Monday, March 28, 2011

Moving Blog Home / Blome

Some of you might be thinking 'where on earth is Tiernan's blog today?' well, considering you are reading this, it sort of is a blog and goes against the whole point I'm about to make. Basically, I've consolidated all my daily blog homes into one large blog base. Why not, from now on, follow my antics here:

Farewell blogspot, its been a joy. See y'all on my website side.


Sunday, March 27, 2011

Demonstrating Peacefully

Ignore what you've read on the news today, yesterday's protest was nothing but a peaceful affair full of a happy unity between all those who felt they needed to speak out against the cuts happening in the UK. It really saddens me to read that over 150 harmless UK Uncut activists - the same people that sat patiently watching our gig in Soho Square yesterday afternoon, applauding and laughing away, the same people who were reported on Twitter by customers at Fortnum and Mason being respectful to the shop as they occupied it, posing neither a threat or a menace while making their point - have been locked up at various police stations around London. Once again, despite knowing that they too may be soon losing their jobs, there are reports of police attacking protesters with little provocation, a friend of mine witnessing a huge bulk of a cop punch a man passing by, letting the situation escalate into a full blown scuffle. On top of this several witnesses have stated that they saw a Sky News reporter pay someone to throw a brick at a bank window for the camera. What began as a wonderful day has again been twisted and warped by media and authority so that the people that want to be heard are dismissed as being associated with vandals.

I had a brilliant day yesterday. Starting with a hilarious incident on the tube, as it sat stuck in a tunnel before Waterloo, there was the usual huffing and puffing of annoyance with TFL. Then suddenly a man from Shropshire TUC shouted 'They're kettling us before we've even begun!' and laughter erupted down the carriage. I walked from the station across the river, stopping to take pictures of the incredible march that seemed to go on forever. Banners both serious and humorous (my favourite was 'I wish my boyfriend was as dirty as your policies'. Brilliant), musicians playing instruments, the less musically capable playing vuvuzelas, and everyone chanting, laughing, meeting new people and having fun. I darted through bits of the march to meet my friends Suze and Marlon at Trafalgar Square and it seemed as though London was filled with people who had no intention of causing trouble, but wanted the world to know they were unhappy with the way we have all been treated.

Joining the rest of the UK Uncut lot at Soho Square I has some apprehensions about occupying a bank to do our gig in. This is mainly because I am a wuss at such things, and being handed a 'bust card' (note: this doesn't mean I can touch boobs when I like unfortunately), I didn't give the reponse of appreciation that others did, but more a sigh of worry at the idea of being arrested. The police were already crowding round, and several helicopters circling overhead. As we headed towards our place of occupation, we discovered that the cops had done their research and closed all the banks and tax dodging shops in anticipation so we darted back into Soho Square. There, to at least 100 people, Chris Coltrane hosted a gig that featured Josie Long, Mark Thomas, several other acts and myself, that caused a response of exhilaration, excitement and giggles. Each using gags to have a go at current issues, it felt like (and without fear of sounding wanky) we were doing comedy with a purpose, something that was cemented by being notified of this on the Guardian website:


'4.17pm: Jamie Kelsey, a contributing editor of the New Internationalist magazine who is at the demonstration, says that the protest is providing a political education to many young people in attendance.

We're at Oxford Circus at the moment and it's a really excellent festival atmosphere. I just spoke to two teenagers aged 17 and 19 who have come from the comedy show in Soho Square, and they said that what they heard there made them think more than anything they have ever learnt at school. It's their first demonstration and when I asked why they came they said they realised that the demonstration is about more than just the UK.

They can understand the connection between the shops and the banks that people are target ting and the global situation that is effecting everyone. They've heard Mark Thomas and a disabled comedian and Johann Hari speak. For these teenagers the protest is absolutely opening their minds to a much wider picture. It's very exciting.'

And that makes it worth it as far as I'm concerned. Hopefully events like that, the majority of the march and all those who enjoyed yesterday will go away and spread the word that the news isn't telling the truth and there is a point to protesting. Yes Vince Cable today said they wouldn't be changing anything, but at least they know that we aren't going to just sit down and take it. Protests will keep happening and hopefully the worse things get the more people will join in stating their upset. I hope that all those who are currently in police stations for merely standing up for what they believe in and opposing large companies stealing money from this country while disability benefits are being cut, are all ok. Thoughts go to you and everyone who suffered unnecessary violence and victimisation at what would have been, sans police, a truly brilliant day. For anyone who wasn't there, all I ask is you read @PennyRed, @JohannHari101 and @chris_coltrane's Twitter feed as well as accounts of people who were there to find out what really happened and not how Murdoch and Cameron have told the press to say it.

Right I shall get off my high Shetland pony now and return to the non-activism I've been exhibiting all day as I stay on the sofa.

Saturday, March 26, 2011

March March March March

Can't blog for long as getting ready to race off to join the march against the cuts in Central London today. I rather foolishly decided, after returning home from gigging in the Isle of Wight quite late last night, that I would merely rock up to the march after a sleep-in, then peruse around town till this at 2pm: It has since struck me that at least 100,000 people will be on today's march and there won't be much chance of perusing anything. So in an attempt to gain back some of my political integrity - not that I had any to begin with - I'm wolfing down my Sainbury's own rice krispies in a fashion that will make only my stomach go snip, krickle and pap (the sounds of a fake) and racing out of the door to get my chanty stomp on. I have a feeling today is going to be brilliant. As I watch from my laptop, already the crowds at Southbank stretch all the way back to St Paul's cathedral. I just hope that it stays peaceful, and by that I mean I hope that the police don't intrude and screw things up. If all is left to its path then I think it should proceed as planned, everyone have a good day expressing their dismay at the coalition and the IPCC can have a bit of a breather for once.

I am a tad worried about occupying a bank later. I hate to be selfish about these things but if I get kettled then I might not make it to my gig tonight and that's a pay cheque I could do with and many people that'll be let down. Its a worrying concern when money overrides my need to complain about people's greed. I can't help but feel its probably a bit contradictory. Then again you could argue that were the arseholes in the banking world less hoarding with the country's cash that maybe we could all earn a bit less and still survive. Or just as likely, I need extra funding for the pub. Sigh. Still if I am kettled at least it will be with other comics I like and Johann Hari who I look forward to meeting. I am bringing some water and a banana so that should sustain me for a while and if all else fails I can pull the excellent 'I'm a diabetic' card and see if it works. It shouldn't work. Us diabetics are pretty resilient. Apart from the shit one in Con Air who makes me constantly sad. He complains that he needs his insulin or he'll die - rubbish, he'd just have high blood sugars for a while. Then he gets his insulin and someone shoots him. As far as I'm concerned he was never part of our fraternity.

Anyway, I hope you're on the march too. Today is one of those opportunities to have a say about the way in which our country is run (into the ground - ooh satire) and for every person that assumes 'oh well there are enough people there already' that's another point on Cameron's score card. Without meaning to get on my high Shetland pony (I'm only small. A horse would be too big) it strikes me as amazing that anyone would be happy with what's going on right now and if you give an iota of a crap you should say so. That's my opinion anyway and everyone's entitled to one. Raaa and other proactive noises. I'm off to go shout 'down with things' and that. See you at the gig at 2pm!

Friday, March 25, 2011


Language is constantly changing. In the time I've been alive 'bad' has come to mean good, 'ming' is no longer just a type of vase and 'shit off' is a valid phrase. Yet today Twitter is in uproar about the acronyms OMG, FYI and LOL being added to the Oxford English Dictionary. I can't say I've ever been a huge fan of any of these phrases. FYI sometimes leaks its way into my emails to save me typing any further sentence or explanation and assuming the receiver can just read the below without further prompt. For that I applaud it's use. OMG however and LOL are both terms that I have only ever used with extreme sarcasm, often to point out the extensive levels of boredom something has caused or how incredibly unfunny something might be. Nat and Tom have a very funny game where sometimes they email each other incredibly dull tweets with the subject line 'OMG look what so and so's written!' only to click and discover that person is 'having a cup of tea' or something as equally mind numbing. Its three letters that can instantly sum up the user's personality in a second. If said in an over the top, taking the piss tone, then you can assume the speaker is a hilarious wit and an all together good egg. If used with serious excitement, genuine concern or in fact any emotion rather than sheer mockery, its likely they are a vacuous waste of human flesh ie Peaches Geldof. If the OED definition uses this as its rightful meaning I will be extremely proud.

LOL similarly should be used with caution. Its extremely rare that anything I have ever read on a screen has ever made me Laugh Out Loud. There have been several smirks, the occasional smile, and millions of non-plussed noises. So when something has actually made me guffaw to myself whilst sitting at my laptop, it feels churlish to merely reduce such joy to three letters. Not only that but I worry that it will destroy the meaning of the word 'loll' which ironically probably describes most users of 'LOL'. Other words that have entered include 'dotbomb' a phrase which I have never heard before and was worried was a new type of dangerous micro weapon, 'ego-surfing' which I am a victim of and often wave my fists in the air wishing I had a name that would disappear into google more easily, and the heart symbol, which will help anyone who only reads Wingdings.

But overall we should look at the positives of all this. Firstly Scrabble will become easier. Especially when playing against elderly relatives who won't have a clue what 'FYI' means as you slam it down on the board, scoring a 9 pointer at least and then as they check the dictionary for proof, lampooning them with a victory dance as you kick over their ridiculous classic words and spit cold tea in their face screaming 'Take that Nan! Your time is up!' Then there are all those school kids who up until now have suffered low exam results for text speak spelling, suddenly becoming high scorers, progressing to Oxford and running our government until the Houses of Parliament are all shouting 'LOL' everytime someone says something that vaguely resembles a joke. Then we have the possibilities that over time all speak will be abbreviated until there is more time in everyone's lives and boring conversations will fly by in seconds, meetings will be reduced to one dullard saying 'SWHROT (So we haven't reached our targets) TCIGIL (The Company is going into liquidation) YAF (you're all fired)' everyone else saying 'OMG' and then they all leave.

All I'm saying is that it can all only be a good thing. I look forward to the day this all progresses and we all end up talking Nadsat, right right droogs?

Quick other note, as I will talk about this more tomorrow, but there is a big protest against the cuts tomorrow. Do you hate the cuts? If you say no, you're an idiot, or very rich. Either way you should probably stop reading this blog as it will either have confused or upset you many times by now. Anyway, the protest will be excellent, and at 2pm I'll be taking part in occupying a bank or tax dodging company shop to do a gig in it with Josie Long, Mark Thomas and Chris Coltrane among others. It will be awesome. Come protest and laugh. Laughtest. Prough. Details below.


Thursday, March 24, 2011

Mini Beasts

I love Spring. I like all the things that happen when Spring happens. Like the sunshine, the flowers blooming, the birds singing, the tiny spiders in my room and the ants in the living room.....oh. Oh dear. As Nat pointed out when I found the four scurrying scouts preparing to send back word about all the food crumbs on our homely floor, our flat seems to become more and more like a shack everyday that goes by. Her and Tom are still sleeping in the living room due to the mould in their room. It still hasn't paid rent. Nor has it ever made us a cup of tea or even socialised with us on an evening and its starting to feel like a squatter who hasn't even bothered to see if the house is vacated let alone look into its rights. Combine this with the windows that don't open properly, the shower guard that doesn't, the kitchen cupboard door that is falling off its hinges and the odd amounts of dust this place gathers as though we must shed skin quicker than a snake on speed, and you could say our home has a lot of character if nothing else. And now, to give depth to that character two seasons in, we appear to have a small amount of ants that want to hang out. Well we don't want them to hang out. I've never been a fan of ants, yet throughout my life, they appear to be a fan of me. Most places I have lived in, have at some point or another, had a lot of ants maraud through in a blurry black line of food theft. My student house in the second year where my housemates and I had parties of legendary quality, would always be left the day after such an event in a state of sheer disarray. Beer spilt on the floor, mud, mess, general mayhem and yet, through all of this, there would also always be a long line of ants. Starting near the front door and making their way all round the living room far wall, to the kitchen door, through the kitchen and around that wall and out through the back door to the garden. You could have neatly cut around the dotted line they made and pulled half of the house off its foundations.

Joining our new found ant buddies were two tiny spiders I found in my room yesterday. One found its way onto my arm somehow and then found its way flung outside via my pen and some fury. The other one scrabbling around my keyboard as though trying to type a message of help. I disregarded such a warning and flicked it somewhere else in the room thus not really removing the problem. I have never liked spiders either. Too many legs and eyes for any creature and throughly selfish when you consider the plight of the worm which has neither. I'm not a fan of any creepy crawlies, giving maybe a moment's thought for a bee thanks to honey making or a ladybird because it looks all fancy. Butterflies don't hold any water with me, not least because they can't physically hold water with such tiny legs, but also because while they look all pretty wingwise, look closer and they still have stupid horrible insect faces. Something they should really think about sorting out should they ever want to be friends with me. Above all though, spiders are definitely the worst of the mini-beasts. They have powers we just can't understand. I once found one on my arm whilst in an open field. It left my arm by climbing up a web that appeared to be attached to the sky and it continued to climb until it had entirely disappeared. I am still disturbed by this. I am more disturbed by the idea of it raining spiders. I hate spiders. Though I am now worried that the one on my keyboard was trying to tell me something. And maybe the ants in the kitchen are crawling around in the pattern of an ancient prophecy? If the wasps that used to live in our bathroom return and die in a pattern in the bath spelling 'the apocalypse is now' then I'll really start to worry.

More likely however, is that we just need to hoover again. I suspect I'll be seeing many more of the wee monsters very soon. Hooray for Spring. Sigh.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011


Its probably slightly premature to write this blog during the budget. If I was sensible, I'd write this beyond the aftermath, fill it with commentary on the poormageddon Osborne has unleashed while simultaneously providing a travel guide of the best places to emigrate to instead. However, its sunny outside, and I can only watch Osborne's smug lizard face for so long before having to just hope that 'meeting the target' is slang for someone having him shot. But I'm not sensible and it is clearly actually Spring outside, with a beautiful sunny day to sit outside in, sans jacket, realise I should've had a jacket, and head back indoors again. This is all part of the Spring ritual, much like the first few days of actual summer where you go outside without sun cream, get horribly burnt then complain the rest of the time that its far too hot. I feel to deny any of this would be detrimental to my Britishness and general way of thinking.

I know how the budget will go anyway. We've been told its all about growth but without specifying exactly what growth and we can presume it won't be that of the job sector, nor the NHS or anything that's remotely useful. I am partly worried that due to earlier talk of Britain still keeping nuclear power, and then this 'growth' chat that a vast amount of money will go into creating Godzilla. If only so Osborne feels like he has an older brother. So far the budget appears to have included nothing to actually help anyone who's finding all the food and VAT rises difficult and at the same time done nothing about getting more money off those rich companies and people who keep their taxes offshore. There have, as far as my bored tired brain can understand, been several comments about how tax avoidance isn't fair, and yet there is little to reign any of it in from the people that are really dodging large payments such as Vodafone. Essentially it seems like Osborne needn't really have bothered doing a budget at all. I wonder if he just likes to carry a small red case and advertise just how much he likes to inflict fear and disappointment in everyone.

Oh no wait. The budget's over. There was a slight drop in fuel tax which was nice I suppose. I always feel that any slight decent thing that's done by the coalition hides something else. Growth appeared to not actually grow which means I suppose that its not really growth is it? Surely he should've said to begin with that this budget is all about shrinking? A 10% cut on inheritance tax when people hand over their estate to the next generation, a cut that once again I reckon will only help those who are rich enough to own estate's in the first place. Unless they mean family cars? Gift Aid being reduced seems to mean charities get taxed more and someone clever has just pointed out on Twitter that personal tax allowance being increased by CPI rather than RPI means it's less of an increase than it sounds. I don't understand, assuming that CPI is something you use to ressusitate people, but yes, it all sounds once again like a lie wrapped in a tortilla of clever words and terms. I wish I was more clever.

Oh the whole thing is a bit rubbish. I will probably just abandon it now and sit in the sun. Thank god for sunshine eh? It doesn't cost much. Yet. I fully expect that that'll be in the bit of the budget I miss out on. Thank god none of this comes into effect until midnight on Sunday. I'll go soak up as much as possible till then and save it for the next few weeks.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Trip To Whiney Street

Dear people. I like you. I really do. As a species you've done some top things. For example the toasted cheese sandwich maker, the slinky, breakdancing, ice cream and Jaws. Those are just a few of the many many things that humanity has done really bloody well with. Oh yeah sure, there are loads of things we've screwed up at including wars, inequality of wealth distribution, sexism, racism, Justin Bieber, that list goes on and on too, but I'm usually prepared to ignore such things in the face of high fiving someone for creating the word 'shizzle' or coming up with the concept of the theme park. However, sometimes, just sometimes, you do a few things that make me lose all faith in the world. Today is one of those something days. This blog is now about to go straight to Moan Town, with a quick diversion via Whingeville and park up in Complaintopolis.

Its Fat Tuesday tonight and on the bill we have a comic who as far as I and many many other comedians think, is a mac daddy and a daddy mac of stand-up. Having been gigging internationally for many years, the last time I watched Mike Wilmot it was like a masterclass in humour, leagues about tons of the stuff you get on the tellybox. In Stewart Lee's recent autobiography, he described Mike as being able to do crudity with an honesty and wit unbeknownst to anyone else on the scene. And yet, and yet indeed, we've barely sold any tickets. I know. The reason? Well I'm not one to presume, but besides a recent appearance on Live At The Apollo, Mike hasn't done as much UK TV recently as many of the other acts we've had at Fat Tuesday and therefore our audience who used to fully trust whoever we booked, don't now want to spend a night watching acts they don't know. It may not be that. It may be that today is National Stay At Home Night, it may be that its because its sunny, but more and more I'm noticing with our gig, and many others, that unless there is the guest appearance of a telly name, it just won't sell.

Thats really sad. Its sad because I'll lose a ton of money, making putting on other gigs quite tough, but more so because there are so many amazing comics that deserve to be seen by brilliant audiences that just won't get that same chance if this continues. I have a long list of acts I would love to book to headline FT but I know full well that if I do, we won't sell much and I'll be out of pocket again. I constantly try and find reasons to quit running my gig. It takes a silly amount of time for very little profit, but when it goes well its so much fun its seems to make it all worth it. However if this is how things are going to continue to go it really seems like there might not be much point.

Its very much the celebrity culture of nowadays which has sadly really overshadowed some of the best elements of live comedy. There used to be nothing more exciting than rocking up to a comedy club and seeing an act you've never seen before tear the roof off the place. Introduce you to new gags and stories, mannerisms and words that would send you into giggling fits. The Edinburgh fringe used to be a place to hunt down new acts before they became big, finding those golden nuggets of comedy within the myriad of shows. Yet now everyone is too obsessed with it being someone who's on the same panel show every week or some similar issue. Don't get me wrong, its great at FT when we get big names popping along, but that shouldn't be the only reason our gig runs. It should run because we always get good comedians whether you've heard of them or not. After 6 years of continuous shows it shouldn't even be questioned that they wouldn't be.

There are still tickets for tonight and there really shouldn't be. If you fancy coming along to witness what will be nothing less than excellent then please grab some here:

Or on the door this eve.

Oh and don't worry people, you still came up with coleslaw, funk and wink murder so you're alright really.

Monday, March 21, 2011



There are several words I probably use too much at the moment. Among these are 'ace' which I very much like using as I remember using it way back in the 90's and its verbal resurrection gives me both nostalgia and the confidence that it is a word that, through concerted historical effort, gives gravitas to its slang meaning. There are few people out there who upon hearing something was 'ace' would be unsure of its goodness. Unless you were the opposing player at a series of high stake card games. The other word I'm using a fair amount is 'hella'. I like this word and its used fully tongue in cheek, having gained it from a South Park episode many years ago and its taken some time to properly infiltrate my vocab. Now its here and I'm hella pleased about it. See? That was its correct use. To take a biblical ideology, cut off the corners and put it unnecessarily amongst other words it doesn't hang out with. There are quite a few others but the that bothered Nat the other day is 'banter', berated me for using it instead of 'conversation' or 'chat'. Thing is, banter is a whole different ball game to those other words. Whilst conversation could be about a mortgage or paint drying or Boring McBoreason's Boring Dog Boreface, banter is always more jovial than that. There is, supposedly an art to conversation. Well I would suggest that while that art is perhaps Constable or something sensible like that, banter is the art that people would actually put up on their walls to make a room look more exciting. I would name people but I know full that whoever I say there will be some criticism of my choice. Art is very much enjoyed on a personal level and one man's Pollock is very much another's 3 year old painting baboon. I am that second man. Sigh.

Last night, when meeting my friend Jacqui, we definitely had 'banter'. To describe it as anything less would be insulting. I've known Jacqui for donkey's years (I am assuming that most donkeys are about 12 years old) and she is one of my favourite people to chat absolute shit with. Sure there was some actual chat in there, some life commentary and that, but there was also a lengthy discussion about how we would survive if the world was attacked by zombies, robots and natural disasters all at once. Through some careful planning, we have managed to create a fool proof plan, although should an earthquake open up the ground underneath us, we'd fail. Aside from that, we'd have a floating house in the middle of a lake (inland, no danger of tsunamis), that's anchored in place. The lake would have a 100ft moat around the edge allowing all zombies to fall in it and be trapped. The house would have its own EMP system to destroy all robots that managed to get through the lake in the first place, and we would travel around on jet skis to a small ramp that contained our armoured truck. I think you'll find we'll be fine. Start bidding for your place in our hella pad right now. That is banter. Right frikkin' there. I choose to maintain the use of this word in its correct and appropriate usage and when I choose to merely have a conversation, I shall do so. Until then zombies, robots and er, natural disasters, beware.


Ok so Gaddiffi is a bad guy. This is all very obvious. But at the same time, has no one learnt anything from the war in Iraq? This all feels like a terrible reprise of such events with already 64 people being killed over the weekend from missile strikes. The government are being very quick to say they don't want to hurt any civilians, whilst at no point confirming if that's who's died in the first place. Sure there have been an airstrike or two that have been cancelled due to civilians being spotted etc but I fear its only a matter of time before this caution is ignored. In the words of Han Solo 'I got a bad feeling about this.' If only Western leaders would realise that nearly everytime they create one of these monsters through arms deals and oil bidding, they have to remove them at the expense of innocent lives. Again that always seems to come second to getting money in their pockets. Well more fool them as when the robot zombie disaster apocalypse comes money will be irrelevant. Idiots.

So yeah, thoroughly depressing news that I'm finding it hard to make light of in anyway. The best so far I can do is to read every statement from the MoD as though it says Mod, and its being made by a 1960's ska fan in a pork pie hat. This doesn't work that much.

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Terminal Problems

I remember when Terminal 5 at Heathrow was about to built and many people protested about such happenings. There was rightful outcry about the damage it would cause to the environment, but also the noise pollution for nearby residents, traffic issues and various other problems. I thought very little of it at the time, but today, after picking up my brother's girlfriend from the said terminal, I am seriously thinking about starting up those protests again. Not for the same reasons by any means. No, it should be shut down on the sheer principle that nowhere should make it quite that hard to get to the 'pick-up' area. A veritable winding maze of barriers, car parks and exit signs that lead nowhere, its as though King Minos himself had structured such evil as a trap for his enemies. I followed the signs to the 'pick up' area twice and both times found myself somehow outside of the airport again. After the first time I was convinced this was me being a moron, unable to read the simplest of directions. But after the second time, I realised there was no alternative. Even asking a car park attendant which turning I'm meant to be taking when it clearly says 'pick up' area and leads you away from the terminal, was met by the response 'dunno.' I'm fairly sure there is no pick up area and its all an elaborate ruse to make me increasingly angry. It worked. Well done BAA. Despite the fact your name makes you sound like a corporation for sheep, you are far more clever than that.

Above all else, it also costs just to drive to the pick up area. £2.70 for 0-30 mins stay. Technically, if you've never been, you've stayed there for 0 minutes and we should all be constantly paying £2.70 for nothing. I'm glad we're not but I do feel that either they should stop being quite so evil or follow through with it properly. I'm just saying that none of these things need to be anywhere near as difficult as they are and yet somehow someone has decided that ease of use is not within the criteria for a functioning airport. As I finally gave up and parked in a bay diagonally as a mark of vengeance, taking out two other bays from use all at once, I noticed several other cars just aimlessly driving around looking upset. Many had the appearance of fear, perhaps worried they were trapped in an Escher painting or some sort of delusional hell. Finally driving away the car at the exit barrier next to me just stopped there for some time, perhaps trying to figure out if they'd have to loop the whole way round again or if maybe, they could just leave their family member or loved one to fend for themselves and get the train. How many jetlagged souls are still wandering around looking for their pick up, unknown to them that mere feet away, their pick up is looking for them with no means of meeting. Damn you terminal 5, I wish you'd never been built.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Deal With It

Look I'm just too busy being dressed like this today to do a blog, ok? Yeesh.

Friday, March 18, 2011

Some Relief

Twitter is swamped with Comic Relief pledges today and all across the UK people are doing silly things in the name of charity. Even the bank clerk at the desk today was wearing an Arsenal tshirt instead of the usual smart dress. At least I assume she was doing that for Comic Relief. Otherwise standards have seriously dropped. Either way it didn't seem to help her deal with the loony man who's sister was on Dragon's Den and insisted on telling us where its difficult to get Halal meat thanks to all the 'bloody Arabs'. I swiftly left. Anyway, in amongst all this charity goodness, I am doing a normal gig tonight. For money. Do I feel guilty? A bit. I haven't really done much for Comic Relief ever in my life. Today I've text donated a fiver and on Wednesday with my croaky voice I recorded some donation pleas for Radio 3's Red Nose Day airings. They originally asked me to do six of them, but after I rasped my way through the first one , they then decided I should do only three. I then did another one and they told me we were all done and I left, sniffling my way through Western House.

But other than that I haven't really done anything. I don't want to be a cynic as I'm sure Comic Relief does loads and loads for people around the world, but part of me sat at TV centre yesterday, watching as a large poster of Jack Whitehall was being plastered to the outside walls, wondering just why they need to go so over the top with everything. Let's Dance, for example, must cost a shedload to produce. While I don't discredit any of the acts that do it, as it all seems like a lot of fun, but I wonder how much money could be given to the charity if the cameras weren't hired, lighting turned off etc etc. Fair play if its all done at a loss, but sometimes I just question why people need so much encouragement to help others. Do we always need a plethora of celebrities to say 'stop children starving'? Does anyone ever need Chris Moyles on air for any length of time let alone 52 hours? I suppose its just a sad indictment of society rather than anything else.

Still, I feel I should probably contribute more. I have decided via Twitter that I will do various tasks if others donate. So far I've said that I'm meant to be in Bournemouth tonight with Josh Widdicombe and Roisin Conaty, but if someone donates over £2k then I will drive us to their town instead. No response. I will now state that if you donate £3k I will leave either Josh or Roisin at the 7th service station we pass, with no hope of ever getting to the gig on time. Get donating people, and by ruining a gig for people in Bournemouth you could be helping others around the world. Hmm. This seems slightly detrimental doesn't it? Ok. Maybe you should just donate what you like to who you like when you like. Or perhaps give an actual comic 'relief' and send me all your savings? If you like I'll then send you a letter every year telling you exactly what your money has been used for and how I'm doing. Plan?

Alternatively donate some dosh to Red Nose Day. I did it by text because I'm super lazy. I understand you can just text GIVE to 70011 to give a quid, 70005 for a fiver and 70010 for a tenner. Or turn on radio 3 and wait for me to tell you do it whilst seemingly gargling gravel.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

Rambling Man

Hello blog. You are being crowbarred into my day today in a way that were you a living being of sorts you'd probably find it difficult to breathe and when you finally got out would have uncomfortable cramps in odd places. It has been, as the last few weeks seems to be, another odd whirlwind of a day that, so far all in all, have revolved around me suggesting things and the suggestees saying 'no' to different degrees of politeness. I have, thanks to this line of work, become a master at handling rejection. From industry types that is. I still falter at such things from women unless I'm so tanked up on booze I can't notice, and I get very upset when Tiffany Stevenson's cat runs away from me as soon as I walk in the door. Aside from that though, you say no to this face and this face will totally take it. Like a weak, non-argumentative, self doubting Thomas. I always wondered why Thomas was so doubting. Tom who I live with is fairly doubting, but I have met a few others that definitely weren't. Its apparently based on the dude who didn't believe Jesus was back from the dead, but then, after seeing him, he did believe. I think that this means its not a great term for skeptics or non-believers due to his scaredy cat reforming at the end. I think Thomas should have stoically defended his point of view, hitting Jesus with sticks and treading on his toes until there was undeniable proof it was him, only to them turn around and say that its probably a look a like in a wig. That would be a true doubting Thomas. But instead, once again, a biblical character is praised once again for something that is, overall, a bit rubbish. Much like today being Saint Patrick's Day where a man is hailed for ridding a country that very likely never had snakes, from snakes. I feel that I should parade around the UK saying I have got rid of all the lions just so I can be a saint. Though knowing my luck, I'd be taken to the lions in the zoo and be told to get rid of them too, resulting in huge death in the face via lion paw/teeth.

What's nice is that today's 'no's were occasionally interspersed with some 'hmm's and a few, and very rare 'yes's, along with some stares, and general awkward silences. Its often that these meetings can feel somewhat like the very worst of Pinter plays. I haven't yet ever worked out how exactly how do these sorts of events and I wonder how anyone ever learns. Some people are easy, and you sit down, banter ensues, everyone's happy, you leave with a kick in your step and find out five weeks later they want nothing from you. Others seem more difficult at first and then two years later get you in for something. Then some just stare through your eyes into your soul, knowing full well your existence will be of little help to anyone ever. Now, at least, after being in this stupid job for several blue moons, it tends to be more and more the first two. Eventually I will just be able to work it down to the first option whereby I can constantly raise my hopes up high for at least a day or so, before wondering why it is I can't pay the bills again.

Actually, that paragraph was far too miserable. Truth is, stuff's all good, but that's dull isn't it? Essentially, as readers, you probably want to know about me battling lions or getting the plague or something that keeps it all gritty, don't you? Well, you're horrible. Why can't you just wish someone well for once? Meanies. Yeah. I said it. You all go out tonight, pretend you're Irish so you can drink more and we'll see who's enjoying themselves. Oh. Yeah, its you isn't it? Yeah, well you go and have fun. Go on. Manners.

I have no idea where today's blog is going. For your sake you'd better hope all these meetings come to nothing so that this blog can start to make sense again. What do you mean of course they'll come to nothing? Bloody doubting Thomas.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Cowboys and Doggs


Yes I know I'm light years behind the rest of the world but I finally saw True Grit last night. Thanks to a gig being cancelled due to a huge lack of attendance, the cinema called. Not literally, that'd be odd. It just felt like the next most sensible thing to do. Sure the entire reason I was heading to Edinburgh in the first place, and yes you wouldn't be the first person to point out that there are indeed cinemas in London near where I live. Sigh. Anyway, the fillum is amazing. I don't need to tell you that. You've probably already seen it, read it, seen the original, bought the tshirt and eaten the breakfast cereal. Which I assume, would be quite difficult to chew and rather tasteless. Much like grit. Its the first good Western I've seen in ages and after spending far too much of my time playing Red Dead Redemption last year I sat like an excited child watching Jeff Bridges in a stetson and eye patch shoot at things while saying cool stuff in old western speak. Much like most small people, I often liked the notion of being a cowboy, catching outlaws and generally shooting tins of beans off walls. But as the film progressed it dawned on me that I wouldn't survive 10 mins in the Wild West. I'm fairly sure my career as a cowboy would involve me falling off a horse for 9 minutes, then getting up and being shot by ol' Ned or someone with a similar name. If I made it past that, then generally sleeping in forests, having to ride a horse, or even just not washing very often would have me just lie down and wait for death rather than put up with it. I mean, this morning, in my very nice hotel in Edinburgh, I grumbled that the shower wasn't as powerful as our one at home. I'd be a dead cowboy. Dead in the face.

This now adds to the long list of things I thought of being as a kid that have now not become possible. Jedi - I have tried using the force lots of times and apart from waving my hand when I walk through automatic doors, it doesn't work. Astronaut - I think I'd throw up with the G Force. I can't handle particularly scary rollercoasters. Lion Tamer - If I was allowed a taser gun, yes. But I'd still stand outside a fence. An electric fence. Spiderman - I hate heights. I am going to start to tell all children I meet to get more realistic with their adult options to avoid disappointment. What's that little Suzie? You want to be stuck in a 9-5 in council job in an open plan office with people you don't like working on something that due to government cuts merely keeps nudging a tide of mostly pointless work that you'll be made redundant from within the year? Well done Suzie.


I was extremely sad to hear about the death of Nate Dogg this morning. I have banged on about my love of the hippety hop in this blog before, and have definitely mentioned my introduction into the genre being Snoop Doggy Dogg's Doggystyle at the back of 7H's science class. Nate Dogg being one of the collaborater's on that album, I have, over the years, taken for granted that deep voice bellowing G Funk over a Westside beat many a time. Sure he was often there mentioning that 'it ain't no fun if the homies can't have none' and other possible gang rape style lyrics, all of which were hugely wrong, but y'know, he sung them with panache. There are few others in the world that can sing about turning bodies cold and make you want to sing along without, at any point, questioning the fact that he's basically a murder. The more I'm writing this, the more I realise he sang bad bad things about terrible stuff. But I still thought he was awesome. You gotta have an exception to the rule haven't you? I'm currently listening to 'Lay Low' in tribute and let me tell you, that if anyone was going to warn you about needing to stay undercover for a while if you've been grassing up other g's, then it'd have been Nate Dogg and no one else. I would pour a sip of gin on the streets, but er, I don't like gin and I don't have any. Rest in peace.


I still have a sore throat. This seems ridiculous now. I mean, I've done everything I can to make it better: whisky, beer, late nights, shouting at people down a microphone. Yet none of it, and I mean none of it seems to have made it better. Its just bizarre. I have to do a radio interview today. Expect it to be the sexiest interview I've ever done. Especially the sexy coughing and spluttering. That'll be real sexy. Or maybe I'll just sound tough? Like I got true grit? Or just like a coughing spluttering ill face. Sigh again.


If that many doctors are telling you the NHS reform won't work, and yet you're still going ahead with it, how can we trust your opinion on anything? These people know how to save lives, they are one of the most important group of people in the country and the way in which the foundations of our society works, yet you aren't listening? I really hope you get a seriously dangerous illness and choose to ignore them then too. God I hate the Tories.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Real Gigs

It is wet in Edinburgh. Read that sentence with all possible surprise completely void from your tone. It is always wet in Edinburgh, its part of the nature of the place. I sometimes worry that locals would suffer from dehydration if it stopped being wet. I also rarely see them drinking water so I think its just absorbed through the air like plants do. It is a silly place. I do love it though and despite it being out of Fringe season I have already embraced it in exactly the same way ie with a lot of whisky and a great gig. The whisky was because I have now definitely all but lost my voice. I thought that as I have no option of resting it, the next best thing would be to drink hod toddies till either it comes back at full volume or I get drunk enough to not care. Sadly neither happened even with Rosie at the Stand's constant help but making it less and less a toddy and more a vat of booze with some hot water in. The efforts were appreciated by all but my throat and liver. I have decided that tonight I will just rasp my way through my set and the students at Edinburgh University will just presume I am either saying wise things or being decidedly jazzy.

The great gig however was just because it was at the Stand and the Stand is just one of the very best gigs ever. I was going to write about this sort of thing on Friday after doing one of the other very best gigs ever, The Comedy Cellar, in Bracknell, but it becomes more and more clear everytime I gig just what makes a room work quite so well. The Stand have it absolutely nailed. Lovely staff, care over who they book, rigid rules to stop bellends being in the crowd, low ceilings, proper lighting, good sound and great visibility of the stage pretty much wherever you are in the room. That's it. That's all you need. The Comedy Cellar similarly rocks in the same way. And the most important thing is that its run by people who care about comedy. The acts feel looked after so they perform better. The audience feel looked after so they behave and enjoy themselves. Consequently everyone leaves feeling like they've had a great night, albeit full of too much whisky.

It just strikes me as odd that people can't get that blend of things right. Its not that difficult. If a room isn't good for comedy, don't run a gig there. If you are setting out to exploit acts or audience, don't run a gig. If you don't have a mic or decent lighting, don't run a gig. There are about 600 more reasons why people shouldn't run gigs including 'if you just want to compere yourself despite no intention of learning how or ever writing jokes' and 'if you want to run a special night where comedy and live bands are mixed' as well as ' if you just want an avenue to meet people otherwise you will continue to just sit at home by yourself crying'. I'm all for people starting gigs, not least because it gives me more work, but I just wish people would realise how much hard work it is to do it properly and that that should be respected. If you ever consider doing so, make a trip to a good gig and see how its done first. Then run your gig miles away from theirs so its not in competition.

Last night was awesome in that way only a great gig can be. I got to watch some excellent new acts, spoke like a horse whisperer throughout and was repeatedly handed whisky by Rosie. There is little that can be flawed about such things.

Sorry, not a particularly funny blog today, but my funny efforts are being placed into other writing for the moment. They are filled with funny right now. Were you to even read a glimpse you'd laugh till you were unable to breath and then you'd die. This is why I'm not putting them here and I'm balancing out this blog with non-funniness so that I don't feel tempted to read my own stuff then die. Or you could also read that whole bit as 'I haven't written anything yet.' One of those is the truth.

On another note 'aaaaaaaaaaaaaay' (please sing) and on another note to that, my website has been remade all nice, new shiny and with lots of new clicky things (here's a tip, click on the pics of my many disguises for more captions than a man should write). Have a look and let me know your thoughts. About the website that is. Or just anything. Any thoughts are fine:

Monday, March 14, 2011

Plane Sailing

They say that there is a first for everything. This is, once again, another thing they say that makes you wonder why 'they' are allowed to ever speak their stupid minds. Of course there is a first for everything. Its how numbers work. If you did something having never done it before but discovered it was the second time this had happened then you would need to closely investigate the possibilities of you time traveling as a prank on your self. Of course firsts happen first. Today, I missed a flight for the first time ever in my life. Ever. The neurotic little man inside my shell of a neurotic little man is dealing with this whole occurrence far better than I had expected it ever would. It helps that there are other flights. This is one of the benefits of this here future that we're in, that flights happen all the blooming time. Sure it means the ozone is being destroyed, the environment is collapsing and terrible situations like what's currently happening in Japan are probably all directly linked to it, but I'm really pleased I can just hop on the next flight to Edinburgh for the neat sum of most of my life's savings. Actually that's not true. It was more money than I wanted to spend but for once, despite the ever sarcastic look on the man at the check in desks face as he informed me that as of 3 minutes ago they weren't letting anyone else onto the plan, Easyjet lived up to their name and sorted everything else out in a jiffy. That's an ancient parent type term for quick. I wasn't expressing that they handed me all documents in a padded envelope.

Oh and yes, 3 minutes is all I missed my flight by. That's it. Waking up this morning with a sniffly nose, and most of my voice whispering hoarsely in a way that only benefits me if I want to do a Tom Waits impression (its currently very good. Do ask if you see me. I won't do it for you. I'm not your performing monkey. Do ask anyway though. And I'll tell you to fuck off. Like Tom Waits would) today hurriedly seemed like it was against me. Cue rushing to Finsbury Park station on the slowest bus in the universe, only to find when I got there that I'd left my cash card at home, involving a journey back on the same bus, which now, having to do the route in reverse, seemed even more confused. Getting home I grabbed my card and my car - one was not a dyslexic mistake for the other - and drove like the wind on a stupidly small amount of petrol to Stanstead. The transfer bus from the parking place seemed to be driven by a relative of the earlier bus driver and when I finally made it I was 3 whole minutes too late. Was the plane still there? Yes they said. Was it boarding yet? No they said. Would I feasibly have time to get to it and on it without holding it up? Yes, easily. Can I check in? No. The logic of this completely evaded me. It felt as though I was being berated by someone who clearly missed out on school trips because they hit snooze on the alarm too many times and were now exacting their revenge.

I'm never late for anything. I have, what my friend Mat refers to, as an overdeveloped sense of urgency. This usually means I am places irritatingly early and bored out of my mind as a result. Even when I try my best to be on time or a tiny bit late, something will occur such as the bus driver being an F1 reject and I'll end up early again. So today there must be some misalignment of the stars, some cosmic entity messing things up or perhaps I'm just a bit full of a cold and slower than normal. Who knows? But now I can comfortably sit down, eat a Pret brownie and chill for 2 hours, I'm wondering if I should try this again soon. My flight back on Wednesday is very early. I could just get a later one. There's still time to have a first for missing a plane intentionally...

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Pet Likes

Its often said that people are like their dogs, yet watching Crufts this morning I can't see any of those pedigree owners running through hoops and allowing their fur to be curled in the way they force upon their pets. Its an odd idea of love when small animals that have little choice are groomed and trained so their normally lonely and otherwise pointlessly existing owners can project their own failures onto the successes of their canine friends. Saying that, its bloody entertaining and the flat has been filled with giggles as small dogs catch tennis balls or run through tunnels. I'm fairly sure that were dogs ever to exist as free animals in nature again that these wouldn't be their normal past times. Running through woods to find wild squeaky toys and savage rouge packs of pedigree chum. It strikes me as strange that someone one day decided that all their natural instincts were obviously wrong and these animals should really be bred to dance on two hind legs while their owner claps like a damaged seal. We had several conversations about what dog we'd get as a flat, but everytime it concluding with the possibility of Craine dropping things on it, sitting on it, not feeding it, setting it on fire or generally just preventing it from living for longer than a week. There was also an audible sigh of misery when the notion of having to walk such an animal was mentioned. I think its safe to say we won't be venturing into such pet based depths. A few days ago Tom mentioned the notion of fish, but again outside of wanting our home to become some sort of watery morgue, we have vetoed the idea. I'm starting to worry about if Tom and Nat ever have kids and how long it will be before it turns out they haven't been fed for 6 days and Tom keeps misplacing one in the fridge or behind the sofa.

An animal of a different kind, I went to watch Kid Koala last night. Ok, so he's not an animal at all, but I felt the need to create a link in this blog like I might do with a heap of material that doesn't quite fit together when I'm performing it on stage. Sure I could've just made separate headings but where is the challenge in that? Also I'm sure dogs and koalas are linked somewhere on the evolutionary scale. They both have eyes. I have been a fan of Kid Koala for years and years but haven't seen him live since about 2005 where I remember him scratching 8 different turntables at once, each playing a different jazz instrument, until combined it formed a whole new jazz piece. It left me more confused and in awe than seeing Derren Brown spontaneously combusting a goat with his mind. I haven't seen that, but I bet it would leave me pretty confused and in awe. Some people are highly cynical about scratch DJing but it's truly amazing art form when done properly. Last night I watched as KK mixed track after track, hip hop into Karen O, Somewhere Over the Rainbow into funk, creating whole new beats by mixing tracks together and all the while not wearing headphones. I could never be in tune with music like that and I would put it up there with watching a top class musician play a classical concerto or other equally amazing feats of instrument playing. And to top it all off, he was dressed in a koala onesi and made two people have a pillow fight to his beats.

The Electric, Polar Bear and Mr Thing all did amazing sets too, and drinking beers with my brother (who awesomely sorted tickets out once again. I sometimes feel that the brothers Douieb have worked things out perfectly by spreading our time between comedy and music. He gets me freebies for gigs and I er, hmm, tell him about comedy and watching all this from upstairs at Koko, I realised I very much miss going to good live music gigs. Stand-up rather selfishly, happens at the same time as these things do and I think its mean that everything should be so night based. There isn't enough time in the world. Yesterday at the Comedy Club 4 Kids Stu Goldsmith asked a small child what she'd do if she had a clone and she said she'd send it to school for her. Amazing idea. I'd send mine to either do my comedy gigs or watch live music gigs and report back to me. I'd also use them to mess people up so after they speak to me and turn away I'd suddenly be standing in front of them again. Oh and I'd relearn breakdancing with them so we could do awesome synchronised moves. And I'd get them to try different beard and hairstyles so I didn't look like a dick if they went wrong. I totally want a clone. I feel this blog's gone off on a tangent I hadn't expected, but it's also occurred to me that better than a dog, fish or even koala, I might just get another me. Although I bet I'll come home to find Craine hasn't fed it and I'll find it all grubby and malnourished, sitting in the corner of the room and we'll have to leave it outside a pet shelter in a brown paper bag due to neglect.

Saturday, March 12, 2011

End Of The World

Starting your day by waking up, turning on the news and seeing the line 'Nuclear Reactor Emergency' is definitely one way of making you want to go back to bed. I don't want to appear over dramatic but it does all seem a bit like many of the disaster films I've watched over my lifetime what with the seemingly constant spate of earthquakes on the other side of the planet, the tsunamis and all the immanent destruction caused by it. If Jake Gyllanhal suddenly announces he's going to try and get on with his father better I will just give up and stay in bed. I worry that is what I'd do if the world was about to end. I've entertained the thought that I'd try and save people, survive by gathering supplies and digging a base underground, or even just cram in lots of things I've always wanted to do as quickly as possible. This would probably involved having several road accidents while I try and drive over ramps like a stuntman and through crates of watermelons, getting in a lot of trouble as I try to take a tiger from the zoo to take it for a walk in the park, and several women being sick as I hurriedly ask them out before everyone's face melts. It worries me that I was trying to write a really substantial list of things I'd have to do, but that's all I could come up with and I haven't even written about my desire to blow up a tower block using a T-Detonator like you used to see footage of. I presume if the world was ending doing something like that wouldn't help matters so I'd leave it be. But ultimately, based on this morning's slight panic, I'd not leave my bedroom, I'd play REM's 'End Of The World As We Know It' on repeat and generally just feel sad.

It goes without saying that everything that's happening in Japan is pretty horrifying. Watching the footage of entire buildings just being swept away is pretty hard to stop watching. Its so unreal I keep expecting some CGI beast to appear in amongst it and Nicholas Cage trying to punch it while acting badly. My brother knows lots of people over there, and despite never having met them I keep asking him for updates as to how they are. He's on Skype checking with them hourly, and luckily they live near the mountains and so seem to be safe. The world's such an ultimately small place now what with planes, the internet and teleporting - ok, not teleporting - its impossible to feel entirely detached from something even that far away. I just hope the quakes stop soon, the nuclear reactor calms down and the world realises we should probably stop using things that can only blow things up even more. I was hearing about a water powered radio on the radio last night and thinking the whole time about why, if such things can exist, we'd even bother with nuclear? So you can use something that already exists and at worst, you might get wet, or create an energy that if it all goes wrong we either turn to ashes akin to When The Wind Blows, or we all grow extra eyes, twelve legs and insect wings and spend the rest of our lives eating the young. It would nice to think that this sort of happening changes some viewpoints and we stop punching the environment in its face for a while so the world can calm down.

If the world was to end today, I'd make some point of telling the man that bought me a drink last night at my gig that I had to hide it and didn't drink it at all. He seemed like a lovely bloke and the drink was bought with full lovely intentions - him saying that he really enjoyed my set - but he had also not listened to me saying I wasn't drinking due to driving and completely ignored it. So I, like the overly paranoid over analytic man I am, decided he wasn't listening and it meant nothing. I hid the drink, finished my coffee and went home. I sometimes worry about myself that I can't just take these sorts of things as very nice compliments and get on with it. Saying that, I still would've hid the drink so it wouldn't have made much difference. To be fair, if the world was ending I doubt one of the last images that man would want is me appearing out of nowhere to tell him such things as everything sets on fire around him. Films never do that bit do they? Just as the hero is about to kiss his family goodbye, its never interrupted by someone looting, or a neighbour ruining the last speech by asking for their gardening shears back or any of the other behavior that would probably be active? I'm sure mine would involve me falling down the steps to our house in a really awkward way while everyone else on the street saw and laughed, then we'd die. It'd be just my luck. Hence why I think I'll just stay in bed.

On a final note, the new Elbow album ' Build A Rocket Boys!' is probably my current new favourite thing. It has been on constant repeat and the combination of such beautiful lyrics and incredible music has rendered me silent several times. Up to this day one of my favourite lyrics of all time is from Mirrorball from Seldom Seen Kid which says 'we took the town to town last night, we kissed like we invented it'. So simple yet absolutely poetic. I think the entire track 'Lippy Kids' from the new album has superceded that with every line. Just go get it. Before the world ends.

Friday, March 11, 2011

Looming Thoughts

This blog isn't about weaving. Sorry weaving fans. Sorry Hugo Weaving.

Its early March and already this afternoon has been spent organising the whole of August. Its not the first time this year I've had to think about the 8th month of 2011, and nor will it be the last. Its all Edinburgh Fringe nonsense and once again it appears I will be attending the 24 day work fest, struggling with the lack of sleep, more than moderate booze intake and ridiculous levels of adrenaline that pile through me during my show's run. This year it seems that having not learnt anything from putting myself through the endurance test several four times before, I will be doing more than just one show. I tell myself there is some logic in this, involving the idea that the busier I am, the less time I can spend in the bar. Truth be told it will just mean I spend exactly the same amount of time in the bar but consequently feel even worse than normal in September.

Its amazing how something can be so exciting and yet fill me with so much dread all at once. Various people I've spoken to that tell me they aren't attending this year say it with a kick in their step and a smile on their face, knowing full well they might get the chance of actually seeing the sunshine during the summer and not riddling themselves with stress over the whole situation. Yet come August they will feel left out, missing the joy of sitting in the Pleasance Courtyard with a beer or loitering the Loft bar with a beer or just having a beer somewhere at some point. I think about all the work it will involve and I shudder a bit. I think about all the money it will cost and I shudder a bit more. I have to willingly stop thinking about it or risk shuddering continuously until I dislodge something permanently. Yet I'm hooked. I totally have to be there. Despite shuddering. Which will have to stop or I'll spill my beer.

Final confirmations need to be made, two shows need to be written and one needs to be booked, flats found, posters designed, costs paid, blurbs written and a new rain jacket bought. Eventually, one day, I'll get to have a sleep again. One day.

Thursday, March 10, 2011


Today's blog has two strands. Like if London was copied and pasted somewhere just alongside it wiping out Buckinghamshire or Essex or something. Probably something. The reason for this is because I would like to tell you all about Derren Brown's new show that I went to see last night but I'm not allowed. Its so awesome and mind fuckery that even revealing the slightest thing would ruin it for you and your face, so let it just be known that you should go and see it. I didn't take a tin foil hat with me yesterday due to a lack of time to prepare, so there is also a chance that if I try and remember it he's already put a mind block on me and my brain would fizzle out anyway. Instead of using literature to weave the ins and outs of the mind man's trickery, and yes I'm proud of that small collection of words I just put together, here is Strand 1:


I have spent well over 20 minutes - and by that I mean about 23 minutes - recording a new answerphone message. I was pleased with the last one as it was recorded in a spur of the moment brain dump and caused many a nice response. Working along the lines of telling people to leave me a message or not leave me a message and leave me in a constant state of enigma and paranoia as to who called and why, it struck a chord with many a folk. By that, I mean by the first call they sniggered and by the second, third and consecutive rings (everyone calls the T more than once to hear my dulcet tones. Fo sheezy) they were immensely bored, felt it went on too long and stopped leaving me messages going entirely against the point of my message. This had clearly got on some people's nerves more than others and today Brett sent me an email with his own suggestions of voicemails I could record just so I wouldn't have that one anymore. So, to rile the message Nazi, I spent some time trying to record a long tale about the discovery of the 'beep' in my best old wise man film voice (think John Hurt, Ian McKellen etc) over the Tron Soundtrack. It now goes on for ever and I am immensely proud. Brett likes it, but give him a week and it will grate. Martyne left me a message saying 'you are a numpty'. More will fall. Or I'll just change it in a week's time. I feel all of this is a perfectly reasonable way to waste a large portion of my afternoon when I should be working.

And now, Strand 2:


There is general consent that getting the night bus is a stressful event in one's life. Many a time I have been unfortunate to be sitting next to vomiting, shouting weird people all crawling their way onto the only means to drag their damaged selves home after a solid night of enjoyment. Then there are the eventide preachers who want you to know that God is coming, has been, once popped by or generally has lost all care. Sometimes you might be really lucky and just get the dangerous types who fight each other or someone else until the bus stops, and kicks everyone off so now you have the fortune of being left on the side of the street with said dangerous people which is far worse than the confines of a bus.

And now, after nodding your head along to all the stereotypes that I've just portrayed of the nightime transport crew like it was a McIntyre style observation, discard them all again as I am about to blow your judgemental minds. Here's a bit of a secret, so hush hush now. Despite my oh so glamorous lifestyle of living in a house filled with mould and Tom, eating out of service stations and playing in clubs where the backroom is toilet behind the stage, I do often get nightbuses. I know, I know. It must be a shock for all you 'normals' that I don't get chauffeur driven around by a man named 'Alfred' or have my own helicopter, but that's because I like to keep it real, and stay down with the kids and other phrases that are nothing but patronising to teenagers. Generally, I like them. Yes indeedy. I like the nightbus and last night was a prime example of exactly why they be the metal steed of the dark.

After a superb evening of mind messing and a much fun train ride home where myself and my friend and Derren ticket giver Corrie, ate enough cheese puffs to make a horse sick, I found myself at London Bridge many minutes after the last tube had gone. Waiting at a bus stop in the cold to be delivered an hour away to Muswell Hill by the wondrous 43, I saw a woman carrying a huge double bass struggling to look at the bus times. I decided that despite the possibility of seeming creepy at 1am by a bus stop that I would help her out, give her the information needed and then have a chat because I my phone battery had died and I was bored. Conversation struck up in seconds and it turned out she is one of the premiere female double bass players in the country, rocking her giant string instrument across the land with various groups. Amazing. It occurred to me that anyone with a less exciting job would probably not be waiting at a night bus stop at London Bridge at 1am in the morning on a Wednesday. Myself excluded of course. Much brilliant banter ensued including the notion of her using her double bass as a giant guitar like a reverse ukulele, and the idea of a real life Winzip so she wouldn't have to carry around an instrument that was the same size as her everywhere she went. Conversation made time fly and the bus finally arrived.

Niceties on a night bus you say? Well that wasn't all. During the journey it became apparent our driver was a hero of a high moral degree. Firstly berating a man to the joy of the other passengers because he had been rude as he got on the bus, the driver hit a peak when a man stumbled out of the doors, into a wall, smacked his head on some steps and fell over. Driver dude started to pull away, then quickly stopped and began to race out of his own bus to see if the man was ok. I said I would check so he wouldn't have to leave his till etc unattended and hopped off to find a very drunk man with a very sore head who assured me he was fine. I told the driver and he made some quips about him waking up tomorrow with 'two heads' which I think was an insinuation of the size of the bump he'd get rather than some sort of terrible freak genetic accident. Then we chuckled one of those chuckles you might see in a heartwarming drama about the North, and he drove us home.

I was tempted to stay on board till Barnet to see what else might happen, but I like to think that as I hopped off at my stop he went on to stop someone being mugged and rescued a kitten from a tree. All hail the night bus driver! May he continue to work anti-social hours for the benefit of society for ever more.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Sans Tin Hat

Day three of Tiernan's slow descent into hallucination via lack of food or rest. Today is a barnstorm of different things that I somehow need to slightly adjust my brain before each one. This sort of talk sounds like I've gone properly bonkers, but I do feel like I need to have a different mind set to work on say kids comedy, than for adult comedy. Or to work on sketches or write a script. I'm not capable of just flitting between them all. This is probably because I'm a tool. And not a useful too like a drill. One that sits in B&Q that no one really knows what it does and they occasionally sell just one to someone who's curiosity evades them, the try and fix a cupboard it, break the cupboard and it sits in a box under the stairs for ever more. Or it could also be because they do in fact need different mindsets. I'm getting better at doing several different comedy things in one day, but I fear that one day I will just implode into a 12 personalities freak who stands there shouting things about bogies to adults while swearing at kids and constantly being in character as a man in a wolf suit. What's extremely worrying about today is that I'm doing kids stuff first, then adult stuff, and then I'm off to my annual Derren Brown excursion in Brighton where no doubt he'll wipe my mind and I'll be back at square one again anyway.

I haven't got time to prepare for seeing the Derren this eve. No foil hat making can happen, so I will be at full mind violation risk probability. With my frail state of tiredness and mental disarray its highly likely that this could be the worst mistake in the world. Tomorrow's blog could be all about me drinking a pint of vinegar then walking on glass because he said so. Or worse, it'll just be blank as I fail to remember anything at all, let alone how to type. Yes, I'm scared. A bit. Saying that, if my mind is wiped I'll probably have to spend several days in bed while other people help me eat stuff? Hmm. I mean tweet him now with a subtle proposition. For brain wiping that is. Not marriage. I'm not sure how anyone could ever marry Derren Brown. Though I suppose if he decided he wanted to marry you, you'd have little choice. I bet he has a harem of mind washed man wives just wandering around his mansion, all of whom are unable to see each other, while Derren sits in his chair shaped like a crystal ball, only with a bit cut out otherwise he'd just slide off.

See? I'm clearly still bonkers. Just. Need. To. Get. To. Sunday....

Last note: Yesterday's Fat Tuesday was actually on a Fat Tuesday which was all very exciting. It was made more exciting by the excellent sets from Jay Foreman, Danielle Ward, Foil, Arms & Hog and Greg Davies. Go see all of them all the time. Hurry up.

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Thumb Wars

Another iPhone blog today and once again I tap my way towards an arthritic right thumb that will have very few life benefits bar being able to never lose at thumb war through default of joints not working as they should. I dont have small hands - they are of reasonable man hand size, and able to feasibly grip a hefty orange in each with room for finger movement should such a situation ever be necessary - but my days of thumb war fighting never really took off the ground at school. I put this down to being a lover and not a fighter and the difficulties that occurred when asking to play thumb love. However it's more to do with my low tolerance for pain and thumbs that bend quicker than spoon that loves Uri Geller. I often dream of getting an iPad, watching today, again for the umpteenth time, someone I'm working with just playfully whizz their digits across a virtual book. I have no need at all for such things. I have real books. I have a phone. I have a computer. There is nothing such a device could provide me with that I need in my life apart from an overwhelming feeling of smug that would be neutralised by the knowledge that I had bought something that is essentially useless yet expensive. Oh and some thumb relief. Ill have to get one.

It's pancake day today and I'm pretty sure I won't get to eat any. I didn't last year or the year before and it appears to be a running theme in my life that despite naming my comedy club after such an event I am no longer allowed to celebrate it. Then again I suppose it's fair in that I do choose to fully embrace the scoffing of sweet and savoury crepe delights whilst entirely ignoring the next however many days of Lent. That's how I roll. Like someone who has absolutely no regard for religion at all. Sure I'll take Christmas, pancakes & Easter but you try and get me to give a shit about Whitsun Day or whatever it's called and I'll show you the door. You won't be that impressed by the door and we'll probably both question why I'd let you in in the first place, before I put it all down to taking metaphor too far about a day I'm not even sure is religious anyway and will know better for next time. I'd still just really like some pancakes.

It was another day with small children today and I have heard endlessly about how many pancakes they have had or will be having. One boy told me all he ever ever eats are pancakes, before then telling me other things he eats. These are the sorts of things that are important to children and we pretend dont matter as much in later life but they could see in my eyes I'm jealous. I'm jealous of the pancakes, I'm jealous of them being able to pretend to be Jedi's all day, and I'm jealous that they can talk absolute nonsense for hours about going to the moon with their sister and people would still sit next to them on a nightbus. I think that growing up is hugely overrated. Saying that, kids aren't allowed iPods so it's all relative I guess. If I ever see a kid with an iPad, shit will indeed go down.

I will finish today's blog here. Not just for thumb's sake but also for brain's. This week has been so busy I fear that until Sunday this blog will continue to descend into incoherent babbling. In many years to come I'll be able to look back on it and think 'wow I wrote some real shit'. More of that same shit tomorrow.

Monday, March 7, 2011

Puppet Master

There comes a time in a 30 year old man's life where he needs to take a long hard look at exactly how things are panning out for him. After today where I appear to have been beaten in the art of sock puppet crafting by six 4 year old children, I think today is that time. Dont get me wrong, my puppet Rufus is a dude, sporting a green Mohican and a thin green beard & moustache, atop a red & black striped face and huge goggley eyes. I'd add a picture but im restricted to iPhone blogging today and I cant work out how. But he also has a lopsided mouth as though victim of a serious stroke and various, rather ominous, dried glue stains. None of the children's puppets had either of these things. The princess was perfectly made, the policeman looked great and even the, er, manmum mumman looked like it had had more than two hours taken over it and hadn't been repeatedly slapped beardless into a table.

Much like Friday, I can't tell you much about the work I'm doing this week, but it does involve such puppet antics and small children, both of which have entertained me enough to temporarily forget I haven't had enough sleep to cope with the noise levels that the combination of these two things create. Highlights so far have included the children standing in a row & introducing their puppets: 'Hi I'm Millie!' 'Hi I'm George!' 'Hi I'm Jedi Alien Warrior Luke Skywalker with a lightsaver!' There then followed 10 minutes of arguments between two of the boys as to whether it was a lightsaber or a lightsaver that I couldn't intervene on as I was laughing too hard.

I didn't need to be there toad but 'conveniently' popped in so I could make my own puppet & hopefully learn a few tricks. I'd put the Muppets and Sesame Street as an influence on my humour way before any comedian had a chance to introduce me to concept of jokes, and even at the age I am now, I'll giggle like a kid at almost anything the Swedish Chef, Dr Bunsen and Beaker or Animal does. So now being able to stick my arm in Someone's old hosiery, give it a gruff voice & have banal chats with children about being a punk rocker or punk soccer as I prefer. There is a small part of me that would like to send every teacher that ever put on my reports that I doodled and chatted too much a small video of everything I do now to earn a living with the 'haha I win' written underneath.

Not that I had many if any of those teachers. I was fairly good at school and would generally cause bafflement by talking and doodling all the way through class but then producing finished work before the end. This meant they couldn't complain I wasn't doing my work and instead resorted to blaming me for other people not finishing theirs. My argument that I couldn't be guilty for their lack of mental capacity was often ignored in place of a detention. Sigh.

Like everytime I type a blog on my tPhone, my thumb is giving in around now. Let it just be known that Rufus is safely in my bag for a possible appearance at Old Rope tonight if I can think of a joke, and that yesterday I played Quirkle for the first time and won at Quirkle. This makes me, and my companion in Team Awesome, Lyndsey, are now undefeated Quirkle champions. I will never play again on principal. Or any other member of school staff. HA! Bye.

Sunday, March 6, 2011

Death Of The tPod

My iPod died for what appears to be the final time yesterday. Its currently sitting on my desk making gurgling fizzing noises that shouldn't be coming from a robot sinking into a swap, let alone a piece of music technology. Tom has just asked me if I'm playing Aphex Twin's new album. It's done this many time, as previous blogs have well noted, but each time I've managed to resuscitate it using a number of tricks and when I say tricks I mean looking at things on the net, rebooting it, and crossing my fingers at the same time. But yesterday in the car as I tried to play 'King Of Limbs' for the fifty billionth time through the stereo, it started doing its mechanical stroke noises and displayed a large red circle with a cross in it. Not at all dissimilar to the X-Men logo and I was temporarily led to believe I had a mutant pod which is why it had previous healed itself. I had all sorts of notions of cranking it up to play some Ice Cube or Rage Against The Machine so it would go into a Wolverine berserker fury, or some Daft Punk so it shoot lasers from its 'i'. Sadly, it just croaked some more and died. Then I was left with Radio 2 for company until I picked up Robert White to take to our gig.

I'm all for Radio, Radio's the 2 and the 6 being my favourites. Its just that I am unable to switch track when they do play something shit. Or talk too much. Or have some sort of phone in with morons. Or the reception goes funny. Or they don't play 'King Of Limbs' six times in a row. I hate radio and I honestly don't know what I'm going to do without my iPod, or, as I renamed it, the tPod. See? I even named it? Its been with me around the world. I bought it in the Greenwich Village Apple Store in New York and since then it has provided me with amazing music at the best of times. At the worst of times its snuck on a track from one of my ex-girlfriend's iTunes so that suddenly while in the car with friends or other comics, Avril Lavigne bursts out and ruins everything. I mean bursts out of the stereo musically, not actually bursts out. I think that would be surprising and possibly more enjoyable than any of her whining poptastic tunes. But ignoring those moments, its given me running music, driving music, tubing music, holiday music and even sometimes just sitting music when other people around me are being boring. I've managed to ignore so many inane conversations on the bus, I once avoided getting mugged because it was on too loud and only noticed someone shouting at me after they'd tried to grab my shoulder once I was too far away. At the same time its nearly got me run over as I blasted music at top volume while crossing the road in the rain, hood up, unable to see to the side or hear beeping. Ok, so that wasn't just the tPod. It was a collaboration to kill me with the hood. That hood's influenced a lot of people in evil ways. That's why people raised in the hood are pretty violent. HAHAHHAHAHAHAAH. Sorry.

Sure I could go buy a *shudder* iPod touch, with its limited memory, inability to be dropped on the floor quite as hard when drunk and general expensiveness. Sure I could put music on my tPhone even though the OCDness in me can't really cope with using the device I have as a phone for music too. Also that means I can't listen to tunes and play with my phone at the same time. Its a whole can of shitty iPodless worms. I want my classic back. I want to occasionally wipe half of it, realise I don't have the songs on my iTunes to put them back on, and my CD drive of my Macbook is broken and then spend ages missing all those songs on a long journey. I want to annoy people by insisting they listen to something I have on my tPod that they don't have, proffering them an earphone that's been stuck in my lughole for most of the day. I want to be able to play DJ Hazard's 'Machete' as I race through a train station or the Tron Soundtrack as I go anywhere so that everything seems more exciting. But instead I am reduced to a life of real noise. I'll miss you tPod. I'll miss you and your small wheel of joy. Sob sob.

On another note, I was in Poole last night at the Lighthouse Arts Centre. Its easily the very best gig in the area. Great venue, truly lovely crowd and much much fun was had yesterday even though nobody wanted me to do any political material. I also met two Twitter followers, Jon and Lisa, in the real world. I like this. If you do follow me and are at a gig, please do actually come and say hello. It's much better than me just assuming you are a bot employed by the Matrix to get my guard down. True story.

Saturday, March 5, 2011


Telly's oh so glamorous people say. That's what they say they do. Its the life of fame, fun and other things beginning with f, like er, femur, and fromage. Maybe not those things. Anyway, today's blog, much like the oh so shocking (please read this in as sarcastic a voice as possible. Wow, you're good at that) open letter to the Daily Star editor by its ex-journalist stating he was forced to write lies. What do you mean? You mean its lies? You mean to say that all those incredibly ludicrous and in no-way believable stories about celebrities that no one really cares about, weren't true? Well I am, to say the least, flabbergasted. Next you'll be telling me that children's fairy tales aren't truth and that Sooty isn't an actual bear. Jeeesus, people. Seriously. Also the fact that Richard Peppiatt seemed to hand his open letter over first to the Guardian, suggests that all the bigots who read the Star will never see it anyway and their racist, bullshit filled equilibrium will never be shattered. Waste. Of. Everyone's. Time. True story. Unlike most of his.

Back to the hood of things, as someone cooler might say, I did some telly yesterday. Yes. Moi. Some actual tellybox work. I won't say what its for as I can't give too much away, but here's a picture of my dressing room sign, which gives it all away:

But it's not going to be screened till September so I can't tell you anything about who else is on, even though they were all awesome, especially the Capoeria dancers, the Irish hand dancers and the snowglobe ballet dancers....oh, er...oops. No more. I shan't reveal no more. Even though none of you are 8 years old and probably won't see it anyway. First and foremost, this isn't really an expose on anyone or anything at all. Everyone working on that show is bloody lovely. Absolute truth. Its a real joy to be doing filming work with people that will happily have a giggle about stuff and never seem too stressed or demanding even when everything's running over time. Meeting Ted Robbins, who plays the Governor, was ace, and I heard some excellent stories about the old school world of comedians such as Les Dawson and Ken Dodd. A truly lovely and very funny man, he was asking me what the circuit was like today and we swapped a few tales of differing worlds, mine now sadly far more filled with people who've seen it on the telly and think they can earn money from it, than those with actual joy for the job. Then again, mine is also not as filled with people stealing each other's jokes or being racist. Swings and roundabouts.

What I wanted to say though was, for everyone out there who thinks telly is a riot, well its not. A riot is a riot. That's why it's called a riot. It'd be very confusing if we heard the news on our riot about police being called to stop a television. I'm not saying it wasn't fun yesterday, but arriving at 9am and finishing at 7.30pm is a long long day. 'Some of us work that everyday' say you, you who do such things. Yeah, but I bet you actually work those hours. Whereas I spent a lot of those hours, ironically for a show about a prison, being contained within my dressing room, doing nothing. Oh sure I could've gone outside, but you might have noticed, the Brits, that things are stupidly cold for March. Stupidly cold, like the season have got confused or like some far fetched possibility that humans destroying the planet for centuries is actually having a direct impact on the weather. So I stayed in my room, by the radiator, fashioning a bed out of a few chairs and a small coffee table, and tried to snooze. Again, you are probably complaining that this doesn't sound stressful in anyway, but as much as you try to actually rest, you know you might be called up to do your bit at any minute. So you don't actually rest at all. You just sit there, not working or doing anything else incase you forget the bit you're meant to be doing for the telly, and in the end just exhaust yourself through doing nothing.

This is, of course, probably not what seasoned professionals do. Me not being at all covered in salt and pepper - HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA - did just that. I also assume that when it's warmer outside that everyone swan's around in the sun, upsetting make-up as they get redder by the minute and need re-doing, and the production runner pulls their teeth out trying to find out where everyone is. Of course, when you see it on telly, none of this waiting around will be evident. Except for the bit where I nearly forgot a line. Which hopefully will be edited out. Or the bit where a child said I was 'rubbish'. Sigh. Still I got to keep my make-up on after I left completely by accident and managed to fully experience just how horrible it must feel for all women and make-up wearing men everywhere who have gunk on their fizzog till they get home. But I sure did look real purty.

I'll be sure to shout all over the net when its going to be on and I honestly can't wait to do such things or work with such a lovely team again. Although next time I'll bring a book.

Tonight I'm in Poole. I just thought you should know.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

Crumpets and Crummy People

This blog is pre-written. I point this out every time I write a pre-written blog that unless you have some sort of super internet that means you can see each letter as I type it, it will always always be pre-written by the time it gets into your eyes and is shat out into your cerebral cortex only for you're brainial lobes to wonder why on earth you'd punish it in such a way. Oh dear, this is what happens when I log before I go to bed rather than at a time of day when my mind is still fresh. So far this evening I've done a gig in a room that I wasn't sure would work then totally worked and shouted things at Question Time. Oh and I bought some crumpets. However that last one won't be making the final cut of this blog so just ignore it, or revel in the knowledge that tomorrow morning when I wake up at stupid o'clock or normal time as you regular types call it, my choice of breakfast is secured. Mmm mmm crumpets. I bloody love crumpets. Whenever a woman is described as a thinking man's crumpet I wonder if that means a non-thinking man just has a crumpet for their crumpet? I like to assume I think a fair amount and yet tomorrow if someone offered me a hot woman covered in butter and marmite or a crumpet for breakfast, I'd probably take the latter. Oh I'd seriously consider the former, but I will be in a rush tomorrow and I'm not sure the breakfast lady would provide me with the carbohydrates I'd need for the rest of the day. Ah, who am I kidding? I'd totally take the former, then starve and survive on biscuits at the expense of a bigger sexual appetite than actual one. Stupid life. I hope that choice is never offered for fear of diabetic repercussions.

In fact I didn't really want to dwell on any of it. The gig was nice, fact, and it was wrong of me to judge it in anyway before I went on as I do with so many other gigs. Its become staple now to assume a show won't work unless it has the absolute proper lighting and sound system, but the crowd were so lovely that it didn't matter. I discarded with the mic like a thespian twat, and proceeded to project my voice in a way that I do all the time to the annoyance of most, but especially Adam Bloom. Its something I was taught to do at weekend drama classes as a kid - yes, I went to those. Yes, judge me all you like - and also sort of did from a young age anyway. I think it's my way of overcompensating for my small stature and squeaky voice by being able to send it to the far reaches of a room against all wishes of the people within it. This has, in its time, been useful. As a waiter in my uni years I could bellow things across a noisy room, and when I have actually done shows acapella, there has rarely been a moment where those paying attention were missing out. Alternatively, several car passengers of mine have gone deaf as have a lot of call centre workers. Its not great. So yeah, top gig, lovely crowd, much fun was had.

Whereas Question Time forced me to side with Ian Duncan Smith temporarily as he said it was correct to disallow two parents the right to foster if they were homophobic. This was met with the oddest of responses from a series of twats including and primarily David Starkey the League of Gentlemen character who made a point of saying that as a gay man he felt some homophobia was necessary. This leads me to believe that if he's willing as a gay man to accept that prejudice then there should be some agreement across the nation for all homophobics to direct their horrid name calling towards him and allow all the other homosexual individuals in the UK to get on with their lives without fear of social segregation. To cut it short: he's a twat. This was then backed up by another twat from the UN and Liam Hallegen from the Telegraph. You know its a panel of utter dicks when you have to side with the Tory minister. Very sad times. Thank god for Dimbleby being the sole force of good amongst them.

My main gripe once again though, as it always is with these sorts of situations, was the constant passing of blame. 'Oh it isn't our fault, it's the last governments' repeated over and over again regardless of which government came before them. Its a well know phrase that when the party in charge does something well its their doing, but when its done badly, its all to do with the previous cabinet. Its a nasty predicament when your country is run by the adult equivalent of playground children. There was a moment when it was pointed out that Blair sold weapons to Gaddifi and many New Labour MP's made links with Libya in previous years despite their dictator's dangerous potential. Yes they did and its fucking awful. But at no point was it mentioned that this current government have also sold them weapons, as the did the Tory government before them. Its a money making industry and as always rich people being able to sit in their jacuzzi farting out bank notes will be a priority over the lives of others. Stop blaming each other and care about humanity please. Bunch of arseholes. Grrr. Rant over.

That is what Question Time does to me. It's odd. It never used to maintain interest in my life at all. In fact the only real important QT moment in my entire life until a few years back was when I saw a video of my friend Pat asking a question while he had long hair and Dimbleby referred to him as the 'lady at the back'. Hilarious! So its clear I've grown up since then. Though I'd still find watching that hilarious. Haha they though Pat was a lady. Brilliant.

Oh god. I really hope those crumpets get me through tomorrow.....

Reasons To Not Blog

I am not blogging today for these reasons:

- I am meant to be prepping hard for a full days filming for a CBBC thingy tomorrow. More news on this soon and no doubt a pre-written blog tonight as I won't have time in the morning, or the capacity for using my fingers and brain at the same time to type anything when I wake up at 6am. True story. However, despite me really needing to work on something I really really want to work on, I am consistently procrastinating with 101 other things such as this non-blog blog, Twitter, various emails, making myself an egg bread sandwich (this is something I learnt from a TV show when I was a kid. No, I'm not sure which one, nor how old I was, but it's been an occasional time wasting breakfast ever since. What you do is use a glass to cut a circle of bread out of a slice of toast, then you pop it in a frying pan, and crack an egg inside the bread. Then the egg fries into the bread like a beady toast eye of yolky joy. Awesome times. Tom says I experiment with food in the same way the Nazi's experimented with humans.) and spending far too long working out what music I should listen to while I work. So far its gone from the XX, to the Gil Scott Heron and Jamie from the XX album to Fat Freddy's Drop. I haven't done any work so far. I worry these are all bad choices. I will have to do more research.

- I want to write about my fears that Rupert Murdoch is taking over the world - today's announcement that conveniently after he has sponsored the government with heaps of money and advocated all their raping of everyone but the very rich, he now, completely by coincidence, is allowed to buy all the rest of BSkyB which means he is going to own an incredibly large portion of the world's media. Does this not worry anyone? I've read 1984 and it strikes me as only a matter of time before such a man owns every channel, entirely dictates what we see, and therefore can sway the public knowledge in whatever way is needed. A bit like how China operate. Next we'll have thought police and I'll get in trouble on regular occasion due to a stupid wandering imagination. My only hope is that as he becomes more and more like a Bond villian or Lex Luthor in Superman or the Kingpin from Marvel, that someone of the exact opposite nature will take him down and he'll die in an overly elaborate way involving laser sharks or being fired into space - but I haven't really researched it enough to type anything about it.

- I would like to tell you all about how good Keith Farnan's show 'Sex Traffic' at the Soho theatre was last night, and how since Edinburgh he's added lots of lovely stories about situations bits of the show have put him in with angry punters - but having several drinks beforehand and few after and then running to meet the Los Quattros Cvnts lot for a drink with them after their mega show featuring Al Murray, means I don't really have the capacity to do so. Nor can I comprehend telling you that you Keith is on at the Soho Theatre every night till Saturday so go along as its ace. Tickets are here:


So yeah, ahem. No blog today. Sorry.