Monday, May 31, 2010

90's Stylin'

I'm having a sort of day off today. I say sort of, as I have to gig tonight. But up until the point where I walk onstage, today is for slobbery. That's being like a slob, not spreading saliva everywhere. Although, there is nothing to say that won't also happen. I'm not 100% sure to do with my day off. Currently my parents do not have an HD ready or capable TV which means there shall be no X-Box playing or Blu-Ray watching. Sure I could watch them, but they'd look rubbish and I am not going to treat my beloved gadgets in such a way. They shall remain untouched until they can be dealt with properly. It'd be akin to viewing incredible art through a frosty window with sick on it whilst wearing sunglasses. Sort of. So what else to do? I might go all old school and read a book. That'd be nuts. It'd be like looking at the iPads of the past. Who knows? Either way, little shall happen. That's not me speaking about myself in the third person. I mean I shall be doing very little. I had my 6th preview last night of my new Edinburgh show at one of the loveliest clubs in the UK, Oppo in Bristol. The show went ok. Some worked, some didn't, some bits are still missing. It was very much like an item of Ikea flat packed furniture. Importantly, work needs to be done, I know where some of it should happen, and today I am not doing any of that work. Yes the show is fresh in my head, yes today would be the best day to go over things, no, I'm still not going to. That's how much of a sort of day off I'm having. So with all that covered, here are some bullet points:

- Tom of the Craine variety, relayed information to me yesterday that the new fashion for this year would be '90's style. I am very pleased by this as I don't think I've ever stopped dressing like its the 90's. Admittedly, I mean the late 90's. I'm never going to get my curtains haircut back for the sake of humanity. However I'm excited about everyone else wearing baggy jeans too and I hope we can push it towards the excess of hip hop culture from the mid 90s so that everyone will be wearing large clocks around their necks and have one trouser leg rolled up. I would like this.

- Further hip hop chat, it occurred to me that on lots and lots of hip hop tracks there is a featured guest that I have never heard of ever since and I wondered what had happened to some of this people. Today's curiosity moment is the group Zhane who featured on Busta Rhymes 'It's a Party' track from 1995. Just so you don't panic, I've checked it on wikipedia and it turns out, they are nowhere now. So there you go. I have a feeling this won't become a regular blog feature.

- The news story about Israel storming the convey of aid ships to Gaza makes me very sad. Its unbelievable how it can be justified that they have attacked those that are bring supplies for other suffering people. What's next? The IDF kicking over ambulance workers as they try to help someone having a heart attack? The Israeli government have stated that the group on the ships were 'dead set on confrontation' which is interesting as they have also said in reports that there were no weapons on the ships and that the two people who had pistols, grabbed them of the IDF. So essentially, they are saying that it was ok to fire upon people who were acting aggressively because their peace seeking boat had been unnecessarily attacked? As yet, Israel still haven't found an excuse that comes close to being acceptable. The Foreign Minister Ayalon has described the boat convey as an 'armada of hate'. I would like to nominate that as the most hypocritically incorrect statement of the year. I really hope the UN have the balls to actually do something about this and it doesn't become yet again another example of relentless oppression of the Palestinians that is let slide.

- Please watch this from 1.20 in. I swear it will cheer up most people's days. Just awesome.


Well that's it for today's blog. Mostly hip-hop/90's related, but also some ranting about international crimes. Hope that covers everything you want on a bank holiday.

Sunday, May 30, 2010

That Sounds Shit To Me

Why are people pretending to be upset about the being last in the Eurovision Song Contest? Every year we send some hapless twat to sing a song no one has any confidence in, to compete against other hapless twats from countries that actually seem to care about them, mostly due to their cultural lack of taste to win the prize of having the country with the worst taste in music. We shouldn't ever want to win it for several reasons. Firstly, we can't afford it right now. Germany must be kicking themselves that they have to pay for the event next year, amongst all their other debt problems. Secondly, we don't take it seriously enough. This year we appeared to send Rick Astley's damaged son along to have a go. He sang a song written by Pete Waterman which was probably written as a dare, as it sounded like it had been churned out whilst asleep or drunk or both. It had all the musical intelligence of a mute deaf warthog stamping on a keyboard in hope of finding truffles. We sent the EuroVision that, because we don't care. I heard on the radio that one of the countries spent money getting Beyonce's and Michael Jackson's dance coach and singing coaches from someone else famous etc etc. We just found the person most willing to do it and sniggered as they agreed and we knew that millions of people would point and laugh at them via the TV. Its a bit of a novelty to us now. We all know that the UK's music scene is frighteningly superior to say Azerbaijan and so while they may score more than 10 points, we'll never be seeing them fill Glasto's headline spot when U2 drop out. Not that mini-Astley would either, but you know what I mean. Also, thirdly, we like losing. We'd have complained if we'd won with such a shit song, and then moaned about it costing us more of our taxes. Instead we can come last with a laughable song, shout at the telly for one night, say it's all about politics and enjoy it.

I suppose it partly is politics. I mean Cameron has made it pretty clear how much he doesn't want to be part of Europe and I think the other countries knew that. Even Israel who isn't part of Europe, pretends to be in the same continent for the competition. Admittedly, it's not like they need anymore enemies. But I'm amazed David Cameron allowed our entry to take part. I'd have thought he hated the idea of the UK being any part of a united Eurovision. Arf. Then of course you had Greece's entry which was going to be 3 minutes but ended up being just 2 due to further cuts. Then at the end the rest of the EU was going to chip in a lyric, but they decided against that. So well done to Germany and that. I heard the winning song on the way back from my gig and it sounded very much like a Deutsch Kate Nash. Kate Nacht if you like. Saying that, it was obviously the lesser of 25 evils and fair play to them. They knew how it worked. Either be so elaborate and dress as a transvestite warlord skating clown or do a song that's not as shit as the rest. Being all sensible like, they went for the latter. Fair play. I fully respected France last year for putting forward Sebastian Tellier who is a brilliant musician in his own right. Unfortunately he was too talented and therefore got almost nowhere. That's cheating. You are not allowed someone who is actually good. That's a step too far. I think if we do want to win it next year then we need to aim for the ridiculous level. Lets get Chaz and Dave dressed as martians on a trampoline. That's the sort of thing we want. Rolf Harris (I'm sure he's got citizenship by now) surrounded by women in bikinis and people dressed as tigers. Or we could just stop taking part? But then I guess Graham Norton would have to have a night off and unable to cope with that he'd probably just roam the streets with Andrew Lloyd Webber on a leash while they both start knocking on people's doors and telling them its their turn to step up to the stage and no one wants that.

I'm doing a preview tonight at one of the loveliest clubs in the country. Its called Oppo, its in Bristol and is run by Mark Olver. Its proper good. They have a maths quiz and everything. I, once again, really need to work on my show. So I'm going to do that now. If you live in Bristol, come along. If you don't, then I suggest you do something else with your evening.

Saturday, May 29, 2010

Angels and Fascists

Firstly, before I write this blog about what I want to write this blog about, you all need to know how it feels to sleep in a bedroom, with this just outside it:

Terrifying huh? Yes, I'm sure a big part of it is having watched the Weeping Angels episodes of Doctor Who, but regardless having this block of stoney fear right outside where you sleep is nothing less than creepy. The house we are staying in is amazing. Is massive and every room has been recently renovated and designed, and on first appearance everything seems excellent. Then you see the statue. One of the gig promoters who lives in the house admitted that every time they are racing around the house and get near it, it makes them jump. Well then why, oh why, would you have it? I woke up several times expecting it to be looming over me staring. Each of those times I contemplated getting out of bed and kicking it down the stairs while telling it to die. Look at its horrible starey face:

Don't look into its eyes!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHH! And then, then I had an epiphany. This statue, while horrifying in most aspects, has also been made to wear a top hat and scarf which I feel demeans it a bit. Then I calmed myself by thinking of all those scary Weeping Angel statues who are made to hold large amounts of hats or constantly get covered in bird shit in Trafalgar Square. Sure they're all scary when they're in space but as soon as some hangs an arrow sign over their heads or gives them a jester's hat they are probably confined to standing there feeling like a twat. Its this sort of thinking that will both allow me to deal with statue of terror and also will get me killed if I blink.

Phew. Now, what I wanted to write about was a very very odd and unexpected incident at the gig in Tenbury Wells that we did last night. I've regularly compered this gig a few times now and it's always been a really fun lovely gig. Last night they started much of the same though they were a tad more rowdy and heckly than normal. Several of them came up to me in the interval and asked me how I liked that they were 'giving some back' and I realised that over all the gigs we've had there, they've started to become confident. The first ever gig, they were quite quiet, then they've increasingly got happier with challenging me onstage. I am both very proud, like a doting gig father, and yet at the same time, slightly afraid that I've created a monster. I shall stamp on this next time I am here, although I think that they've worked out I'm not at all scary. I may have to increasingly let them get worse and then cancel all further gigs, leaving mad heckly people to run riot in Tenbury shouting insults like 'farmer' at each other.

So it was all ok at first. Some odd banter about public toilets that fell into the river and Josh Widdicombe was greeted with, and dealt with perfectly, a strange comment about him having the same beer as me. Stephen Carlin went on second and was great, and then, during the last act, Matt Kirshen, something I've never seen at a gig happened. Matt was doing his excellent political stuff and commented on the BNP. He did a joke about Nick Griffin's DNA needing some other ethnicities in it, as that would help his saggy jowls, and a man shouted back at him 'no he doesn't. You need to sort your face out.' There was a weird pause in the room, and Matt questioned this man, discovering that he was, and fully admitted to being, a BNP member. At which point the racist bigot started unnecessarily insulting Matt, proving, if nothing else, that he was a racist bigot. Matt dealt with it superbly, standing up to him at all times, but was clearly shaken by how uncomfortable everything had got. I was hiding backstage both shocked and partly glad it didn't happen while I was up there as I wouldn't have known how to deal with it at all. Then, something awesome happened. The other people of Tenbury started heckling the man, calling him a variety of names. The twat said 'All the BNP members give me a cheer' and there was silence. Instead Matt quipped that he 'was now in the minority, which was ironic' and two people who were with the man, walked out. Kirshen continued his set, occasionally referring back to it without bringing it back up again, and the crowd were mightily impressed.

Afterwards many of the audience came up and apologised to the acts saying that Tenbury isn't at all like that and not all the local people are racist bigots, and we all very much believed them. In fact, it was very reassuring to know that they were all as shocked by this man's presence at the gig as we were. Here's the thing. I guess I've heard about the BNP on telly, radio and in the papers, but I've never actually seen one in real life. I was starting to hope and believe nobody could really exist if they were that narrow minded and thick. Sadly, they do. Although, much like everytime Griffin speaks, the BNP member at the gig only served to make himself look like an even bigger dick and therefore booted an own goal in terms of popularity gaining. Why oh why would you come to a comedy gig if that's your mind set? Ok, maybe certain types of comedy gig. The old school working men's comedians, but it was fairly clear from the top of our show, that it wasnt like that. It was going to be a gig where mostly left thinking comics would say things that would probably oppose a right wing fascists viewpoints? Maybe we should start putting posters up at gigs saying 'no BNP members or fascists'. See how they like being segregated.

Still hopefully there will be ripples through Tenbury today as people have realised that these sort of people have infiltrated their area and maybe they'll be able to do something about it. Then of course it will be left open to an attack by the Weeping Angels which is nearly as scary. Either way they'll end up stoney faced. Stoney faced? Geddit? Hah? Hah? Sigh.

By the way, I'd like to point out that the gig at the Regal is bloody lovely, with or without the occasional racist (preferably without ta. Though I can't imagine he'll be returning) and if you live in the area then you should pop along to the next one on June 25th which will be ace.

Friday, May 28, 2010

Eye Hand It To You

Sometimes day have themes unintentionally. Today for example, I have had a baked potato and got my Rage Against the Machine tickets. What theme could today possibly have? Well my baked potato was slightly overcooked and crispy and set the smoke alarm off, much like Rage Against the Machine. Ok, so today hasn't really got a theme. Or it might do. Who knows the possibilities of turning up to my gig in Tenbury Wells tonight to find a mashed potato effigy of Zach De La Rocha? Chances are slim but I won't count it out till I get there. If there is one of those there, I will be properly terrified. If they are playing a DJ mix of Rage tracks and he music from Close Encounters of The Third Kind, I will be even more scared, though also slightly impressed at the level of effort they had gone to. Plus I would have to make a mash pit in honour. Sorry, got a bit sidetracked there. So, day's have themes sometimes, and yesterday was a themed day. Its theme? Well oddly enough, it was amputated body parts. Yes. Not the best of themes. Not something you'd have as your windows backdrop theme or something you would get excited knowing a theme park was based on. 'Come to Decapitation Station! So much fun you'll lose your mind! Literally!' Wow, that's pretty macabre.

So why this theme? Well here, dear readers and reader's wives (tee hee) is reason one: Whilst driving on the M60 on my way to the gig last night, I saw an object bounce towards me on the motorway. I stared at it as the jumped along the road towards me car. My first thought was whether or not it was big enough to be a threat to the vehicle. No, no it wasn't. I like that this was my first thought. I'm fairly sure it makes me an awesome driver. Then again, I also know that if I decided it was a threat, I'd probably then think 'let's fucking take it' and see what happens. Which makes me a terrible driver. Though I'm pretty sure I could take most things. FACT. Anyway, as it wasn't a threat, being that it was far too small, I then tried to work out what it was. It was flesh coloured in tone, had what appeared to be five small appendages coming off of it, one stumpier than the rest, and a looked very much like a human hand. Then I realised it totally was a human hand. Well, not a proper one. I worked out when it bounced and the thumb snapped off that it was a prosthetic human hand and as my tyres went over it and I heard a nasty crunch, I was fairly sure a proper human hand wouldn't have made that sound.

So then, the further questions. Where had it come from? Had it been lost by accident when trying to throw something else out of the window? In which case, its deserved as you shouldn't litter. Though saying that, they have only ended up littering more, so still not good. I like to think someone, whilst driving decided that they no longer wanted to pretend they had a hand, and so threw it out of the window with the one hand they did have whilst steering with their knees. Or crashing. I hope it was the former and if you were on the M60 last night and saw someone steering very much to the right (it was a left hand) then please let me know.

The second part of the themed day happened while the excellent Jason Cook was onstage. Whilst compering I had met a man in the front row who was a psychiatric nurse. I wasn't 100% sure what to say about such matters so made an awful gag about how psychiatrics aren't as good as magic tricks, questioned him on some other stuff, insulted his son, and moved on. Jason had very kindly said he'd close the show, but I decided to watch his first ten minutes before I left and I'm glad I did. A very accomplished compere, he decided to ask the nurse what the worst thing he'd ever seen was. Good question. I have personally got some great tales from such questions to nurses. My favourite was a student nurse in Bucks University who was dealing with a patient when sadly he died. Not too uncommon I suppose. But as he died he projectile shat, and as he was wearing a hospital gown it flew straight into the nurses face and mouth. Quite possibly the most horrendous story I've ever heard. Also extremely funny. So when Jason asked this man the same question, we expected similar laughs. John, the nurse took a deep breath, and without warning just said 'one patient cut his own eye out.'

What John forgot to do there was self censor. Sure its the 'worst' thing he's ever seen, but he was at a comedy club. He must have seen a funnier thing? Something not quite as sick? Or maybe, just maybe he did find it funny. In which case he was an wrong 'un. Maybe there were jokes around the hospital for hours after about how the phrase ' an eye for an eye' doesn't work. Perhaps commenting on whether he wanted a new apple iPad etc etc. Whatever the reason, there was a truly awkward silence for a few seconds. Jason very carefully told of much funnier stories he had heard and everyone resumed back to normal gig enjoyment after hearing the worst thing ever.

So you see the day had a theme. Then to top it all off as I drove past a pub in Burnley on the way home, there was a man outside who was clearly legless. Legless? Arf. Boom boom. Sigh.

Roll on Rage Against The Mashine.

Thursday, May 27, 2010

Pajama Activity

I'm having an odd day today. It mostly started with being woken up at a silly hour for the second time in a row by the sound of someone chainsawing a tree. They appear to only want to chainsaw a tree between 8am and 9am and at no other time and I can't figure out why. Are there optimum tree trimming times? Maybe its a tree surgery and that's the only times you can get an emergency appointment? Or more likely, they just know that by using the loudest piece of bark chopping equipment possible at that time, it will irritate the hell out of me and ruin my sleep pattern somewhat hugely. I needed those two extra hours of sleep too. Not least because I woke up halfway through a cool dream where I'd gone back to uni to do a creative writing class, and started writing about a moose that was lost in the jungles of Borneo. Then as I was writing I noticed I was in my pajamas. Typical 'panic' dream most would say. Except that, after realising I was in my pajamas, I stood up, told the whole class my pajamas were hella cool and then high fived everyone. Then I was woken up by chainsawing. I can only assume I missed out on some awesome pajama activity and possibly crowd surfing because of stupid wood killer man. Or woman. I couldn't see them.

I also needed sleep because once again last night I got drunk on milkshake by having a mega peanut butter and banana maltshake of the kind that was so thick buildings could be made from it. It would be pointless making buildings from it as people wouldn't be able to live in the buildings for too long as they'd either eat them, or be crushed under milk sludge whenever it rained/got too hot/ had any kind of weather condition. I would still look into buying one though. I think whoever invented milkshakes is someone who deserves a knighthood, a sainthood, a robin hood and a Boyz 'N' The Hood. Its easily the best thing since sliced bread. Well that's not true. Many things have been invented since sliced bread that are way better. If someone said 'we'll either take away your blu-ray player, or you'll always have to slice your own bread' then let me tear chunks of wholemeal with my bare hands for I'd keep the visual cinematic treat anyday. Not even blu-ray though, but what about the internet? Or the telephone? Or kitkats? So so many things.

I'm really not sure where this blog is going today. I think that's partly because I know where I'm going in a minute and that's Burnley. By myself. For four hours there and four hours back. Knowing that means I will type whatever I can here in order to delay the process of solitary driving confinement. Sometimes I think that's how prisoners should be punished. Make them drive the length of the country and continuously get stuck in traffic. It'd make them insane. Or they'd probably just drive away and escape. Hmm. Big flaw in that plan Douieb. Hence why I'm not in charge of the British prison systems. Well that and many others reasons, like not applying to be in charge of them.

Some bits of admin before I get my drive on:

- My friend Sam takes brilliant photos and puts them up here. Today's include a man pointing at a paper, a woman with a flamingo and some old people:


- In a few weeks myself and mind bender Chris Cox need to get to Rock Ness by Loch Ness. Me being an idiot hadn't organised this before and so all travel to Inverness costs more than you have or I have put together. Well unless you're rich. In which case, please get our flights. Thanks. If you're not rich though and you know anyone a) driving from London to Rock Ness or b) from Glasgow to Rock Ness or c) who is a pilot and lets us sit on their laps all the way there till we can parachute out over the festival, then let me know. In return you will get top banter, petrol dosh and a promise that Chris won't mess with your mind. Much.

- I'm doing an Edinburgh preview with Tom Craine in Bristol on Sunday at Mark Olver's super super lovely gig Oppo at Channings. You should come. Details? You want details?


To Burnley or Bust! Tee hee, bust.

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

If You Can't Sing-a-long, Then Hum-a-long

If X-Factor was judged in a shower, I would definitely compete. I've realised this sounds dodgy, but I meant in terms of the fact that I can definitely warble a tune while in my ceramic cleaning pod. I did not mean in terms of wanting to show off my speedos to Cowell. I don't have speedos. And I think if I did, I wouldn't make it past the audition stage. What I'm saying is I can sing in the shower like I was a member of the shower cappack. I can also definitely sing in my car when no one else is there. I'm very good at that. I'm fairly sure that when no one else can witness or hear a single thing I'm belting out while going along the motorway, that I am 100% in tune and a veritable Katherine Jenkins of the drivetime. Just less pretty. Or Welsh. However, despite these areas I am Frank Tiernatra in, on stage it appears otherwise.

I've sung on stage before. Oh yes. I played Adrian Mole at school aged 13 and as my voice was breaking had to sing in tones that could have been mistaken for a broken radio tuner or perhaps a new album from Bjork. This trend continued throughout many a school play and I was even in an amatuer musical aged 17 that everyone involved has agreed never to talk about again. I did have my own song though, which raises many questions about the hearing of the composer ie he was possibly deaf. Since then there has only been the very odd occasion, with, as per usual, emphasis on the odd, and one venture to a karaoke bar some time ago where I got a bit drunk and insisted on singing Just by Radiohead, much to the detriment of the song.

You stick me infront of any audience and tell me to do comedy and I won't bat an eyelid. Which would become creepy for a while. You'd start to wonder why I didn't blink. Was I some sort of lizard man? But as soon as you mention singing infront of people, the fear arrives like a big bucket of fear based sludge in the face. So last night terrified me. It was a gig for the irritatingly talented James Sherwood who can do both funny and singy and pianoy playing all at once. Bastard. He runs a lovely monthly club called the Piano Bar in central London, where the basis of the gig involves a comic doing a set, then singing a song. I stupidly agreed to do this a while back, and have spent pretty much every day since wondering what on earth to do. After much deliberation I went for 'Ain't That A Kick In The Head' by Dean Martin. The reasons? Well, for a start, I thought that it was in my vocal range. Secondly its (as well as featuring in the original Ocean's Eleven) used in one of my favourite films Out Of Sight. Its an ace film that. Yes its got stupidy Lopez in it, but this was before she became stupidy and she actually acts and looks all hot. Well done her. Also the song includes the lines 'like the sailor said quote, ain't that a hole in the boat', which is brilliant. Not least because its quite a random phrase, but also because the song is an analogy about falling in love, and yet the idea of a hole in a boat can never be anything less than a bit shit.

James introduced me onstage with a song to the tune of Franz Ferdinand's 'Do You Want To' ie Tiernan, Tiernan Tiernan Douieb etc. and I did my set, all the while thinking of my song at the end, and therefore, not really enjoying any of it. Then I sang. Glass shattered, the heavens opened, dogs howled, children cried and ears bled. Not really. Actually I was a bit flat at the top like a shit hair cut, but then seemed to just enjoy it. In fact, singing in public is a bit good. I may now harass the Karaoke Circus people, sing at the end of all my sets and then just sing in the park and on the night bus and everywhere. I'm going to sing so often people will think I'm lost in music. Or not. In fact probably not. I think I'll just stick to the comedy for a bit. Unless it rains. Or I'm winning. Then you have to as those are the rules.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Sunglasses and Swans


I need new sunglasses. Thing is everytime I get new sunglasses, its only a very short amount of time until I need new sunglasses again. Of my last six pairs of sunglasses three were sat on by me, one was stolen when my car got broken into, one was sat on by someone else and one I mangled by slamming a car door on it. It seems I am not allowed to have sunglasses. At the moment I am wearing the mangled pair. From a distance it looks ok, but on closer inspection they are heavily wonky and it appears as though my head is lopsided. To counter this I have to slightly lean my head in the other direction which ultimately gives me a stiff neck and will eventually result in me having a lopsided head whereby the glasses will once again look out of sync. I think I just need to buy some new ones. Do they sell sunglasses that are impervious to damage?

Those huge bug eyed ones seems pretty invincible, but they also make me look like the fly or Elton John's sad younger brother. I do not want to appear to be either of those things. Though maybe if I was the fly there'd be more buzz about me. Eh? Eh? Sigh. I can't do the little round sunglasses either or I look like a weird evil German professor. I can't do Raybans because of the size of my tiny head. It means I appear to have been teleported from the midst of a European techno disco into the sunshine unawares. No I need the smallish square type ones. Ones that make me look a) a bit hella cool and b) a bit like I've been hired to kill you. That's definitely the sort of impression I want to give people when I put shades on. Unfortunately this cannot be done when you can only look at your targets from a left sided angle. Maybe I will just get sheer black contacts and wear them at all times.


Last night Pete Firman drove us both to a rather lovely gig at the Wycombe Swan. Organised by Tom Price and in aid of the Epilepsy Society and with Russell Howard headlining, there were 1000 lovely audience people very much wanting comedy and as a gig it was up there with the bestest. The show was brilliant fun, as was hanging around with all the acts, but more important than any of that: they had tiny quiches. Oh yes. There was a lovely spread of jelly beans, chocolates, cheesecakes, mini pizzas, sandwiches and tiny quiches. My friend Mat (as I have said before on this blog) says that real men don't eat quiche. However they do eat tiny quiches because you can pretend you are a huge man giant eating a normal size quiche and therefore that is very tough. Inbetween the jokes I made a point of eating a lot of little quiches and putting lots of bags of jelly beans into my bag to take home. I made it home with six bags and now I plan to plant them all and grow a giant jelly beanstalk from which I will harvest enough sugar to make sure my next 30 gigs are all a bit mental with energy.

Couple of other things discovered from the big gig:

- Pete Firman's car does not fly. I feel cheated by this.

- Simon Callow was on the radio and used the phrase 'like a big fat foot in your face.' I don't know if I ever need to hear anyone else say anything ever again ever.

- Myself and Tom Price have started the following rumours about the following comics. Please spread them to make sure everyone thinks they are true:

Adrian Poynton smells of gouda
Pete Firman has run out of magic
Ray Peacock touches boy cats

- I had a look at the 3D edition of Nuts. As Nuts has never been more than one dimensional, it doesn't really achieve its aim.

- Russell Howard thinks I should incorporate a bit into my act where I throw my pubes at people. I think he just wants a funny headline for his telly show: 'Hobbit Boy Showers Crowd In Rain of Pubes' or something. Well I shan't pander to it. I shan't.

- Playing to 1000 people is not that different to playing to 100 people except you have to speak a bit slower. Although this could just be that the people of Wycombe are idiots. Ha. They weren't though. Although they could have been. But they weren't. Maybe.

- I tried to dare other acts to open with the line ' The Wycombe Swan eh? Last time I performed inside I swan I got arrested. Arf.' But no one would. Chickens. Or swans.


I watched the last episodes of Lost last night. I feel like the writers owe me six years of my life back.


I'm doing this. I have to do a singsong. You should come and hear wailing that sounds like whaling:


Monday, May 24, 2010

Can I Kick It?

I am not a football fan. I've said it before and I'll say it lots of times, unless I am accidentally in a football based pub and in which case I will first wonder how on earth I've ended up there, and then secondly try and work out what I can shout or say that may make me look like an expert so I don't get attacked. I don't ever really want to know anything about football but there are those moments where it would be useful to have some knowledge of the Premier World Champions Cup or whatever it is. For example a few weeks ago, after Chelsea won whatever it was they won, I was walking to Tom Craine's house, near the Emirates Stadium, and a man wearing Arsenal garb was repeatedly falling over. Now, at first, this was hilarious. He would stumble one way, hit a lamppost, fall over, slowly get up, stare at his surroundings and set off again. The next attempt would involve him walking straight into a shop front and so the cycle would continue again. It was like a not too exciting human pinball adventure. But then on fall attempt number 6 (he was zigzagging in the same direction as I was walking), he fell over and didn't get up immediately. As his head had smacked the concrete, I went from snickering a lot to being concerned. I went over and checked if he was ok. He nodded, and then held his hand up to say 'wait a minute'. Stupidly, I did. He then very very slowly pulled himself back up, and staggered towards me and put his hand on my shoulder. Now, at this point, I suddenly became pretty scared. He looked angry, he smelled angry and by putting one hand on my shoulder it looked like he was steadying himself to swing with the other. Instead he looked me in the eyes and just said 'I hate Chelsea.' I wasn't quite sure what the safe response was here. If I said I loved Chelsea I'd be both lying, as I am hugely apathetic towards them, and probably stirring this loon's anger pot. If I said 'why?' he could realise I'm not a football fan and get angry, or worse, attempt to talk to me for a while. So I said I hated them too. He grimaced in an attempt to smile, then fell over again and I walked quickly on.

When I was 8 I assumed I had to like football as I lived then, as I have since, quite near the Arsenal grounds and by default that seemed to mean all of my friends were Arsenal fans and I should be too. Thems the rules. You live there, you must like there. Except with Man Utd where its the opposite. My parents couldn't give a toss about football and so when I decided I wanted to go to a game, my uncle, a die-hard Tottenham fan, had to take me. We went to see Arsenal vs Oxford and grudgingly my uncle sat us on the Arsenal side, trying his best not to cheer everytime Oxford did well. Luckily they didn't do very well at all. Instead my uncle had a pie, I had a kitkat and we watched as Arsenal took Oxford in the face, football wise. It was brilliant, but sadly my uncle couldn't hack going to Arsenal games for too long and so that was that. I managed only a few more until the effort of following everything combined with the disinterest at home, made me realise I really couldn't be arsed. My brother gained an interest a bit later on in life and I went to a couple of games with him, including a tribute match where Ian Wright fell into the crowd. Sadly no one died. This was followed by attempts at being enthused by the World Cup and Euro games, but any attempt to be backing the national team was generally met by poor play and an early failure by England. After this normal life quickly resumed and I could quite happily not watch football with using too much effort. I mean, it doesn't take effort not to watch it, and I think that's the problem. Watching and following a team means you have to constantly keep up with what they are doing. Every season they might or might not do well, the season ends, then you have to start all over again. That would drive me insane. The lack of ever just finishing it all. I still hold on to the idea that all football teams worldwide should have one big game and that's that. Whoever wins, wins forever and they can gloat about it all they like. It can be called the 'Megahellafootballshowdowncrazy', and everyone will watch. I have all the best ideas.

Last night though I helped with a charity gig for Mark Watson's brother Paul who is actually doing something very interesting related to football. Paul, along with his friend Matt, travelled to a tiny island in Micronesia called Pohnpei. This particular island has a very high obesity rate and as such had never had any kind of sports or training facilities, let alone public interest, in order for them to combat this problem. Paul and Matt decided they would set up the first ever Pohnpei football team, and have since led this team to become both extremely competent players and also create excitement about getting healthy. This has spread across the island and thanks to these two, they are hopefully changing things for the next generation of Pohnpeinesians. That's probably not what they are called, but googling is an effort when you're downloading the last few eps of Lost. Anyway, the next step for Pohnpei is to get their team FIFA recognised which requires some lengthy process and about £9000. Last night's much fun show raised £1000, so just 8 left to go. If you are interested in helping then please check out their website here:


Or follow them on Twitter: @pohnpeisoccer

Right, that's my bit for charity and football liking. I can now go back to dreading the world cup as all my gigs disappear and instead I have to watch as people with England flags scribbled on their faces cry so hard, all the face paint runs in a way that looks like their head is melting. Tonight I'm doing a gig for the Epilepsy Society. You can fully expect that tomorrow there will not be a similar blog about the issues of growing up with a disinterest in such subject matter. It just wouldn't fit. Sorry. So so sorry. Sigh.

Sunday, May 23, 2010

Pulling Whale Teeth

So turns out despite my happiness about sunshine yesterday, sun is actually really bad for a couple of somethings. Skin cancer? Ok, more than a couple of things. Firstly, running. I went for one of them this morning. I say morning, I mean midday, in the very hot sun. What this meant was that within seconds my body had had all its moisture removed and I also tripped up and crumbled to dust. No one wants that. Except maybe dust mites. But I doubt there are many of those in the park. If there are then they are clearly lost. So no run in the sun, even though it rhymes. Similarly run also rhymes with bun and hun, but you shouldn't run in either of those either. I think a clear no rhyme run message is coming through today. The other bad thing sun does is ensure that even the nicest, busiest of gigs can become very empty, as I found out at my usually lovely gig last night. Instead of the normal 150 people very up for a gig, there were 28 quite tired and starey people that made my usual fun job of comparing feel like pulling teeth. Not just any teeth either. Big big painful whale teeth that had painfully been inserted into your mouth which was an arduous process in the first place only for you then to remove them. That sort of tooth pulling pain. It didn't help that the first man I spoke to told me he was a 'comedy critique' which always makes me angry, and then when I told him that was rubbish he refused to give me any more information by saying 'I don't want to tell you anything else.' Has this man never read Improv by Keith Johnstone? Clearly not as that was a certifiable block. Bastard. I should have pushed one of my freaky mutant whale teeth through his head.

Anyway, even though I promised a lovely long blog today, frankly its lovely and sunny again outside and so I really can't be arsed to sit in front of a computer. So let us take a lovely revisit to the bullet points of joy where I shall delight you in some notes from yesterday and today:

- On Friday night I parked my car at the B&B in Hereford. I parked it in a reasonably sized car park, away from all plant covering and instead just next to some other cars. Why am I telling you such tedious details? Because you need to picture the image, as when I woke up on Saturday and looked at the car, it had been royally shat on by birds. No other cars beside it had been. As stated I wasn't under a tree or any foliage. Which leads me to believe that birds hate me. It was a targeted specific attack. I'm not sure what I've done to deserve this. Perhaps its because they think I'm too talon-ted. Or maybe just too cheep. Arf. Either way, next time I see a bird I'm going to kick its face off.

- I just had lunch with my Nan. Before we started eating she said, to our atheist family's surprise, 'Shall I say Grace?' She then said very loudly 'Grace!' and then 'That was easy'. My Nan is ace.

- Yesterday Ed Balls announced that he opposed the invasion of Iraq. Thing is, what he failed to point out, is that his comment may have made some difference had he said it 7 years ago. Now that the country has been ravaged and several thousand innocent people killed, I can't imagine many Iraqis are sitting around today thinking 'well thank God Ed Balls said that. That makes everything better.' Idiot.

- If you removed one full stop and the word 'butcher' from this shop's name, then you'd have Dr Butt Master. That is amazing.

- That's what Andrew Maxwell would look like if he became a beat poet.

- Sarah's dog once tore its own cock off trying to jump over a barbed wire fence and failing to make it. As far as I'm concerned, this is the worst story I've ever heard about anything ever ever.

I'm sure there's more to tell, but the sun is beckoning and I want some of that skin cancer everyone is talking about.

Saturday, May 22, 2010

Zzz Express

I have, due to a series of badly planned moments, only just got round to doing my blog today. It's normally many hours earlier but I've managed to be with computer and nowhere near wifi or, like now, without computer but with wifi. I'm not entirely sure on the how's and why's but I've resorted to using my iPhone and already it's autocorrect function means I may just throw it at the next passer by. Luckily I'm in a cool bar in Bristol where they are playing the sort of ace swing jazz that means no matter what happens, it's impossible to be angry. I doubt anyone has ever got violent to swing jazz. I expect that any time fists have been raised during a good doo-wap, they've immediately been quelled into becoming jazz hands. This blog will still not be long though as I've spent the afternoon in the sunshine with my friend Sarah taking the world to rights. I have learnt two main things from this:

1) People are not solar powered. Unlike a calculator I had at school, I work less well after sitting in the sun for ages. If anything, it's sapped my strength and now I'd really like a nap. It has made me think though that if I ever used my calculator in the sunlight (which was extremely rare on account of how little I used it in any weather condition) you wouldn't be able to see the numbers at all. Instead it worked best at night, after getting a bit of sun through a window. I'm hoping this means by the gig tonight l'll be fully charged on solar energy and lay the comedy smack down like my name was Sun Ra. What will actually happen however, is that I will feel all sleepy and shit, till halfway through when I realise my face is all burnt and I'll have to go lie down.

2) Putting the world to rights always seems to involve a lot of people dying. Generally all the dicks. I'm not sure why this is, but after much over analysis whilst eating a 99 flake in the Clifton Downs, we came to the conclusion that people ruin a lot of stuff and should be destroyed. The realisation that we were also people too, came a far too late two hours after. This is worrying and why I should never be in charge of everything in the world.

I have also decided that along with my long mentioned idea for Dragons Den about putting zips on pitta breads, I also want to present the idea if a sho where you can hire a bed for an hour for a snooze. 'But that's a hotel?', you say. No, because this would be own between 10.30am and 4pm when all the hotels let you down do staff can use the rooms for a snooze (that's what they do). Essentially should my comedy all go wrong (some would argue it already has) I should be ok.

The iPhone is making me angry despite the jazz. All the swing is doing is now making me consider throwing it rhythmically. I will write more things tomorrow including stuff on the space whores and the disappearing ice cream van.

Friday, May 21, 2010

Everybody Loves The Sunshine

I bloody love the sunshine. Don't you? Doesn't everyone? Isn't that why there's that song that goes 'Everybody Loves The Sunshine'? Pretty much. And its definitely true if people sing about it. That's the rules. Lucy was in the sky with diamonds. Moo Moo Land is a place, and the moon has hit people in the eye before, but it was hushed up by NASA. Well I love the sun lots and lots. I would totally go and hang out there if it didn't mean I would burn into nothingness within milliseconds. I would so hive five the sun if it didn't mean my whole arm and face would melt. Essentially we can't hang out due to various gas differences, so I'll just have to appreciate it from here, thankyouverymuch. Or more likely, appreciate it from inside a car as that's what I'm doing today. Driving stupid distances. In the heat. I wrote a blog about something similar not that long ago and I'm wondering if bookers have decided to plot an evil plan to bake me inside a tin. Not sure who would benefit from such a thing, but I would suggest I'm not put in brine as I have a small cut on my finger and that would really hurt.

Don't have a lot for you today. Not even many friday thoughts as per usual. A combination of much booze with the lovely Flaustins (Tara and Carl) at their legal wedding celebration yesterday and the sunshine today has had that effect on my brain that means its sort of been bleached a bit. I'm sure a spy could arrive with some lemon juice or an ultra violet light and read my brain, but that would be the only way to find the hidden stuff in it. Not sure if spies still carry lemons around. I think that was one of those lies you were told as kids. 'Yeah do some spy writing in lemon. It can only be seen by other spies that know to heat it up.' Or something like that. I don't really remember it. Either way, mobile phones now exist as do a whole ton of cleverer stuff, so I doubt lemons are the top of the spies guild secret gadgets quote. Poor lemons.

So what I will leave you with today is just some lovely things you should listen to, cos its all sunny like. Today's album of choice is the Mr Scruff's Big Chill Classics. Its big, its chilled, its classics. That means if you are studying classics at uni, you are fully allowed to listen to this as research. FACT. I wish all albums lived by the 'literal' name stance. For example if 'Old School Anthems' was just a lot of prayers sung in a school hall by kids. No one would buy it, but I would feel pleased. So yeah, get that album, pour yourself some sort of liquid, perhaps some castor oil or baby bio? Then listen and enjoy in the sunshine. Unless its raining where you are, in which case, gutted.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

The Coalition Agreement Explained (Sort of)

So today the government have released the Coalition programme explaining just what they aim to carry out during their time in parliament and perhaps more importantly, which bits of each other's manifestos they have included and which have been compromised. Before I go any further, its likely you're already bored, so here is a quick picture I drew yesterday of a bear fighting a robot:

Feeling better? Ok. I feel its fairly important we know just how the UK will be meddled with in the next few years so I've read the Coalition programme and thought I'd highlight for you, page by page, all the bits you need to know. So let's rock it:


All it says on this page is 'The Coalition: Our programme for government'. Let me tell you now, its not a telly programme. This confused me for ages as I just watched it and nothing happened. Surely it should have been obvious as it was a pdf file but we are in the future and I thought maybe they were cleverer than they looked. Plus Michael Gove was clearly transformed from a puppet to a real boy by some sort of powers so who knows what else they are able to do?


This is a big box all coloured in puse. Puse makes me feel a bit nauseous. As do Cameron and Clegg. I feel like perhaps they are really channelling how the general people feel in this. Well done. Maybe they are connecting. I hope the next page has a picture of George Osbourne and a bit about how he is one of the aliens from V and then the following pages are pictures of Cameron in hunting gear taking shots at the poor while Clegg is in a apron serving him tea. Then we'll know they can totally get what we're thinking.


This just says 'Freedom Fairness Responsibility' in puse. I'm not sure what freedom fairness responsibility is. I assume it means that the Liberal Cons will be responsible about making sure freedom and human rights laws are not very fair.


This page is blank. It may well be Eric Pickles thought process. Either that or its showing that if you print it off you waste paper and that they truly don't give a shit about the environment.


This is the contents page. Considering they all seem pretty content, its odd it doesn't just show all the MPs faces grinning inanely.


A picture of Cameron showing Clegg a folder while Clegg stares at Cameron's head forlornly as though he wants to stroke the hair of a real politician. Then there is more puse incase you had stopped feeling sick.

PAGE 7 + PAGE 8:

This is the forward by Cameron and Clegg. Key points to note:

'This is a historic document' - No its not. Its on a pdf file not parchment or something. Already with the lies.

'Although there are differences, there is also common ground' - segregating the commoners and the 'different' people already too.

'We stood for Parliament - and for the leadership of our parties - with visions of a Britain better in every way' - I worry about leaders that have 'visions'. Eye problem? Or drugs issues?

'New incentives for green growth' - If you have a green growth, you should see a doctor.

'Our government will be a much smarter one' - This means Eric Pickles and Ken Clarke will be fired shortly.

'you create a Big Society matched by big citizens' - They will not tackle the obesity problem.

'elections for your local NHS board' - another voting system that won't work and will ultimately leave you disappointed and without a local hospital.

Ok then it gets really boring so I'll try and do this as quickly as possible:

BANKING - They say they will take white collar crime as seriously as other crime, which means Catholic priests are in trouble. They also aim to protect taxpayers from financial malpractice. This will probably be done by making all the malpractices legal.

Oh god. I've got to BUSINESS and I just feel I need to tear my eyes out through immense boredom. Quick, look at the bear/robot pic again. Phew. This is what worries me. Its probably full of terrible things that they will do, but I can't be arsed to read it as its bloody dull and the puse really is making me feel nauseous. And that's how they will get to do everything they want to. There is a section in business that says they will encourage the public to challenge the worst regulations, but you know that unless they make a video of those regulations starring some soap celeb who tap dances on ice while reading them out, no one is going to bother finding out what they are in order to challenge them anyway. I aim to read all of the programme by the weekend, even if I instantly turn puse afterwards and I go blind in a eye based self sacrificial attempt to save my brain. I will do that purely because I can't complain about stuff I haven't been properly informed in. That and surely I'll get at least another 10 mins of material from it.

Sorry I didn't help you through it all. Maybe try reading it in different voices or just by adding the word 'bungle' or 'hirsute' whenever you feel like it. There are ways to do it people.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Norwegian Sea Life Disco

There are times when I really do question my choice of living. This morning, standing in front of four people I'd never met, in just a very small pair of Superman pants, pretending I was standing on the nose of a whale, was one of those times. This was, incase you were wondering, for a casting. It wasn't some sort of exotic erotic party or sea life Norwegian disco. Not that a sea life Norwegian disco necessarily involves such things, but I bet it does. I bet it also includes people throwing star fish at each other like shurikens, midgets on carts pulled by seahorses and manatees that can do bar tricks while everyone sings 'Under The Sea' but in Norwegian. Goddamn I want to go to one of those. Sorry. I'm not sure what happened there. Yeah, so it was a casting. I walked into a little room, took of nearly all my clothes whilst, in the process, throwing my dignity into a ball of flames and shouted and screamed whilst trying to imagine balancing on the nose of one of the largest known mammals in the world. I say largest known, because I am still holding out hope that Nessie exists. Fingers crossed. Especially as it'll make doing Rock Ness in June a lot more fun.

Now one of the things with acting, so I'm told by them professional types, is to be able to relate whatever it is you're doing to an experience you've actually had. Some method actors would, just for this casting, go out to try and balance on whales whilst in just their smalls in order to truly recreate the correct portrayal of such an event. But me, I use the old school method of just trying to remember something I've done that was similar and using it to work with. Here's the thing: I've never done and never ever will do anything like that, so as a consequence, I wobbled a bit and shouted a lot. Essentially where I was probably least convincing was when they asked the shouting to be 'excited' and 'exhilarated'. If, and I'm just saying if, as the possibilities are incredibly slim to none, I, one day, fell off a boat and was suddenly rushed the surface on the nose of a whale, I would not be excited. I would probably lose all control of my bowels through fear and then cry. None of these things are appropriate when you are in Superman pants. Much as I think whales are cool, they are bloody big and a big terrifying. What I'm saying is, it was a completely stupid casting. But if I get it, this post will be swiftly deleted and I will hoard the payment money like a stingy git.

It was the second odd casting in two days. Yesterday involved driving all the way to Elstree Studios to make all the facial expressions you would do whilst making a cake, while a puppeteer played my arms. So nothing out of the ordinary there. That was quite fun, but there is something hugely disconcerting about a man being pressed up against your lower back while his arms flail around with whipped cream infront of you. Maybe some people like that. Anyway, I got that one, but because of Jason Manford's talented face I couldn't do it. Long story, which I won't go into as it'll probably ruin some telly confidentiality thing, but I like making you all blame Jason for things without knowing what they are. Tee hee. (Jason's ace really. But still feel free to Twitter him for no reason and shout).

This afternoon involves me dressing as someone from B&Q and then I'm off to a gig in my normal clothes. Hopefully tomorrow I will visit the man in the costume shop where I will dress as a knight, walk in to the changing rooms, end up in medieval times and live out my dream of being Mr Benn. Knowing my luck I would just get bubonic plague really quickly and die.

Other thing to shout at today:


Now, before I go on, I'd like to point out, I, in no way, deserve to be on there. Which is why I'm not. But, I think it would be hilarious if you all wrote and explained that I have hidden powers that were they to be unleashed would cause a 2012 like situation and therefore my blogs should be on there. Perhaps we'll form some of weird blog cult and make all the Guardian dudes all scared and that. Plan? Fo sho mo fo.

Oh and demand Michael Legge's blog and Tara Flynn's blog are on there too. Justice will be served. And it won't taste nice. So instead biscuits will be served.

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Evening Primrose

Why is it so many plants and flowers that are used for toiletries sound like they are greeting old ladies? Evening Primrose! Aloe Vera! Ok, so its only those two. But still, that's more than most other things sound like they are speaking specifically to elderly women in a pleasant fashion. Maybe we should call for a change to all plant items helpful in bathroom situations to have a similar title? Tee Tree Bertie? Pot Pourri Doreen? Hmm. Doesn't really work. Maybe that's why Aloe Vera and Evening Primrose cornered the market. Well that's the extent of my thinking for today then. I woke up with all the intention of doing a lot of things but then, my plan was hugely flawed. Who flawed it? Was it my arch nemises Diernan Touieb? Or my other arch nemeses Nanreit Beiuod? No, it was me. I decided 'screw this' and went back to bed. I may as well have sentenced my day to an arc of non-productivity as since I have reawoken its already made two of my aims now useless and instead I have pondered about stupid old lady plant names. Stupid brain.

Had a lovely gig last night, again. The problem with this is that I decide that its lovely and easy and therefore don't try any new material or do anything that challenges me in any way. Last night I just spent the entire time talking to some mental people from Ford and making terrible observations on 'that's why they are so focused' etc etc. Ultimately, while they had much fun, none of them have realised that by being so lovely, they are not helping me at all. Please stop being selfish lovely audiences. Challenge a Douieb so I make an effort to actually try some Edinburgh stuff out instead of just squandering away all my old material to a point where saying it sends Groundhog Day like shivers down my spine and I get images of school children chanting 'broken record' at me. Which they wouldn't. Ever. Not least because school children nowadays don't know what a record is. In fact they can't probably even remember the first generation iPod. And that's why its our duty as caring adults to persuade them that the first generation iPod was the size of a telephone box and could only hold 3 songs which once entered, could never be changed. We will then explain that portable Cd players and Walkmans before them were the size of Wales and people were physically unable to carry them anywhere and just had to walk around them with an exceedingly long headphones cable.

Morning Lemon? No. No, those are the only two. Must. Do. Other. Stuff. With. My. Day. Argh.

Oh and we now have an Edinburgh flat, thanks to the very hard work of Messers Daniel Taylor and Missus Nat Luurtsema. Whoop! Thanks to all those who offered cardboard boxes.

Monday, May 17, 2010

Back To The Hood Of Things

I'll make this speedy as I'm moving things today. Not that I don't usually move something everyday, and I wouldn't want you to think I was merely boasting to those who can't move anything. No, I'm moving stuff from my old flat into my parent's house, as yesterday I took residency in the bedroom I used to live in before university (and for a little bit after uni too). It is both oddly comforting and at the same time, a little like I may be stuck in some sort of time warp. Admittedly while much of my teenage stuff has gone from the room, it will be returning in there today as I took most of it with me, due to an inability to grow up. The returning teenage stuff will join my GCSE paintings, my lightsabers and, rather oddly, a space tube sound machine, to ensure I really feel like I'm 17 again. Only without the youthful looks, a few (by few I mean several) extra pounds (and by pounds, I don't mean money) and the inability to hear garage music nowadays without getting a sinking feeling that my ears are being violated. Some of you right now are clearly thinking 'wait wait wait, what on Earth is a space tube sound machine?' You are right to ask such questions. It is a stupidly cheap piece of plastic that when waved around makes sounds like space. 'Sounds like space?' Yes inquisitive ones. Despite the fact that in space no one can hear you scream, or in fact do anything, it turns out its not to do with the vacuum of nothingness which prevents sound from travelling. No, apparently its all to do with all the other 'space' noise that's going on. Everytime I wave the space machine sound tube lots of people around me panic about possible lack of oxygen and NASA go all crazy. FACT. It is a powerful tool not to be used by the careless. Sadly though, I have it.

So needless to say its weird being back. Not necessarily in a bad way. There are some definite plus points to being here, such as the food, getting my washing done and asking my parents to pick me up from parties if want to be back before midnight. Ok, not the last one. Or the middle one. So I am coping with all of this by gigging loads and last night was the sort of fun gig that can propel me through the week. There was a drunk lady from Iceland who didn't understand the concept of comedy and therefore heckled from the start. I, in a childish racist way, blamed her for everything Iceland has done recently and eventually she left. Not immediately. First she came to chat to me at the bar. Despite new singledom and the fact she was quite attractive, there is nothing more repulsive than a heckling moron. She drunkenly told me how to pronounce her surname and how she didn't like women that did comedy and in charming retort I politely told her she was an idiot. Then she left. High fives all round. Except to her. And her friend who was also a twat. Then after that, the gig was just much fun to the extent where I even did the electric boogaloo. If I had it my way, all gigs would have an electric boogaloo. Infact, everything ever would involve an electric boogaloo. Sure it'd make things like pouring drinks a lot harder, or perhaps waitering, but think about how cool you'd be if you did it and didn't break things? Then again, maybe its impossible not to. Maybe that's why its called breakdancing.

Must go do moving things. Maybe while electric boogalooing. Or more likely, not. I like my stuff. I don't want to break it.

Oh and on a boring admin note about hella cool non-boring things - there are still some tickets left for Fat Tuesday tomorrow with the excellent magic man Pete Firman. Should you want some of them tix, then go here and buy them now. It will be very good:

Sunday, May 16, 2010


I woke up at 6.02am this morning due to a very very loud sound that appeared to buzz for a long time and then thud. Buzzzzzzzz, thud. Buzzzzzz, thud. Like someone falling over while trying to press an intercom. After the last few days of being awoken by the sounds of scaffolding being removed and yesterday some mean bastard mowing their lawn or drilling or playing a CD of mowing and drilling noises, I assumed this noise was a further attempt to render my sleep patterns into an erratic dance of weariness. So, slowly checking the time, and sitting up I decided to see what was causing such a sound, and lifting up the blind, saw a bee that was the size of a small country. Ok, a very very small country. A bee sized small country. Now, I will stop my blog here to point out that there is every chance this could become the most boring blog I've ever written. 'Oh no' I hear you say 'a bee in your bedroom, how unusual. Sigh.' Of course I'm hoping you said that sarcastically. If you didn't, then I feel you are perhaps too easily amazed by simple things. If this is you, however, then at least look on the bright side that with such shock at simple life matters it can only be a matter of time before you are playing the O2 doing observational comedy pointing such things out. Ouch. That was unnecessary, sorry. Anyway, as I was typing, the reason I'm telling you about the insectoid intruder is because it makes no sense how it got into the room. The windows were closed, the door was closed, there were no visable bee sized holes in the wall. No dodgy beekeepers lurking around just letting a few bees free in different people's flats. I wasn't sleeping on a bee farm or in Kew Gardens or anywhere bees might frequent on a Saturday night out.

So how on earth did it get in? This is one of those moments in life that I think happen to see if the human mind can handle the madness. Its similar to the time I had a tiny spider on my hand that suddenly crawled up its web into the sky. I was in an open area of land, no buildings or trees in sight, yet the arachnoid bastard just kept climbing up. It mocked me with its eight legs and eyes as though to say 'yeah I'm just gonna climb into space. Deal with that.' Similarly the time myself and Mat were sitting in his parents garden with a few beers watching two snails on a wall. We made a joke comment about how when you are not looking at snails they move very fast. We laughed. Put our beers down for a second, looked up and the snails had vanished. Bafflement ensued. A small snail search was carried out, but they had indeed, just vanished. And now this. Now a bee that can somehow travel through walls, or teleport. Perhaps all the minibeasts have a hilarious injoke whereby they take it in turns to mess with our minds, knowing they are small enough to get away with such things. Maybe bees aren't actually dying out and instead they have used that as a rouse in order to appear unexpectedly, confusing humans for all the years we've nicked their honey, which they had been saving for a big time honey party. Or maybe they are still angry we didn't give them credit for inventing a letter of the alphabet. Or the word that means when media has an interest in something - buzz. Well, if you are a minibeast and reading this, please stop. Please bee-hive yourselves. Ha. Thanks very much.

The bee was unable to get back out of the window, hence the thud sound, so its clear their clever teleporting devices aren't yet honed. I stuck a glass over it like a tiny transparent prison and lobbed its furry stingy self out of the window like a pro.

Hmm. Reading that back, I honestly can't believe that's what I've written about today. I could have told you about drinking last night and the much fun chat, could've moaned about the ash cloud and how it should be a symbol for elderly people that its still so active at such an old age, or I could've at least given you my ideas about how Ed and David should run the Labour Party together as the Milliband of Brothers. But I didn't. Sorry about that. Blame the bees. Not the band by the same name, that would unfair. Especially as they are quite good and it'd be really really weird if they were in my room at 6am thudding into the window. I must stop writing now. This has all got too silly.

Saturday, May 15, 2010

Littlest Hobo

I'm sure it wasn't this hard to find Edinburgh festival accommodation last year? It appears that this year all the landlords have looked at the credit crunch, taken in the fact that all comedians, actors and fringe participants are broke and have therefore decided to raise all the rent by bankrupting amounts. Now, before I rant on, it's fair to say that if I lived in Edinburgh, hated the fringe and wanted cash, then I would also jump on the flat renting bandwagon, leasing out my poky flat with its broken oven and drafts pouring through the walls like an air sieve, for thousands and thousands of pounds above the going rate. Of course I would. When in Rome, as they say, the rent is cheaper than Edinburgh during the festival. Fact. But normally, me and whoever I've been sharing apartments with, have found a loophole. A small flat haven with slightly cheaper rates than paying gold bullion and normally somewhere fairly nice. But this year it appears impossible. Our flat for last year has gone up in price, and everywhere else is out of our price range, so we either have to live somewhere on the outskirts of town, miles away from our venues, or start looking for cardboard boxes big enough for five of us. They'll have to be well laminated too knowing Edinburgh's weather.

I don't like not having a place to live properly. It means there is nowhere you are properly safe to dance around in your Superman pants, nowhere you'll definitely end up at when you get very drunk and only have homing pigeon like skills, and no where to lay your hat. At the moment in London I'm staying at friends, which will probably at some point, move to staying with my parents until after Edinburgh where I'm going to look for my own flat. Essentially at the moment it looks like perhaps I should just pack a knapsack and carry it on a stick, taking one of my cats with me and search for streets paved with gold. Not that there are any streets paved with gold anywhere, they've all been exchanged for cash. Sigh.

If you know of anywhere to live in Edinburgh, happen to have a mansion or own keys to Edinburgh castle that we can borrow for the month, please let me know. I'd like to live in the castle. I'd stand on the top of the turrets everyday in just my Superman pants and shout 'I am the King of Scotland'. I assume it would only be about 10 minutes on the first day before I got shot down, but still, it'd be a great ten minutes.

In other quick news:

- I watched some of my Brasseye DVD last night. I hadn't seen it in a while and since reading the Chris Morris biography recently, I've been really wanting to watch it again. Its brilliant. Still really really brilliant. What's terrifying however is when it was made, the graphics seemed over the top, the music over dramatic, the way the scenes were made seemed farcical. Now, it all just seems like Sky News. Scary. Really scary.

- The Comedy Cellar in Bracknell is the best gig in the world ever.

- Apart from Fat Tuesday of course, which is better. Last one before Edinburgh preview season next week, featuring Pete Firman with his magic face. Tickets still available here:

- Yesterday I ate a chocolate lumpibumpy gâteaux. It was, easily, the best thing I've ever eaten in my life. It did however, also make me feel sick. I am tempted to start living my life as a Roman just so I can eat more, be sick and then eat more. Really I could be a great Roman. I like Cafe Nero. I don't mind sandals.

Friday, May 14, 2010

Friday Ponderings / Frionderings

Some Friday thoughts and things:


Late last night I offered my friend Sam a piece of toast. That's what you do. Its just common courtesy. He declined, but he didn't use a simple no. No, he used the phrase ' I have a very small toast acceptance spectrum from around 8am to 10am and past that I can't have toast.' I was impressed to say the least.


I've had a fair amount of whisky this week under the assumption that I like it. Thing is, I don't think I really do. Every sip begins with me being fairly sure I like it, only for then it to hit my mouth, my mouth to instantly pull an expression like someone's squirted lemon juice in my eye, it then goes down my throat burning every step of the way and finally gets to my stomach where several tiny whisky fairies start a small unpleasant campfire that allows the whisky to be burped back up over the next two days just when I really don't want it to. Jon Richardson has my fave bit of material on whisky ever, so I don't want to impeach on that, but I have truly discovered that while I will continue to drink whisky, I think its the closest I will ever come to self harm. I have realised this with most booze. I'm almost 100% sure I like beer, but then every now and then I'll have that last sip of a can and feel like I'm drinking the piss of the devil. I'm under the impression that booze has powers of hypnosis. I'm still going to drink beer and whisky a lot, but I will just do it now with this recent realisation and self loathing.


I gigged in a church last night. Well it used to be a church. Now its a big arts centre, that looks exactly like a church. What they've done is take a church, not really change it from being a church in anyway and instead call it an arts centre. A rose by any other name, as they say, is still a rose, just a rose named by a confused idiot. Thing with churches is, they aren't really designed for comedy. Those high arches and vast acoustics aren't really designed for the intimate atmosphere of a good gig. In the same way you won't find a priest delivering sermons in a comedy gig. Although I really hope somewhere out there that is what's happening and it turns out that last night was a bit of a mix up.

It was in the end, a lovely crowd, wanting to laugh and enjoy themselves, but there comes a point where the amplified echo of your own voice is louder than the audience laughter and once again you blame God. Unless of course, if he/she/it exists it is part of their revenge against the fact I said 'fuck' and drank beer in a church. Well if it is, take that Jesus. Hmm, that sounds like the boy band model of a variety of Jesus action figures.


I have discovered, over the last two days staying at my friend's Ali and Sam's house, that the sound of scaffolding being removed sounds not at all dissimilar to the sound of pigs being slaughtered. Not that I've heard that sound often before but the high pitch screeching and squealing can only be reminiscent of Babe getting an axe in the face. I don't like it much. I especially don't like it at 8am in the morning where I wake up worried that a load of builders are kicking the shit of out of porky beings outside. Luckily they weren't. They were just removing scaffolding and being racists while they did it.

Its possibly not the first sound you'd think of when you heard scaffolding being removed, but I bet that somewhere in the BBC archive they have a CD of scaffolding sounds to be used when the Archers kill a load of pigs, and similarly a sound of an abattoir for when, er, they, er have a show about scaffolding.


I've decided I like trains.

Finally, I shall leave you with this. This is Finlay. He is ten. He does the Comedy 4 Kids stand-up workshops and is far too good for his age. I both think its excellent and terrifying in terms of losing gigs to someone less than half my age. Enjoy:


Thursday, May 13, 2010

Quiztory In The Making

I've never been a pub quiz champion before. I always fear them slightly not knowing a lot about pubs. Arf. That's an arf for two reasons. One, they don't ask you about pubs of course you big silly. Two, I know shitloads about pubs. Well, a bit anyway. But I have never been part of a winning pub quiz team until last night. Usually I am in league with others squandering around 6th place, giving a hefty sigh as yet again my answer of 'Dolph Lungren' wasn't the capital of Indonesia. Well, last night, everything changed. Taking part in an awesome film based pub quiz and teamed up with Sam - film buff, Ali - observation queen, Nat - former quiz champion and Tom - luckily he once watched The Kite Runner, we were the ultimate team. We were A Quiztral For A Knave. I feel I should point out that it's pretty important to have the word 'quiz' in your team name somewhere. This was all started by some friends having the team name Quiz Akabusi and has never stopped since. I have decided that the next quiz I take part in, the team needs to be called Quiz Quizstofferson. Or Quiztina Aguilara. Or Quiz Tarrant. You get how it works. Saying that, A Quiztral For A Knave was appropriate as it was a 'quiz' take on a book that had a film based on it, and last night we took part in a quiz with a round about films based on books. It was like fate. Only sort of not really at all like fate.

Nat very kindly picked me and Ali up, while we raced to the pub, knowing the quiz had started without us and Sam had sat by himself taking on the first two rounds. Tom was sitting in the front of the car trying to dry his trousers (don't ask) and we were all panicking. Its bad being late to meet a friend, its worse still to expect that friend to be a pub quiz team all by himself. As Nat raced through the streets of East London, I quipped about how, if we were to miss the first two rounds, and yet still beat all the professional pub quiz goers that head to this particular quiz, we would indeed be the coolest people that ever existed. Several beers, arguments about whether the chicken in Surf's Up clip we had just seen was holding 3 or 4 squid skewers or not and general panic about what Kevin Spacey's character was called in the Usual Suspects (not Kaiser Solzei, his other name), and we sat patiently, expecting defeat. There were loads we got wrong, and some we hazarded a lucky guess at. There was also a 5 point bonus question that luckily actually was answered with 'Dolph Lungren', and the rest, as they say, is quiztory. We, A Quiztral For A Knave, were the proud champions of a £6 bottle of Martini Cava. Having spent £2.50 each getting in, it perhaps wasn't the greatest of prizes. But we didn't need prizes. We had a winning team. I wanted to run around all the tables shouting 'Na na, na na na na, waaa eeey eeyyy, na na na', and singing 'We Are The Champions', but we were in East London so I got scared I'd get glassed.

Tom and Nat hadn't met Sam and Ali till last night and I can't but feel that by bringing this group together with out individual skills and abilities, we may have the ultimate quiz team of all time. I wonder if we should ditch our respective careers and go travelling around the country acing answers and living off our £25 winnings or just surviving on pissy cheap champagne. We could have our own soundtrack. Our own bit shit road movie, with someone, anyone, played by Seth Green. Or, more likely, it was a bit of a fluke and if we ever try and do it again, we'll horribly fail. I guess the answer lies in future quiz fests. Or perhaps the answer actually lies in 'Dolph Lungren'.

NB: The Film Quiz was expectionally well run and should you fancy going then the Facebook fan page is here:


Thing is, if you do turn up, we will kick your arse. Or not, more likely.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Back Once Again....

Not a great title for my blog today, as I'm worried people will think it refers to the Tories. It doesn't. They are definitely not renegade masters.

I've decided the start this again. I suppose, by typing this, and you reading it, its pretty bloody obvious. Don't get me wrong, if I could send a psychic message to you all, pre-warning you about imminent re-starting of blog, I would. I would also make you all give me money and morris dance everywhere you went. That is exactly why I'm not allowed psychic powers. That and also because Derren Brown would prove I didn't have them on telly and I'd look like a prime dick. So why have I started it again I hear you ask? Well, my inquisitive blogees, firstly, its because I love writing this blog. I've missed putting words somewhere tangible these last few days and I have a horrible feeling that floating out there in the ether are around 1500 words from the last 3 days of non-bloggery, which will not settle until they land in some sort of anti-alien quota that will one day cause intergalactic warfare. Or not. This blog is a little bit like therapy to me in that if I don't type stuff up, I will start think odd thoughts about intergalactic warfare and psychic powers. You see what's happened? And I'd like to say to any who have only just started reading this blog and may worry that it seems like the ramblings of a man having a severe breakdown, I suggest you read back over the last year or so and you will realise that this is no less sane than anything I've said ever. So that's reason one. Reason two, is that lots of nice people have told me they miss this blog. I say lots, I mean about three. But that's two more than I thought read this, so I got all excited and thought I'd do it for the people. The three people. Still, now I've started this for you maybe we can all hang out and you can be my Muskahounds? Oh god, this is what happens when I don't blog. Its safer for everyone. The lovely Anonymous, who regularly posts on my blog left this comment yesterday:

Shit happens. You are bigger. (Blogs bare witness)(Inadvertently rude material for forthcoming blog?) xA

I liked this loads, but I also think this person clearly hasn't actually met me, or they would realise I am not at all bigger. In fact I am shorter than most things. I don't understand the bit about inadvertently rude material but the two sets of brackets together made me think of boobs and I giggled. I am also deciding that the 'x' before the 'A' means they are an X-Man or woman. So thanks X-A. Much appreciated.

Basically, shit did happen. I won't go into it, but I will briefly say that I am now single and sort of without anywhere to live. So I've been spending the last few nights in a friend's spare room. I always assumed it would be fun living like a student again, with the staying with friends bit, the hanging out, the booze, but its not as good as you think. Saying that I don't need to be forcing myself to only eat Pot Noodles and write essays, but you have to do these things properly. Arf. No, seriously, I'm all ok. Staying with my friends has been great and I did a gig last night that has partly sorted me out. They say laughter is the best medicine, but I think its 'making laughter' as there is nothing quite like making a lovely room of people laugh, whilst on a bill of top acts, to cheer you up a bundle. It also could be like how scientists that make drugs probably keep the best drugs for themselves. Or not. In fact that would be odd and I can't imagine many scientists are hiding away a pack of Lemsip that would blow your mind. Last night's gig was a benefit for Mitch Benn's daughter's school, in the school hall. We were warned it may have to be clean material as it was a CoE school and Mitch wasn't sure how the crowd would be. This is why he'd picked a bill of acts - myself, Rufus Hound and Milton Jones - who could all do friendly stuff if needed. Within 2 minutes of Rufus compering, he'd sworn several times, insulted religious people and made jokes about incest. It was amazing. He judged it perfectly as they went for it entirely. Well apart from one Vicar who was a little sad about a joke about Christian Aid, but you can't please everyone. From then on though, the crowd were fully comedy savvy and the gig was a delight. What's the message here? Well, er, maybe no one should ever do clean material ever? Maybe my next Comedy 4 Kids gig should be full of the swears? Erm. Hmm.

So that burst of adrenaline and fun has rocked through to today. Yeah audience if you thought you enjoyed it then you can get screwed 'cos I enjoyed it more. I was a temporary audience vampire. Ha. Or something. What I am very sad about though is the new Tory / Lib collaboration, or Liberal Cons as I call them. Yes, Clegg said he would go for the side with the most votes, yes the Tories did get the most votes, yes that's democracy. But, and its a big but - I like big buts and I cannot lie - it doesn't stop any of them being any less of a bunch of total arseholes who are going to ruin this country to the benefit of the rich and the dismay of everyone else. So far they have collaborated on aims in a way that Cameron seems to have taken the word 'collaboration' and changed the dictionary definition to meaning 'one person not listening to the other person and doing what they want anyway'. Clegg has become a parliamentary work experience boy. He can shadow Cameron whereever he goes, but when it comes to pushing buttons, Clegg just has to take notes and make tea. The Lib Dems have become assimilated. I hope this isn't a new Tory plan whereby every election they suck in another smaller party until we are left with only a huge Tory party roaming the country shooting the poor from horseback. I'm not going to go on about it too much here, mostly because I will probably be blogging about this in one way or another until another election, and I don't want to repeat myself. But I'll finish by saying, if did vote Tory, then you are a big stupid bumhole. That's all. Oh and George Osbourne is one of the aliens from V and I claim my five pounds.

Back tomorrow.

Monday, May 10, 2010

A Break

Hello usual blog readers. Or rather, reader. I haven't posted for a couple of days now, which for a daily blog, is possibly quite odd. Not that many of you have noticed. I still just thought I should probably post this to say I'm not dead. Or if I am, then you can use blogspot/FB in the afterlife. So I can't be, because if you could, I would expect a lot more blogs from excellent dead people. I just had something happen to me this weekend that has honestly turned my life upside down. It now looks like this: EFIL. Hmm. That's just the wrong way round. I don't know how you do upside down on this. Tell you what. Look at this: LIFE. Now turn your head/laptop/house upside down. There. Better? Yeah so, things are a bit shit and I don't really want to talk about them on this blog, so I thought I'd just hold things off till I want to write happy things again. It may be a few days. I did have a few bits I wanted to blog about, such as my dad deciding that someone being a Nazi in a film is an excuse for any plot holes that may occur. Me: 'What, how has he suddenly got super strength?' My Dad: 'Well, he's a Nazi.' Me: 'That bit makes no sense, he can't just suddenly appear there.' My Dad: 'He's a Nazi though.' Amazing point of view. I also wanted to blog about how great Friday in Brighton was too, and a big thanks to all that came along. But that's about it from me at the mo. Hopefully all things shall sort out and I'll blog again asap.

Until then, watch this, its amazing. And no, I don't understand it:



Friday, May 7, 2010

Hung Over

Wow, the UK is in a proper mess today. People wanted change and then voted as such and now seem all a bit worried about the fact that no one has really won anything and no one really knows what's going on. It feels a bit like when Layla decides she wants to move all the furniture around and subsequently gets rid of a few chairs, only for the next day us both to realise we'd like it all back the way we wanted and we miss the chairs. We didn't necessarily love the chairs in the first place, and were they to return we probably wouldn't be all that happy, but now no one has enough seats it all feels a bit wrong. I'm not sure if that analogy works, but I felt pleased with the seats bit at the end and frankly, I don't think anyone really knows what's going on. I watched Jeremy Vine prance about a political version of the 80's paddle computer game. Sadly the little machine that fired balls at the bricks never appeared. I wondered why on earth they couldn't just show us a pie chart instead of virtually creating Downing Street using graphics that looked like they'd been stolen from CiTV's Knightmare. It definitely included a lot of riddles.

As far as I understand, the Tories, sadly, got more votes than Blair did in 2005, but still haven't managed to get a majority, Labour have been abandoned slightly but still not done as badly as the Murdoch papers hoped for, and Clegg....well Clegg learned that a smile on telly isn't really all that good. Really we should have known this. Lots of people smile on telly and say nice things to people, but it doesn't mean we'd vote for them. Dale Winton would never get a seat, neither would any of the T4 presenters or Holly Willoughby. If they did, I fear the country would be in even more of a mess than it is now. However, I think we'd probably all feel unable to not be happy about things due to the seamless links and low cut dresses. But Clegg must feel properly gutted. It's a bit like the public played a huge prank on him, like they did with Jedward. 'Yeah yeah of course we like you' they said, while behind closed doors they were sniggering about how he'd never be in the top 3 finalists and they definitely wouldn't buy his single at Christmas.

Now, despite him only just getting enough seats for a small bendy bus to nowhere, he still seems to have the power, and he's speaking to the Tories first. This was sort of to be expected but I think everyone that did vote for Clegg assumed he'd ally with Labour. Now suddenly he gets to wreak revenge by being the most boring double agent alive. Its what would happen if 24 was written by the My Family team. Ultimately, someone will have to ally with someone, loads of investors will not trust the UK whatsoever, the country will crumble, people will riot then kill each other and then Tesco's will claim king status and rule the land. Or not. I honestly haven't got a clue and I think I will try and ignore it for a few days like the Queen is doing. She hasn't been fussed to return to the palace from her hols yet, so why should we all care? The MPs should sweat it out a while, realising that even the most popular ones are still only favourites of the least popular candidates ever. Sure, as I said above the Conservatives got more votes than ever before, but this is in respect of the fact that more people voted than expected. Therefore 53% still didn't want the Tories in. Loads also didn't want Labour in, the Lib Dems in, or pretty much anyone else in. I'm tempted to think that if they haven't sorted it all out by Monday we should declare parliament dead and start from scratch. It'd be great. Just get three brand new parties with cool, more modern names like The Hella Cool Party, The Shit Yeahs, and the LIb Dizzles. Second thoughts, I can't imagine anyone would vote for any of them. Still, I guess that's similar to the current situation isn't it? Maybe we should just get the T4 presenters in after all.

There was also the issue of some people deciding to take tactical voting too far and pouncing on the polling stations in the dead of night, only to be told they couldn't vote. Ok, not the dead of night, but before closing time. Yes, it is their right to vote, but if they were worried about getting there in time, they could have postal voted. Or voted by proxy. Or got up earlier, left work earlier, or got in later or any other solution. The reason the polling stations have opening times are so that people go in those opening times, and that voting isn't a continuous process that goes on forever and ever. Even though it feels like sometimes, it is. I hugely regret staying up till 3.30am last night just waiting for people to count quicker. Its like some of them don't know how to count with all ten fingers. Saying that, it was very worth it for all the Twittering. I like the fact that even if the real world goes wrong, then the virtual world shall sort of stick together. Perhaps Vine's virtual parliament can be in charge and we can just fire lasers at the ones we don't like?

Ultimately, I don't know or understand anything. I feel like whatever happens, the current state will only last for so long before we all have to vote again and everyone screws everything up again leaving the UK in a constant state of limbo until you all decided I should just be crowned King and I will sit on top of Big Ben waving a stick at all those who pass.

Oh and I understand if you live abroad, and read this blog, its probably all been a bit dull for you these last few days. Sorry about that. All I will say is if you're planning to come on holiday, then do it soon as your currency will be so much better than ours. And chances are, with all the confusion, you won't even need a passport to arrive.

In other news:

- Final show in Brighton tonight. Last night's was fun, but it still needs work. I've watched the election so haven't done any work. Still, its only a fiver. Come and help me reiterate how unfinished it all is. Tickets are here:

- I bit my own lip two days ago and its gone weird. I don't understand how anyone can self harm when it just means drinking coca cola hurts.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Structural Vote

Right, I've voted. That means I can have the rest of the day off right? Well there's little else I can do to change the country save from start a new gunpowder plot. I'm not a fan of that. Mostly because gunpowder is a bit old school now, and I'm fairly sure I'd explode myself before I'd even made it out of the gunpowder shop. Do you even get gunpowder shops? Hmm, this may be even more difficult than I thought. Glad I voted, can't be arsed with all that sort of effort. If you haven't voted just remember that lots of people have fought to have the vote so if you don't want yours then maybe you should pop it in an envelope and send it to someone in the 3rd world who could use it properly. If you're a woman and don't vote then you are making Emmeline Pankhurst spin in her grave. Saying that, Loose Women already exists so she's probably been rotating like a perpetual motion desk toy for some time. If you have voted, why not, like me, take the rest of the day off? I mean, surely now we've had our say in the way the entire country is run, we should all just have a pint? The hard work is done, we can now leave it to whoever wins to ruin, sorry, run the country while we all complain for another few years.

Except I can't take the day off. I have to do my solo show tonight and despite all my gripes yesterday, I still spent the entire time staring at blank bits of paper. I stared at them so long I begin to amuse myself by pretending they were pictures of a polar bear with its eyes closed in a snowstorm. Then the bear kept its eyes closed and eat a snow leopard who also had its eyes closed and so couldn't see him coming. That polar bear is wiley and clearly his blindfolded ninja training has come in handy. Sadly, he doesn't help with my show whatsoever. In fact the more I imagined him cycling on a white unicycle still in the snowstorm, still with his eyes closed, the less I wrote. Don't get me wrong, I have a structure. Thing is, structures aren't funny. Well, except for that hotel that is in the shape of a dog in the US. That's pretty damn funny. My structure isn't as good as that. Mine, so far, is a bit like a bungalow but with a large inflatable giraffe on top of it. You'll walk past, smirk, then wonder why on earth anyone would do that and isn't it all in fact just a bit sad?

So I'm going to head to Brighton early, sit somewhere nice and write all day. That's the plan. Then the second part of the plan is if I get to my gig and I haven't got anything we'll all just light a campfire and tell stories. Sure its inside a building, but I think they'll understand. If you are in Brighton, don't want to hear election stuff all night long (I will talk about it a bit, but not loads) and instead fancy a laugh (at me, not with me) then please come along. Its on tomorrow as well, where I will have written more than today. Or not. Link to the FB event is here. I promise I'll stop plugging this after tomorrow and write a proper blog again.


Oh yeah and don't forget to vote for change, although I couldn't see Mr Change anywhere on the ballot papers. My next blog will be under a new government. Literally if I manage to get this gunpowder plot sorted....