IT'S CHRISTMAS EVE! I typed that as though I was excited. I am a bit, but not loads mostly on account of being over 10 years old. Its also because I got given a present from Santa early yesterday. It was a massive spot on my forehead, bright red like a burning beacon to herald others through the snow. I wonder if its a sign that perhaps he wants me to be the new Rudolph? Although the thought of a man chained to a sleigh is more S+M than Santa Claus, and I cant say I entertain the thought of staying up all night and working on Xmas Day much. What the spot probably is, is some sort of penance for eating like its Christmas Day too early. Last night myself and Layla indulged in a bowl of pasta so big that had it been thrown at a child that child would've been covered in pasta. Admittedly, if you threw almost any size bowl of pasta at a child they'd get covered in it, so its not a good analogy. Instead, imagine a bowl of pasta. Now make it bigger. Bigger than that. Bigger than that. No wait, back one. Now put cheese on it. I assume you start at exactly the same bowl of pasta as I had and you should get there. If you eat pasta out of a mug or something then it won't work. It will also be evidence that everything you do is wrong. The pasta was so big that we only worked through the first half of LOTR: The Two Towers (extended edition, we aren't that weak) before both of us fell asleep before midnight. I know. I know. I haven't crashed out that early for many years and it was brilliant. You could say I was pastasleep. Ha! Ha ha! Oh god.
As its the big day tomorrow - in that I will eat so much food I will physically grow bigger - today's blog shall merely be a small playlist for your listening pleasure during tomorrow's mayhem. It is highly possible that your family have no taste and will insist on playing jingly music that makes your mind want to claw its way through your eyes and throw itself at your dad. And no one wants that during lunch. My family are fairly good with mostly festive classical things, followed by whatever me and my brother wrangle onto the stereo. However, on Boxing Day we are heading to Layla's family and no doubt her nieces and nephews will insist on some serious dross. So to avoid all aural distress try this for a playlist. Some tracks you can download because its Christmas so nothing is illegal:
T's Christmas Playlist:
1. Go Power At Christmas - James Brown
2. Everything Is One Big Christmas Time - The Magnetic Fields
3. Hey Guys! Its Christmas Time! - Sufjan Stevens
4. White Christmas - Esquivel
5. Santa Claus - The Sonics
6. Christmas In Hollis - Run DMC
7. Christmas Rappin' - Kurtis Blow
8. Santa Claus Go Straight To The Ghetto - James Brown
9. Getting Down For Xmas - Milly & Silly
10. A Hazy Shade Of Winter - Simon & Garfunkel
11. Calling On Mary - Aimee Mann
12. Winter In America - Gill Scott Heron & Brian Jackson
13. Frosty the Snowman - Fiona Apple
14. White Winter Hymnal - Fleet Foxes
15. Christmas Eve - Gorky's Zygotic Mynci
16. The Blizzard - Camera Obscura
17. Silent Night - Tom Waits
18. Fairytale In New York - Florence and the Machine & Billy Bragg
19. The Last of The Melting Snow - Leisure Society
20. Hallelujah - Jeff Buckley
Have it : http://www.zshare.net/download/70316548719ed548/
Enjoy! And if you don't then here is a bonus track for you miserable bastards. (Also one of my favourite Christmas tracks ever)
Have it in your Christmas Face: http://www.zshare.net/download/703157512d501097/
One track I didn't put on there is Tim Minchin's awesome 'White Wine In The Sun' but I think you should have to pay for that one via iTunes so there.
Blogs over the next few days will be minimal as I will be in a Xmasified stupour. They will be there though so do check once you've got hugely sick of your family. MERRY BLOODY CHRISTMAS EVE!
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Curiously Cinnamon
I've just finished all my Christmas shopping. It should have been finished yesterday but there was one person to buy for who was difficult. There is always one. Every year I nail all the present buying in a single shop based movement, only for one awkward individual to step up to system and catch me off guard in the world of retail purchasing. Well fuck you, difficult person. You got served. I found your pressies in a 25 minute journey to Covent Garden. On tube, off tube, buy gift, on tube, off tube, home. SLAM! Frikkin SLAM! Next year if you even try that shit you are getting nothing from me. NOTHING! So on my big tick list of Christmas things which isn't really that big, most things are done. Presents - conquered, food shop - slammed in its stupid face. Seriously, we bought most of Sainsbury's yesterday. Using the age old excuse of 'well it's Christmas isn't it?' I bought all the cheese, all the wine, random things that come in small pots and taste nice, and a bottle of fake Baileys. The fake Baileys is an essential for this time of year. I don't particularly love Baileys and I constantly learn year after year, only to then forget again, that if I mix it with beer/wine/anything ever I get sick. But still, that sickness must be put aside, because no other boozy drink tastes like supping from the teet of an alcoholic cow, and what could be more festive than that?
I found two things at the supermarket that you need to know about. FACT.
1)
This must be the most boring piece of Star Wars memorabilia ever.
2)
There are many things wrong with this. Firstly, anything that is meant to taste of cinnamon should not be 'curiously' cinnamon flavoured. It would be curious is despite all the cinnamon flavourings, general opinion was that it tasted of bacon. That would directly cause a level of curiosity from all those who indulge in its cinnamon squareness. If you are curious as to the cereals cinnamon taste I would perhaps put it to you that you are startled or bewildered by many things being as they are and I would perhaps also suggest you shouldn't be allowed out on your own. The second very wrong thing is the notion that it has an 'indescribable taste', despite having already explained it is 'curiously cinnamon'. Being hugely pernickety, I would also say that the word 'indescribable' is a description. I would also worry that so far the cinnamon taste is only curious and no one can really describe it, which rather puts me off eating them and is pretty poor promotion to someone like me who would like a definitely cinnamon tasting cereal. Then, just when you think they can't take logical food definition and lay a fat one on it any further, they then use the term 'New Bonkers Taste'. I'll be honest, that caused me to buy them. I haven't yet had a bowl, but if the taste is not remotely in the same ball park as 'bonkers', if it doesn't hinge on the complete and utter unbelievable insanity that that tagline states, I will be writing some stern letters of rage. I am expecting full blown, all out bonkers. I want to eat it and for my mouth to spak out in all proportions and for it to taste of pink elephant turd and fairy faces. Proper bonkers. I'm waiting for a sensible time to do this just incase it is truly bonkers and I have to write off a day. If it is also, as 'bonkers' as they say, I will allow the comments on 'indescribable' (despite now also describing it as bonkers) and 'curiously'. I will also forgive them for changing the name from Golden Grahams, a name which also used to upset me on account of them neither being golden, made of gold or have anything to do with any Grahams I knew.
Anyway enough of that. Its festive and being festive I have to spend today cleaning up. I don't see why. Jesus was born in a barn. I bet it stank of horse shit. Our flat smelling a bit like dust and gone off food is almost a tribute. Layla disagrees with this. She also didn't want me putting a donkey in the garden or getting three wise men to hang around outside our house for a few days. So today is cleaning day and the longer I make this blog, the more it delays me starting, so I'm very tempted to type until my fingers bleed. This will cause unfestive rows though and so instead I will merely leave you with my favourite few Christmas Cracker jokes to get you through the day. I wrote the first one last night and its made some people in Israel think I have mental health issues. So I wrote more too. Enjoy:
Fave Christmas Cracker Joke Number 1:
A cream cracker walks into a bar on Christmas Day. No one eats him. It is Christmas so no one is there. If it was any other day then someone would've eaten him as the human race is yet to understand the sentient nature of savoury snacks. It is not realised that everytime a cracker is eaten, in a distant galaxy where they are the top of the food chain and eat cheese on people, a small ritz cries, knowing he has lost a parent or friend. 'Phew' said the cracker 'thank god for baby Jesus'. As he walked across the empty establishment, a dangerously leaning ashtray fell off a tabletop and crushed him underneath reducing him to mere fragments. Gutted.
Fave Christmas Cracker Joke Number 2:
A cracker from Texas has Christmas at his caravan. He doesn't understand Christmas and so decides to shoot all the presents he has been given. Luckily they are all empty cans sitting on a wall and that was what he was meant to do with them. Everyone is happy and has a lovely day. Except for his brother who was putting the cans out and is now dead.
Fave Christmas Cracker Joke Number 3:
Robbie Coltrane spent Christmas day in character as the the famous criminal psychologist from the ITV series. It rather upset his family when he suspected several of them of murder, drank all the booze and then demanded to be witness to the autopsy of his nephew who was not dead.
Fave Christmas Krakatoa Joke:
Best gift to buy someone on Krakatoa for Christmas 1883 - A large ashtray.
Fave Christmas Kraken Joke:
Q: How much is that Kraken?
A: 20 squid.
Please use those wisely. And if you can't then just shout them at strangers.
My website has some new things on it. Have a look: www.tiernandouieb.co.uk
BYE!
I found two things at the supermarket that you need to know about. FACT.
1)
This must be the most boring piece of Star Wars memorabilia ever.
2)
There are many things wrong with this. Firstly, anything that is meant to taste of cinnamon should not be 'curiously' cinnamon flavoured. It would be curious is despite all the cinnamon flavourings, general opinion was that it tasted of bacon. That would directly cause a level of curiosity from all those who indulge in its cinnamon squareness. If you are curious as to the cereals cinnamon taste I would perhaps put it to you that you are startled or bewildered by many things being as they are and I would perhaps also suggest you shouldn't be allowed out on your own. The second very wrong thing is the notion that it has an 'indescribable taste', despite having already explained it is 'curiously cinnamon'. Being hugely pernickety, I would also say that the word 'indescribable' is a description. I would also worry that so far the cinnamon taste is only curious and no one can really describe it, which rather puts me off eating them and is pretty poor promotion to someone like me who would like a definitely cinnamon tasting cereal. Then, just when you think they can't take logical food definition and lay a fat one on it any further, they then use the term 'New Bonkers Taste'. I'll be honest, that caused me to buy them. I haven't yet had a bowl, but if the taste is not remotely in the same ball park as 'bonkers', if it doesn't hinge on the complete and utter unbelievable insanity that that tagline states, I will be writing some stern letters of rage. I am expecting full blown, all out bonkers. I want to eat it and for my mouth to spak out in all proportions and for it to taste of pink elephant turd and fairy faces. Proper bonkers. I'm waiting for a sensible time to do this just incase it is truly bonkers and I have to write off a day. If it is also, as 'bonkers' as they say, I will allow the comments on 'indescribable' (despite now also describing it as bonkers) and 'curiously'. I will also forgive them for changing the name from Golden Grahams, a name which also used to upset me on account of them neither being golden, made of gold or have anything to do with any Grahams I knew.
Anyway enough of that. Its festive and being festive I have to spend today cleaning up. I don't see why. Jesus was born in a barn. I bet it stank of horse shit. Our flat smelling a bit like dust and gone off food is almost a tribute. Layla disagrees with this. She also didn't want me putting a donkey in the garden or getting three wise men to hang around outside our house for a few days. So today is cleaning day and the longer I make this blog, the more it delays me starting, so I'm very tempted to type until my fingers bleed. This will cause unfestive rows though and so instead I will merely leave you with my favourite few Christmas Cracker jokes to get you through the day. I wrote the first one last night and its made some people in Israel think I have mental health issues. So I wrote more too. Enjoy:
Fave Christmas Cracker Joke Number 1:
A cream cracker walks into a bar on Christmas Day. No one eats him. It is Christmas so no one is there. If it was any other day then someone would've eaten him as the human race is yet to understand the sentient nature of savoury snacks. It is not realised that everytime a cracker is eaten, in a distant galaxy where they are the top of the food chain and eat cheese on people, a small ritz cries, knowing he has lost a parent or friend. 'Phew' said the cracker 'thank god for baby Jesus'. As he walked across the empty establishment, a dangerously leaning ashtray fell off a tabletop and crushed him underneath reducing him to mere fragments. Gutted.
Fave Christmas Cracker Joke Number 2:
A cracker from Texas has Christmas at his caravan. He doesn't understand Christmas and so decides to shoot all the presents he has been given. Luckily they are all empty cans sitting on a wall and that was what he was meant to do with them. Everyone is happy and has a lovely day. Except for his brother who was putting the cans out and is now dead.
Fave Christmas Cracker Joke Number 3:
Robbie Coltrane spent Christmas day in character as the the famous criminal psychologist from the ITV series. It rather upset his family when he suspected several of them of murder, drank all the booze and then demanded to be witness to the autopsy of his nephew who was not dead.
Fave Christmas Krakatoa Joke:
Best gift to buy someone on Krakatoa for Christmas 1883 - A large ashtray.
Fave Christmas Kraken Joke:
Q: How much is that Kraken?
A: 20 squid.
Please use those wisely. And if you can't then just shout them at strangers.
My website has some new things on it. Have a look: www.tiernandouieb.co.uk
BYE!
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Shop Til Everyone Else Drops
Today is the day I've been dreading for a long time. I knew it was coming and its been looming all year. Today, friends, I step forth and head to Westfield shopping centre in an insane attempt to get everyone's Christmas presents. Thanks for you concerns. I feel there is nothing else I can do, and no one can do this for me. I just have to man up and head into the madding crowd. I still don't know what madding means. It doesn't even sound like it should be a word. Why isn't it maddening? Why would Thomas Hardy mess with words like that? Oh god, so many things to worry about. I'm trying to devise a plan. I've looked at the Westfield schematics and worked out what shops I need to be in and when. I've also looked at all emergency exits and escape routes should zombies attack, or more likely, I need to escape after punching someone to death for forgetting their pin number while in the queue infront of me. If there's time I'm also going to build a large suit of armour with a giant plough that attaches to the front so I can just scoop up dawdling idiots and throw them aside. I have a feeling this last bit may stop me being allowed into Westfield at all and so it could ruin the whole plan. What I need is a taser, or something small that will just make people keel over without effort or suspicion on my part. I've never actually been to Westfield before, but Layla assures me its a good idea. Oxford St is too snowy, slippy and even more full of twats. Islington is too posh and whilst great to buy someone an arty piece of worthless junk, its useless for anything anyone actually wants. So all in all, our only option is to head west.
I shouldn't have left it this late, but I have only just been paid for things, so it had to happen. I attempted some yesterday before Old Rope, but I was thwarted by the blizzard. I have decided that any snow I was in was a blizzard. This is hugely double standards as whatever snow anyone else was in, that they couldn't get out from or made them unable to travel, was just light snow. By saying this it makes me look like a weather explorer, a snow defeater and it makes everyone else look just a bit crap. I will continue to over emphasise weather conditions like this in order to boost my self esteem. The only problem with this is that if I am to ever encounter actual extreme weather I will have to state that its the end of the world to make people believe I was actually in any danger. Actually to be fair, if I ever encounter any extreme weather I'll probably not survive so that solves that problem. Lots of people had problems getting to Old Rope last night. Not the audience, they were all there, but the acts. They weren't. For a while it was only myself and Matt Kirshen and I was wondering if we both needed to preview a wholly improvised new hour of stand up each. Luckily this was not the case and instead I did some new which didn't work, some old which didn't work, and I thought up one new gag on the spot which did work. That was annoying. The night was much fun overall and topped off by a great song about a Jesus hat from Nick Doody and an excellent set from an exhausted and ill but brilliant Robin Ince. I am now all finished gigwise and everytime I say that I feel like doing a small no gig jig. This feeling will last about 3 days until I feel gig withdrawals and then panic about money.
No more words from me. I must head forth and deal with the most evil of beasts, the Christmas crowd. I have just seen on Twitter that Nick Frost is there too. I may take my cricket bat and hope for some sort of Shaun of the Dead re-enactment.
...bash 'em in the head. That seems to work....
I shouldn't have left it this late, but I have only just been paid for things, so it had to happen. I attempted some yesterday before Old Rope, but I was thwarted by the blizzard. I have decided that any snow I was in was a blizzard. This is hugely double standards as whatever snow anyone else was in, that they couldn't get out from or made them unable to travel, was just light snow. By saying this it makes me look like a weather explorer, a snow defeater and it makes everyone else look just a bit crap. I will continue to over emphasise weather conditions like this in order to boost my self esteem. The only problem with this is that if I am to ever encounter actual extreme weather I will have to state that its the end of the world to make people believe I was actually in any danger. Actually to be fair, if I ever encounter any extreme weather I'll probably not survive so that solves that problem. Lots of people had problems getting to Old Rope last night. Not the audience, they were all there, but the acts. They weren't. For a while it was only myself and Matt Kirshen and I was wondering if we both needed to preview a wholly improvised new hour of stand up each. Luckily this was not the case and instead I did some new which didn't work, some old which didn't work, and I thought up one new gag on the spot which did work. That was annoying. The night was much fun overall and topped off by a great song about a Jesus hat from Nick Doody and an excellent set from an exhausted and ill but brilliant Robin Ince. I am now all finished gigwise and everytime I say that I feel like doing a small no gig jig. This feeling will last about 3 days until I feel gig withdrawals and then panic about money.
No more words from me. I must head forth and deal with the most evil of beasts, the Christmas crowd. I have just seen on Twitter that Nick Frost is there too. I may take my cricket bat and hope for some sort of Shaun of the Dead re-enactment.
...bash 'em in the head. That seems to work....
Monday, December 21, 2009
Shaking A Fist Mildly at the Machines
In the car on the way back from a lovely afternoon gig of fun at Christmas Huzzah in the Red Gate Gallery, myself, Sarah Benetto, James Dowdeswell and Tom Bell had turned Radio 1 up to full volume eagerly waiting to hear just who was Christmas number 1 this year. Its not something I'd ever particularly cared about before and its probably nothing I will ever particularly care about again, but as they declared Joe X-Factor bloke to be number 2, the car went a bit crazy. Not the actual car, as though it was a transformer with its only purpose in life to be interested in the sales of music, that would be odd. No, I mean all of us, did a big cheer and a loud laugh and Tom Bell declared it to be our 'Obama moment'. While I wouldn't put it anywhere near the scale of such things, I was really really pleased. Before I spend time batting away the dissenters, here's my reasons for happiness about it all:
1) I bloody love that track.
2) All Christmas hits compilations from now on will be awesome purely because I'd love to be at a do where they play one and 'White Christmas' seamlessly blends into Zach De La Roche saying 'fuck'
3) It shows that when people can be bothered they can all pull together for a specific cause. Its a shame this sort of mentality doesn't occur with political movements. I can only hope that this will make people realise its worth banding together for a worthy cause. Unfortunately most worthy causes won't annoy a man who is tabloid wallpaper, nor be dealt with by clicking once on iTunes and thats why I reckon this is probably not the start of revolution. Still, its nice to dream.
4) It was the most downloaded single ever, which means we are now in the future. This will also confuse any Luddites who got excited that the track was by people who like smashing machines, but also needed a machine to download such things. Hooray for confused Luddites.
5) They do swears which means most radio stations cant play the whole track. This makes me giggle a bit like a naughty child. Tee hee hee.
6) It means Rage will come over here next year to gig. This means I might get to see them live and can tick them off the list of people I really really want to see live. Then I'd only have Tom Waits, Jimi Hendrix, Jeff Buckley, the Wu-Tang Clan circa 1995 and Nick Drake left. I have a feeling that unless Tim Travel* is invented, I may never achieve this.
7) Rage have donated loads of money to charity. So have many of the people that bought the single. That's proper goodwill. I didn't though. I'm well poor.
Yes they might not all be the best reasons but here's to the dissenters that say its a bad thing or something that we are all making too much fuss about:
1) Joe Mcthingy Thingy didn't 'deserve number 1 more than anyone else in the world' as some woman on the radio texted in. I would argue there are far more people that deserve number one. Firstly there are all those who've released a song that they wrote, sung, performed all by themselves and isn't a big pile of dogshit. Secondly there are people that could do with the dosh more than Joe. There's a homeless man who often sits near Covent Garden playing a traffic cone like a trumpet. Personally I think he deserves number one more than Joe.
2) Yes the Rage track is 17 years old and perhaps it would have been nice to have a new track as a number one, but then again the Beatles got number one a few years back with a track that was over 40 years old and also no one recently has released anything decent. If its a choice between something old but good and something new that makes dogs and bats wail in despair, then I'll go for the former.
3) Yes Sony own both Joe and Rage so noone's the real winner except them. Well SyCo don't get any profits from Rage so thats good. Rage are also donating loads of their profits to Shelter, so I'd argue that Shelter win too. But also the victors are those people that wanted a change in the music charts. By standing together and stating that the general state of music was terrible and didnt reflect a large part of the population, I would say we won. I'm including me in the winning team there. Its rare that gets to happen, so I'm doing it. I'm sure had Jon and Tracy Mortor got to hand pick who was in the team I would be last against the wall with a boy who picks his own nose and eats it and the kid with a built up shoe.
I can't think of other arguments, but if you give them to me I will bat them away with a racket of reason. Or more likely I will put my fingers in my ears and sing 'lalalalalalal' until you go away. I like Rage Against the Machine so I'm probably hugely biased. For any non-big Rage fan, may I recommend KRS-ONE's 'Rapperz R N Dainja' Chain Me To The Gear Remix, which is by Tom Morello and massively angry. I also like the Zach De La Rocha and Roni Size collaboration 'The Centre of the Storm' and lastly the Rage cover of Cypress Hill's 'How Could I Just Kill A Man'. Listen to all those in succession and its likely you will have to punch things for a while or attempt to overthrow the government. Merry Christmas.
* please note Tim Travel is a more effective way of Time Travel in that you will travel specifically to an era, and arrive closest to the nearest or most relevant person called Tim.
1) I bloody love that track.
2) All Christmas hits compilations from now on will be awesome purely because I'd love to be at a do where they play one and 'White Christmas' seamlessly blends into Zach De La Roche saying 'fuck'
3) It shows that when people can be bothered they can all pull together for a specific cause. Its a shame this sort of mentality doesn't occur with political movements. I can only hope that this will make people realise its worth banding together for a worthy cause. Unfortunately most worthy causes won't annoy a man who is tabloid wallpaper, nor be dealt with by clicking once on iTunes and thats why I reckon this is probably not the start of revolution. Still, its nice to dream.
4) It was the most downloaded single ever, which means we are now in the future. This will also confuse any Luddites who got excited that the track was by people who like smashing machines, but also needed a machine to download such things. Hooray for confused Luddites.
5) They do swears which means most radio stations cant play the whole track. This makes me giggle a bit like a naughty child. Tee hee hee.
6) It means Rage will come over here next year to gig. This means I might get to see them live and can tick them off the list of people I really really want to see live. Then I'd only have Tom Waits, Jimi Hendrix, Jeff Buckley, the Wu-Tang Clan circa 1995 and Nick Drake left. I have a feeling that unless Tim Travel* is invented, I may never achieve this.
7) Rage have donated loads of money to charity. So have many of the people that bought the single. That's proper goodwill. I didn't though. I'm well poor.
Yes they might not all be the best reasons but here's to the dissenters that say its a bad thing or something that we are all making too much fuss about:
1) Joe Mcthingy Thingy didn't 'deserve number 1 more than anyone else in the world' as some woman on the radio texted in. I would argue there are far more people that deserve number one. Firstly there are all those who've released a song that they wrote, sung, performed all by themselves and isn't a big pile of dogshit. Secondly there are people that could do with the dosh more than Joe. There's a homeless man who often sits near Covent Garden playing a traffic cone like a trumpet. Personally I think he deserves number one more than Joe.
2) Yes the Rage track is 17 years old and perhaps it would have been nice to have a new track as a number one, but then again the Beatles got number one a few years back with a track that was over 40 years old and also no one recently has released anything decent. If its a choice between something old but good and something new that makes dogs and bats wail in despair, then I'll go for the former.
3) Yes Sony own both Joe and Rage so noone's the real winner except them. Well SyCo don't get any profits from Rage so thats good. Rage are also donating loads of their profits to Shelter, so I'd argue that Shelter win too. But also the victors are those people that wanted a change in the music charts. By standing together and stating that the general state of music was terrible and didnt reflect a large part of the population, I would say we won. I'm including me in the winning team there. Its rare that gets to happen, so I'm doing it. I'm sure had Jon and Tracy Mortor got to hand pick who was in the team I would be last against the wall with a boy who picks his own nose and eats it and the kid with a built up shoe.
I can't think of other arguments, but if you give them to me I will bat them away with a racket of reason. Or more likely I will put my fingers in my ears and sing 'lalalalalalal' until you go away. I like Rage Against the Machine so I'm probably hugely biased. For any non-big Rage fan, may I recommend KRS-ONE's 'Rapperz R N Dainja' Chain Me To The Gear Remix, which is by Tom Morello and massively angry. I also like the Zach De La Rocha and Roni Size collaboration 'The Centre of the Storm' and lastly the Rage cover of Cypress Hill's 'How Could I Just Kill A Man'. Listen to all those in succession and its likely you will have to punch things for a while or attempt to overthrow the government. Merry Christmas.
* please note Tim Travel is a more effective way of Time Travel in that you will travel specifically to an era, and arrive closest to the nearest or most relevant person called Tim.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Dog Beer and Bus Death
I'm sure its a case of having a vivid imagination but last night's journey home, and in fact most of the evening felt like a minor version of Final Destination. I like to persuade myself that by avoiding injury/insult/other things beginning with in, except insulin which I need, I build up that bad karma for later so it will come back and get me. Then if I make it through the entire day without dying that I am definitely the champion of things. Its a pretty good target to not die during a whole day. I think it puts me ahead of everyone who does die, but also means I achieve winner status on a daily basis so far. Last night, as I drove me and Carl Donnelly home through a maelstrom of winter weather hell, we tempted fate by speaking of the worst car crashes we'd seen, and times Carl had nearly killed himself through drunken idiocy. I don't have any of these times as when I'm drunk I tend to operate in a way that means I will avoid all deathly possibilities and instead aim to find somewhere to sleep. My interesting drunken stories mostly end in me trying to sleep in a skip/doorway/cupboard/nightclub/bit on a train where people keep their bags, which is no way as exciting as Carl's tales of nearly falling of the 7th story of a hotel. Anyway, this chat was happily had despite the snow pelting down and occasional road skidding in the slow lane as the fast and middle lanes were snow and slush respectively. I can't help but doing such things is tempting fate. Its pointing out to Sod that you are clearly there and that his law is bound to be inflicted at some point soon. Whilst I am, in most respects of the word, an atheist, I do truly believe that there might well be a deity called Sod, who spends his days in a warehouse in East London, clicking away on a computer that allows him to puncture a tyre there, get someone splashed by a passing car here, or fall down a manhole where ever possible. Despite these beliefs we defeated the snow and rather enjoyed driving through its oncoming frost. Once into London I dodged several arsey taxis and then as a coup de gras, was just three minutes from dropping Carl off, when I nearly killed us both by driving into a the path of an oncoming bus. I couldn't see out of the passenger window and as I edged out past a give way sign I asked Carl if he could see anything coming, and he made a very timely yelp of 'A Bus!' which caused me to brake just moments from getting ploughed down by an angry beeping bus driver. I was very grateful Carl noticed the bus, and angry that out of all the road vehicles that could have been approaching, I failed to notice the largest and most obvious. It was lazy and stupid and I've never been more pleased to get all the way home and not be dead. As I descended the small stone steps to my front door, I slipped on the last step and grabbed the handrail just in time to stop me having face and back ruin. Close but no cigar Sod. Close but no cigar.
The day up until that point had been nice but mostly uneventful. My last nightime gig pre-Xmas was nothing special and the crowd were, at most, adequate. They sat there. They laughed sometimes. Some were slight dicks. Nothing to hard to deal with, nothing too fun. In fact it was no way as interesting as earlier when I had stomped around pet shops with Layla's brother looking for a new rat cage for her nephew. After several failed attempts at big retail park pet shops such as Pets At Home, we stumbled across a little shop that smelt funny. Thats the way you know a pet shop is proper. The big shops were all clean, the staff knew nothing about animals and the shelves were mostly empty, but as we stepped into this little foul smelling, dark grotto of a building, it was obvious they kept animals. One of the staff spoke as though he had the mind of a six year old, but the body of a man, grunting out words in broken sentences. He was clearly the sort of bloke that spent more time talking to gerbils than people. They knew everything about rats and every other creature. I was tempted to spring an odd question on them about caring for a duck billed platypus, but I felt they would have batted it down with ease. They had whole shelves of 'spider water' which I assume is water for spiders and not water that has been pre-filtered by tiny arachnids in Buxton, and bags of blood worms which looked like a swimming collection of paper cuts. The one item that truly intrigued me though was the bottles of Dog Beer. They were proper glass bottles with a picture of an overly happy alsatian on the front, claiming that inside was special beer for dogs. This poses many questions. The first being who on earth decided that dogs might want beer? Not being a dog owner I don't know if they stare at owner's alcoholic beverages with a sense of want. Perhaps they do. But even so it can't be good for them can it? I know St Bernards wander round with a little barrel of rum but I didn't think it was for them. Maybe I've had it wrong the whole time and dogs are infact huge pissheads? This would explain the expression 'hair of the dog' and also 'sick as a dog'. Dogs have possibly set all standards for alcoholism. If this is the case then I fully applaud them having their own beer and look forward to seeing ranges of different types of dog booze in shops soon. Especially the single malt range of Whuskie. Or Alesation. Or...no that's all of them. Sorry.
I'm doing a gig this afternoon, then that is it. No gigs till Xmas which is stupid exciting. The gig this afternoon should be lovely too and with any luck I wont nearly die from buses on the way there or back. If you live in or near Brixton and would like to come, see details here:
http://www.redgategallerylondon.co.uk/
And I shall leave you with today's Wordia word, which is once again, me doing something:
Meaning of mistletoe
The day up until that point had been nice but mostly uneventful. My last nightime gig pre-Xmas was nothing special and the crowd were, at most, adequate. They sat there. They laughed sometimes. Some were slight dicks. Nothing to hard to deal with, nothing too fun. In fact it was no way as interesting as earlier when I had stomped around pet shops with Layla's brother looking for a new rat cage for her nephew. After several failed attempts at big retail park pet shops such as Pets At Home, we stumbled across a little shop that smelt funny. Thats the way you know a pet shop is proper. The big shops were all clean, the staff knew nothing about animals and the shelves were mostly empty, but as we stepped into this little foul smelling, dark grotto of a building, it was obvious they kept animals. One of the staff spoke as though he had the mind of a six year old, but the body of a man, grunting out words in broken sentences. He was clearly the sort of bloke that spent more time talking to gerbils than people. They knew everything about rats and every other creature. I was tempted to spring an odd question on them about caring for a duck billed platypus, but I felt they would have batted it down with ease. They had whole shelves of 'spider water' which I assume is water for spiders and not water that has been pre-filtered by tiny arachnids in Buxton, and bags of blood worms which looked like a swimming collection of paper cuts. The one item that truly intrigued me though was the bottles of Dog Beer. They were proper glass bottles with a picture of an overly happy alsatian on the front, claiming that inside was special beer for dogs. This poses many questions. The first being who on earth decided that dogs might want beer? Not being a dog owner I don't know if they stare at owner's alcoholic beverages with a sense of want. Perhaps they do. But even so it can't be good for them can it? I know St Bernards wander round with a little barrel of rum but I didn't think it was for them. Maybe I've had it wrong the whole time and dogs are infact huge pissheads? This would explain the expression 'hair of the dog' and also 'sick as a dog'. Dogs have possibly set all standards for alcoholism. If this is the case then I fully applaud them having their own beer and look forward to seeing ranges of different types of dog booze in shops soon. Especially the single malt range of Whuskie. Or Alesation. Or...no that's all of them. Sorry.
I'm doing a gig this afternoon, then that is it. No gigs till Xmas which is stupid exciting. The gig this afternoon should be lovely too and with any luck I wont nearly die from buses on the way there or back. If you live in or near Brixton and would like to come, see details here:
http://www.redgategallerylondon.co.uk/
And I shall leave you with today's Wordia word, which is once again, me doing something:
Meaning of mistletoe
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Leeds Greetings/ Leetings
Just a few thoughts today as blogging comes courtesy of my phone, which is, at the best of times, an irritating device to write a text on let alone an entire blog. There is much to say so tomorrow may be a mega one but until then:
- despite what the advert suggests, Waitrose is definitely not the only place to be this Christmas. I suggest spending it with loved ones. I doubt it'll even be open.
- my new favourite hobby is watching women in high heels with no jackets fall over constantly on Leeds icey streets. Last night there appeared to be two policemen who's job it was to go and help these women get up. They must feel like they have reached the prime of their law enforcement career.
- gig last night was lovely. Prime moments include a man in the front row being distracted from the second act because his mate had farted and a woman in the man's loos trying to justify her position there by saying she had 'dropped her phone'. I can only assume she meant 'threw her phone' and it was her only known method if definitely seeing cock.
- I had the coldest sleep ever. I was fairly sure I'd wake up upside down and hung by large bits of meat. I didn't.
- If you live near or in Brixton, then come along to a lovely free gig at the Red Gate Gallery tomorrow afternoon hosted by me. I can't link to it so just google it you lazy bastards.
That is all. I'm going to defrost.
- despite what the advert suggests, Waitrose is definitely not the only place to be this Christmas. I suggest spending it with loved ones. I doubt it'll even be open.
- my new favourite hobby is watching women in high heels with no jackets fall over constantly on Leeds icey streets. Last night there appeared to be two policemen who's job it was to go and help these women get up. They must feel like they have reached the prime of their law enforcement career.
- gig last night was lovely. Prime moments include a man in the front row being distracted from the second act because his mate had farted and a woman in the man's loos trying to justify her position there by saying she had 'dropped her phone'. I can only assume she meant 'threw her phone' and it was her only known method if definitely seeing cock.
- I had the coldest sleep ever. I was fairly sure I'd wake up upside down and hung by large bits of meat. I didn't.
- If you live near or in Brixton, then come along to a lovely free gig at the Red Gate Gallery tomorrow afternoon hosted by me. I can't link to it so just google it you lazy bastards.
That is all. I'm going to defrost.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Big Frosty Dickhouse
Its not snowy near my flat. I feel a little bit like I've been cheated by the weather. On the one hand, this is a good thing as I have to drive to Leeds today, and any snow mayhem would surely make such an adventure difficult. I say adventure, but until they put loop the loops on the M1 or giant snakes like I've recommended, then it will only ever be a lengthy grey trail of dullness. I have been told that it is definitely pretty snowy nearer to Leeds so I worry that by not snowing where I am, the weather has given me false pretences in order to really mess me up later on. I'll be slowly lured out of my warm flat, coerced into believing my 200 mile trip is going to be a breeze when in fact its going to be a big frosty dickhouse. I used that term to describe the weather last night and I have since grown fond of it. I often wish actual weather reports would use such language. Sometimes when it says 'heavy rain' I think, well just how heavy is it? Is it raincoat heavy or just hoodie heavy? Whereas if one of those GMTV weather girls turned up and said 'its a shitstorm of rain shit' I'd know it was jacket heavy. Or if they said 'its like sky piss', I wouldn't worry to much. Ah, as typing this, someone on Twitter has told me that it is pretty bad in Leeds. In which I shall now pack provisions should I be trapped in the car for more than a day. I am like an arctic explorer if the arctic was a big grey motorway and you were allowed to drive all the way down it to the poles. Essentially I am nothing like an arctic explorer.
Last night I did my only corporate of the season, for a friend of mine who I have known since uni. It wasn't just for her, that'd be weird. No it was for her Christmas works do, for her company, which I still can't entirely work out what it does. No before I proceed with this, it was nice. The people were nice, I was treated nicely, feedback has been that they enjoyed it muchly. But I didn't. They had no idea I was going to be on, and as they were tucking into their desserts, I stumbled on stage to do 30 minutes of hilarity. The first 15 went well, and then I made a joke at the expense of the MD and it turned out they all really like him, so the next 15 became a tad tougher. Laughter suddenly became disparate and I struggled to realise what I'd done. I carried on and I got them back on my side, then lost them again, then got them back then lost them again. It was like a game of ping pong with their concentration. I walked off stage feeling a bit as though I hadn't done a great job. And then lots of them told me I had. It makes you realise exactly why comedy clubs are great. This works do wasn't expecting me. Then they didn't know what style of comedy I would do and then when I started talking to them, they couldn't just feel comfortable laughing at any audience banter as they all knew each other and had preconceived relationships with everyone. Essentially when it comes to how to make a comedian's life easier, gigs at works dos probably shouldn't happen. When it comes to making works dos more fun, gigs at them probably should happen. I've decided that I will become an entirely selfish comedian who is only out to make my life more fun rather than anyone elses. An anti-comic. If they are laughing I've lost but if I'm laughing I win. Hmm. I have a feeling this might not work.
Tomorrow's blog will be done from my iPhone as I won't have my laptop and I'll no doubt still be stuck in a snowed under car on the M1. So if there is no blog, just watch this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=17jymDn0W6U
It was posted on Twitter last night by the awesome Terry Saunders (@terrysaunders) and I stupidly watched it just before I went to bed. This meant ages of lying in the dark contemplating just how incredibly insignificant I and everyone else is, what the rest of the universe is all about and then I remembered my favourite mental theory about how perhaps we all just the atoms in giant people's bodies and then they are the atoms in even more giant people's bodies. I like this theory because it is both completely mental and also means I could essentially cause someone to be really ill without having to do much. I am considering becoming a scientist but not studying anything and just telling people that theories like that are correct because I've checked. I would then say that the bits of the universe we can't yet map contain an entire planet of people that look like Nicholas Parsons and one where blancmange is the king. Then I would say that I had a tom tom with the map of it all on but no one else could have a look. I like science.
I am now going to drive to Leeds. Wish me luck. If you can't wish me luck at least when I become a frosty dead snowman, put a nice hat on me and stick a pipe in my mouth. Thanks.
Last night I did my only corporate of the season, for a friend of mine who I have known since uni. It wasn't just for her, that'd be weird. No it was for her Christmas works do, for her company, which I still can't entirely work out what it does. No before I proceed with this, it was nice. The people were nice, I was treated nicely, feedback has been that they enjoyed it muchly. But I didn't. They had no idea I was going to be on, and as they were tucking into their desserts, I stumbled on stage to do 30 minutes of hilarity. The first 15 went well, and then I made a joke at the expense of the MD and it turned out they all really like him, so the next 15 became a tad tougher. Laughter suddenly became disparate and I struggled to realise what I'd done. I carried on and I got them back on my side, then lost them again, then got them back then lost them again. It was like a game of ping pong with their concentration. I walked off stage feeling a bit as though I hadn't done a great job. And then lots of them told me I had. It makes you realise exactly why comedy clubs are great. This works do wasn't expecting me. Then they didn't know what style of comedy I would do and then when I started talking to them, they couldn't just feel comfortable laughing at any audience banter as they all knew each other and had preconceived relationships with everyone. Essentially when it comes to how to make a comedian's life easier, gigs at works dos probably shouldn't happen. When it comes to making works dos more fun, gigs at them probably should happen. I've decided that I will become an entirely selfish comedian who is only out to make my life more fun rather than anyone elses. An anti-comic. If they are laughing I've lost but if I'm laughing I win. Hmm. I have a feeling this might not work.
Tomorrow's blog will be done from my iPhone as I won't have my laptop and I'll no doubt still be stuck in a snowed under car on the M1. So if there is no blog, just watch this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=17jymDn0W6U
It was posted on Twitter last night by the awesome Terry Saunders (@terrysaunders) and I stupidly watched it just before I went to bed. This meant ages of lying in the dark contemplating just how incredibly insignificant I and everyone else is, what the rest of the universe is all about and then I remembered my favourite mental theory about how perhaps we all just the atoms in giant people's bodies and then they are the atoms in even more giant people's bodies. I like this theory because it is both completely mental and also means I could essentially cause someone to be really ill without having to do much. I am considering becoming a scientist but not studying anything and just telling people that theories like that are correct because I've checked. I would then say that the bits of the universe we can't yet map contain an entire planet of people that look like Nicholas Parsons and one where blancmange is the king. Then I would say that I had a tom tom with the map of it all on but no one else could have a look. I like science.
I am now going to drive to Leeds. Wish me luck. If you can't wish me luck at least when I become a frosty dead snowman, put a nice hat on me and stick a pipe in my mouth. Thanks.
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