We have to give the bedroom a new coat of white paint today. 'Have to' you might think is too strong a term for something like painting a room. Really you never 'have to' paint a room, unless you are being held hostage by a psycho Lawrence Llewyln Bowen who says he will kill your family unless you change all the rooms for him. One day he will snap and that will happen. Other than that though, there is little urgency to these things. Unless like us we had set this date in stone to repaint the bedroom and that means that when it rolled around Layla's need to redecorate and do home improvements means that we do 'have to' paint the bedroom. It does need a repaint. At the moment the walls are white with a tiny tint of blue. That tint of blue makes things a little darker and more depressing than they should be. Its a rare day I feel unhappy but when I step into our bedroom I may have a little sigh of 'oh dear' just because of the blue walls. Its because of this I said we should paint the room global hyper colours as people who wear those always seem happy no matter how unfortunate they are. And if they wear global hyper colours then they are pretty unfortunate. As a far more sensible plan though, we are just painting the walls white. So instead of being sightly depressing it will just seem like we live in a mental institute, or a doctor's waiting room. Both of which I think will really improve our moods at all times.
I did very little with my day yesterday, even though I really have loads to do. I wanted to do work towards my Edinburgh show, which really really needs work, and an old fashioned telephone. That's all it needs. I also wanted to try and sort myself out a few more gigs for the month so I can eat, but instead of either of these things I watched a Wire marathon of 5 episodes, with a Stewart Lee interlude to make sure I don't dream only in Baltimore slang. Oddly enough I started to doze off, when I eventually went to bed, with images of Lee busting mid-level players on the corners of Western Baltimore. I often worry I get far too influenced by TV. I decided to stay up late and try and get some work done after all the lazy TV slobbery but instead I ended up on Omegle again, wasting my life away talking to strangers.
I love the fact that I've always been told never to talk to strangers but the more and more I go on Omegle expecting to meet idiots, I am consistently surprised at the kindness of strangers. Last night I indulged in a chat with an American women who had very sensible political views, wasn't religious, liked Eddie Izzard and knew where England was. I was so shocked and at the same time very pleased. I always knew there were Americans like that and have infact met quite a few before, but I didn't expect to meet anyone remotely sensible on a networking site based on anonymity. It was one of those few moments that gave me hope in the world, that made me think perhaps humankind is ok and lovely. Then I started another chat and the person straight away type 'YOU FUCKING DICKBAG' and I disconnected, all illusions shattered.
Back to gigging tomorrow so I should enjoy this laziness while I can. Tomorrow I will start once again to work on material in my newly white bedroom where hopefully the blankness of the walls will provoke some thinking. If that doesn't work the smell of paint will knock me out which should at least stop me feeling guilty about it for a few hours.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Monday, April 13, 2009
Essential Waitrose
I've just taken a once in a blue moon trip to Waitrose. Occasionally Layla and myself think that rather than just go to our local shop or one of the more regular supermarkets, we think it would be nice to treat ourselves and go to Waitrose. The Waitrose on Holloway Road is one of the more deceiving branches. Situated across from an ASDA and next to shop that sell second hand things from people that didn't want them to people that still don't want them but can't afford to buy stuff they do want, the Waitrose pretends its available for the Holloway Road market. Its not, and what happens is the Holloway Road market, people such as myself, get suckered in by the illusion that we can be upper-middle class for a day and then end up spending our life saving on two potatoes from a Fairtrade farm in Columbia and some oatcakes that were made by a farmer who grows all his oats in a pair of British boots in his British shed in Swindon. I always get far too excited and have walked away broke but with some really nice coffee, fresh bread and some lettuce that has already been cut up even though for 60p less I could have gone home and cut it with a knife that I already own and now feels neglected.
My favourite new section is 'Waitrose Essentials'. The slogan they use for these branded items is 'introducing everyday essentials with the quality you'd expect with prices you wouldn't'. I'll be honest, I didn't expect those prices for that quality. Mainly because I can get a Tesco value tin of chopped toms without having to remortgage. One of the essential items they were selling was 'Fresh Custard'. No wonder England is fat. Custard has never been an 'essential' item unless you are a clown and get through hordes of the stuff throwing it at other clowns. Some might say that's not essential, but to clowns it is. Its a natural survival instinct. Small runt clowns and dairy intolerant clowns who are unable to throw custard often get left behind when the circus moves to a different town and they are forced to fend for themselves amongst pikeys and weird drunk tramps who shout in the park. I saw a whole David Attenborough program on it once.
Despite not being essential, the custard among many other things in Waitrose is Fairtrade which I like buying because it makes me feel less guilty. I know that buying non-fair trade goods means some small child is plucking coffee beans in a field for overly long work hours and less than minimum wage. At least when I buy fairtrade that child still works in the fields for overly long hours but gets £3.53 as they are under 18. I still hope that one day I will be able to implement my idea of FunFairTrade which is exactly the same as Fairtrade but the kids get to go on the waltzers at the end of the day. This also provides further work for funfair pikeys who will then have less time to attack clowns. I'm a bloody saviour I am.
I only got round to watching the Doctor Who special last night and I'm wondering more and more whether Russell T Davies is using 'special' as in 'special needs'. Poor script, poor acting and Michelle Ryan being annoying. It should have been an indicator that it had two huge fly people in it. Flies are only attracted to shit, and the Easter Special was no exception. I was really sad Tenant was leaving when I first heard, but now I can't wait only because Davies leaves with him. Hopefully Davies will only ever get work on kids television, making programs where patronising dialogue seems appropriate.
I am doing some work today then having a Wire season 4 marathon. I will watch it while drinking Columbian fresh coffee and croutons from Waitrose. Not together, that'd be weird. Although my Grandad used to dip his croissant in coffee, but he was French which seemed to be his excuse for most things that seemed unacceptably weird. Like when he told me at the age of six about killing his commander in cold blood in World War Two. The French get away with a lot of stuff, using their nationality as an excuse. Look at French clowns. They don't even use custard or anything. And if they did they would probably just dip croissants in it.
My favourite new section is 'Waitrose Essentials'. The slogan they use for these branded items is 'introducing everyday essentials with the quality you'd expect with prices you wouldn't'. I'll be honest, I didn't expect those prices for that quality. Mainly because I can get a Tesco value tin of chopped toms without having to remortgage. One of the essential items they were selling was 'Fresh Custard'. No wonder England is fat. Custard has never been an 'essential' item unless you are a clown and get through hordes of the stuff throwing it at other clowns. Some might say that's not essential, but to clowns it is. Its a natural survival instinct. Small runt clowns and dairy intolerant clowns who are unable to throw custard often get left behind when the circus moves to a different town and they are forced to fend for themselves amongst pikeys and weird drunk tramps who shout in the park. I saw a whole David Attenborough program on it once.
Despite not being essential, the custard among many other things in Waitrose is Fairtrade which I like buying because it makes me feel less guilty. I know that buying non-fair trade goods means some small child is plucking coffee beans in a field for overly long work hours and less than minimum wage. At least when I buy fairtrade that child still works in the fields for overly long hours but gets £3.53 as they are under 18. I still hope that one day I will be able to implement my idea of FunFairTrade which is exactly the same as Fairtrade but the kids get to go on the waltzers at the end of the day. This also provides further work for funfair pikeys who will then have less time to attack clowns. I'm a bloody saviour I am.
I only got round to watching the Doctor Who special last night and I'm wondering more and more whether Russell T Davies is using 'special' as in 'special needs'. Poor script, poor acting and Michelle Ryan being annoying. It should have been an indicator that it had two huge fly people in it. Flies are only attracted to shit, and the Easter Special was no exception. I was really sad Tenant was leaving when I first heard, but now I can't wait only because Davies leaves with him. Hopefully Davies will only ever get work on kids television, making programs where patronising dialogue seems appropriate.
I am doing some work today then having a Wire season 4 marathon. I will watch it while drinking Columbian fresh coffee and croutons from Waitrose. Not together, that'd be weird. Although my Grandad used to dip his croissant in coffee, but he was French which seemed to be his excuse for most things that seemed unacceptably weird. Like when he told me at the age of six about killing his commander in cold blood in World War Two. The French get away with a lot of stuff, using their nationality as an excuse. Look at French clowns. They don't even use custard or anything. And if they did they would probably just dip croissants in it.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Second Rising
I've just had an afternoon nap for two hours. Its Easter Sunday and I've dozed off for a whole two hours. I feel proud of how bank holiday that behaviour is. Its what bank holidays were invented for, snoozing. Its what Jesus would have wanted to do after all that dying and coming back, which I think is one big metaphor for having a bit of a snooze anyway. I felt a bit like death this morning and now I'm back up after my nap, which is pretty much the same as Jesus I think. Although Jesus didn't drink anywhere near as much as I did yesterday which makes me the winner. I feel like its done me some damage though and I've got a sty in my eye which is just irritating. Its irritating because it doesn't feel very nice and also because a sty is where pigs live and I don't want tiny pigs in my eye. I'm sure they'll move in if it stays there too long.
The wedding yesterday was great. All of it. The venue was a very posh golf club just outside of London where celebrities and the very rich go to play golf. I was told by one of the other guests that my idea of hiding behind the bushes on the golf green and shouting 'BOO' as people were about to put would definitely land me in a lot of trouble, so I decided against it. They were beautiful grounds and it was so posh that out on the balcony area of the bar there was a big sign saying 'No Spikes Allowed'. Less posh clubs have people carrying spikes and more than one person called Spike but this place wouldn't allow either of those things. The ceremony itself was brilliant and I found myself afterwards drinking fizzy pink wine and saying comments like 'didn't the bride look stunning' and 'weren't the readings so lovely?' I think the booze must've had some sort of hormone drugs in it to turn me into a big girl. The whole rest of the day induced further gushing girly comments as all the speeches were really good and the food was all very tasty. The promise of not caring about the weight watchers diet was upheld and as the desert, a chocolatey cake thing with cream and cherries and sugar and more chocolate and more sugar, was brought to the table, there was almost a blinding light from how lit up our eyes went. Helen, Terry, Layla and myself barely said a word as we eat our way as slowly as possible through chocolate genius. I already miss it and think I will preserve its memory next time I am eating something massively unhealthy and unsatisfying. It will be the culinary equivalent of the 'wank bank'.
I realised a certain way in just how pivotal it was that these were the first of our friends getting married and it suddenly clicked how long ago we were at university. Its only a matter of time before someone has kids, or worse still, gets into gardening. The only way to cope with this was to party like we were all still in our early 20's, in tribute to those times.
Wine mixed with beer mixed with spirits does not feel great the next day but at the time it seemed like a brilliant mix of stuff. The boozing continued way into the night with some unadvised further drinking at the hotel bar on return. This was a very good idea at the time but when I was woken up at 8.45am this morning still completely steaming with booze to go and join the post wedding breakfast it became blindingly clear how unable I am to cope with the consequences of lots of drink. There was a large sea of wedding guests sitting at the tables with heads in hands, looking like they weren't coping all that well. It was as though all the fun of the previous day had somehow turned into sheer sadness due to self damage.
I wanted to type a lot more today but I'll be honest I've hit a wall. Its a wall created entirely by hangover. Its hurting me to look at the screen and try and type so I am going to cut this blog short and go for some possible further napping infront of the TV. Its what Jesus would do.
The wedding yesterday was great. All of it. The venue was a very posh golf club just outside of London where celebrities and the very rich go to play golf. I was told by one of the other guests that my idea of hiding behind the bushes on the golf green and shouting 'BOO' as people were about to put would definitely land me in a lot of trouble, so I decided against it. They were beautiful grounds and it was so posh that out on the balcony area of the bar there was a big sign saying 'No Spikes Allowed'. Less posh clubs have people carrying spikes and more than one person called Spike but this place wouldn't allow either of those things. The ceremony itself was brilliant and I found myself afterwards drinking fizzy pink wine and saying comments like 'didn't the bride look stunning' and 'weren't the readings so lovely?' I think the booze must've had some sort of hormone drugs in it to turn me into a big girl. The whole rest of the day induced further gushing girly comments as all the speeches were really good and the food was all very tasty. The promise of not caring about the weight watchers diet was upheld and as the desert, a chocolatey cake thing with cream and cherries and sugar and more chocolate and more sugar, was brought to the table, there was almost a blinding light from how lit up our eyes went. Helen, Terry, Layla and myself barely said a word as we eat our way as slowly as possible through chocolate genius. I already miss it and think I will preserve its memory next time I am eating something massively unhealthy and unsatisfying. It will be the culinary equivalent of the 'wank bank'.
I realised a certain way in just how pivotal it was that these were the first of our friends getting married and it suddenly clicked how long ago we were at university. Its only a matter of time before someone has kids, or worse still, gets into gardening. The only way to cope with this was to party like we were all still in our early 20's, in tribute to those times.
Wine mixed with beer mixed with spirits does not feel great the next day but at the time it seemed like a brilliant mix of stuff. The boozing continued way into the night with some unadvised further drinking at the hotel bar on return. This was a very good idea at the time but when I was woken up at 8.45am this morning still completely steaming with booze to go and join the post wedding breakfast it became blindingly clear how unable I am to cope with the consequences of lots of drink. There was a large sea of wedding guests sitting at the tables with heads in hands, looking like they weren't coping all that well. It was as though all the fun of the previous day had somehow turned into sheer sadness due to self damage.
I wanted to type a lot more today but I'll be honest I've hit a wall. Its a wall created entirely by hangover. Its hurting me to look at the screen and try and type so I am going to cut this blog short and go for some possible further napping infront of the TV. Its what Jesus would do.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Racey Times
I'm sitting in the most uncomfortable hotel room I've ever been in. Considering how much it costs and its 4 star rating, there is no reason why our room should stink of smoke, have a bed with a mattress that seems to be made entirely of wood and have the constant drone of super bikes outside. To be fair the super bikes aren't the hotel's fault, although they did build the hotel by Brands Hatch so it kind of is. The lobby is constantly filled with people in Suzuki and Yamaha outfits strutting around in full bike gear without ever seeming to actually go away and get on a bike. I think that none of them are capable of riding a bike, but are hoping that if they wander round long enough someone will ask them if they are racing. They all sit in the bar, the bar with the super bikes awkwardly balanced in the middle of it, waiting and hoping that will happen. And if it ever does they will get 30 seconds of happiness before they have to admit they aren't allowed on the bikes and had caught the bus. Super bikes aren't even that super. They just look like normal bikes and don't even have a cape on or anything. Rubbish.
We are in the hotel for our good friend's wedding. Its going to be pretty awesome and I'm really pleased for them both. They are our first friends from uni to get married which is all a little bit freaky. I've had two other friends get married but one was from school and the other didn't marry someone else from uni, so this one is the first official proper one. Sort of. Its really nice but also a little bit weird, almost as though after today they will become old and grown up properly. even though they won't and I'll still shoot Rob on Xbox live as often as possible. There is a small group of about 6 of us who are dealing with this by spending today getting plastered. That's drunk, not covered in plaster. We actually arrived yesterday afternoon and started drinking. I had originally planned to try and get a gig last night, but instead an audition popped up yesterday morning so I decided that that would be enough work for the day. I don't like to overachieve on a bank holiday. It just seems like I'm disgracing the idea of Easter. To be fair I am probably disgracing the idea of Easter by not being at all religious and thinking that its highly unlikely that Jesus came back to life after properly dying. Only John Locke in Lost can do that.
I drove to my audition, thinking that as it was a bank holiday parking near the Television Centre would be easy. Amazingly not. Hammersmith and City council have decided that they too will disgrace the idea of Easter by saying that if Jesus wasn't a fictional character and did come back alive over Easter what he really would have wanted was for people to pay £1.80 an hour to park down a side street. There was a sign saying 'charges on all bank holidays except Easter Sunday and Christmas'. I don't know why they've bothered to exclude those two days considering how little care they have for any of the others. All of nothing I say. The audition was good fun. I always get excited going to Television Centre. Even on a Bank Holiday when the only people there are a security guard who needed to go to the loo every two minutes and a receptionist who hated everyone and everything. I asked her if the screen test I was going for was what was keeping her there, and she responded with 'no, there's bloody loads of stuff, its rubbish.' People at the Beeb shouldn't use the word 'bloody' before 9pm. I might complain. That's where our tax money is going to. Maybe if I write 10,000 letters to The Mail she'll get charged £150,000 for her misery.
My audition was for a possible kids show that may or may not happen. It should happen because its a great idea and I got to spend 45 minutes making jokes about beedogs and pretending to be a dad on a skateboard and throwing myself on the floor. Those are the sort of jobs I was made for. I like throwing myself on the floor. Not from great heights, just reasonable ones. And beedogs are brilliant. If you don't believe me look here:
http://www.beedogs.com/
See? They are amazing. I wrote a lot of bee and dog based jokes that I was fairly pleased with, including my groan inducing new word 'Bee-larious'. I rule geek school.
Then straight from the audition I picked up our two good friends Helen and Terry, both of whom are seasoned drinkers and like me and Layla have been doing a weight watchers type diet. We have all vowed to not care this weekend and yesterday already consumed a fair bit of booze and food. While the rest of us ate proper stodgy dins, Helen backed out and ate a salad. This is not the rules. We have all made a pact to stuff out faces and if she tries to back out today I will make it my mission to throw an entire bag of Kripsy Kreme donuts at her until she breaks. Today will get messy though. I have already offered Terry money if he gets so drunk he upsets someone. Its bound to happen at some point and I am keen to provoke it for my own amusement. There are always those few people at weddings that are prone to abuse. Its either the couple that have the big argument in front of everyone, the old people that dance, or the single person that gets really drunk and cries a lot. There are no kids allowed at this wedding so there won't be any child mayhem, which is a shame purely because I have lots of beedogs jokes they might have liked. I will have to get drunk and shout them at super bikers.
Off to get suited up in my suit that did fit perfectly but since then I've had a pizza and beer. There may be some discomfort.
We are in the hotel for our good friend's wedding. Its going to be pretty awesome and I'm really pleased for them both. They are our first friends from uni to get married which is all a little bit freaky. I've had two other friends get married but one was from school and the other didn't marry someone else from uni, so this one is the first official proper one. Sort of. Its really nice but also a little bit weird, almost as though after today they will become old and grown up properly. even though they won't and I'll still shoot Rob on Xbox live as often as possible. There is a small group of about 6 of us who are dealing with this by spending today getting plastered. That's drunk, not covered in plaster. We actually arrived yesterday afternoon and started drinking. I had originally planned to try and get a gig last night, but instead an audition popped up yesterday morning so I decided that that would be enough work for the day. I don't like to overachieve on a bank holiday. It just seems like I'm disgracing the idea of Easter. To be fair I am probably disgracing the idea of Easter by not being at all religious and thinking that its highly unlikely that Jesus came back to life after properly dying. Only John Locke in Lost can do that.
I drove to my audition, thinking that as it was a bank holiday parking near the Television Centre would be easy. Amazingly not. Hammersmith and City council have decided that they too will disgrace the idea of Easter by saying that if Jesus wasn't a fictional character and did come back alive over Easter what he really would have wanted was for people to pay £1.80 an hour to park down a side street. There was a sign saying 'charges on all bank holidays except Easter Sunday and Christmas'. I don't know why they've bothered to exclude those two days considering how little care they have for any of the others. All of nothing I say. The audition was good fun. I always get excited going to Television Centre. Even on a Bank Holiday when the only people there are a security guard who needed to go to the loo every two minutes and a receptionist who hated everyone and everything. I asked her if the screen test I was going for was what was keeping her there, and she responded with 'no, there's bloody loads of stuff, its rubbish.' People at the Beeb shouldn't use the word 'bloody' before 9pm. I might complain. That's where our tax money is going to. Maybe if I write 10,000 letters to The Mail she'll get charged £150,000 for her misery.
My audition was for a possible kids show that may or may not happen. It should happen because its a great idea and I got to spend 45 minutes making jokes about beedogs and pretending to be a dad on a skateboard and throwing myself on the floor. Those are the sort of jobs I was made for. I like throwing myself on the floor. Not from great heights, just reasonable ones. And beedogs are brilliant. If you don't believe me look here:
http://www.beedogs.com/
See? They are amazing. I wrote a lot of bee and dog based jokes that I was fairly pleased with, including my groan inducing new word 'Bee-larious'. I rule geek school.
Then straight from the audition I picked up our two good friends Helen and Terry, both of whom are seasoned drinkers and like me and Layla have been doing a weight watchers type diet. We have all vowed to not care this weekend and yesterday already consumed a fair bit of booze and food. While the rest of us ate proper stodgy dins, Helen backed out and ate a salad. This is not the rules. We have all made a pact to stuff out faces and if she tries to back out today I will make it my mission to throw an entire bag of Kripsy Kreme donuts at her until she breaks. Today will get messy though. I have already offered Terry money if he gets so drunk he upsets someone. Its bound to happen at some point and I am keen to provoke it for my own amusement. There are always those few people at weddings that are prone to abuse. Its either the couple that have the big argument in front of everyone, the old people that dance, or the single person that gets really drunk and cries a lot. There are no kids allowed at this wedding so there won't be any child mayhem, which is a shame purely because I have lots of beedogs jokes they might have liked. I will have to get drunk and shout them at super bikers.
Off to get suited up in my suit that did fit perfectly but since then I've had a pizza and beer. There may be some discomfort.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Day Off
Its Good Friday and as you are all having a day off I feel its only fair that I do too. Actually there is a real reason that this blog will be miniature but I can't tell you about it till tomorrow. What it does do though is mean I have only about an hour free this morning before I go off and do important stuff, so blog must have a rest for today. What I will do is provide you with this:
http://www.youtube.com/user/beenerkeekee1995?blend=1&ob=4
I have been led to this little chap's youtube channel via the thing I'm doing today. Its made me laugh fairly endlessly. I hope it wastes sufficient amounts of your time.
If that doesn't then try this too:
http://www.brokenpicturetelephone.com/
or this:
http://www.joost.com
I can only hope my lack of blogging will be made up for by giving you a link that allows you to watch 80's kids TV all Easter weekend. Proper blog tomorrow I promise. Have a very good Friday. Arf.
http://www.youtube.com/user/beenerkeekee1995?blend=1&ob=4
I have been led to this little chap's youtube channel via the thing I'm doing today. Its made me laugh fairly endlessly. I hope it wastes sufficient amounts of your time.
If that doesn't then try this too:
http://www.brokenpicturetelephone.com/
or this:
http://www.joost.com
I can only hope my lack of blogging will be made up for by giving you a link that allows you to watch 80's kids TV all Easter weekend. Proper blog tomorrow I promise. Have a very good Friday. Arf.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Notes on Galway
Ireland has ruined me. Here are some small notes on the past day while I go off and lie down in a dark room with no booze anywhere near me:
- Galway airport is officially fun-sized. I followed the sign to departure gates and there were only two of them and one was closed. The departure lounge is made up of one tiny cafe and some chintzy armchairs that look like they have been donated from a church. It is great.
- Aer Araan is great although their planes look like they might not work properly. They do though. Its amazing how little faith I have in small planes.
- Ryan Air is not great. Even I didn't have enough leg room. That is saying something. My legs are very small. There was a crying baby on the flight, I was surprised the parents didn't receive a surcharge for that considering everything else Ryan Air charge extra for. If they didn't, they should have done just to stop the noise. The horrible horrible noise. Babies clearly do not like flying.
- Kevin's car is a bit nice. Despite having a nice car already he seems to enjoy spending time taunting desperate car dealers with reduced offers for more nice cars and then not following it through to watch the despair in their eyes in such terrible financial times. I think this is funny, they probably don't.
- Kevin is also very good at naming horses.
- Gort has made the Brazillians go grey due to lack of sunshine. I believe it has the power to remove any tan, including fake ones with its constantly overclouded sky.
- I would get away with doing nastier material if I was dressed up as a goblin, apparently.
- I watched two short films before the show made by the comic Emmet O'Malley. He is funny. One of his films was funny. The other one was probably also funny but I didn't understand a word anyone said as their accents were very thick. There was one English character in it. He spoke in an Australian/Irish accent. I later learnt this is because he is Irish. No one at the viewing seemed to notice except me and Jim Tavare. It appears the Irish have as stereotyped a view of our accents as we do of theirs. I like this.
- If you order a half pint of Guinness everyone knows that a) you are not Irish, b) you are probably British, and c) you are a big girl's blouse.
- I was told that you have to drink Guinness in Ireland as it tastes different to everywhere else. I did, and I still didn't like it. It tastes a bit like someone's poured sour cream in my beer. I like sour cream and I like beer, but not together. Not even if I am eating Mexican food and getting drunk.
- The newsreader on RTE pronounces finance as 'Fi-narnce'. I will now pronounce it like that too. It sounds nicer.
- The Roison Dubh is a great venue. The only downside is that the loos are all the way upstairs. This meant one comic (who shall remain nameless) had to wee in a cup backstage.
- The road that the Roison Dubh is on also has a strip club, a casino and a sex shop on it, as well as two other bars. It is known as the strip and there is a church at the end so the Catholics can do a marathon of sin and get rid of all the guilt when they are done.
- Drum and Bass Dj's live in Galway, FACT. Well just one of them, but he seemed nice.
- I am good at drinking Jagermeister shots without using my hands. So is the drum and bass DJ. I was better, I win.
- Gugai wasn't there and Gugai owes me a mix CD. I think this is why he wasn't there.
- There was a Russian lady in the audience who's response to my question of 'What do you want to achieve in your life?' was ' I would like to swim'. The level of hopes and dreams in Russia are obviously fairly low.
- But not as low as the man in the audience who had the best interval ever because he had an onion ring crisp with two intertwined hula-hoops inside it. I sometimes get excited by savoury snacks, but not that excited.
- If you want to get your haircut in Galway today, don't go to the place where there is a hairdresser from Winnipeg called Becky. She will almost definitely cut your ears off by accident.
- Kevin nearly killed Trevor Nelson. Hopefully next time he'll have more luck.
- My hangovers are completely disproportionate to how much I drink. I drank a lot last night, conversely my hangover feels like I drank even more than a lot. I have been told that next time I go back I will drink even more. I am already scared of the hangover that will follow.
- Lord Bishop is one of the coolest names ever.
Overall a bit of a bloody great gig, with bloody nice people in a bloody great place. I look forward to hopefully going back at some point, maybe after my liver has healed. Now for a nap....
- Galway airport is officially fun-sized. I followed the sign to departure gates and there were only two of them and one was closed. The departure lounge is made up of one tiny cafe and some chintzy armchairs that look like they have been donated from a church. It is great.
- Aer Araan is great although their planes look like they might not work properly. They do though. Its amazing how little faith I have in small planes.
- Ryan Air is not great. Even I didn't have enough leg room. That is saying something. My legs are very small. There was a crying baby on the flight, I was surprised the parents didn't receive a surcharge for that considering everything else Ryan Air charge extra for. If they didn't, they should have done just to stop the noise. The horrible horrible noise. Babies clearly do not like flying.
- Kevin's car is a bit nice. Despite having a nice car already he seems to enjoy spending time taunting desperate car dealers with reduced offers for more nice cars and then not following it through to watch the despair in their eyes in such terrible financial times. I think this is funny, they probably don't.
- Kevin is also very good at naming horses.
- Gort has made the Brazillians go grey due to lack of sunshine. I believe it has the power to remove any tan, including fake ones with its constantly overclouded sky.
- I would get away with doing nastier material if I was dressed up as a goblin, apparently.
- I watched two short films before the show made by the comic Emmet O'Malley. He is funny. One of his films was funny. The other one was probably also funny but I didn't understand a word anyone said as their accents were very thick. There was one English character in it. He spoke in an Australian/Irish accent. I later learnt this is because he is Irish. No one at the viewing seemed to notice except me and Jim Tavare. It appears the Irish have as stereotyped a view of our accents as we do of theirs. I like this.
- If you order a half pint of Guinness everyone knows that a) you are not Irish, b) you are probably British, and c) you are a big girl's blouse.
- I was told that you have to drink Guinness in Ireland as it tastes different to everywhere else. I did, and I still didn't like it. It tastes a bit like someone's poured sour cream in my beer. I like sour cream and I like beer, but not together. Not even if I am eating Mexican food and getting drunk.
- The newsreader on RTE pronounces finance as 'Fi-narnce'. I will now pronounce it like that too. It sounds nicer.
- The Roison Dubh is a great venue. The only downside is that the loos are all the way upstairs. This meant one comic (who shall remain nameless) had to wee in a cup backstage.
- The road that the Roison Dubh is on also has a strip club, a casino and a sex shop on it, as well as two other bars. It is known as the strip and there is a church at the end so the Catholics can do a marathon of sin and get rid of all the guilt when they are done.
- Drum and Bass Dj's live in Galway, FACT. Well just one of them, but he seemed nice.
- I am good at drinking Jagermeister shots without using my hands. So is the drum and bass DJ. I was better, I win.
- Gugai wasn't there and Gugai owes me a mix CD. I think this is why he wasn't there.
- There was a Russian lady in the audience who's response to my question of 'What do you want to achieve in your life?' was ' I would like to swim'. The level of hopes and dreams in Russia are obviously fairly low.
- But not as low as the man in the audience who had the best interval ever because he had an onion ring crisp with two intertwined hula-hoops inside it. I sometimes get excited by savoury snacks, but not that excited.
- If you want to get your haircut in Galway today, don't go to the place where there is a hairdresser from Winnipeg called Becky. She will almost definitely cut your ears off by accident.
- Kevin nearly killed Trevor Nelson. Hopefully next time he'll have more luck.
- My hangovers are completely disproportionate to how much I drink. I drank a lot last night, conversely my hangover feels like I drank even more than a lot. I have been told that next time I go back I will drink even more. I am already scared of the hangover that will follow.
- Lord Bishop is one of the coolest names ever.
Overall a bit of a bloody great gig, with bloody nice people in a bloody great place. I look forward to hopefully going back at some point, maybe after my liver has healed. Now for a nap....
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Old Ladies, Innocent and Talking to Strangers
You know what I love at a gig? I tell you there is nothing better than an old woman who sits dead centre of the audience with a face of stone and does a perfectly timed yawn on every punchline. Each intake of oxygen, while possibly the result of a tiring day, or general fatigue, was a vicious, but very relaxed heckle to my set. To be fair I did not expect doing a small charity gig for my friend Emma to be easy. They rarely are. But knowing that I'm doing the minimal I need to to save lives/raise funds/avoid guilt is normally enough. And the gig was really nice and for a very good cause. Emma is running the London marathon for Mencap, a charity, which contrary to how it sounds, is not supporting sporty headwear for men. Running the London marathon, or in fact any marathon, is something I will never ever do and I completely respect anyone that does. For ages I used the excuse that being diabetic I couldn't run the London marathon because I'm diabetic and it wouldn't be very sensible. Then a couple of years ago that plan got scuppered by some selfish 92 year old diabetic bastard who ran it in 6 hours. Its because of him I now just have to say I won't do it because I'm lazy and don't want to. I hope he realises that his elderly actions have dragged the evil truth out of me like a senile lie detector.
I was doing 30 minutes for Emma and Stuart's (who is running for Teenage Cancer Trust) Fundraiser Night, before being followed by a ukelele band doing KaraUke. I mean followed on stage, not, as I would like, followed everywhere. It was a nice gig and all but yawning lady and all the noise from the open plan kitchen in the same room as us, were great. I then went home and after some further Stewart Lee viewing (liked it once again but not best episode so far) started to swot up on all things Irish for my trip to Galway today. I realised that I really know very little about Ireland past that 'The Wind That Blows The Barley' DVD is still sitting on my shelf unwatched, and that years and years ago my great grandma came over to the UK as an orphan because she missed potatoes. Sometimes I miss potatoes too so I know how it feels. I'm scared that by having a baked potato for dinner tonight I may have unhinged my ability to bond with them tomorrow. I hope I've expelled it from my system by the time I board the plane.
Seriously though, I can't wait to get there. The entire trip is based on me getting very drunk with the promoters Kevin and Gugai in Edinburgh last year and making drunken claims about how good my act was. It was all lies and I look forward to them realising just how shit I am and chasing me out of Galway with burning pitchforks.Or just make me drink Guinness. I hate Guinness. It tastes liked creamed sick. Oh dear, I have a feeling these next two days could all go really really wrong.
Have you tried www.omegle.com yet? Russell Brand tweeted about it yesterday and I've been a bit hooked since. The whole concept is that you talk to strangers. There are no user names or pics or anything just text between you and 'Stranger'. The very first person I met thought it was hilarious to pretend they were US feds and were busting me because the last person I spoke to was a '12 Year Old Girl'. When I explained it was my first time on www.omegle.com they crumbled. I then complained about their poor spelling and they disconnected. It was like dealing with long distance hecklers. I then met a girl from Massachusetts who was far too quick to send personal details over. Its lucky I'm not scary or weird. Well not scary weird anyway. She has no idea that I sometimes shout back at my satnav. She seemed cool but I am looking forward to more angry chat. Fingers crossed I get a creationist next. Or a redneck Nazi.
Speaking of evil, Innocent Smoothies have signed a £30 million deal with Coca-Cola. I loved Innocent smoothies and their supposed ethics. It appears all those ethics and fruity promises were a massive lie now that they have joined forces with union worker killers and Indian village water drainers. Even though their emails are funny and kooky in that oh-so-lovely way, make a point of unsubscribing in protest. I have done already. And I told them why and said that as Mark Thomas has already sent them information and proof on why Coca-Cola are evil, they should now, under British law change their name to 'Guilty Smoothies'. I will now only ever make my own substandard smoothies that take too much effort and end up as a mulchy undrinkable mess. Damn you Innocent for ruining everything.
See Mark's letter of response to Innocent here:
http://www.markthomasinfo.com/
And on a much nicer and actually innocent note, why not sponsor Emma and Stuart? They are lovely and its for a good cause and everything:
www.justgiving.com/stuart2009
and
www.justgiving.com/emma4mencap
I was doing 30 minutes for Emma and Stuart's (who is running for Teenage Cancer Trust) Fundraiser Night, before being followed by a ukelele band doing KaraUke. I mean followed on stage, not, as I would like, followed everywhere. It was a nice gig and all but yawning lady and all the noise from the open plan kitchen in the same room as us, were great. I then went home and after some further Stewart Lee viewing (liked it once again but not best episode so far) started to swot up on all things Irish for my trip to Galway today. I realised that I really know very little about Ireland past that 'The Wind That Blows The Barley' DVD is still sitting on my shelf unwatched, and that years and years ago my great grandma came over to the UK as an orphan because she missed potatoes. Sometimes I miss potatoes too so I know how it feels. I'm scared that by having a baked potato for dinner tonight I may have unhinged my ability to bond with them tomorrow. I hope I've expelled it from my system by the time I board the plane.
Seriously though, I can't wait to get there. The entire trip is based on me getting very drunk with the promoters Kevin and Gugai in Edinburgh last year and making drunken claims about how good my act was. It was all lies and I look forward to them realising just how shit I am and chasing me out of Galway with burning pitchforks.Or just make me drink Guinness. I hate Guinness. It tastes liked creamed sick. Oh dear, I have a feeling these next two days could all go really really wrong.
Have you tried www.omegle.com yet? Russell Brand tweeted about it yesterday and I've been a bit hooked since. The whole concept is that you talk to strangers. There are no user names or pics or anything just text between you and 'Stranger'. The very first person I met thought it was hilarious to pretend they were US feds and were busting me because the last person I spoke to was a '12 Year Old Girl'. When I explained it was my first time on www.omegle.com they crumbled. I then complained about their poor spelling and they disconnected. It was like dealing with long distance hecklers. I then met a girl from Massachusetts who was far too quick to send personal details over. Its lucky I'm not scary or weird. Well not scary weird anyway. She has no idea that I sometimes shout back at my satnav. She seemed cool but I am looking forward to more angry chat. Fingers crossed I get a creationist next. Or a redneck Nazi.
Speaking of evil, Innocent Smoothies have signed a £30 million deal with Coca-Cola. I loved Innocent smoothies and their supposed ethics. It appears all those ethics and fruity promises were a massive lie now that they have joined forces with union worker killers and Indian village water drainers. Even though their emails are funny and kooky in that oh-so-lovely way, make a point of unsubscribing in protest. I have done already. And I told them why and said that as Mark Thomas has already sent them information and proof on why Coca-Cola are evil, they should now, under British law change their name to 'Guilty Smoothies'. I will now only ever make my own substandard smoothies that take too much effort and end up as a mulchy undrinkable mess. Damn you Innocent for ruining everything.
See Mark's letter of response to Innocent here:
http://www.markthomasinfo.com/
And on a much nicer and actually innocent note, why not sponsor Emma and Stuart? They are lovely and its for a good cause and everything:
www.justgiving.com/stuart2009
and
www.justgiving.com/emma4mencap
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)