Dough

I have to do things today. Fun things. Improv things. But that doesn't change the fact that my brain is still in holiday mode and has very much switched it's Out Of Office Autoreply response on, meaning that instead of being the supremo sharp wit machine I usually am, I fear every improv scene tonight will revolve around me playing a character who grunts and sits down a fair bit. I'm trying to boost mental ability today by doing things, getting some fresh air and generally not welding myself arse first into the sofa. Sadly, this has made little difference, and what you're reading now, this text that is doing everything but titillate the cerebral cortex in anyway, is attempt number 4. Unlike my warning in yesterday's blog, I have done stuff and there are things to report to the blogpost, but last night's activities involved a fair amount of drinking, some serious revelations of Wii talent (Nat is a demon bowler but can't golf for shit. Josh was very good at golf, and bowling, but doesn't have tennis elbows. I can still do boxing but nothing else. Craine average's on everything like a good all rounder. Except Mario Kart where he's proper rubbish and I am king), and this happening to Tom:



Yes, I'm aware he looks like something from a bad horror film. Texas Chainsaw Moussaka or something. This appears to be the birthday tradition at La Porchetta in Muswell Hill. To celebrate someone's aging process, a small ice cream with a candle in it is handed to the birthdee, overly loud happy birthday music is played while an Italian waiter beats a drum. Then as the recipient of such celebration tries to blow out the candle, a large amount of pizza dough is then thrown on their head. No, I don't know why either, but the enjoyment of watching it happen to other people around the restaurant - there were a lot of birthdays. I mean who else goes out on Dec 28th? - while Craine squirmed in his chair knowing the inevitable would happen, was a joy to witness. Not as much of a joy, I should add, as leaving the dough flattened on his chair while he went to the loo, and seeing him completely fail to take notice as he sat firmly in his seat wriggling himself comfortable, oblivious to the arse baguette he'd just made. Amazing times. And then I made a salamandough:



So yeah. Not a lot to report, really. Which only leaves me to complain about the government's initiatives to get people to give more money to charity by allowing donations from cash points. I can only presume this is because more and more of the public will be seeking charity once they've been made unemployed, homeless and/or lost all their benefits. Its the coalition's clever way of getting people to provide their own pension scheme and income. If I give 50p to Shelter everytime I draw out £10, then chances are I'm investing in soup for myself next Christmas when I can't afford to eat. This isn't how they're putting it of course. Instead they want us to feel the 'warm glow' you receive when helping others. If Clegg and Cameron were animals, they'd be hippo-crits. I've been slow on the political scene for the last few weeks, but despite Xmas frenzy I've kept my eye out for all the policies being pushed through while the Queen tells us its all about playing sports. I suppose this is because if we're all fit and healthy we'll be able to hunt our own food easier when we have to. Anyway, this charity shit is second only to the reports that it is planned that the government are to sell off most, if not all of Britain's forests to private developers. I'm expecting for Sauron's eye to appear instead of Big Ben's clock face as Westminster slowly becomes reminiscent of Isengard.

You just can't sell forests. We have so little left in this country to be of interest to anyone, with our complete lack of exports, that we have to at least keep our history and heritage. How sad would it be for the tale of Robin Hood only to be immortalised on a blue plaque on the side of a Lidl? The entire ideology of stealing from the rich to help the poor dead and gone? Something needs to happen in 2011. I have no idea what, but if the Wood Elves or Ewoks don't step in, then we all have to start thinking for ourselves.

Tonight its London Improv, at the Phoenix, Cavendish Square near Oxford Circus. Its only a fiver with the password 'It's not cricket'. As well as myself, Tara Flynn, Brendan Dempsey, Michael Legge and Rufus Hound shall all be providing the funnies. You should totally get off your big Christmas arse and watch me struggle to move around with any speed whatsoever. Here's the FB link:

LONDON COMEDY IMPROV - TONIGHT