Unplayable

I've just sprayed over cleaner in our oven that strictly says on it not to get in eyes or skin, and if you do to wash with lots of water then after 20 mins seek medical attention. I got a bit on my arm. I read that you should wear rubber gloves while doing it, I read that you should wear long sleeves and like a bad ass I ignored all of it and carried on. Then two small bits went on my arm, I washed them off and now I am sitting awaiting another 15 minutes to go past to see if my arm dissolves, falls off, or just gets shiny clean. I'm not sure which would be less cool. I think ladies would be far more impressed with a partly eroded arm caused through the trials of kitchen warfare than an elbow they could see their own face in. Saying that, it would be handy if they didn't have a mirror and needed to touch up make up or something. I could be seen as a boyfriend/accessory. We will await the consequences and by the end of this blog I will either type the last paragraph far more slowly or be informing you of all the car crashes down our road due to my arm reflections causing temporary blindness.

I walked out of a gig for the first time ever last night. I've never done such a thing before despite witnessing some rather odd gig conditions, but last night not only took the biscuit, but the rest of the pack of biscuits and then dumped them in dung and handed them back. I arrived into the venue, having already clocked the women in party hats shouting at each other while smoking fags out in the street, and witnessed the first act, Liam Mullone, being talked, shouted over and mostly ignored by a pack of human hyenas. Its a difficult situation to describe but imagine your own idea of Hell, put that in a comedy club and then realise you are in fact trapped in my idea of Hell. Long table of people in suits and business clothes, angry that they haven't yet been served the dinner they've waited two hours for, and without a care as to whether or not comedy is on. Liam lasted four minutes and that is by no means detrimental to his act, but more to the behaviour of the crowd. As he came off stage, we decided within minutes of someone telling us that they couldn't hear a word as the sound was so bad and someone else saying they were funnier than any of us, that we would just forfit our fees and go home. There was a tiny part of me thinking I was chickening out, having been quite adamant about wanting to leave way before I even knew it was a possibility. In the end, as I got back in my car, tired from my day of travelling mania, I couldn't have been happier about not setting a foot on that stage.

While everywhere else the Christmas spirit is to be 'merry', at comedy gigs its an evil spirit more akin to that seen in Poltergeist. Large groups of people who mostly didn't want to sit listening to someone tell jokes but begrudgingly paid the fee as it was decided by whoever was in charge of the party in the office. The 'wacky' member of the office immediately seeing the situation as the way to prove they are the 'funny' guy of the team will quickly start heckling and ultimately everyone will back him despite it being cemented even further in their minds that they will never give him their number or invite him out for a drink outside of that evening. They will all get drunk, talk at each other, talk through the acts, and overall the fact that someone is standing on stage speaking to them will be a wholly insignificant part of the night. They could have spent less money and just gone to a bar with the same results all round except that a comic doesn't go home feeling like shit. I am consistently happier being broke and never ever having to deal with the sort of people I'd more quickly cross the road to avoid than a group of hoodies juggling knives. To be fair, if they were juggling, I'd probably form a circle around them and put money in their hoodie hats at the end.

Without realising the gig was going to be like that I was trying to figure out, in the car on the way there, just how I'd talk about the student protests that had happened that day and what I wanted to say about the tuition fee rises. Its lucky I didn't get the chance to bother as I'm sure, had they known about it, and chances are they were pretty sheltered, that they'd be more upset someone kicked Charles and Camilla's car than that the future of higher education in England had been destroyed. It is amazing the power the media have to make general idiots worry about a largely unimportant monarch (Duchy's make good lemon curd. That is a weeny bit important) and his even less important wife nearly getting upset, meanwhile a 20 year old boy getting battered by police truncheons until his brain bled is someway down the page. I mean really, with reports of police breaking several protestors bones and dragging a wheelchair bound demonstrator out of his chair its lucky Charles and Camilla weren't hurt and bloody lucky they drove away from those crazy violent Met officers quick enough. I've realised more and more over the last few days just how amazing Twitter really is. Before when the news would block stories like last night's kettling of 700+ students on Westminster Bridge for hours on end, you can now just scroll through the right people's tweets and see what's actually happening. As long as those in control can suppress media, the internet will find ways around it. Instead, should you have any issues about the reasons for the protesting or feel angry about the student's aggression then read this and what really happened to change your mind:

LAURIE PENNY - INSIDE THE PARLIAMENT SQUARE RIOT

And so far, no shiny arm or eroded arm. Bah. I'll have to spray more on and give it another go.