Its around that time of year when I'm due to get a cold. Its much like the time of the year every year when the Northern line stops working or when someone on TV says something a bit racist and it takes up all the press for weeks on end rather than the person just being fired. I'm not a fan of colds. I like lots of stuff like cakes, computer games, girls, when lights go green just as I approach them, poking a spoon through that little silver bit on new coffee containers, saying the word 'barnacles', the list just goes on and on. But were you to read it end to end, colds would not be on there. Not even a bit. Pretending to speak like I have a cold is sometimes fun, but that's not the same. I hate having a nose blocked with snot. That's how I awoke this morning. Full of snot. Grim I know, but I didn't put it there so don't blame me. In fact, if I'd known someone would do that during the night, sneak in and fill my brain with mucus, then I'd have slept with corks in each nostril. Who is responsible for that? A fairy that was made redundant from the tooth job because she left the teeth there and added plaque? Doesn't wash and has a wand made from an old tea stirrer? I can only assume its some such mythical beast, for yesterday I felt pretty dandy. Yes, that's right, like a copy of an outdated children's British comic. Yesterday, should I have needed to, I could have leaped over lampposts and danced down the street. I didn't want to. That would have caused mayhem in North London and no one wants that on a Sunday. But despite previous feelings of almost invulnerability, today I feel more full of green stuff than Avocado Baby (if you get that reference you are one of my favourite people ever. FACT).
I'm refusing to complain about it too much as otherwise some self righteous woman will tell me I have man-flu and that its nothing. It is nothing and therefore is most certainly not 'man-flu'. I like to class man-flu as flu that is so goddamn bad that any lesser being would crumble under its horridness. Their eyes bleeding and nose streaming as their anti-bodies fail to deal with the germs inflicted upon them. However, men, real men, can totally cope with it - the flu only causing mild sniffles and the right to complain that they don't want to get out of bed. That's man-flu, and men let us gather and reclaim the term to mean such things. This is merely the start of the revolution and before you know it we'll have mandarin, mango, manual and Manchego back too. But what I have isn't a man-flu. Its just a cold. I know this because besides needing to blow my nose every two seconds, I feel pretty normal. I will still however use every opportunity to complain about my current state and possibly even use it as an excuse as to why I am less organised about tonight's gig where I have promised I'll do political material.
I have totally convinced myself that that is what I will be doing and what I want to be doing, especially as the gig is for the very good cause The Cuts Won't Work, who, as their name suggest, completely oppose what the current government are doing. Alongside some other ace comics who will no doubt lay down some clever satire, I was sure I too could deliver such things. Then I started to read the list of all the proposed cuts and nearly fell asleep, instead played some Xbox and went out for a few pints with my friend. Fail. Mega fail. What I'd really like is for politicians to start doing stuff in more interesting and exciting ways. Sure, if its boring people take less interest and they can get away with more and more diabolical things, but if, for example, they passed proposals with fire fights between those for and against, at least I'd watch some of it. It would also be pretty obvious who'd won. Just saying. Anyway, maybe I am clever enough to read it all, only due to this doggone cold (yes, doggone) I couldn't focus. Yes. That's what I'll tell them. That's what I'll tell the world. Mwahahahahahah. Sorry. Its the cold.
Should you want to come tonight, and you should, details for the gig are here and other acts include Josie Long, Chris Coltrane and Graine McGuire. Oh and me complaining about my cold:
THE CUTS WON'T WORK