroad due to its ashiness. I have been at parties where an ash tray has been split and people just hoover it up, so I can't understand why they don't just do that? Use a Dyson, it doesn't even have bags. I personally hope that while the ash cloud does stop soon, that the volcano goes on just long enough to make a whole island that will be the North Atlantic's version of Hawaii. Then we could get our own version of Lost where loads of people who were flying to Finland crash land on an island where there is an angry Scottish man who shouts at them for no real reason and they generally just get very cold. It'd be awesome.

- According to The Observer yesterday, which is a proper paper and everything, I am one of the Top 50 Twitter feeds about the arts that you should follow. Yes indeedy. I know it seems proper bonkers but they even quoted a gag I thought was rather rubbish. I still don't yet have 2000 followers and I'd really like that so if you read this and don't follow me on Twitter, please do, just till I get to 2000. Then you can leave again and leave me with that horrible sense of loss you only get when you had something and then its gone. Yey!

Here's the article. And yeah, please bear in mind it also recommends Lady Gaga who is a complete dick/has a dick so they may well be very wrong about me too:

TWITTER AND THE ARTS


Back to the drawing board. Ok, I'll stop drawing and write my Edinburgh show instead. NOW LEAVE ME ALONE AND LET ME WORK! YOU AND ALL YOUR DISTRACTIONS! Thanks. I'll just check Twitter and get on with things. Arrrrrrgggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh *jazz hands*.

Points of View

Several things to blog about today, but I must also not blog too much as I have an Edinburgh preview tomorrow and while since the last one, I've definitely thought about the show a lot, I haven't necessarily improved it. Actually the word 'necessarily' doesn't even need to be there. I haven't improved it. Fact. So I have today and tomorrow to do so. What will actually happen is that I spend today panicking, give up, stare at Twitter and write all the things I need to two hours before the show. This is generally how I've done most work through my life. I remember at uni I once actually spent two to three weeks working very hard on an essay and handed it in early, only to get about 60% for it, followed by an essay I did the night before it was due in, with no thought whatsoever and getting 87% for. There's a clear message there. Its that my lecturers must have thought someone else had written my second essay. Or they were drunk when marking. Or both. Or write their 3's with too much of a loop on the left hand side. Ok, so no full clear message at all. Anyway, before I get swamped by my own notes, for there are many, here's today's ponderments:


- Last night a table of chatty, mouthy young girls told me they thought I looked like James Corden. My initial look of horror was followed by them telling me they really like James Corden so that makes it ok. No, no it doesn't. Whether or not I like Corden is not the issue here. I'll admit I'm not his biggest fan. Or his smallest. I'm not a fan at all. But it's more to do with the fact that actually, were you to place myself and Corden next to each other (a highly unlikely scenario) we wouldn't look that alike. Sure we both have tums, though I daresay his is bigger, and we're both Caucasian males, but I think that's it. He is taller than me and has a very different shaped face with a distinct lack of rubbish beard. I am also more handsome. Arf. So really, what annoyed me the most, is that people put two and two together 'fat men + comedy = James Corden', and went for it. This has happened before. I've been compared to Ricky Gervais on a few occasions. Once when waitering I was offered a very large tip if I did his dance from the Office. I said no, and proceeded to serve their food slightly later than they wanted. Ha! That's what you get for comparing me to someone hugely successful. All I ask is that you properly study these people's facial structure, build and general appearance before you compare me to them. I expect a graph with full analysis of eye placement and cheekbone layout before you call me 'mini-Corden'. If it turns out in fact that we are very similar looking then I will completely take it all back. And never ever write a sketch show ever, just incase.

Being compared to those people is up there on my 'most annoying thing people do to me' list ever, along with the two times different people have said the only comedy they like is 'Jim Davidson but you were as good as him'. Get fucked. The other bit is when people assume I can be paid in hugs. Or that offering a hug will make all things better. I fully accept that I am an awesome hug machine. Look at me. I am hug personified. That does not, however, mean I'm willing to take a £150 pay cut before you'll give me a hug. I'm not sure if people think I suffer from certain chromosome issues, but hugs are not the same as cash. Its what eventually killed the Care Bears. Sure, they thought they could heal the world through hugs, but when Tesco's bought out Carealot, they were ruined.



- Yesterday's blog offered some rather interesting debate on my FB page, which got me excited. I felt pleased that anything I ever say encouraged debate, rather than the usual 'meh' noise or sigh of pity. Shappi Khorsandi in particular made some very good points about how Eddie Izzard has always been an open Labour supporter, something that I had not realised, and also that he will influence a whole new generation who don't remember Thatcher to not vote Tory. She also pointed out that artists know when they speak out politically that they will earn less money, but its the risk they want to take to speak their views and pointed towards the awesome work of the Dixie Chicks who were very anti-Bush and lost a record deal because of it. Harvey Ovenden said that he couldn't understand the big deal when all Eddie was doing was announcing his political stance. I haven't put the comments that went along with my blog, as that would be dull. Why not just go back and read it?

Well, to retort, except its not really a retort, merely a polite reply, I was not discouraging Eddie's right to free speech. I do think its ace that he believes in Labour so much that wants to stand for them. That's fine and I would encourage anyone who thinks strongly about their views to express them. Except the BNP who can sod off. There is an exception to every rule and I believe they are it. I didn't know Eddie had been a loyal Labour supporter since the beginning and I'd be very curious to know if that remained the same during the war in Iraq, or if he chose to disassociate himself from them then? Its a difficult thing aligning yourself with a party because surely then if they go back on what they say they'll do, then you are seen to agree with their changes unless you publicly speak out against them again? Like I said, I'm fully up for people speaking their political views and I feel what the Dixie Chicks did was very different to what Izzard is doing as they were speaking out against a tyrant, not supporting a party. Its a different field to speak out against what are clearly illegal actions, than to do an advert to promote a party before an election. Yes, the Tories are evil and I'm really pro putting people off voting for them, but again, like it was so well put by Richard Rycroft on my comments, 'It's not about agreeing or disagreeing with the viewpoint so much as a slight sense of disappointment that I then looked for subtextual bias in my hero's 'proper' comedy'. That's what it is. I assumed Eddie was left-wing and I'm not anti-Labour at all (in fact my local MP is Jeremy Corbyn who's definitely getting my vote because he's brilliant), I just felt that his endorsement didn't seem right. In the same way we've all booed Gary Barlow for supporting Tories, we can't just then cheer Eddie because he's doing the same for a preferred party. On a whole different level, all the parties manifestos should be enough that they stand on their own without having to gain celebrity endorsement, but I guess that is more an issue with the state of culture and the way in which the younger generation are lured in. Wow, I said younger generation. Excuse me while I shudder at my age.

Ultimately, I could probably discuss this all day, whilst I'm fully aware that more intelligent people would do it better. I just know I didn't like it, some people also didn't, but some people did. That's generally how things work. I'm also super pleased it caused discussion and hopefully soon I can appear on Newsnight and say things that sound clever because they include long words.


- I bought some guavas the other day. They smell like guavas, but they don't look like guavas. Ultimately, I'm not sure they are guavas. Also, I haven't ever really seen a guava before so I could be wrong. I've decided not to look up guavas online as it will ruin the enigma of what they are. My only worry is that they are guava air fresheners and I might be sick.

I'm sure there was more but I have to get back to staring at my notes and wishing, in an almost Sorcerer's Apprentice fashion, that they will just swirl round and compose themselves into a series of hilarious gags. More likely I'll be just about to hit on something good when my cats will trample all over them messing them up and I'll cry a bit and start from square one. Should you wish to see this mess live then here's the Facebook link for me and Tom Craine's preview tomorrow:

TOM AND TIERNAN'S REALLY REALLY NOT FINISHED EDINBURGH PREVIEW

Not So Glorious

I felt the need to blog about this today and as I'm sure many of you will know, my lack of political knowledge may mean this is a tad ropey but here we go. I saw the Labour Party Political broadcast last night by Eddie Izzard. I wasn't really sure about it at all so I thought I would give Eddie the benefit of my doubt and watch it. As a consequence I'm still not sure what I think about it. As regular blog readers know, I'm a huge admirer of Izzard's stand-up and his recent marathon marathon running was amazing (yes I meant to put marathon twice). But then to suddenly see him be the face of a political party just suddenly seems a tad odd. The fact that it's for Labour is neither here nor there, although were it for Tory I would immediately disregard him as a human being. Luckily for Gary Barlow I'd done this some time ago so its not much of a worry. Its more that Izzard has now firmly placed his political stance with one side and I feel that as a comedian, he probably shouldn't have done that. I remember reading all the big hoo ha when Mark Watson became the face of the Magner's advert and lots of people thought that was wrong. I thought it was a great decision and one I would leap at myself, often longing for another Carlsberg advert like the one I did in 2007. Three days work and the rest of my year paid for? Advertising something that doesn't kill third world children or sell arms or burn rainforests? I think that advertising something that, at worst, may cause someone to get drunk and fall over, is not betraying any political stance or viewpoint a fanbase may have had about them. It's not outside of our comedy realm, as it were. However, what Izzard has done, is(ard. Hee hee).


The role of the court jester back in them medieval times, was to be able to mock the king and the hierarchy without punishment. They could be the contained element of anarchy that allowed others an outlet for venting against the establishment. In today's world I'd say comedians have a similar responsibility. Sure we will probably all vote, but its our job to mock all the parties (especially the Conservatives), and provide that commentary on the situation while others can't? By making his political allegiance publicly known Izzard transforms from a comedian in the eyes of the audience, to a political spokesperson. Suddenly his viewpoints or observations come not from an individual having his say, but from a party telling you what you should think. Its a big difference. From watching the broadcast last night, Izzard kept insulting the Tories and I kept saying to myself that he did this because he just doesn't want them to get in parliament so much that he thought that by endorsing their main competitors it would help. But then I couldn't help but think, why didn't he just do a bit of stand-up for one of the channels or radio stating the same points? For any of his fans that would have been enough, and for anyone who isn't a fan, well, I doubt a Labour broadcast by Eddie would do much for them anyway.


Last night I tweeted a joke about how David Tennant does the voiceover for the Labour advert stating ' a future fairer for us all' and how that, as the Doctor he's seen the future, its full of daleks and therefore he's a liar. I thought it was less commentary on the Labour Party's broadcast and more a silly comment. However I received two tweets from Tory supporters who cheered me on and I felt pretty disgusted by that. I don't want to be portrayed as a Tory sympathiser, nor a Labour voter or a Lib Dem supporter. I wouldn't object to anyone who said I fully backed the Monster Raving Loony Party but that's the only possible exception. While I'm very happy to let you know that I'll vote for the Left as much as possible, I'd prefer to remain reasonably anonymous with it all so I can mock all of them should my lack of political knowledge allow it. Essentially, that's what I feel we, as comics, are meant to do. Give the information and the criticism and let the public decide for themselves. Otherwise you leave your fanbase stuck if they don't agree with you. They say the world would all get along if it wasn't for religion and politics. I doubt this is true as I think Loose Woman is also a factor, but by mentioning political allegiance you automatically isolate those that don't agree, when instead you could be passing on your viewpoints in a more subtle but effective way. Comics like Mark Thomas educate in righting the wrongs of the world with his comedy, but I can't imagine he'd ever completely stand behind one single party vouching for them. That'd be giving the wrong message. Which is what Eddie Izzard has done.

Ashen

That Icelandic volcanic ash has given a lovely grey tint to the day. I woke up this morning and the skies seemed rather blue, which led me to believe that the airports were taking a tip from the Tube drivers and trying to get an easy day off at the expense of others. But now, it seems, London's sky is back to grainy film noir colours. It could, of course, just be shit weather. Its the sort of miserable grey sky I have seen, pretty much everytime before. Which make you wonder, is it actually an ash cloud, or have the weather men finally decided they are sick of having it blamed on them so have conjured up a volcano just to escape further finger pointing and outrage that Spring has already finished? It probably isn't that though, and to be fair, it seems like a lot of effort for Michael Fish to go through. Especially as I'm not sure he even reads the weather anymore, although what else could he possibly do? I hope, for his sake he has opened up a aquarium. That would be amazing.


I'm a bit delirious today. After a truly lovely gig in Narbeth, it took nearly four hours to get home last night. Not that long compared to some gig journeys, particularly as Layla valiantly offered to drive, which was really ace of her. However, this meant I sat in the back of the car, in the dark, eating some sweets, and consequently feel a lot worse today than if I was in the driving seat. It could be because not having to drive meant my brain shut down more than usual. It could be because all the sugar from the orange and chocolate fudge has eroded my mind. Or it could be because I tried to play the Robert De Niro game with Layla and Henning Wehn for a large portion the journey back. For those who haven't read my previous blogs about the Robert De Niro game, have a lookie here:

THE ROBERT DE NIRO GAME


It has easily become my favourite car journey game of late. However, I hadn't yet played it with Henning Wehn who's entire knowledge base is of German films. The only German films I know are Run, Lola, Run and some I didn't want to shout in front of Layla. Arf. This meant that neither me or Layla could get any of the actors or films that he was giving us links for and that he couldn't get any of the actors or films we were giving him. To make things worse, when he did get a film we knew, it would be one Layla didn't know anything about such as The Terminator or other classic 80's action flicks and the whole game would fall apart again. For a while it just meant that I was answering everyone's rounds for them, the game was essentially stopping before it was started, and there were several times where I actually considered screaming. Oddly Henning seemed to find it fun, while Layla was trying to drive and me shouting 'his first name is a religion and his surname is the term for a collection of hay' didn't seem to help. The game then changed to a more universal topic of country names whereby someone would say a country name and the next person would say a country starting with the last letter of the previous one. Pretty easy game huh? No. Because too many stupid countries end with the letter 'a'. This is hugely selfish of them and after exhausting the supply of Australia, Albania, Armenia, Austria and several others it merely became another game where long pauses would ensue before a simple sigh of failure followed. Essentially, I decided there and then that playing car games is a stupid stupid waste of everyone's time.


As such, my brain is dead today. Which is lucky as tonight's gig has been cancelled. Hooray I say! 'Boo' says my bank. 'Booray' says someone who can't pronounce Blu-Ray. I don't know who they are or why they are shouting incoherently at me about types of digital media in my flat.

The One Ring

I can't figure out why hotel's kick you out at 11 but then won't check you in until 3ish. What happens in the 4 hour interim? Sure rooms are cleaned, but does that take a whole 4 hours? I can clean my flat in about a quarter of that time. Yes admittedly, Layla would say I haven't done it properly and I might not have hoovered but that's because I am a busy man and have to be economical with my time. So I assume that they need maybe an hour to clean a room. Then the next three? I think they all have naps in the bed, watch the TV, parade around naked or let them out for sacrifices and other devious matters. I can't figure it out otherwise. Our hotel we are in at the moment is a really really nice place, so I'd like to think they don't sacrifice anyone here. Outside however, is Neath, in South West Wales and I'm fairly sure many die on its streets after pub closing time. Its quite odd just how nice our hotel is, and yet just mere footsteps out of its door is the sort of place humanity goes to die. Grey, miserable, run down and full of people that could easily be mistaken for Morlocks. Its sunny today and I've already witnessed several of them point up at the sky, shudder with fear and run away to dark shelter, to make sure they don't lose their rickets. We have adopted the 'if we can't see it, its not there' attitude and have mostly left the curtains closed during our stay.


I like pretty much all of the rest of Wales apart from Neath. And Port Talbot. And Newport. Ok, so I like some of Wales. Yesterday me and Layla trekked to an awesome castle on a hill called Carrag Cennen which was nothing less than great. I like going to ancient castles because I can strut around imagining all the knights that used to hang around there defending it and all the cool battles, whilst enjoying the bonus that they are no longer there and no one is firing a crossbow in my eyes. That's the bit those with more careless imaginations forget. 'How brilliant would it be if the knights were still here?' I heard a small boy say as we walked around. What an idiot. If the knights were still there, he'd have barely made it up the hill before he'd been killed. Think it through loser. Then from castles to cultural bases or Arts Centres as some people call them, we travelled to my gig in Pontadarwe were whilst seemingly nice, the audience just stared at me for the duration of the show. Don't get me wrong, some people were lovely, including a group of well bearded men, a headteacher and a man who purposefully sold the wrong car parts to old people, but generally it was the toughest gig I've endured for a while. Add to that the fact that after a few days of relaxing bliss in the West Country, I was sloppier than a sloppy Giuseppe. That's the pizza, not a slovenly Italian man. Though I assume the pizza took its name from a slovenly Italian man. Why you would name a foodstuff after such things, I'm not sure. If I was to witness a man covered in various 'sloppy' bodily fluids, the last thing I would think about is food. On the plus side, it was ace to be gigging with Dan Nightingale, who I've not seen since he made me bash my knee sliding around on a wheely board in Bangor, and Henning Wehn, who superbly confused some of the locals who didn't understand history.


Today we are heading the beach in Tenbury to freeze for a while, then off to Narbeth, which is a beautiful slow food town. This means, like Ludlow, there are no chain restaurants and shops, not that all food takes forever to get to you. We are however leaving soon to get there and order dinner in advance, just incase.


On a small side note, as I didn't mention anymore engagement things yesterday, I am still confused as to whether to introduce Layla as my fiancee to people or not. Frankly, its easy to say girlfriend without feeling like a (for want of a better non-homophobic word) ponce (sorry), but saying 'this is my fiancee' rings of the sort of twat who over pronounces 'jalapeno' with a big 'h' and has more than one lava lamp. Yes, no one should even have one. That's the point. What I need is a word that summarises we are due to get married, without sounding like I have to do a smug grin whenever I say it. Maybe 'girlfifetobe'? 'Wifriend'? Hmm that sounds like an internet accessory. Perhaps 'ringbearer'? Yes it sounds like something from Lord of the Rings, but since I got Layla the ring she has gained traits that are scarily dissimilar to Frodo or even Gollum. It was, my fault entirely, one size too big for her, which we will change on Friday. So for fear of damaging it, we are keeping it in its box. This means on regular occasion she takes it, strokes it, calls it her 'ring' and grins inanely. While I'm hugely please she loves it, if Layla starts to eat raw fish and shout 'my precious' I will take it away from her. Couple that with the two wedding magazines she's already bought and the fact that we have already looked at about 40 venues online as though they might disappear unless we look at them asap, and I realise I have created a monster. Bridezilla if you like. Still these are all things I should have expected and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't excited too. I've already decided that whenever we visit a wedding venue I don't like that I'm going to ask all sorts of awkward questions to annoy them. Such as 'are we allowed fire juggling midgets here? Do you have a licence for that?' and ' so if halfway through the ceremony we sacrifice a goat, will that be ok?' I will let you know my results.

Wanna Be Like You-oo-oo

Yesterday, in Longleat, whilst sitting on the Lady Bath boat and gently chugging along the Longleat lake, we spotted Nico the sad gorilla. He was sad, the tour guide told us, because his partner Samba, died a few months back and he is too old for them to pair him up with another gorilla. He would feel intimidated and possibly die younger than he should because of the consequences of such a change in his world. So instead he is forced to live alone, on an island in the middle of a lake, with six over zealous sea lions regularly honking at him, and boatloads of tourists chugging past staring into his sunken pathos filled eyes. It was, quite possibly, the saddest the ape I've ever seen and my heart went out to poor lonely Nico. Then we found out he has his own hut with a 42" plasma screen TV and Sky + where he sits and watches kids TV all day when its not nice outside, and suddenly while he sat there chomping an entire bunch of grapes, I realised his life was a damn site better than mine. I don't have a 42" screen TV. Layla said if we got one that size it would engulf the living room. Of course it would. That's why I wanted one. I don't have Sky+. If I want to see a TV show I've missed I have to find inventive ways of catching it again, like iPlayer, illegally downloading it or cutting bits out of a cardboard box and re-enacting it while I play all the parts. I don't get fed fruit for free! MY LIFE IS NOT AS GOOD AS A GORILLA'S!


I started to notice a pattern as we went round Longleat. Lions just chilling in the sun, being brought their food so they don't even have to bother hunting for it. Even if they did, they could just give up and eat one of the idiots who hadn't closed their car door windows despite being asked. Then there were the parrots who were being given treats for riding around on a scooter. I can ride a scooter. WHERE ARE MY TREATS? I've decided that the only way around this is to go and live on the Longleat Safari Park. I reckon they get me a special enclosure with my own big telly and Sky+, they throw food at me three times a day and people would be more than welcome to drive past and take pictures. I wouldn't care, as I'd clearly be living the life. All tourists would get their Longleat CD narrated by Kate Humble and there would be an extra track where she explains I am mostly found in North London, or comedy clubs around the UK. She could explain how I am vegetarian, with a fondness for sweets and those little packs of artichoke hearts you get in Sainbury's. People could be given buckets of Kellogs Variety packs to throw at me as they went past, as long as they washed their hands afterwards.


Longleat is pretty brilliant. If you haven't been, you should go as yesterday I got to see lions and tigers and wolves and rhinos and a really really big tortoise and pygmy goats and wallabies and have some chips and go on a boat and hold a snake and go in a scary big house. Yeah! It was the bestest day ever. I must stop blogging now as I have to leave our hotel room and go to Wales. I bet Nico doesn't have to do that.

Engaging Times

Me and Layla are now engaged. There you go. Its not like I haven't been engaged before, but those times involved me being on the phone while someone else was calling and so was apparently very different. That also involved a ring, but it being a ringtone means it wasn't as expensive and I can't imagine Layla would have been chuffed with me asking for her hand in marriage whilst handing over a voucher to get a free Crazy Frog download. So no, this time it was all proper. Or to sum it up, I liked it so I put a ring on it. There shall be no Beyonce dancing here. We are currently in a lovely little boutique hotel in somewhere called Horningsham, where I whisked Layla away to to do the deed. I was a little worried as anywhere with 'sham' as the last few words is a tad suspicious. Turns out though that its bloody lovely, despite the odd mad mooing cow nearby. I drove us up yesterday with only 6 people knowing where we were going (one being her dad, who I asked 'for permission' which is singularly far scarier a task than any gig ever), and when we got here they'd put champagne and flowers in the room. If I was a star, I'd be a casa Nova. Boom. Anyway, there was a proper ring and everything. For women: Its a big amethyst stone on a white gold ring. For men: Its round and that. I won't blog all the details as part of the going away somewhere remote was exactly that. I figured that I stand in front of people and blabber all the time anyway so for once we'd just go somewhere for us two. And of course she said yes. As I said in texts to my close friends yesterday, it was more the asking that was a surprise to people than the answer. So now we are fiance and fiance and all grown up and all that. So far to celebrate, we ate a lot of very nice food and then pranced around in the best dressing gowns ever whilst laughing every time the nearby mad cow mooed too loudly. If this is the engaged life, I am rather pleased with it.


Today's ventures include a trip to Longleat safari park which we have both seen on Animal Park loads of times and are a bit excited about. We are going to see the lions and hippos and rhinos and especially the really really sad lonely gorilla Nico that sits on Gorilla Island all by himself since his partner died. We have been discussing ways to cheer him up when we visit. All of which have been deemed to dangerous by the guides and we will probably just wave a bit while he stares at us wishing he was dead. Still, its something. I'm very worried about driving round. What if a lion walks in front of the car? Do I have to drive within the lions? How does it work? Do I get bonus points if I hit a hippo? So many questions, so little time.


Anyway, I shan't blog long. I've just made the promise that when we do sort out the our wedding date that I won't twitter or facebook at all on the big day. I've told Layla that I will have to blog though. Its the rules. There was a small sigh from her and I feel with it we have truly cemented our relationship together. Now all I need to do is sit on a sofa, demand dinner, watch football and fart a lot and I will be a proper husband to be.


Just as a footnote, ta to all the people who have said lovely things on FB, Twitter and other mediums. No carrier pigeons yet but I'm holding out hope. We are both very bloody happy indeed. Now off to shout at giraffes. Toodle-pip.

Green Witch

Its another nice day today. At some point this will have to stop otherwise the general British public will start to cheer up, the entire pessimistic ethos of the UK will disappear and then no one will want stand-up comedy. Or, more likely, just as we've got used to the weather being all lovely, it will start being rainy and then we'll all feel sad again, but even more so as we've seen what sunshine actually looks like now, so we know what we're missing. That's generally what actually happens. I am bloomin' loving the sunshine. However I am not bloomin' loving the bloomin' that accompanies it. Yesterday twinges of hayfever appeared. Just small ones. The odd succession of four sneezes in a row. Occasionally itchy eyes. Its all slowly slowly building up until the pollen gets all its troops together to blitz my skull until I'm a sneezy itching mess just as its really nice enough to sit in the park all day long.


The worst thing about getting twinges of hayfever yesterday is that I wasn't even particularly near any pollen. I was in Greenwich as part of another organised ramble by Helen Arney. I'm liking these organised rambles. So far I've only been on two and yesterday's wasn't really a 'ramble', more a walk with some food at the start and a milkshake at the end. Still, I now consider myself to be a rambling expert and fully intend to buy some tweed, a flat cap and a walking stick for our next excursion. Walking's pretty damn good I think. I walk a fair bit and normally its just to places I know or have to go. Turns out, that is nowhere near as fun as walking places you don't know and are a bit interesting. That is definitely my favourite type of walking. That or Christopher. Arf. Yesterday's trip to Greenwich meant I saw/did these exciting things:

- A cul-de-sac with a road sign saying 'cul-de-sac'. We have now officially run out of street names.

- A yacht on the Thames. I couldn't help but think it was hugely misplaced.

- I walked near the Greenwich meridian line dividing the Western and Eastern hemispheres, but then I remembered I was Westside fo'ever thugs, so I didn't cross it.

- I had a milkshake that made me feel weird. I assumed it had given me high blood sugars but actually it oddly gave me low blood sugars. I hereby class it as a milkfake.

- A sign saying people are not allowed to walk more than 4 dogs at any one time. The 101 Dalmation owners were gutted.

- I saw a prison tree. It was broken. This means all the criminal woodland elves are probably now free and dangerous.

- A shop called 'Perfect Women Ltd'. If you are lonely, single and male I suggest you pop in.

- A sign that said 'Audio Guide Returns'. I haven't seen the first film so I will avoid that one.

- A man with an intriguing face. He looked as though someone had taken Glenn Wool's head and shrunk it.

- A new building development that was inspired 'by dance'. I can only assume it might break at any point.


I'm sure there was more, but overall it was much fun indeed. I'd never really been to Greenwich before, and it turns out its quite nice. Well done you. You should all non-ramble too.

Right, quick bit of self-promotion before I forget:

This next Monday if you are in the London-wards:

TOM AND TIERNAN'S REALLY REALLY NOT FINISHED WORK IN PROGRESS SHOWS

And this in a few weeks if you are in Brighton:

BRIGHTON FRINGE SHOW MAY 6TH

BRIGHTON FRINGE SHOW MAY 7TH

Be at all of them. Thanks.

Party Pooper

Layla has just told me that she has been using my deodorant for the last few weeks as hers had run out. Now, while I mostly am not too bothered about this, aside from perhaps that I will have to go buy more deodorant sooner than I should because she couldn't be arsed to by her deodorant, I am concerned at how unfair this is. She can fully get away with my 'man's deodorant' but should worst come to the worst and I run out of similar toiletry components, I am unable to turn towards Layla's supplies for fear of smelling like a girl all day long. People would point, stare, say things like 'where's your blouse you big girl?', 'why aren't you wearing a dress?' and 'ooh you big girly girl girl girly girl face!'. Probably. Its not worth the risk. Whereas the worst that can happen if Layla wears my deodorant is that it runs out sooner than it should. Or some sort of Lynx effect happens and she gets down with a lady. Layla has already veto'd that one, no matter how many times I've suggested it. It also doesn't help that I don't use Lynx. This is mostly because I am no longer 15 years old. I also am not entirely sure how someone can just smell of 'Africa'. How can a scent entirely surmise a whole continent? And if it did, would it really smell nice? I mean a fragrance called 'Europe' would have some lovely bits of smell of French Lavender or something like that, but then would also have Venetian canals in the summer when they all smell of sewage. No one wants that. I am also aware that no one probably wants to smell of French Lavender unless they are over 80 years old. I haven't really thought this through have I?


I often don't think things through, but only when it has a self consequence. I like to think that if others may be involved in my actions, I'm a fairly thoughtful person. For example, I'd be more than happy to attempt to rewire the mains of my house wearing metal gloves and with no clue, but if you were wrapped in tinfoil and dancing around nearby, I'd hold back. Unlike the woman who was at my gig last night who pretty much was only concerned with her own wellbeing and would have thought nothing of zapping you with 40000 volts, unless of course it meant her electricity bill rose. It was, to all intents and purposes, a lovely lovely gig at first. The audience were a tad barmy, with a man called Duncan supposedly being the king of the party, but actually having no entertaining qualities whatsoever and a man called Rob who assured us he was a professional bummer. I kid you not. I decided his job title was 'Rear Admiral'. The first two acts, Ginger and Black and Philberto had great gigs, with the small but much fun crowd being very up for it. Then Alistair Barrie went on last, and immediately the audience very much enjoyed him. He did loads of new stuff I hadn't heard and it was all ace, until....A small amount of talking from a group at the back. Al noticed this and when he enquired what was up, some loudmouthed idiot shouted 'Are you going to tell any jokes?' Oof. The meanest heckle of them all. It had been clear to everyone that Al was and had been telling many jokes, however, this woman had laid down the bitch gauntlet by proclaiming the opposite. The audience became fairly tense at this point. In a room of 200-300+ this sort of thing is easier to deal with than in a room of 40-50+ as in the latter, they are all very aware of the size of the room, the proximity of the irritation, and how, were fists, glasses and chairs to fly, they would be in the firing line. Al dealt with it very well, but no one returned back to full comfortability and the last 5 minutes of the night were harder than they should be. All because of Captain Idiot.


What bothers me most about this is her need to vocally vent her upset at the evening. I'm fully aware that comedy is a game of bias, you might like some acts, you might not like some acts. I have, even as an act, sometimes sat through shows where I've wanted to do nothing more than escape as quickly as possible. But in those situations I'm completely aware there are more audience around me who are enjoying it, so I either sneak out like an uber ninja, or sit there and bear it. That means I growl a lot, eat salmon and maul the odd human. Arf. What I don't understand is this woman's brain saying 'hey you know what? I know you're hearing everyone else laughing, but I bet they're not really enjoying the night. Why not set them free like a mouthy superhero of the night?' I'm reckoning its partly booze, partly her being a moron, and partly that whenever I get a little voice using the term 'superhero of the night' its very hard to resist. Mine usually involves me trying to climb buildings and hurting myself though. All I'm saying, is that while I am a big advocate of freedom of speech, I also think that tact and consideration are pretty wonderful things. As are tacks and condensation. But not tax or constipation. FACT.


I'm about to go rambling now with Helen Arney plus ramble gang. Should be much fun and its a bit of a perfect day for walking somewhere. I am driving to the place we are going to start walking but I feel that's only fair. Unfair. Sorry, I meant unfair. Ramble reports tomorrow. Oh and its a shame I didn't get most bestest comedian ever on Ch4 '100 Greatest Comedian's Ever' poll last night again. I blame you. You all should have voted. All one of you. Next time, fingers crossed eh?

Inconsistent Genius

Gotta run and do Comedy 4 Kids again today, so today's blog shall resort to the old cheaty format of some bullet points for ye:


- I am good at mini golf, sometimes. Paul Byrne says that's called 'inconsistent genius' and once he'd told me that it reminded me that I am an inconsistent genius at a lot of sporting things. My favourite ever moment of genius inconsistency was about 6 years ago in the Rocky Mountains when me and some friends went to the US for our friends Luke and Megan's wedding. One night in a bar in Steamboat Springs, a couple of local guys challenged me and my friend Mat to a pool game. We took them up on this offer and proceeded to slay them triumphantly. I was a bit drunk and can't really play pool but that night I pulled more trick shots than a magician with a gun fetish. One in particular involved hitting the white up on the side, where it rolled along, going back onto the green just in time to knock the desired snookered ball into the pocket. I will never ever do that ever again. The two American guys called us 'hustlers' and stopped playing. The very next match I potted the white several times and lost hugely.


- I don't dislike Coventry as a place particularly, but if I am to judge an area purely on its gigs, then its full of loons. Last night's gig, which didn't start till 10.30pm (a mistake on everyone's behalf really) was less than half empty, but the half that were in were bonkers. Yes, I used the word bonkers. An angry dental technician, a happy alcoholic called Helen, a man who lied about his job to pretend that he sold stolen goods, but wouldn't give in that it was a lie, and a man called Matthew. Matthew sat in the front row, shouted about his large cock size, his fondness for bumsex and started having a fit about the fact he'd spilt his last beer. He then insisted we have a 'Haiti' fund to raise money for him to get another beer. His partner, a tiny lady who sat next to him, was also nuts, and as Junior Simpson rightly pointed out, they could well have featured on a Jeremy Kyle episode at some point.


- I had a Feast ice cream yesterday. They appear to have got smaller and therefore have less right to be called a Feast. For it to actually be a 'feast' I need to unwrap the packet and a banquet of ice cream needs to fall out, so I can eat until I am sick. Instead, I finished it in about 5 minutes. I did get brain freeze though. That was bad.


- Playing mini-golf makes you very unpolitically correct. I won't say too much but let it be stated that no matter who you are, if you're playing the game in front of me and Paul Byrne and you are being too slow, you will suffer some horrible slander.

- The stage at the gig last night was set up for the play that was on before us and consisted of a completely white backdrop with about 8 doors in it. I thought it would be funny to enter the stage from a different door each time. I was wrong. It wasn't. Turns out that gag only works for Scooby Doo.


Right must dash to shout funny words at small people.