Sunday, January 30, 2011


I've been to see my tiny Nan today. No matter what possible conversation may occur, be it about something as mundane as - like today - what different shades of paint can do to a room or the benefits of an over 60's oyster card, she will always always pull something out of the conversational bag to prove she is an uber-nan of comedy sorts. Today's remark of choice appeared halfway through a tin of chocolate biscuits where she produced an invite to a birthday party of another elderly lady in the home she lives in. This rather tame flyer was proffered to myself my mum and my dad with my nan asking if 'any of you fancy a rave-up?' Golden. Just golden. I like to think this is where my comedy genes have indeed come from.

Lots to mention today, but with little substance to any of them so here I present all items under individual headings for you to muse over. By that I mean read and think about, not play an alternative rock reworking of 'Feeling Good' over. Had to clarify that.


Every act last night had a beard. Three of the four acts also had a similar peaked hat, a different three of the four had a similar jacket and two of us had very similar scarves. I don't think this was planned but what the people of Leicester experienced was a lovely beardfest, or perhaps, depending on your preference, a bearfest. I'm not sure if that many beards on a stage make a difference to a gig, but it really couldn't have been nicer. Much banter backstage lead to walking onstage with little clue of what would entail but the crowd were so lovely it didn't really matter. Towards the end Ray Peacock made me wear a cape and nobody questioned it. That's how nice it was.

I think perhaps that all people know that those with beards are either very very evil or very awesome and wise. It being a comedy gig there is probably little chance of evil so I reckon they all immediately relaxed into knowing we were all nice. They are of course horribly wrong. Ray Peacock kills puppies, Joe Wilkinson once called an old lady a prick and Sean Hughes spits in people's gardens if they have crazy paving.* I might only do gigs with other beardies from now on. We could even perform some of them upside down and people would think our heads were still the right way up.


After returning from Leicester I raced to a friend's birthday party last night. Wilz is an exceptionally old chum from school. Old as in I've known him for ages, not that he's 104 years of age. He's been away in Uganda for some time and so last night was a combination of a welcome back and a 'oh shit you're now 30 too ahahahaha'. What was really nice is that lots of other people there I hadn't seen in a long time. Some its only been a year or two, but others about 12 years, since we all left 6th form. This kind of gap in friendship can often be intimidating. Some people, you know it will be fine. My friend Omar and I only see each other once or twice a year then meet up like nothing's changed. This routine works fine with our silly lives and we just know there won't be any awkward chat when we catch up. But with others you just don't know what's happened to them in that time, what sort of person they are now and more importantly just what the chances of them now having transformed into a bellend are? Well they hadn't. None of them. Crap for stories, but lovely for real life. Everyone's scooted off down their own paths and all seem to be quite content. Odd huh? Not at all like soap operas or films? No one had died. No one had lost an eye or killed a man accidentally while driving to their holiday in Palm Springs only to them be chased and stalked by a mysterious killer for the next 6 months. None of that. Well, I mean, I didn't get to chat to everyone. But even those I didn't smiled, so I reckon they were fine.

Don't really have a comment or a message or anything to add to this other than 'haha my friends are awesome'.


Tonight, I'm going to eat a baked potato. This means this has been in my head all day:



Final thing for today. Are you a rich benefactor? Or someone who has at least £5 to spare? Then why not fund this incredibly exciting project:


I've given a whole £15 to get my own poem. You should too. Its clearly going to be better than most things you might waste time watching on the telly.

* none of this is true. Maybe.

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