There are a number of local weirdos near where I live. Normally they have different peaks times for appearances. My favourite, the woman who sings and dances to her 80's Walkman with a variety of costumes that change daily is there from lunchtime to late afternoon. The men who look suspiciously like The Greek and his right hand man from the Wire stand looking shady in full leather jackets and flat caps regardless of the weather outside the butcher's shop usually from late morning through to lunchtime. The fat man who always looks a bit depressed with the world and so spends it watching everyone else go past is there from early evening outside the mini-cab office, but to my knowledge does not work there or in fact do anything. All the people who stand around with scary dogs shouting at each other and people that pass by are there at different times depending on their appointment at the Job Centre. Today, they are all out at the same time. I'm not sure if its the sunshine that has lured them out or if there is some sort of local Finsbury Park Loonies convention. I would like to believe the latter. Perhaps past hours, they all congregate and discuss where they need to be and what they need to be doing on a daily basis. The woman with the headphones is perhaps listening to careful instructions of how to look completely mental, but content while dressed as Mrs Santa. The Greek Mafia are probably like the security should anyone spot the ruse. And the shouty people are probably just shouty people outside the Job Centre. I've walked past them many a time. I really don't think they are capable of being spies. Although I suppose that means they could be really really good spies. I wonder if they all watch me going past and say 'there's that weird starey short bloke that always walks past here around 1pm'.
Just returned from a casting that every comedian ever seems to be going for, for Three Mobile idents. The brief was to write several quick gags about the internet or mobile internet which I found rather hard. I managed to write about 15, only 4 of which were possibly good, with all the rest being massively poor and the opposite of funny (which was confirmed as being Coventry on Twitter last night). I got the casting studio with poor jokes in hand and made a huge error before even entering the door. There was a big sign saying 'Door is open, please DO NOT press the doorbell', so I did what anyone who wasn't paying much attention would do, and pressed the doorbell. A rather tired Shoreditch twat lookalike told me in a disappointed sigh just to open the door and as I did I was greeted with the most horrible bell ring I have ever heard. It was not dissimilar to the beepy sounds of those singing birthday cards you might get someone you hate, except it went on for at least 40 seconds. The receptionist looked at me as though I'd just walked in and kicked a puppy at her. If they know that bell makes them so annoyed they could just change it for one that didn't sound so ridiculous. Maybe the receptionist looks like that all the time and so by putting the sign up she has made others feel guilty for her constant anger.
In the waiting room already was a rather over confident young skinny actor, and Milton Jones. If there was ever a comic you didn't want to follow at a one-liner audition it would be Milton. It could only have got worse if Tim Vine had been on after me. Luckily Charlie Baker appeared instead and we argued about who had to go on after Milton. All the while no one spoke to the actor. It was as though he was that person at the party no one invited and didn't know why he was there. Sod's law says that despite his lack of comedy writing ability he will get it because he is skinny and has curly hair. We know how TV works. Milton went in after actor man and there were many laughs from the room. This was disconcerting. Not least because Shoreditch twat man came out afterwards and told us they probably wouldn't laugh because they are too busy analysing you. Both Charlie and myself were discussing just leaving and then I had to go in. It was all very sterile as it usually is, just walking in, saying my name, reading 5 jokes out, then leaving again. They actually laughed at my jokes which was surprising and knocked me back a bit. So much so I probably rushed the whole thing and escaped as quickly as I could. As I got to the tube station Milton had managed to get his travel card stuck in the ticket barrier and now no one could get through. The ticket office closed at 11, and so everyone was doing that wonderfully British thing of standing around awkwardly kicking their feet hoping something might happen. I spent the time telling Milton he had ruined everything for me today and though that by doing this I might help the situation. Eventually a TFL man walked out of the closed office, from which he had probably just been sitting. He looked so annoyed that someone had created a problem outside of the specified times. If you are ever at Latimer Road tube station do make sure that if you are to have a problem, an injury, a terrorist crisis or anything of similar issue, just do it before 11am or after 3pm. I was pleased that no matter how amazing Milton is at writing one liners, he cant use public transport. Milton 1 Me 1.
The aim for me at my gig last night at Rose Bruford, was to try all the jokes for today's casting. I didn't end up trying any of them as the crowd were too nice to try new material on. Its an odd dynamic that works for trying out new material. While you want the crowd to be nice, if they are too nice, you won't really know if it works or not. What you need is a room of good cops and bad cops. The good cops will laugh when its funny and the bad cops will hit you with truncheons if you are trying to walk past a police barricade during a protest. A whole room of over excited drama students was too nice and it felt too much like a walk in the park if you weren't walking but being carried. Its not to say I didn't enjoy it. Before I went I was feeling really sick. I'd had two naps yesterday afternoon which is extremely unlike me. I don't do napping especially when I have things to do. After both naps instead of feeling better I had a worse headache and was shivering too. Layla took my temperature but it came back with no reading at all, which meant it was either broken or I am beyond temperature. I like to think its the latter. I managed to pluck myself up a bit and trek to the gig which did me a world of good. There's nothing like adrenaline from a gig and cheering drama students to get you through. Its not that drama students cheer anymore than normal people but I think its that they project the cheering better. From the diaphragm or something. So sad to know that all those happy faces will be unemployed in just a few years time, whether there is a credit crunch or not. Oddly telling them that was the only time they didn't laugh. Tiernan Douieb - Professional People depressor.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
To Sleep Perchance To Sleep A Bit More
I don't understand why, when you oversleep, you feel more tired than you did before. Surely, using the idea of potential energy, I should be able to wake up with full liveliness and now stay awake for extra long. Using the same theory I could sleep through most of May and then stay awake all through Edinburgh in August. Isn't that what animals do when they hibernate? I thought they just slept for ages and then come spring they wake up and don't sleep again till next Winter. I've never seen a bear sleeping. Saying that, I've never really seen a bear except on TV and once in a cruel zoo in the US where they still kept bears. I agree its mean to keep bears, but at the same time its odd that keeping bears is cruel but penning elephants in a tiny enclosure is alright. Whereas keeping spiders in small boxes is definitely fine. In fact all spiders should be kept in small boxes and all elephants should be allowed to run around as they please all over Regent's Park.
I overslept far too much and have woken up with a headache, tiredness and a resilience to doing lots of writing I need to do for tomorrow morning. Conveniently we are out of any kind of painkiller, not least those special ones that kill pain and have caffeine in so you wake and up feel immune to pain which means you can run at lampposts very fast, among other things. Its probably all my fault for staying up far too late again. I did feel tired but got stuck in Omegle again. The first person I chatted to was an extremely right-wing capitalist. I decided that due to the anonymity of it all I would see how long I could cope with chatting to them. I broke at 4.33 when they mentioned they hated Obama and mentioned 'Indians who stank of curry'. Thank god for the disconnect button. I wish I had had the foresight to type 'RACIST' in big letters before I had done, but I opted to jump quickly from a sinking sink instead. The second chat was with a kid whose first question to me was 'Are you a paedophile?' I thought this was extremely clever of the kid to be vetting people like this as its guaranteed to catch out any paedos that may be lurking online. Its a shame its unlikely that they would just say 'yep, I am' otherwise they would be a lot easier to catch.
The 13 year old was into guns which is a tad scary. I associate kids with guns as being generally quite dangerous and a threat to the future. Then he explained he was into grunge which means he'll only kill himself or a school and then himself which is all ok. I was in that awful dilemma of wanting to tell him guns are bad and wrong, but then he sent me links to pictures of the guns and the boy in me went 'that's damn cool'. Sometimes the boy in me lets me down quite badly. I always fear I would be terrible at breaking up fights because child me would take over and just cheer someone on. That and my height means I could only really successfully break up a fight between smurfs.
I hosted a competition heat last night, my least favourite type of all gigs. 24 acts all doing 1.30-2 mins of material in a room with no mic and only 3 members of audience, with the rest of the audience being made up of acts crapping themselves because they were about to go on. I was expecting the worst. Oddly it was ok. Out of 24 acts there weren't that many promising ones, with only a few showing a couple of good gags or good stage presence. What was odd is how many of them resembled current stand-ups. I remember when I started out the hordes of Izzard, Bailey and Ross Noble impersonators. But the new breed all resemble Brand, McIntyre and various incarnations of Mock The Week acts. I found this all strangely refreshing, but probably only because I am selfish and liked not feeling remotely threatened. I did very little MCing due to the large amount of acts and walked away having been decently paid and much earlier than I thought I would. This all seemed a little strange until I checked my Twitter account to see that 'Team Tiernan' (@misswiz @h2osarah @nwoolhouseuk @karenbirch and new member @angryfeet) had been doing cheerleading motions for me online. I had never expected such lovely online support but I praise their efforts and feel as though the brevity of the gig is down to them. Go Team Tiernan! I am now trying to persuade them to accompany me to every gig especially ones in Coventry. It can only be for the best. As long as Tommy Tiernan doesn't try and steal them for himself....
I overslept far too much and have woken up with a headache, tiredness and a resilience to doing lots of writing I need to do for tomorrow morning. Conveniently we are out of any kind of painkiller, not least those special ones that kill pain and have caffeine in so you wake and up feel immune to pain which means you can run at lampposts very fast, among other things. Its probably all my fault for staying up far too late again. I did feel tired but got stuck in Omegle again. The first person I chatted to was an extremely right-wing capitalist. I decided that due to the anonymity of it all I would see how long I could cope with chatting to them. I broke at 4.33 when they mentioned they hated Obama and mentioned 'Indians who stank of curry'. Thank god for the disconnect button. I wish I had had the foresight to type 'RACIST' in big letters before I had done, but I opted to jump quickly from a sinking sink instead. The second chat was with a kid whose first question to me was 'Are you a paedophile?' I thought this was extremely clever of the kid to be vetting people like this as its guaranteed to catch out any paedos that may be lurking online. Its a shame its unlikely that they would just say 'yep, I am' otherwise they would be a lot easier to catch.
The 13 year old was into guns which is a tad scary. I associate kids with guns as being generally quite dangerous and a threat to the future. Then he explained he was into grunge which means he'll only kill himself or a school and then himself which is all ok. I was in that awful dilemma of wanting to tell him guns are bad and wrong, but then he sent me links to pictures of the guns and the boy in me went 'that's damn cool'. Sometimes the boy in me lets me down quite badly. I always fear I would be terrible at breaking up fights because child me would take over and just cheer someone on. That and my height means I could only really successfully break up a fight between smurfs.
I hosted a competition heat last night, my least favourite type of all gigs. 24 acts all doing 1.30-2 mins of material in a room with no mic and only 3 members of audience, with the rest of the audience being made up of acts crapping themselves because they were about to go on. I was expecting the worst. Oddly it was ok. Out of 24 acts there weren't that many promising ones, with only a few showing a couple of good gags or good stage presence. What was odd is how many of them resembled current stand-ups. I remember when I started out the hordes of Izzard, Bailey and Ross Noble impersonators. But the new breed all resemble Brand, McIntyre and various incarnations of Mock The Week acts. I found this all strangely refreshing, but probably only because I am selfish and liked not feeling remotely threatened. I did very little MCing due to the large amount of acts and walked away having been decently paid and much earlier than I thought I would. This all seemed a little strange until I checked my Twitter account to see that 'Team Tiernan' (@misswiz @h2osarah @nwoolhouseuk @karenbirch and new member @angryfeet) had been doing cheerleading motions for me online. I had never expected such lovely online support but I praise their efforts and feel as though the brevity of the gig is down to them. Go Team Tiernan! I am now trying to persuade them to accompany me to every gig especially ones in Coventry. It can only be for the best. As long as Tommy Tiernan doesn't try and steal them for himself....
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Return to Cov
I had a small celebration at about 10.20ish last night as we pulled away from my gig in Coventry, and that was that I wouldn't have to be returning to Coventry for quite some time. I almost did a dance in the car, although it would have meant I'd have crashed into the central reservation damaging the car, and then leaving myself stranded in Coventry for longer than necessary. So I drove with extreme caution and then sped a bit along the motorway just to make sure I got away as quickly as possible. I need to stop doing this. I am generally a very safe driver but occasionally I get overexcited about escaping from a gig. I'd love to say its my eagerness to get home, but its not. The only ever speeding ticket I've received was trying to escape Hull as quickly as possible. I almost felt like the DVLA should have let me off that one. I bet a lot of people get points for that.
It wasn't the people at last night's gig. Well not most of the people. There were a couple of idiots, including one woman who I gave a put down line to that I will be proud of for about a week. I rarely boast of these things but it was the sort of retort that made the crowd laugh and the woman shut up all at once, so I felt like a deserved a small medal or a scout badge or something. Apart from her though and one or two chatty people, the crowd were very nice. Oddly there was a woman there who was having a birthday and had been at my gig on Wednesday. She seemed alive today, but only just, and she was extremely orange. I wanted to look at her to work out where she was sitting on Wednesday, but everytime I glanced sideways my eyes felt like they were burning and I had to look away. I bet she is constantly annoyed by moths. She was with a large group of women out for her birthday and they were so nice, that when one of them got too drunk, they all left as they didn't want to embarrass themselves. I mean, if that occurrence was a steak it would be rare. So that's the kind of people they were. Nice people. People that probably didn't have a choice at living in the least cultural city in the UK, but by coming to comedy they were trying.
The problem was the venue. Unlike many comedy events which are set in purpose built clubs, pub function rooms, theatres or venues of similar description, this gig was in a cinema. Well, you might say, the venue is already purpose built for a type of entertainment, what could go wrong. Boringly, the first bad thing is the acoustics. The walls are built so you can hear the screen and were the screen able to, it could not hear you. One day in the future screens will hopefully be able to hear people and after several viewings might have the ability to choose never to show a Zac Effron film again. While that type of sound is all good for cinema screens, for comics its a nightmare. Even when the crowd laugh, the laughs get sucked up into the walls and the high ceiling and from the stage it feels like you are trying to get an iota of blood from a stone that have never even seen or heard of blood in its life, and once when its cousin, a pebble, saw blood, it feinted. It wasn't that tough, but it felt like it was. So every act, who from offstage seemed to be storming it, would walk off stage feeling deflated and shit. Try as I might, by the third time I had to walk on stage I really didn't care. I felt like I was being unfair to the people, but like the house in The Shining the building was bad. Oddly enough had blood started pouring down the walls it might have made the sound a little better. I may suggest this next time.
Luckily Rex Boyd was a true gent and said he would close the show for us allowing myself and Juliet Myers to escape at the earliest opportunity. Before I did I took three beers from the fridge backstage and put them in my bag. Some might call that petty theft. I say it was fair. The arse of a cinema manager refused to give me a bottle of water for free, grumbled about having to get me a diet Pepsi when there was fat Pepsi in the fridge, and then wouldn't give me a free popcorn. I can't be in a cinema without having popcorn. I've tried to create reason for this such as pretending its some sort of talisman against bad films, but its doesn't seem to work. Instead I just succumb to the fact that I just like popcorn. I often wish more food would pop in a similar way. Popcheese, popchoc and popratatoullie can't be far away. I thought of all the times I might be able to get free popcorn, it would be today. But no, I had to buy my own and when I got it, they handed it over to me in a paper bag. A PAPER BAG? What? Am I not to be trusted with a cardboard carton? I could see them there, just sitting there mocking me. I wondered if there had been some sort of incident in Coventry before where some dickhead had got his head stuck in one, or accidentally fallen off a cliff and onto a cardboard carton just so they were now banned. To be fair they were right not to give me one. Had they done, I would have really fucked stuff up like a mentalist. Or more likely, I would have been able to hold my popcorn in a convenient and easy manner, the bastards. So I think those beers were mine.
I have several other long journeys this week with Southampton and Glastonbury, and then a busy day at the Camden Crawl and Bedford on Friday, but all of these are nice places. I'll be amazed if any of those gigs have members of the audience who fall asleep in the front row, or require being called a slag. I will return to Cov at some point, but I will be prepared and bring a crate of red bulls and some books with art in and pictures of places that aren't made of concrete.
It wasn't the people at last night's gig. Well not most of the people. There were a couple of idiots, including one woman who I gave a put down line to that I will be proud of for about a week. I rarely boast of these things but it was the sort of retort that made the crowd laugh and the woman shut up all at once, so I felt like a deserved a small medal or a scout badge or something. Apart from her though and one or two chatty people, the crowd were very nice. Oddly there was a woman there who was having a birthday and had been at my gig on Wednesday. She seemed alive today, but only just, and she was extremely orange. I wanted to look at her to work out where she was sitting on Wednesday, but everytime I glanced sideways my eyes felt like they were burning and I had to look away. I bet she is constantly annoyed by moths. She was with a large group of women out for her birthday and they were so nice, that when one of them got too drunk, they all left as they didn't want to embarrass themselves. I mean, if that occurrence was a steak it would be rare. So that's the kind of people they were. Nice people. People that probably didn't have a choice at living in the least cultural city in the UK, but by coming to comedy they were trying.
The problem was the venue. Unlike many comedy events which are set in purpose built clubs, pub function rooms, theatres or venues of similar description, this gig was in a cinema. Well, you might say, the venue is already purpose built for a type of entertainment, what could go wrong. Boringly, the first bad thing is the acoustics. The walls are built so you can hear the screen and were the screen able to, it could not hear you. One day in the future screens will hopefully be able to hear people and after several viewings might have the ability to choose never to show a Zac Effron film again. While that type of sound is all good for cinema screens, for comics its a nightmare. Even when the crowd laugh, the laughs get sucked up into the walls and the high ceiling and from the stage it feels like you are trying to get an iota of blood from a stone that have never even seen or heard of blood in its life, and once when its cousin, a pebble, saw blood, it feinted. It wasn't that tough, but it felt like it was. So every act, who from offstage seemed to be storming it, would walk off stage feeling deflated and shit. Try as I might, by the third time I had to walk on stage I really didn't care. I felt like I was being unfair to the people, but like the house in The Shining the building was bad. Oddly enough had blood started pouring down the walls it might have made the sound a little better. I may suggest this next time.
Luckily Rex Boyd was a true gent and said he would close the show for us allowing myself and Juliet Myers to escape at the earliest opportunity. Before I did I took three beers from the fridge backstage and put them in my bag. Some might call that petty theft. I say it was fair. The arse of a cinema manager refused to give me a bottle of water for free, grumbled about having to get me a diet Pepsi when there was fat Pepsi in the fridge, and then wouldn't give me a free popcorn. I can't be in a cinema without having popcorn. I've tried to create reason for this such as pretending its some sort of talisman against bad films, but its doesn't seem to work. Instead I just succumb to the fact that I just like popcorn. I often wish more food would pop in a similar way. Popcheese, popchoc and popratatoullie can't be far away. I thought of all the times I might be able to get free popcorn, it would be today. But no, I had to buy my own and when I got it, they handed it over to me in a paper bag. A PAPER BAG? What? Am I not to be trusted with a cardboard carton? I could see them there, just sitting there mocking me. I wondered if there had been some sort of incident in Coventry before where some dickhead had got his head stuck in one, or accidentally fallen off a cliff and onto a cardboard carton just so they were now banned. To be fair they were right not to give me one. Had they done, I would have really fucked stuff up like a mentalist. Or more likely, I would have been able to hold my popcorn in a convenient and easy manner, the bastards. So I think those beers were mine.
I have several other long journeys this week with Southampton and Glastonbury, and then a busy day at the Camden Crawl and Bedford on Friday, but all of these are nice places. I'll be amazed if any of those gigs have members of the audience who fall asleep in the front row, or require being called a slag. I will return to Cov at some point, but I will be prepared and bring a crate of red bulls and some books with art in and pictures of places that aren't made of concrete.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Crocodiles, Cowboys, and Pilots
I had agreed to help out with the Comedy 4 Kids workshop this morning at the Soho Theatre, which meant an earlier start than usual. I used to be great at mornings, back in them days of old where I pretended to do a proper job and everything. Back then I would wake up at 7am, make a cup of tea and be skipping along the way to my place of employment feeling like I had seen the beginning of the day. Admittedly once I had reached my dull day job all the energy would be sucked out me immediately and I would become a lifeless wreck who spent more time on facebook than anything important. The latter aspect has not changed one bit. Sadly the ability to cope with mornings has. This is partly to do with having a time table that means I don't finish working till 11 at night and then don't end up home till the wee hours (those are the early hours, not the hours I wee in). Its also party to do with not having to get up. If I don't have to, then I am very happy to stay in bed, one of my favourite places to be. Beds are underrated. You can do a lot in a bed. You can eat in it, sleep in it, shag in it, jump on it, watch TV from it, read in it and create a den with it. If you know of any more uses for a bed, please let me know. I might write one of those shit posters that says '10 Ways Why a Bed is Better than a...' and will fill in the blanks with various 'hilarious' items such as 'women', 'men', 'bears' and 'cellos'. Then students will buy them at the thousands to put up in their dorm rooms until they get old enough to realise it doesn't make them individual and instead just makes them a loser with no sense of humour.
So feeling a tad groggy I walked into the workshop today to be greeted by the sight of 15-20 kids all shouting at each other. One was dressed as a cowboy, one as a pilot, one waving a giant inflatable crocodile and several others swinging random items such as a furry puppet and fishing net. It hurt my brain. I took a deep breath and walked straight out again, got a cup of water and braced myself before heading back in. The kids that do stand-up workshops are tiny versions of adult stand-ups. By that I mean they have massive egos and seem to be a bit socially incompetent. In a nice way. One of them, who was a bit of a genius, looked scarily like Warwick Davies. I tried to think of a way I could get them to re-enact Willow but I though the parents might get suspicious if one child goes home telling them the teacher wanted him to be 'Val Kilmer'. The Warwick boy's name was Oscar and I asked him if he got handed out at film awards ceremonies, but this just confused him.
The workshop was good. I learnt the hard way that if you get a group of three kids to improvise a situation that has been given them by the audience, they will completely ignore the situation and run around how they please. After that, there were no more impro games. I also learnt that by getting them to talk about what's in the room, without explaining you need to make it funny, they will just point out exactly what's there. We didn't play any more 'point out what's in the room' games after that. I then worked with the three boys who would be doing sets at the show. I went through all their sets with them and told them which bits were strong and which bits could be expanded. They went on stage at the show and just did what they liked. After that I decided I am not very good at doing workshops for kids.
The show itself was really fun. All three kids did really well, as did Richard Sandling with his mind-tricks for kids, and Brendan Dempsey's awesome dinosaur impressions. I did make one further mistake of the day when I asked the audience who had unusual pets and a little girl said she had a snail. I asked her if she actually had it as a pet or it was in the garden. She replied with garden so I told her it wasn't a pet, it just lived in the garden. It was only then I found out that she had named it Gerald and made it a box. I felt a bit like I had crushed her hope of having pets. I told her it was in fact a pet, which then stupidly lead to loads of other kids telling me they had flies and bees and millipedes. I will never learn.
Heading back to lovely (sic) Coventry tonight, to do a gig in a cinema. I've done it before and its an odd experience due to the acoustics and the fact its IN A CINEMA. I'm still weighing up whether or not to start with some trailers and if I should get some popcorn to throw at the crowd. This is what happens when you do Comedy 4 Kids before you have to do an adult gig.
'Hey!' you might say, 'Don't leave it there! What about last night's gig? If we recall it was at a football club in the home counties, there must be something to write about?' Well no, there isn't. Despite all possibilities that it was going to be hell in a Buckinghamshire based sports shack it was truly delightful. I wouldn't ever use a term like that but little else could describe it. They were an incredibly nice audience. So nice and comedy savvy in fact that when Mike Belgrave, who was MCing asked them if Chesham was a chavvy area they said a collective 'Yes'. He said 'But it doesn't seem chavvy?' and they all seemed confused, at which point Mike said 'I live in Peckham'. There was the best collective knowing 'ah' I have ever heard. They also cottoned on to some classical music gags from Mike and Helen Arney, including someone in the crowd shouting 'Orff' as a heckle. Amazing. I had a really really nice set and got home in 45 minutes. Dull isn't it? Such a shame for you readers when it all goes a bit lovely. I liked it, but I know that's selfish so I will try my best to have a miserable time this evening to indulge your schadenfreude. Which incidentally isn't when the famous psychiatrist steps out of the sunshine. Boom, I made a funny. With gags like that its highly likely tonight will be terrible.
So feeling a tad groggy I walked into the workshop today to be greeted by the sight of 15-20 kids all shouting at each other. One was dressed as a cowboy, one as a pilot, one waving a giant inflatable crocodile and several others swinging random items such as a furry puppet and fishing net. It hurt my brain. I took a deep breath and walked straight out again, got a cup of water and braced myself before heading back in. The kids that do stand-up workshops are tiny versions of adult stand-ups. By that I mean they have massive egos and seem to be a bit socially incompetent. In a nice way. One of them, who was a bit of a genius, looked scarily like Warwick Davies. I tried to think of a way I could get them to re-enact Willow but I though the parents might get suspicious if one child goes home telling them the teacher wanted him to be 'Val Kilmer'. The Warwick boy's name was Oscar and I asked him if he got handed out at film awards ceremonies, but this just confused him.
The workshop was good. I learnt the hard way that if you get a group of three kids to improvise a situation that has been given them by the audience, they will completely ignore the situation and run around how they please. After that, there were no more impro games. I also learnt that by getting them to talk about what's in the room, without explaining you need to make it funny, they will just point out exactly what's there. We didn't play any more 'point out what's in the room' games after that. I then worked with the three boys who would be doing sets at the show. I went through all their sets with them and told them which bits were strong and which bits could be expanded. They went on stage at the show and just did what they liked. After that I decided I am not very good at doing workshops for kids.
The show itself was really fun. All three kids did really well, as did Richard Sandling with his mind-tricks for kids, and Brendan Dempsey's awesome dinosaur impressions. I did make one further mistake of the day when I asked the audience who had unusual pets and a little girl said she had a snail. I asked her if she actually had it as a pet or it was in the garden. She replied with garden so I told her it wasn't a pet, it just lived in the garden. It was only then I found out that she had named it Gerald and made it a box. I felt a bit like I had crushed her hope of having pets. I told her it was in fact a pet, which then stupidly lead to loads of other kids telling me they had flies and bees and millipedes. I will never learn.
Heading back to lovely (sic) Coventry tonight, to do a gig in a cinema. I've done it before and its an odd experience due to the acoustics and the fact its IN A CINEMA. I'm still weighing up whether or not to start with some trailers and if I should get some popcorn to throw at the crowd. This is what happens when you do Comedy 4 Kids before you have to do an adult gig.
'Hey!' you might say, 'Don't leave it there! What about last night's gig? If we recall it was at a football club in the home counties, there must be something to write about?' Well no, there isn't. Despite all possibilities that it was going to be hell in a Buckinghamshire based sports shack it was truly delightful. I wouldn't ever use a term like that but little else could describe it. They were an incredibly nice audience. So nice and comedy savvy in fact that when Mike Belgrave, who was MCing asked them if Chesham was a chavvy area they said a collective 'Yes'. He said 'But it doesn't seem chavvy?' and they all seemed confused, at which point Mike said 'I live in Peckham'. There was the best collective knowing 'ah' I have ever heard. They also cottoned on to some classical music gags from Mike and Helen Arney, including someone in the crowd shouting 'Orff' as a heckle. Amazing. I had a really really nice set and got home in 45 minutes. Dull isn't it? Such a shame for you readers when it all goes a bit lovely. I liked it, but I know that's selfish so I will try my best to have a miserable time this evening to indulge your schadenfreude. Which incidentally isn't when the famous psychiatrist steps out of the sunshine. Boom, I made a funny. With gags like that its highly likely tonight will be terrible.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Procrastinationalism
Loads and loads of stuff to do today. None of it is remotely fun. With the best intentions I stayed up really late last night thinking maybe I could get some of it done then, but instead felt too tired, chatted to people on Facebook and consequently stayed up even later in a semi-awake state chatting about Greek gods that don't really exist. Now I have been up for three hours and feel so exhausted from staying up late I still haven't got anything useful done either. Which means I am now wasting away time chatting to people on Facebook again. Its a vicious cycle, all created by internet socialising sites. Yes they might bringing the world together but I think that if it wasn't for sites like that I would have six hour shows by now, and would have written three best selling novels and one crap one no one liked that would have taught me not write a detective story about badgers with hats ever again. Although more likely than this, I would have just found something else to distract me with. I wonder how people procrastinated in medieval times? No internet, xbox or daytime TV. I can't imagine a monk beginning to scribe an important text before suddenly deciding he'd better do some ploughing first. Maybe that was why they used to get stuff done. Whatever you tried to procrastinate with was always just as tedious and dull as what you were doing in the first place.
I would like to think that if the internet had been invented many many years ago that lots of other things wouldn't have been invented. Of course I suppose that would make the internet much more dull than it is now as you wouldn't be able to buy half as much if it wasn't there and then ultimately people would get bored of surfing the net and invent stuff as a means of something else to do. I always wonder if the inventor of the internet knew that while creating something truly amazing he was ultimately destroying so many possible great things. I can blame a lot on him. It would be easy to say that I wouldn't have done all those amazing things had the internet not existed but it does so I will blame him. Its like all those fat people that tried to sue McDonalds. If McDonalds hadn't been there in the first place those people would probably still be fat. Or starving and bizarrely as malnutritioned as they would be had they only been eating McDonalds.
The things I have to do today are:
1) My frikkin' Edinburgh show. I have a preview next week and really really need to work on it so its not exactly the same as it was last time and will now include my telephone gag. However, I know its a week away and so I have conned myself into not worrying about it. Now, instead, I am worrying about not worrying about it. I think I have serious issues.
2) Sponsorship. I still don't have any and to make it worse I received three emails in my inbox this morning from companies telling me they don't sponsor comedy or individual tours. I can't work out why not. Comedy is a brilliant thing to sponsor. Especially when the comedian spends the first five minutes criticising all the logos on their posters and how they hate whatever drink it is that sponsors them and how the company kills babies. Why wouldn't you want to promote that? Oh wait....
3) Something I can't tell you about. But I will. So just wait. You're so bloody impatient.
4) I'm helping with the Comedy 4 Kids workshop tomorrow. I have to invent a few games for them to play. I'm wondering if 'knife juggling' and 'putting your head in a fire while the teacher has a snooze' are allowed.
5) An actual gig. I have to be in Chesham tonight. I should probably do some jokes while I'm there. Of course I could not do any jokes which would lower the bar for all the other acts and then they will have a great gig. I'm very unselfish like that.
6) The washing up. I have been holding it off for several days but there is now a smell emanating from the sink that if I don't deal with it soon will require a hazmet team to come and take it away. I'm genuinely scared something has died in there.
Right must get on with all this stuff. Although someone new has just followed me on Twitter and then I'd better Tweet that I have blogged and then should probably check Facebook too. I'm so not getting anything done today.
I would like to think that if the internet had been invented many many years ago that lots of other things wouldn't have been invented. Of course I suppose that would make the internet much more dull than it is now as you wouldn't be able to buy half as much if it wasn't there and then ultimately people would get bored of surfing the net and invent stuff as a means of something else to do. I always wonder if the inventor of the internet knew that while creating something truly amazing he was ultimately destroying so many possible great things. I can blame a lot on him. It would be easy to say that I wouldn't have done all those amazing things had the internet not existed but it does so I will blame him. Its like all those fat people that tried to sue McDonalds. If McDonalds hadn't been there in the first place those people would probably still be fat. Or starving and bizarrely as malnutritioned as they would be had they only been eating McDonalds.
The things I have to do today are:
1) My frikkin' Edinburgh show. I have a preview next week and really really need to work on it so its not exactly the same as it was last time and will now include my telephone gag. However, I know its a week away and so I have conned myself into not worrying about it. Now, instead, I am worrying about not worrying about it. I think I have serious issues.
2) Sponsorship. I still don't have any and to make it worse I received three emails in my inbox this morning from companies telling me they don't sponsor comedy or individual tours. I can't work out why not. Comedy is a brilliant thing to sponsor. Especially when the comedian spends the first five minutes criticising all the logos on their posters and how they hate whatever drink it is that sponsors them and how the company kills babies. Why wouldn't you want to promote that? Oh wait....
3) Something I can't tell you about. But I will. So just wait. You're so bloody impatient.
4) I'm helping with the Comedy 4 Kids workshop tomorrow. I have to invent a few games for them to play. I'm wondering if 'knife juggling' and 'putting your head in a fire while the teacher has a snooze' are allowed.
5) An actual gig. I have to be in Chesham tonight. I should probably do some jokes while I'm there. Of course I could not do any jokes which would lower the bar for all the other acts and then they will have a great gig. I'm very unselfish like that.
6) The washing up. I have been holding it off for several days but there is now a smell emanating from the sink that if I don't deal with it soon will require a hazmet team to come and take it away. I'm genuinely scared something has died in there.
Right must get on with all this stuff. Although someone new has just followed me on Twitter and then I'd better Tweet that I have blogged and then should probably check Facebook too. I'm so not getting anything done today.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Night of the Dead Living
God its horrible when it rains isn't it? Its not so bad, when its rains for a few months. Then you get used to the backs of your jeans getting soaking and your jacket smelling a bit like you've put a wash on and not hung it out for 7 years. Then when rains for longer than a few months it gets really depressing, much like last year when it seemed to rain all 365 days and people started to build arcs. If then in continues past that people get less depressed again as we all start to evolve to grow gills and do well at swimming in the Olympics. Then we all remember how shit Waterworld was and get depressed again. But most depressing of all is when it was NICE AND SUNNY AND HOT YESTERDAY and then the weather decides that was our summer and gets all rainy again. It's almost as though the climate has shown us there is some hope we won't all get rickets and then at the last minute has realised we don't deserve it for spraying all the CO2's at it and so we get more rain. I don't like it. Not one bit. Although I did just walk to the bank during 'lunch hour' and it was empty so maybe its not that bad.
Last night was even more depressing than the rain. It was my first of two trips to Coventry this week. I'm not sure what I've done to deserve this, but I've obviously annoyed someone somewhere along the line. The gig last night was a gig I had done before about a year and half ago and had fond memories of it being nice. Conveniently, Tiffany Stevenson was doing a gig 15 minutes away so we could share the lift which was a bonus and we had a top journey up where we complained about all the wrong things in the comedy world. It turns out there are many of them, or at least enough to last a journey there and back. We worked out several solutions to things and it all involves all other comedy people dying and then me and her getting all the work. I'm not sure how likely this is to happen, but there's no harm in trying. Oh wait, there is. I dropped her off at her nice gig in a little pub in Nuneaton run by Jim Smallman, and where Russell Howard was making a surprise appearance, then I drove off to my gig, which I assumed would nice in its own, less nice, Coventry based, way.
Saying it wasn't nice is an understatement. Its also an overstatement. It wasn't really anything. I'm not sure if it was post Easter weekend, or just because they live in Coventry, but the entire audience seemed dead inside. Now before I blame it entirely on them, which I will, I'll be honest and say I felt a tad rusty. Again rusty is probably an understatement. It was more like some sort of metallic fungal disease that had rotted away my entire comedy mind. I'd only had 6 nights off, but those nights off had included some sleeping, boozing and reading strange messages from French people, and my brain had relaxed a little too much. So when I stepped onto the stage to whip the audience into a frenzy, I was probably a bit more lacklustre than usual. However this was not helped by the zombies' inability to respond to any queries with anything more than a grunt or at best a one-word answer. They refused to partake in banter, they refused to whoop and cheer for the acts and everything was responded to with a quiet and tentative applause as though they were watching something as tedious as a bowls tournament. The tragedy was that most of them had very interesting jobs, where there would have been a lot of fun to be had, had they wanted to have any fun ever. One was a lecturer in Animal Care, who had a pet skunk, one was a juvenile rehabilitator, one man sold classic Jags but did not own a jag himself, one lady lived in Turkey and got angry when I criticised Coventry canal, and one guy was a gas man. That there would normally be a comedy goldmine, but it wasn't last night. All responses would have been the same whatever anyone did, they were dead inside. I was starting to think they, like Ulyssess 31's family and friends, had been suspended and frozen in time as a punishment by the gods.
But just when all hope had been lost, a couple in the front started talking too much. The man decided he wanted to partake in the show and decided to respond to every question I had for him with lecture like answers and blab away thinking he was funny, but failing miserably. Meanwhile his wife got drunk on two glasses of wine and piped up loads as well. A whole room of people that didn't want to talk, and then right at the front two people that talked too much and irritated the hell out of me. If there had been a way to blend them all together, using the couple as the few drops of Tabasco in a vegetable juice, I would have done it. In fact, I think I'd just like to have put them all in a blender. Screw the gig, lets blend idiots.
All the acts trundled through as best as they could and the crowd eventually started to wake up a bit. Oddly as the dead people arose, the couple at the front got quieter and quieter until the drunk wife actually fell asleep. In the front row. There is nothing to make you feel quite as unwanted as a women who cares and enjoys the gig so little that she passes out. Her husband, rather than take her home, left her asleep on his lap and stayed at the front. Every comic commented on it, everyone else in the already miserable crowd frowned upon it, and the husband didn't care a bit. I love people. Such considerate lovely creatures we all are. The final act was meant to finish on a musical number but gave up, called the sleeping woman's husband a c*nt, and walked off. I gave him the biggest round of applause for the evening.
I picked up Tiff from her lovely, fun and enjoyable gig with a fully awake crowd and we drove back complaining about sleeping idiots and who should be killed first. I haven't got a gig tonight, normally this would annoy me, but after last night I'm quite happy to leave it another day. Hopefully this will give the public slightly more opportunity to wake up. If not, I am going to start to take adrenaline shots to gigs and stab the front row with them just before I walk on stage. If nothing else, watching them spasm will make it fun for me.
Last night was even more depressing than the rain. It was my first of two trips to Coventry this week. I'm not sure what I've done to deserve this, but I've obviously annoyed someone somewhere along the line. The gig last night was a gig I had done before about a year and half ago and had fond memories of it being nice. Conveniently, Tiffany Stevenson was doing a gig 15 minutes away so we could share the lift which was a bonus and we had a top journey up where we complained about all the wrong things in the comedy world. It turns out there are many of them, or at least enough to last a journey there and back. We worked out several solutions to things and it all involves all other comedy people dying and then me and her getting all the work. I'm not sure how likely this is to happen, but there's no harm in trying. Oh wait, there is. I dropped her off at her nice gig in a little pub in Nuneaton run by Jim Smallman, and where Russell Howard was making a surprise appearance, then I drove off to my gig, which I assumed would nice in its own, less nice, Coventry based, way.
Saying it wasn't nice is an understatement. Its also an overstatement. It wasn't really anything. I'm not sure if it was post Easter weekend, or just because they live in Coventry, but the entire audience seemed dead inside. Now before I blame it entirely on them, which I will, I'll be honest and say I felt a tad rusty. Again rusty is probably an understatement. It was more like some sort of metallic fungal disease that had rotted away my entire comedy mind. I'd only had 6 nights off, but those nights off had included some sleeping, boozing and reading strange messages from French people, and my brain had relaxed a little too much. So when I stepped onto the stage to whip the audience into a frenzy, I was probably a bit more lacklustre than usual. However this was not helped by the zombies' inability to respond to any queries with anything more than a grunt or at best a one-word answer. They refused to partake in banter, they refused to whoop and cheer for the acts and everything was responded to with a quiet and tentative applause as though they were watching something as tedious as a bowls tournament. The tragedy was that most of them had very interesting jobs, where there would have been a lot of fun to be had, had they wanted to have any fun ever. One was a lecturer in Animal Care, who had a pet skunk, one was a juvenile rehabilitator, one man sold classic Jags but did not own a jag himself, one lady lived in Turkey and got angry when I criticised Coventry canal, and one guy was a gas man. That there would normally be a comedy goldmine, but it wasn't last night. All responses would have been the same whatever anyone did, they were dead inside. I was starting to think they, like Ulyssess 31's family and friends, had been suspended and frozen in time as a punishment by the gods.
But just when all hope had been lost, a couple in the front started talking too much. The man decided he wanted to partake in the show and decided to respond to every question I had for him with lecture like answers and blab away thinking he was funny, but failing miserably. Meanwhile his wife got drunk on two glasses of wine and piped up loads as well. A whole room of people that didn't want to talk, and then right at the front two people that talked too much and irritated the hell out of me. If there had been a way to blend them all together, using the couple as the few drops of Tabasco in a vegetable juice, I would have done it. In fact, I think I'd just like to have put them all in a blender. Screw the gig, lets blend idiots.
All the acts trundled through as best as they could and the crowd eventually started to wake up a bit. Oddly as the dead people arose, the couple at the front got quieter and quieter until the drunk wife actually fell asleep. In the front row. There is nothing to make you feel quite as unwanted as a women who cares and enjoys the gig so little that she passes out. Her husband, rather than take her home, left her asleep on his lap and stayed at the front. Every comic commented on it, everyone else in the already miserable crowd frowned upon it, and the husband didn't care a bit. I love people. Such considerate lovely creatures we all are. The final act was meant to finish on a musical number but gave up, called the sleeping woman's husband a c*nt, and walked off. I gave him the biggest round of applause for the evening.
I picked up Tiff from her lovely, fun and enjoyable gig with a fully awake crowd and we drove back complaining about sleeping idiots and who should be killed first. I haven't got a gig tonight, normally this would annoy me, but after last night I'm quite happy to leave it another day. Hopefully this will give the public slightly more opportunity to wake up. If not, I am going to start to take adrenaline shots to gigs and stab the front row with them just before I walk on stage. If nothing else, watching them spasm will make it fun for me.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Can't Speak French
I made what I believe to be an unfortunate decision when I was in Year 8 of secondary school. I had weighed up the odds: Choose French and deal with scary but slighty sexy Madame Law, or choose German and get the very nice teacher Miss Gibson. Scary overrode sexy when it came to Madame Law. The knee high boots, short skirts and French accent were only so much of a incentive when it was counteracted by the shouting, the detentions and lack of tolerance for slowness to learn French. And so I chose German, a language that is shouty and has brilliantly hilarious words such as pferd and kunst. Both of these were funny all the way through to GCSE. However after making my choice, within 6 months our lovely German teacher had left the school for maternity leave and so had scary Madame Law. Instead us German learners got a pale shade of Miss Gibson who liked shouting at everyone for no real reason and whenever someone did something wrong ie throw a large ball of paper at her stupid shouty head, she would turn around point her finger at whoever she thought was the guilty party and say very dramatically 'The Finger of Suspicion Points At You!'. She was a dick. Meanwhile Madame law's replacement was a lovely, cheery teacher that everyone liked and spent the next few years enjoying learning one of the sexiest languages in the world. I however spent that time hating my choice while still sniggering at the word kunst.
For me, not choosing French was doubly stupid as I have a whole load of family in France. Loads of them. There are a vast number of Douieb's in Paris as well as other areas of Northern France and North Africa. And I haven't met any of them. Well thats not true. I've met one, called Gilbert, who has hands the size of my face. He was a huge gent, with a kindly nature. Well at least I think he had a kindly nature, I couldn't actually understand anything he said. Translated he might have been calling me a sniveling little cockface, but if he was he said it with a nice big smile and friendly gestures. I'd love to be able to chat to them all and not just so I have somewhere free to stay in France or could get sent nice cheese, but also because they seem fascinating. One of them is a doctor and a Krav Maga expert, one does comedy in France which is ace, and two are Scientologists, so I could tell them what utter fucking idiots they are and disown them using the right masculine or feminine nouns.
One of them just tried to get in contact with me on Facebook. I'm not sure if he's a direct relative or in anyway related, but he's a Douieb and seems excitingly eccentric. He looks a bit like a bear and wears a hat so I'm sure he is related. So far he has sent me one long message in French which I didn't understand, and so he has made some attempts to write to me in English all of which have provided brilliant sentences that make little sense. For example:
IF THERE IS A POSSIBILTY YOU CAN LISTEN TO A HORSE STEP. BUT IF HE WILL NEVER BE BACH NOTHING.
I have no idea what that means. Is it to do with his incredibly high judgement of the rhythm of horse? Perhaps he is criticising this horse because he once knew a horse that did sound like Bach? If only I spoke French we could actually chat and understand what he really means. Here's another brilliant one:
THREW THRE IS A LOT OF MONEY IN THE (POZO) A HOLE OF WATER. (PUITS IN FRENCH) OF ALL DOUIEBS IN THE WORLD. SOA SK FOR YOURS.
Just no idea. No idea what that means at all. If I knew French I would either be able to work it out or at least know if he is just a mentallist. I will respond later and maybe put in some phrases that don't make sense to see what happens. Things like 'A tortoise dances, but if you watch his dancing he will never be Michael Flately.' See how he deals with that. Of course I could just learn French but then it might stop being fun. Also I am very good at pointing and shouting at things when I go there just to make them all sigh and think I am an English pig.
Back to gigging tonight in lovely (sic) Coventry. I have to be in Coventry tonight and then again on Saturday, but not Coventry in-between. This means two separate trips to Coventry within a few days of each other. Thats at least 100 unnecessary miles of driving when I could be watching the Wire. I love my life.
For me, not choosing French was doubly stupid as I have a whole load of family in France. Loads of them. There are a vast number of Douieb's in Paris as well as other areas of Northern France and North Africa. And I haven't met any of them. Well thats not true. I've met one, called Gilbert, who has hands the size of my face. He was a huge gent, with a kindly nature. Well at least I think he had a kindly nature, I couldn't actually understand anything he said. Translated he might have been calling me a sniveling little cockface, but if he was he said it with a nice big smile and friendly gestures. I'd love to be able to chat to them all and not just so I have somewhere free to stay in France or could get sent nice cheese, but also because they seem fascinating. One of them is a doctor and a Krav Maga expert, one does comedy in France which is ace, and two are Scientologists, so I could tell them what utter fucking idiots they are and disown them using the right masculine or feminine nouns.
One of them just tried to get in contact with me on Facebook. I'm not sure if he's a direct relative or in anyway related, but he's a Douieb and seems excitingly eccentric. He looks a bit like a bear and wears a hat so I'm sure he is related. So far he has sent me one long message in French which I didn't understand, and so he has made some attempts to write to me in English all of which have provided brilliant sentences that make little sense. For example:
IF THERE IS A POSSIBILTY YOU CAN LISTEN TO A HORSE STEP. BUT IF HE WILL NEVER BE BACH NOTHING.
I have no idea what that means. Is it to do with his incredibly high judgement of the rhythm of horse? Perhaps he is criticising this horse because he once knew a horse that did sound like Bach? If only I spoke French we could actually chat and understand what he really means. Here's another brilliant one:
THREW THRE IS A LOT OF MONEY IN THE (POZO) A HOLE OF WATER. (PUITS IN FRENCH) OF ALL DOUIEBS IN THE WORLD. SOA SK FOR YOURS.
Just no idea. No idea what that means at all. If I knew French I would either be able to work it out or at least know if he is just a mentallist. I will respond later and maybe put in some phrases that don't make sense to see what happens. Things like 'A tortoise dances, but if you watch his dancing he will never be Michael Flately.' See how he deals with that. Of course I could just learn French but then it might stop being fun. Also I am very good at pointing and shouting at things when I go there just to make them all sigh and think I am an English pig.
Back to gigging tonight in lovely (sic) Coventry. I have to be in Coventry tonight and then again on Saturday, but not Coventry in-between. This means two separate trips to Coventry within a few days of each other. Thats at least 100 unnecessary miles of driving when I could be watching the Wire. I love my life.
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