Its been a bit of a lovely morning. To start I had breakfast with Layla for the third time in 3 days. She's on her Easter hols and it means we actually see each other a bit. Its almost a novelty. We've spoken and not just over the phone or internet. Its really nice. I hope it doesn't ruin our relationship by seeing too much of each other. If things start to get tense I'll just go and stay in a hotel round the corner for a few days. And now we've just returned from a lovely stroll to Islington via the Holloway Road. Its incredible how such beautiful sunshine makes any area lovely. Blue skies, birds tweeting, some pigeons eating someone's sick and a women with a black eye crying streams of tears while a chavvy man in a football shirt shouted at her. I love this time of year.
Did the semi-finals of the English Comedian of The Year last night, an event that I was very much non-plussed about to begin with. After the events of this blog - http://tiernandouieb.blogspot.com/2009/02/3rd-one-with-hairy-chest.html - I felt a bit like I should make more of an effort with the semi-finals. To be massively shallow about it the winner of the finals gets a substantial cash prize, which would really help towards Edinburgh. So with the motivation of money in mind I actually prepared my 7 minutes. A good crowd appeared from out of nowhere and they seemed in the mood for comedy. I was unlucky enough to pick 1st in the line-up out of the hat, but felt quite happy about it. Going first has never bothered me as it means although you often deal with a less than warm crowd you get it all over and done with straight away. At a normal gig it also has the advantage of ensuring you might get home at a reasonable time which is nice. Unfortunately in a competition you have to stay around till the end anyway and being first just means that by the 9th act on stage the crowd tend to have forgotten who you were.
Either way, I had a lovely gig and walked off thinking I'd sealed the deal. Its rare I think that, but I belted out 7 minutes, including one old gag I had forgotten about and got a good response from the crowd. Job done. Then I sat at the back and watched the others actually starting to naively hope I had got through. Act after act went up and all were of a very high standard. All that is except for a pair of girls who kicked female comedy back about 20 years by singing tepid songs about periods. There was a fairly supportive air to the show last night but while they were on the rest of the acts sat at the back with heads in hands wondering if the night could get any lower. But the crowd loved it. They really really loved it. Its times like that that you realise the public haven't got a clue. No wonder Corne and Horden have had a second show commissioned, there are crowds still laughing at women doing bad jokes about periods. It was the sort of set that would have made Germaine Greer feel smug and Emily Pankhurst turn in her grave and wonder why she bothered. It was only after they had been on I started to really hope I had got through. If only to ensure they didn't.
The night went on, with an interval spent racing Okse to see who can put posts on Twitter quicker which I think is an incredibly tragic state of affairs. But only because he won. Then after what seemed like a long time that I could have spent at home finishing season three of The Wire, they announced the winners. Before this I had noted that while some of the acts had a vast amount of friends in the room, I had none and as the bits of voting paper were being handed round I assumed that perhaps that wouldn't make too much of a difference. I struggle to get friends along to things like that. Partly because they have seen me do 7 minutes lots of times before and partly because I didn't really tell them about it and when I did, I didn't place much emphasis on it being remotely important. Of course, having no friends there made a difference, and I'm not sure why I was surprised by this. I remembered that I've never had much luck in competitions, and so put my jacket on before the announcements hoping to leave fairly quickly. I was right, I didn't get a placing. The three acts that did were all very good so I wasn't too bothered. But then there was a further announcement that the 4th place was only 4 votes away from 3rd and that the 4th place was the terrible double act. That hurt. I have been beaten by that. Even if they had friends in the crowd, those friends knew it was anonymous voting and cant surely be supportive of such crimes against musical comedy? For the first time in about 3 years I left that gig feeling all a bit gutted.
After getting home I stopped caring anymore, but I wished I had followed my initial instinct and not entered. There's a reason why I don't enter competitions anymore and while I'd like to pretend its because I am past them, its more because I'm a crap at losing. Still I managed to watch two episodes of the Wire and have decided that if all else fails I will become a Balitimore cop. Or a dealer on the low-rises. Well low-rises at least until I can secure a high rise and then eventually become Stringer Bell. It may take some time, and surgery, and growth hormones, but I'll get there.
Other than that it was a pretty good day. I received a phone call that was very exciting and may prove to be really exciting, but I cant mention what its about incase I jinx it. In fact mentioning it at all is probably jinxing it, so I will now just leave you all hanging in suspense. Instead dwell on the further exciting news that I've had my haircut which means I no longer look like a tiny scruffy lion and more like a tiny well groomed lion. I say lion, I mean meercat. Or infact something even less dangerous and bitey. A dead meercat maybe.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Monday, April 6, 2009
Hereditary Humour
Its the semi-finals for the English Comedian of the Year tonight. I'm meant to get people along to support and hopefully vote for me, but the amount of friends I have that are still interested in seeing me gigging are slim to none and those few are not very interested in seeing me do 7 minutes that they've all seen before. I would be tempted to do all my new anti-G20/credit crunch gags but as I learnt last time, its probably best to do bankers, no pun intended. Well it was, but incase you didn't laugh then it wasn't. Its often best to cover myself incase you just groan and then you blame yourself for the joke you created. You didn't create it, I did and it's my fault. I'm sorry.
Me and Layla went for dinner with my Great Aunt Rhoda and her partner Edgar last night. I hadn't been round to her house for many many years and just walking in the door flooded me with memories of causing havoc. Before I'd even stepped in the doorway, Rhoda remembered a prime example of my havoc causing from when I was about 3 years old. Our cats at home had had fleas and my parents had told me that whatever I did, I mustn't tell Rhoda our cats had fleas or she wouldn't be happy about us coming round. Apparently I jumped out of the car and straight up the door where I exclaimed 'Hello Aunty Rhoda, our cats have fleas!' I love the fact that I was a liability even then. There is something about fleas that only seem to bother adults and cats. I remember doing a comedy for kids gig somewhere near Petersfield, where we asked the children in the audience who had pets. Several put their hands up and when I asked who had what pets, there were lots of cries of 'cats', 'dogs' and even 'horse' and 'chickens'. One little boy above all the noise shouted 'I've got fleas'. Amazing.
We got talking about my Great Grandfather a bit because I had been speaking to my Nan about him not too long ago. I wish he'd met him as I'm fairly sure that's where my humour has descended from. Unfortunately for my dad it skipped a generation, but it can't be helped. The stories Rhoda told us yesterday were about two moments during the air raids on London in the second World War. The first was when Rhoda, my Great Grandma and Great Grandad were leaving the over night shelter to return home before heading to work and school. As they were a little way along, the sound of a doodlebug suddenly appeared overhead and a my Great Grandma screamed for them to run back to the shelter. Terrified they ran as fast as they could back along the road. My Great Grandma shouted to my Grandad out of panic 'You've got to do something' and he shouted back, quick as ever, 'what do you want me to do? Jump up and catch it?' That's genius. In a life and death situation he has the sort of retorts that Al Murray would be proud of. The second story was when the air raid sirens went off and my Great Grandma was searching around upstairs for her false teeth. The sirens were getting louder and my Great Grandad was shouting up the stairs for her to hurry up so they could run to the shelter. She shouted back that she had to find her teeth, and again, quick as anything my Great Grandad shouted back 'They're dropping bombs not sandwiches.' Despite all that's going on he was still pretty good a quips. I felt very proud of this. I always find it fascinating hearing about war times and I'm really not sure I'd have been any good at having a laugh about getting bombs dropped on me. That takes a special kind of resilience.
My parents have just returned from a week in Cornwall and have brought me a small pot of honey from the Lost Gardens of Helligon. Its great honey but I can't help but feel the title of 'The Lost Gardens' is a false one. How did they find the honey if the gardens are lost? My mum said that until recently the gardens were lost and they've only recently excavated them. Firstly, this means they should be called 'The Recently Re-discovered Gardens of Helligon' and secondly, how old is this honey? Not sure I will eat anymore of it.
Me and Layla went for dinner with my Great Aunt Rhoda and her partner Edgar last night. I hadn't been round to her house for many many years and just walking in the door flooded me with memories of causing havoc. Before I'd even stepped in the doorway, Rhoda remembered a prime example of my havoc causing from when I was about 3 years old. Our cats at home had had fleas and my parents had told me that whatever I did, I mustn't tell Rhoda our cats had fleas or she wouldn't be happy about us coming round. Apparently I jumped out of the car and straight up the door where I exclaimed 'Hello Aunty Rhoda, our cats have fleas!' I love the fact that I was a liability even then. There is something about fleas that only seem to bother adults and cats. I remember doing a comedy for kids gig somewhere near Petersfield, where we asked the children in the audience who had pets. Several put their hands up and when I asked who had what pets, there were lots of cries of 'cats', 'dogs' and even 'horse' and 'chickens'. One little boy above all the noise shouted 'I've got fleas'. Amazing.
We got talking about my Great Grandfather a bit because I had been speaking to my Nan about him not too long ago. I wish he'd met him as I'm fairly sure that's where my humour has descended from. Unfortunately for my dad it skipped a generation, but it can't be helped. The stories Rhoda told us yesterday were about two moments during the air raids on London in the second World War. The first was when Rhoda, my Great Grandma and Great Grandad were leaving the over night shelter to return home before heading to work and school. As they were a little way along, the sound of a doodlebug suddenly appeared overhead and a my Great Grandma screamed for them to run back to the shelter. Terrified they ran as fast as they could back along the road. My Great Grandma shouted to my Grandad out of panic 'You've got to do something' and he shouted back, quick as ever, 'what do you want me to do? Jump up and catch it?' That's genius. In a life and death situation he has the sort of retorts that Al Murray would be proud of. The second story was when the air raid sirens went off and my Great Grandma was searching around upstairs for her false teeth. The sirens were getting louder and my Great Grandad was shouting up the stairs for her to hurry up so they could run to the shelter. She shouted back that she had to find her teeth, and again, quick as anything my Great Grandad shouted back 'They're dropping bombs not sandwiches.' Despite all that's going on he was still pretty good a quips. I felt very proud of this. I always find it fascinating hearing about war times and I'm really not sure I'd have been any good at having a laugh about getting bombs dropped on me. That takes a special kind of resilience.
My parents have just returned from a week in Cornwall and have brought me a small pot of honey from the Lost Gardens of Helligon. Its great honey but I can't help but feel the title of 'The Lost Gardens' is a false one. How did they find the honey if the gardens are lost? My mum said that until recently the gardens were lost and they've only recently excavated them. Firstly, this means they should be called 'The Recently Re-discovered Gardens of Helligon' and secondly, how old is this honey? Not sure I will eat anymore of it.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Pollenhating
Its around that time of the year once again, when I get hayfever. As soon as the sun starts shining and the plants all start appearing and having a crazy fun flower time my face joins in the fun by slowly falling apart. My nose refuses to do anything useful and just blocks up like a snot barricade against pollen whilst my eyes use that great defence system of just becoming so itchy that eventually I may scratch them out, thus removing them from the front line. I had never had hayfever before until about 6 years ago when suddenly 1 of 2 things must have happened. Either 1) pollen has become stronger due to GMO and radiation. It is now able to affect even the toughest of antihistamine based humans and could also be why all the bees are dying out as they can't carry such potent stuff without keeling over. Or 2) I have become rubbish and can't handle pollen anymore.
I really don't like having hayfever. It ruins all the joys of Spring. No longer can I skip merrily in fields, high-fiving cows and smelling buttercups. If I even go near a place that once saw flowers at one point then I start sneezing so much I have to hold on to something or I fall over. I have been told all the remedies: Honey/honeycomb - because bees don't get hayfever; various antihistamines - all of which bar one make me very drowsy and therefore I haven't got the energy to go outside anyway; Clarityn - the one antihistamine that doesn't make me drowsy and also, as a result doesn't seem to work; Wearing a pelt of a newborn rabbit with the melted ashes of dead lillies on it slung around my neck as you sleep every day for a month - ok so that one isn't true but if was all say it is I reckon its only a matter of time before someone tries it.
Don't have a lot of reason to go outside today anyway as I've barricaded myself in with the promise of doing some spring cleaning. I have a lot of dirty springs so it must be done. Arf. No today is for cleaning out lots of old stuff I don't really need or want anymore. I have loads of t-shirts that are so worn I should probably throw them out, or wear them and pretend they are retro cool. Its hard to know which is the best option. I find that a lot of clothes that I assumed were chuckable have suddenly appeared as the height of fashion. A little while ago I found a tragically large pair of 80's sunglasses that made me unfortunately look like big gay face Elton John when I wore them. Since mercilessly throwing them away I have noticed more and more people, including Kanye West, striving to look like big gay face Elton John and wear glasses that are far too big for their heads. If I had had such foresight I would have sold them to someone. Probably Kanye.
A brief blog today. Lack of gigs has numbed my brain and I have just had far too much beer and dumbed down to vast amounts of 24, Lost and the Wire, all of which have still very much got their televisual hooks in my eyes. Which might be the real reason they are so itchy. 24 has taken a twist that has really kept me interested and now I just can't give up on it. Lost is so so irritatingly rubbish at the moment but I need to watch it incase it does all turn out to be a dream and I have to sign a death warrant on JJ Abrahms life for wasting so much of it. And then there's the Wire, which I could never complain about ever. I mean its just superb. The only thing that worries me is now that its shown all week on BBC2 even more people will be talking about how great it is and I won't feel like I'm superior for telling other people to watch it. I might start the lie saying that I told BBC to put it on TV just to keep face. And by that, I mean dignity, not the member of the A-Team I have locked in my basement.
I really don't like having hayfever. It ruins all the joys of Spring. No longer can I skip merrily in fields, high-fiving cows and smelling buttercups. If I even go near a place that once saw flowers at one point then I start sneezing so much I have to hold on to something or I fall over. I have been told all the remedies: Honey/honeycomb - because bees don't get hayfever; various antihistamines - all of which bar one make me very drowsy and therefore I haven't got the energy to go outside anyway; Clarityn - the one antihistamine that doesn't make me drowsy and also, as a result doesn't seem to work; Wearing a pelt of a newborn rabbit with the melted ashes of dead lillies on it slung around my neck as you sleep every day for a month - ok so that one isn't true but if was all say it is I reckon its only a matter of time before someone tries it.
Don't have a lot of reason to go outside today anyway as I've barricaded myself in with the promise of doing some spring cleaning. I have a lot of dirty springs so it must be done. Arf. No today is for cleaning out lots of old stuff I don't really need or want anymore. I have loads of t-shirts that are so worn I should probably throw them out, or wear them and pretend they are retro cool. Its hard to know which is the best option. I find that a lot of clothes that I assumed were chuckable have suddenly appeared as the height of fashion. A little while ago I found a tragically large pair of 80's sunglasses that made me unfortunately look like big gay face Elton John when I wore them. Since mercilessly throwing them away I have noticed more and more people, including Kanye West, striving to look like big gay face Elton John and wear glasses that are far too big for their heads. If I had had such foresight I would have sold them to someone. Probably Kanye.
A brief blog today. Lack of gigs has numbed my brain and I have just had far too much beer and dumbed down to vast amounts of 24, Lost and the Wire, all of which have still very much got their televisual hooks in my eyes. Which might be the real reason they are so itchy. 24 has taken a twist that has really kept me interested and now I just can't give up on it. Lost is so so irritatingly rubbish at the moment but I need to watch it incase it does all turn out to be a dream and I have to sign a death warrant on JJ Abrahms life for wasting so much of it. And then there's the Wire, which I could never complain about ever. I mean its just superb. The only thing that worries me is now that its shown all week on BBC2 even more people will be talking about how great it is and I won't feel like I'm superior for telling other people to watch it. I might start the lie saying that I told BBC to put it on TV just to keep face. And by that, I mean dignity, not the member of the A-Team I have locked in my basement.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Now You Got The Juice
Its a pretty lovely day today, and I, for the first time in ages, am without a gig on a Saturday. There is part of me that find this terrifying. I'm not used to gigless Saturdays and I'm not quite sure what to do without one. I had one in, but it got cancelled so this spare time has really been sprung on me. What to do? So many endless possibilities? I could go and prance about in the sun, for it is a lovely day and sunshine was made for prancing. I don't really know what prancing is, but it sounds right to do some when its sunny. I could completely chill out, sit on our patio/garden/bit of dirt and grass area and drink something cold, like a fridge, and perhaps muse on my Edinburgh show that I should write, but today almost feels like a day that work should be shunned. Having the gig cancelled was a sign. The sign probably says 'wow, you are broke and now even more broke' but I like to think of it as an indication that I should enjoy today. I could go on the Jade's funeral procession. However I feel that would be wrong as I didn't respect anything she ever did being all racist and talentless. Still it will be a nice day for all those in pink tracksuits to walk along on mass. Its highly likely all the polyester will set each other's clothes alight and it could all go horribly wrong. Fingers crossed then. Sorry that is all unnecessarily harsh, as its sad that anyone died ever. What's more sad though is that the G20 conclusions have all been swept very quickly under the broadcasting rug so that we can witness a reality TV star still not avoid escaping the cameras while she's dead. I wouldn't be surprised if they had stuck a camera inside the coffin and started a daily highlights TV show. 'Day 12 in the Jade coffin and it looks like their is dispute amongst the maggots as to who has eaten all the chunky bits.' I am so going to hell. Luckily I don't believe in hell. That's why I haven't put capitals on the word. Touche.
I've already been productive today. I have just returned from my friend Suze's house where she took some preliminary shots for my Edinburgh poster. This involved me doing some scared faces for a while, then doing zombie faces for a longer while. It appears I am much better at zombie faces than scared faces. The best zombie faces I could do were the ones when I just shut my brain down a bit and leer forward. In fact, it made me wonder why idiots don't get lots of work as zombies more often. There are people that work in our local Tesco Metro who, with a bit of eye shadow, would look almost exactly like zombies. And speak like zombies. I'm fairly sure that with a name badge zombies could work in Tesco Metro. Should an outbreak of a zombie creating virus ever happen many will probably be able to stay in the same jobs. Suze is now going to mix up the pics and re-arrange so we can see what it will look like and then we'll do a proper shoot where I will make it look like parts of my face are falling off and fun stuff like that. Part of it will have to be excessive make up and part will be the magic of photoshop. Photoshop is magic. Like proper magic. Paul Daniels can't work out how it does what it does. That's partly because he's a right-wing beanheaded fool, but also because it does real wizardry. "I've got a big spot in that picture' ALAKAZAM! The spot is gone. 'I look like a big fat heffer' WINGUARDIAM LEVIOSO! You look like slightly less of a heffer, or someone else entirely. 'I really want to superimpose my head onto the body of a winged goat' IZZ WIZZY LETS GET BUSY! There you go you weird horrible freak. I am forever amazing by its powers and I can't wait to see the final undead finish.
Suze has a proper juicer machine. Its huge and it looks like it probably has attachments in the end so that you can use it to cut down trees or burn crops. Its very impressive, and I'd like one. I was allowed to put all the bits of carrot, apple, lime and kiwi into the machine where a huge fuck off drill churns it all up and puts sheer juicy juice into a tub. Into another tub all the gunk gets squeezed out in a long tube. I mentioned that it looked like what I would imagine Wurzul Gummidge's turd looks like. Suze said she will never look at it in the same way again. Then the juice tasted awesome and has made me feel fairly perky. Its amazing because I would never willingly eat 3 carrots, an apple, a lime and a kiwi in one go, but I would very happily drink that juice again. I think juicing is the answer to many things as it just concentrates them until it becomes fun. Don't want to do the washing up? Why not juice it? Don't want to go to work? Stick work in a juicer! Unhappy with the government? Lets juice them! It might be hailed as overly violent terrorism, but its healthy and good for you.
I found my i-pod yesterday. It was somewhere obvious. Layla found it in the boot of our car. I am rubbish at finding things. FACT.
I've already been productive today. I have just returned from my friend Suze's house where she took some preliminary shots for my Edinburgh poster. This involved me doing some scared faces for a while, then doing zombie faces for a longer while. It appears I am much better at zombie faces than scared faces. The best zombie faces I could do were the ones when I just shut my brain down a bit and leer forward. In fact, it made me wonder why idiots don't get lots of work as zombies more often. There are people that work in our local Tesco Metro who, with a bit of eye shadow, would look almost exactly like zombies. And speak like zombies. I'm fairly sure that with a name badge zombies could work in Tesco Metro. Should an outbreak of a zombie creating virus ever happen many will probably be able to stay in the same jobs. Suze is now going to mix up the pics and re-arrange so we can see what it will look like and then we'll do a proper shoot where I will make it look like parts of my face are falling off and fun stuff like that. Part of it will have to be excessive make up and part will be the magic of photoshop. Photoshop is magic. Like proper magic. Paul Daniels can't work out how it does what it does. That's partly because he's a right-wing beanheaded fool, but also because it does real wizardry. "I've got a big spot in that picture' ALAKAZAM! The spot is gone. 'I look like a big fat heffer' WINGUARDIAM LEVIOSO! You look like slightly less of a heffer, or someone else entirely. 'I really want to superimpose my head onto the body of a winged goat' IZZ WIZZY LETS GET BUSY! There you go you weird horrible freak. I am forever amazing by its powers and I can't wait to see the final undead finish.
Suze has a proper juicer machine. Its huge and it looks like it probably has attachments in the end so that you can use it to cut down trees or burn crops. Its very impressive, and I'd like one. I was allowed to put all the bits of carrot, apple, lime and kiwi into the machine where a huge fuck off drill churns it all up and puts sheer juicy juice into a tub. Into another tub all the gunk gets squeezed out in a long tube. I mentioned that it looked like what I would imagine Wurzul Gummidge's turd looks like. Suze said she will never look at it in the same way again. Then the juice tasted awesome and has made me feel fairly perky. Its amazing because I would never willingly eat 3 carrots, an apple, a lime and a kiwi in one go, but I would very happily drink that juice again. I think juicing is the answer to many things as it just concentrates them until it becomes fun. Don't want to do the washing up? Why not juice it? Don't want to go to work? Stick work in a juicer! Unhappy with the government? Lets juice them! It might be hailed as overly violent terrorism, but its healthy and good for you.
I found my i-pod yesterday. It was somewhere obvious. Layla found it in the boot of our car. I am rubbish at finding things. FACT.
Friday, April 3, 2009
No-Pod
I've lost my i-pod. I don't know if its properly lost or just somewhere I haven't looked for it yet which is also possible. I haven't yet asked Layla to look for it which means its highly likely its somewhere obvious. Layla is like an object finding magnet. I can spend literally hours looking for something that appears to have vanished into thin air. Layla will then look for it and find it in front of my face. Often I am suspicious she is a magician and that she takes the item in the first place only to then pull it from behind my ear with a 'tadaa' and some jazz hands. I don't like not having my i-pod. Its my 3rd one and so far has survived longer than the other two. The first was tragically thrown into the loo at my old gym when the clip on my shorts broke. I remember its sad little i-face as it was plunged into less than savoury waters and the blue screen flashed twice and then went blank forever. Those two flashes were like it's little last 'i-words'. I tried to resuscitate it, but it had gone. It was how I imagine ER would be if it was set in the Apple store.
My second pod was a let down. After two years it just stopped working. It had 17000 songs on it, and they all vanished. I think that could have been the problem. I overloaded it, took it for granted and didn't care for it enough, and so it got weak and died. Now my third, most successful pod has gone. I'd just loaded lots of new stuff on there too. I'm not quite sure what I'll do without it. All those unheard podcasts and tracks. I'll have to not listen to anything as I do the minimal amount of walking that I manage to do occasionally. I'm a bit scared and excited about hearing the real world again. For ages the walk to the tube has only ever sounded like Adam and Joe, Collins and Herring or music of a variety of types. Now it will sound of Finsbury Park, shouty drunk people, shouty not drunk people, shouty people that are not able to tell if they are drunk or not, cars and wee smell. It reminds me a bit of an amazing graphic novel by Kid Koala called 'Nufonia Must Fall'. Its about a robot who only ever listens to the world through headphones and then one day he is made to remove them and realises the world's natural sounds are beautiful music too. Its one of my favourite books. Of course the robot doesn't live in Finsbury Park. If he did, those headphones would go straight back on before his ears bled.
Leaving my house yesterday with no i-pod was immediately hazardous. For the first time ever I was offered drugs by a kid on our road. He hasn't been on our road before and he just appeared with four or five other aggressive looking young people. I decided to walk straight through them because I'm a bad ass, and normally on the i-pod a situation like this would be accompanied by some serious funk. I like to think that if the soundtrack to me getting repeatedly punched in the face was the OST for Shaft that I would walk away still feeling cool. Just cool with a broken face. So I walked straight through them with no pod sounds and one of them grabbed my arm and just said 'Charlie Skunk'. I really wanted to say 'No, you must have mistaken me for someone else. I am not Charlie Skunk.' But I just said no thanks and added a hugely insincere 'mate' at the end. I hope this doesn't continue to happen. There is only so often I can pretend to be mates with an aggressive looking drug dealing teenager.
To make up for lack of recorded music, I went along to a live gig last night to watch my brother (aka the Last Skeptik), Sam (Get Cape) and several others do their first set as experimental world music mash up types Italia 90. I had spent the previous few hours with my friend Mat, drinking lots, and eating food that kicked weight watchers in the face. I almost wished I'd had a funk soundtrack to back it up. When our milkshakes arrived it was necessary to say 'wokka wokka bow bow' (funk noises, not odd dog noises. Although read it as you wish. You'll probably do it wrong though). To call them milkshakes is wrong. Partly because they were maltshakes but also because they were more than just a dairy based drink. They were a massive peanut butter and banana dairy based drink of goodness. Unfortunately most of the goodness was actually badness and we struggled to move for a while as all our arteries had clogged up. We spent some time reminiscing on younger days when we went out drinking till the wee hours and hilarious anecdotes would happen. We then yawned, realised it was only 9pm and felt old and weak. I managed to persuade Mat to come along to the gig even though he hates clubs. I also hate clubs, but because this was live music in a club it was doable. Before the show started we sat in the upstairs bar and spent ages complaining about how loud the music was and then sending tweets on twitter about it all. We have become old, weak and anti-social.
The show was pretty good, especially as they had only had one rehearsal and was quite an experiment blending several genres of music. As a result the crowd was a mix of indie kids, hop hop heads, world music hippies and me and Mat. Oh and the one man that in one form or another is at every gig. You will know of him. Last night he had a pony tail, beard and trousers that didn't quite cover his socks. Sometimes they appear very different to this, like the small sweaty round bald man at the REM concert I went to last year. Or the awkwardly tall man in a suit that was too small for him at the Madlib gig a couple of years ago. However they look, they are easy to spot, as they don't quite fit with the room. Its hard to say why but you will know when you see them that they are that man. The man who will stand right at the front and dance. Dance completely out of rhythm, but as furiously and excitedly as possible. These people are the party. Its just not the party anyone else wants to be at. This man last night just did two moves. Wavy or arms like he was operating one of those see saw like train cart systems you see in old films. He created a small circle of space around him, and people on the outskirts of this just stared, both in concern and in respect. I thought he was brilliant. He didn't care what anyone else was doing he wanted to dance as crazy as he possibly could. Michael Flately can eat his own legs, for last night the beardy pony tailed man was the lord of the dance. I'm not sure where these men appear from, and they are always men, but I like to think that if they ever stopped appearing at shows the music world would collapse. They are to live music gigs what ravens are to the Tower of London. If ravens did a mental dance at the front of the entrance by the Beefeaters.
No gig again tonight. Its a good thing though as I ended up staying out with my brother and embarking to Sam's house for further damage. I feel rotten today and have already banned myself from doing anything to strenuous. I might lie down and listen to some serious funk. That way it'll be the coolest lie down ever. People will walk past and say 'who's the man who lies down like a motherf**ker.....Douieb! T Douieb!' Although if they walk past my living room it means they are in my garden, and then I should probably call the police.
My second pod was a let down. After two years it just stopped working. It had 17000 songs on it, and they all vanished. I think that could have been the problem. I overloaded it, took it for granted and didn't care for it enough, and so it got weak and died. Now my third, most successful pod has gone. I'd just loaded lots of new stuff on there too. I'm not quite sure what I'll do without it. All those unheard podcasts and tracks. I'll have to not listen to anything as I do the minimal amount of walking that I manage to do occasionally. I'm a bit scared and excited about hearing the real world again. For ages the walk to the tube has only ever sounded like Adam and Joe, Collins and Herring or music of a variety of types. Now it will sound of Finsbury Park, shouty drunk people, shouty not drunk people, shouty people that are not able to tell if they are drunk or not, cars and wee smell. It reminds me a bit of an amazing graphic novel by Kid Koala called 'Nufonia Must Fall'. Its about a robot who only ever listens to the world through headphones and then one day he is made to remove them and realises the world's natural sounds are beautiful music too. Its one of my favourite books. Of course the robot doesn't live in Finsbury Park. If he did, those headphones would go straight back on before his ears bled.
Leaving my house yesterday with no i-pod was immediately hazardous. For the first time ever I was offered drugs by a kid on our road. He hasn't been on our road before and he just appeared with four or five other aggressive looking young people. I decided to walk straight through them because I'm a bad ass, and normally on the i-pod a situation like this would be accompanied by some serious funk. I like to think that if the soundtrack to me getting repeatedly punched in the face was the OST for Shaft that I would walk away still feeling cool. Just cool with a broken face. So I walked straight through them with no pod sounds and one of them grabbed my arm and just said 'Charlie Skunk'. I really wanted to say 'No, you must have mistaken me for someone else. I am not Charlie Skunk.' But I just said no thanks and added a hugely insincere 'mate' at the end. I hope this doesn't continue to happen. There is only so often I can pretend to be mates with an aggressive looking drug dealing teenager.
To make up for lack of recorded music, I went along to a live gig last night to watch my brother (aka the Last Skeptik), Sam (Get Cape) and several others do their first set as experimental world music mash up types Italia 90. I had spent the previous few hours with my friend Mat, drinking lots, and eating food that kicked weight watchers in the face. I almost wished I'd had a funk soundtrack to back it up. When our milkshakes arrived it was necessary to say 'wokka wokka bow bow' (funk noises, not odd dog noises. Although read it as you wish. You'll probably do it wrong though). To call them milkshakes is wrong. Partly because they were maltshakes but also because they were more than just a dairy based drink. They were a massive peanut butter and banana dairy based drink of goodness. Unfortunately most of the goodness was actually badness and we struggled to move for a while as all our arteries had clogged up. We spent some time reminiscing on younger days when we went out drinking till the wee hours and hilarious anecdotes would happen. We then yawned, realised it was only 9pm and felt old and weak. I managed to persuade Mat to come along to the gig even though he hates clubs. I also hate clubs, but because this was live music in a club it was doable. Before the show started we sat in the upstairs bar and spent ages complaining about how loud the music was and then sending tweets on twitter about it all. We have become old, weak and anti-social.
The show was pretty good, especially as they had only had one rehearsal and was quite an experiment blending several genres of music. As a result the crowd was a mix of indie kids, hop hop heads, world music hippies and me and Mat. Oh and the one man that in one form or another is at every gig. You will know of him. Last night he had a pony tail, beard and trousers that didn't quite cover his socks. Sometimes they appear very different to this, like the small sweaty round bald man at the REM concert I went to last year. Or the awkwardly tall man in a suit that was too small for him at the Madlib gig a couple of years ago. However they look, they are easy to spot, as they don't quite fit with the room. Its hard to say why but you will know when you see them that they are that man. The man who will stand right at the front and dance. Dance completely out of rhythm, but as furiously and excitedly as possible. These people are the party. Its just not the party anyone else wants to be at. This man last night just did two moves. Wavy or arms like he was operating one of those see saw like train cart systems you see in old films. He created a small circle of space around him, and people on the outskirts of this just stared, both in concern and in respect. I thought he was brilliant. He didn't care what anyone else was doing he wanted to dance as crazy as he possibly could. Michael Flately can eat his own legs, for last night the beardy pony tailed man was the lord of the dance. I'm not sure where these men appear from, and they are always men, but I like to think that if they ever stopped appearing at shows the music world would collapse. They are to live music gigs what ravens are to the Tower of London. If ravens did a mental dance at the front of the entrance by the Beefeaters.
No gig again tonight. Its a good thing though as I ended up staying out with my brother and embarking to Sam's house for further damage. I feel rotten today and have already banned myself from doing anything to strenuous. I might lie down and listen to some serious funk. That way it'll be the coolest lie down ever. People will walk past and say 'who's the man who lies down like a motherf**ker.....Douieb! T Douieb!' Although if they walk past my living room it means they are in my garden, and then I should probably call the police.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Social Reaper
What seems to happen if I don't have gigs for a few days is that I get coerced into socialising at events that I would normally avoid by being busy. I then like to combine these events with seeing friends that I haven't seen in ages and as a result end up like a social whore flitting from bar to bar, culminating in my drunken mess. I don't really have much time to go and see the people I like anymore so when some of my time is taken up with people I don't like I get very impatient. At the first stop off last night there were several people I really like. Unfortunately several attempts to speak to this people were interrupted by morons. One moron in particular who was so intent to be the work clown in all situations, having replaced part of her name with the word 'whore' because its obviously oh so funny. Within minutes she had proved that she fell into one of the categories of people I dislike by saying that there were loads of suits in the bar as they had obviously fled this way to avoid all 'those horrible crusty protesters in the City today.' From this I garnered that she was both snobby and right wing. Her next comment was to tell me she had been made redundant. It was as though she had perma-sealed the image of an ignorant cock onto her forehead. How could she hate the people that were protesting against the terrible world situation that had made her lose her job? Of course I'm assuming it was cut backs that caused the redundancy. It could also realistically be that her bosses thought she was as repulsive as I do.
I find that even though its not the nicest of chats, that I have to bring up, fairly early in conversation, how the credit crunch is affecting people. I find the whole situation baffling and interesting at the same time so want to know what its doing to people's lives. Unfortunately most people at this do last night wanted enjoyable talk about gardens and weddings, and did not appreciate me bringing up that their jobs were on the line or the pay cuts they have had to undertake. I felt a bit like the bringer of gloom. Which I really enjoyed. I think its only right that in my job I attempt to give people mirth and enjoyment so on my nights off I'm fully allowed to be as miserable as possible and suck that mirth away. I also find that I enjoy myself far more if I can make someone who laughs at their own hilarious nick name turn a smile into a distraught expression of realisation at the downfall their overly swanky life has taken. Its amazing how so many people don't really do anything about it, or even consider learning about what's been happening. Generally people seem quite happy to just sit around watching everything collapse and assume it'll probably just sort itself out. There were 4-5 thousand people on the demo yesterday, but really there should have been millions, if only because then the police would have had real difficulties blockading people in. If anything we could have blockaded them in and stopped them from causing disruption and violence. Those police are just so unruly turning up in all their garb and wanting to ruin a peaceful protest as soon as they can. If you ask me, all the anarchists should have their leave cancelled so that they can keep them under control.
These drinks were then followed by heading to the comedy house of Crainsema (as I have just named them) for further booze, xbox and general nice banter where no one spoke of redundancies because we are all comics and therefore it doesn't really count. Elis James and Josh Widdicombe were also there, and Elis exclaimed that he hadn't played a computer game for 16 years which automatically put him in the same sort of league as a massive loser. I don't know how I would have survived if I hadn't played computer games since the age of 12. For a start there would have been a lot of time at Uni I would have just been staring blankly at walls with nothing to do. Of course I could have studied and read stuff and got a better degree, but that's just being unrealistic. There are many other times when as a teenager I would have found myself sitting around kicking my feet without a console. Of course I could have gone out to parties and possibly got girlfriends and had a far less frustrated youth. Ultimately, Elis's lack of gaming doesn't sound that bad. Until you realise that he had done none of the exciting alternatives and therefore would have been far better off doing his telly a favour and plugging it into a Sega.
My drinking ability has really gone downhill lately and I eventually had to leave to stop myself falling asleep on the sofa. It used to be that there would be several stages of booze for me. There would be nice chilled 'beers 1-3', followed by 'fun and sociable' which would descend into 'slurry, fun and sociable'. This would then become 'overly sociable and slighty too touchy feely, with lots of slurring', and then finally 'sleep'. It now jumps straight from beers 1-3 into sleep. I need to learn how to make it back to the way it was. Perhaps its impossible unless, like Benjamin Button I can somehow put my liver's ageing into reverse. I'm meeting my friend Mat for booze this evening due to further lack of gigs. In preparation I am listening to the Beat and sitting in the sunshine. This combined with the current recession, protests and having a Wispa the other week should persuade my body its still the '80s. Of course the downside of that is that my tolerance for booze as a child was even less than it was now. It could all end up very messy today.
I find that even though its not the nicest of chats, that I have to bring up, fairly early in conversation, how the credit crunch is affecting people. I find the whole situation baffling and interesting at the same time so want to know what its doing to people's lives. Unfortunately most people at this do last night wanted enjoyable talk about gardens and weddings, and did not appreciate me bringing up that their jobs were on the line or the pay cuts they have had to undertake. I felt a bit like the bringer of gloom. Which I really enjoyed. I think its only right that in my job I attempt to give people mirth and enjoyment so on my nights off I'm fully allowed to be as miserable as possible and suck that mirth away. I also find that I enjoy myself far more if I can make someone who laughs at their own hilarious nick name turn a smile into a distraught expression of realisation at the downfall their overly swanky life has taken. Its amazing how so many people don't really do anything about it, or even consider learning about what's been happening. Generally people seem quite happy to just sit around watching everything collapse and assume it'll probably just sort itself out. There were 4-5 thousand people on the demo yesterday, but really there should have been millions, if only because then the police would have had real difficulties blockading people in. If anything we could have blockaded them in and stopped them from causing disruption and violence. Those police are just so unruly turning up in all their garb and wanting to ruin a peaceful protest as soon as they can. If you ask me, all the anarchists should have their leave cancelled so that they can keep them under control.
These drinks were then followed by heading to the comedy house of Crainsema (as I have just named them) for further booze, xbox and general nice banter where no one spoke of redundancies because we are all comics and therefore it doesn't really count. Elis James and Josh Widdicombe were also there, and Elis exclaimed that he hadn't played a computer game for 16 years which automatically put him in the same sort of league as a massive loser. I don't know how I would have survived if I hadn't played computer games since the age of 12. For a start there would have been a lot of time at Uni I would have just been staring blankly at walls with nothing to do. Of course I could have studied and read stuff and got a better degree, but that's just being unrealistic. There are many other times when as a teenager I would have found myself sitting around kicking my feet without a console. Of course I could have gone out to parties and possibly got girlfriends and had a far less frustrated youth. Ultimately, Elis's lack of gaming doesn't sound that bad. Until you realise that he had done none of the exciting alternatives and therefore would have been far better off doing his telly a favour and plugging it into a Sega.
My drinking ability has really gone downhill lately and I eventually had to leave to stop myself falling asleep on the sofa. It used to be that there would be several stages of booze for me. There would be nice chilled 'beers 1-3', followed by 'fun and sociable' which would descend into 'slurry, fun and sociable'. This would then become 'overly sociable and slighty too touchy feely, with lots of slurring', and then finally 'sleep'. It now jumps straight from beers 1-3 into sleep. I need to learn how to make it back to the way it was. Perhaps its impossible unless, like Benjamin Button I can somehow put my liver's ageing into reverse. I'm meeting my friend Mat for booze this evening due to further lack of gigs. In preparation I am listening to the Beat and sitting in the sunshine. This combined with the current recession, protests and having a Wispa the other week should persuade my body its still the '80s. Of course the downside of that is that my tolerance for booze as a child was even less than it was now. It could all end up very messy today.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Vanilla Activist
Its amazing how concerned the news is with Michelle Obama's shoes rather than the important decisions that are being made inside the G20. I don't think the colour of her high heels is really going to have much impact on the financial or environmental climate, unless they going to be thrown at Brown. I'm currently watching all the G20 protests on the telly and simultaneously reading all the live Twitter feeds, pretending that I am part of the action while actually I am sitting at home being very un-active. I'm a bit sad about this as only a few hours ago I was in the heart of it all but I had to leave because I had to get home in time for our Sainsbury's delivery. That's tragically sad isn't it? That instead of standing up and vocally and physically demonstrating for a better world, I was too worried about having to pay extra to re-arrange getting some grub. It's times like this I feel all a bit disappointed in myself at how crap an activist I am. I can't imagine Billy Bragg stopping a song halfway through because he has to make sure his veggie sausages don't defrost. I have made a promise to myself that next time a situation like this occurs, I will gladly give up the £5 it costs for some inbred to tell me they haven't got any potatoes so they've brought me some sponges, and stay at the heart of the action.
It had all started well. I stayed up quite late last night scribbling away G20 gags so that I could get up obscenely early (by my standards) and host a pre-protest show in Farringdon. I had got the call last night from Sam (Get Cape) and despite it being at what I would consider an anti social time of day, I couldn't really turn it down. Arriving at the music and coffee shop at 8.40 this morning, there was no one there and I genuinely worried that it was some sort of evil April Fool's trick. I was about to go and deface copies of Get Cape and Kate Nash albums in HMV with a big marker pen by writing 'ARSE' and 'PANTS' on them, but Sam turned up along with the others including Natty, Kieran Leonard, Kate Nash and Billy Bragg. I hadn't noticed Billy was there until Sam pointed him out. I had only ever seen Billy from a distance at various gigs and so didn't recognise him up close. He was also wearing a hat. It was almost as though he was in disguise with his hatted close-upness. There was a crowd of only about 30 rather chilled people, but they seemed lovely. The whole point was to gather some people together for a peaceful start to the march, and it was a lovely idea. My job was merely to provide some banter and links between the acts. Its a fairly thankless task for a comic, especially at 9.30am, as no one is really expecting or wanting comedy. They weren't very quick to warm up either, so I did my job as best as I could. Some of my gags worked, most didn't, although I did a full 5 minutes before Sam and by the end of that I seemed to get them on my side, although sadly that was at the very end of the gig.
It was worth it just to sit and watch when I wasn't on stage. It was like a small private gig and its a shame more people weren't there. Particular highlights were Bragg and Nash dueting on 'New England', although Kate was wearing some sort of odd polka dot jump suit that made me wonder if she had just come along in her PJs. It shouldn't have detracted from the brilliant song, but it did a bit. I like to think that she forgot she was meant to be there and had got out of bed and headed straight over. It was all just ace. Natty, Kieran and Get Cape were all ace too and there were two good talks from Oxfam representatives and Love Music Hate Racism too.
Afterwards a small group of us embarked towards Cannon Street to join the protests. It was only small when we got there at 11ish, but already the police were shouting and pointing people in a certain direction. We all moved into the centre of the road and suddenly the cops all linked arms and came towards us forcing everyone away from the station and down the side street. One man got caught in the police clothes-line and they just knocked him over. I didn't really like this. I'm a bit rubbish when police get angry and just moved away as quickly as possible. I'm only small and I'm fairly sure I could be killed with a truncheon. The unnecessarily angry bobbies continued charging everyone in one direction but were not making any effort to be as peaceful as the protesters. I followed the crowd for a bit but nipped off after a while to Monument Station to make my way home. I then sat on the empty tube feeling like I'd let myself down. I'm all for peaceful protests which is what it was but the second it got a bit hairy I legged it. It was lucky I did as the delivery people arrived 45 minutes early. Who would've expected that?
Watching it all on TV now and glad I'm not trapped in by police lines along with all the people pissing on the RBS bank. Its sad that out of 4000 peaceful protesters a few mentalists are making it difficult and making angry jobsworth police even angrier. They keep flicking between that and Michelle's shoes. I really think they should stop caring about the shoes. I'm considering heading back but getting up early this morning has drained me and I might have to have a nap instead. I am so so rubbish.
Last night was the last Fat Tuesday for two months. It was a great night to go out on, with all the acts being brilliant and a packed and up for it crowd. Feels a bit odd that next time we are there it won't be with all the lovely staff at the Salmon that we've worked with for the last three years. I'm really hoping the venue stays as lovely but just can't tell till its all done. Either way I'm looking forward to having a nice break before Edinburgh preview madness.
Incidentally, this is my 100th blog. Any presents or cards are welcome.
It had all started well. I stayed up quite late last night scribbling away G20 gags so that I could get up obscenely early (by my standards) and host a pre-protest show in Farringdon. I had got the call last night from Sam (Get Cape) and despite it being at what I would consider an anti social time of day, I couldn't really turn it down. Arriving at the music and coffee shop at 8.40 this morning, there was no one there and I genuinely worried that it was some sort of evil April Fool's trick. I was about to go and deface copies of Get Cape and Kate Nash albums in HMV with a big marker pen by writing 'ARSE' and 'PANTS' on them, but Sam turned up along with the others including Natty, Kieran Leonard, Kate Nash and Billy Bragg. I hadn't noticed Billy was there until Sam pointed him out. I had only ever seen Billy from a distance at various gigs and so didn't recognise him up close. He was also wearing a hat. It was almost as though he was in disguise with his hatted close-upness. There was a crowd of only about 30 rather chilled people, but they seemed lovely. The whole point was to gather some people together for a peaceful start to the march, and it was a lovely idea. My job was merely to provide some banter and links between the acts. Its a fairly thankless task for a comic, especially at 9.30am, as no one is really expecting or wanting comedy. They weren't very quick to warm up either, so I did my job as best as I could. Some of my gags worked, most didn't, although I did a full 5 minutes before Sam and by the end of that I seemed to get them on my side, although sadly that was at the very end of the gig.
It was worth it just to sit and watch when I wasn't on stage. It was like a small private gig and its a shame more people weren't there. Particular highlights were Bragg and Nash dueting on 'New England', although Kate was wearing some sort of odd polka dot jump suit that made me wonder if she had just come along in her PJs. It shouldn't have detracted from the brilliant song, but it did a bit. I like to think that she forgot she was meant to be there and had got out of bed and headed straight over. It was all just ace. Natty, Kieran and Get Cape were all ace too and there were two good talks from Oxfam representatives and Love Music Hate Racism too.
Afterwards a small group of us embarked towards Cannon Street to join the protests. It was only small when we got there at 11ish, but already the police were shouting and pointing people in a certain direction. We all moved into the centre of the road and suddenly the cops all linked arms and came towards us forcing everyone away from the station and down the side street. One man got caught in the police clothes-line and they just knocked him over. I didn't really like this. I'm a bit rubbish when police get angry and just moved away as quickly as possible. I'm only small and I'm fairly sure I could be killed with a truncheon. The unnecessarily angry bobbies continued charging everyone in one direction but were not making any effort to be as peaceful as the protesters. I followed the crowd for a bit but nipped off after a while to Monument Station to make my way home. I then sat on the empty tube feeling like I'd let myself down. I'm all for peaceful protests which is what it was but the second it got a bit hairy I legged it. It was lucky I did as the delivery people arrived 45 minutes early. Who would've expected that?
Watching it all on TV now and glad I'm not trapped in by police lines along with all the people pissing on the RBS bank. Its sad that out of 4000 peaceful protesters a few mentalists are making it difficult and making angry jobsworth police even angrier. They keep flicking between that and Michelle's shoes. I really think they should stop caring about the shoes. I'm considering heading back but getting up early this morning has drained me and I might have to have a nap instead. I am so so rubbish.
Last night was the last Fat Tuesday for two months. It was a great night to go out on, with all the acts being brilliant and a packed and up for it crowd. Feels a bit odd that next time we are there it won't be with all the lovely staff at the Salmon that we've worked with for the last three years. I'm really hoping the venue stays as lovely but just can't tell till its all done. Either way I'm looking forward to having a nice break before Edinburgh preview madness.
Incidentally, this is my 100th blog. Any presents or cards are welcome.
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