They say that there is a first for everything. This is, once again, another thing they say that makes you wonder why 'they' are allowed to ever speak their stupid minds. Of course there is a first for everything. Its how numbers work. If you did something having never done it before but discovered it was the second time this had happened then you would need to closely investigate the possibilities of you time traveling as a prank on your self. Of course firsts happen first. Today, I missed a flight for the first time ever in my life. Ever. The neurotic little man inside my shell of a neurotic little man is dealing with this whole occurrence far better than I had expected it ever would. It helps that there are other flights. This is one of the benefits of this here future that we're in, that flights happen all the blooming time. Sure it means the ozone is being destroyed, the environment is collapsing and terrible situations like what's currently happening in Japan are probably all directly linked to it, but I'm really pleased I can just hop on the next flight to Edinburgh for the neat sum of most of my life's savings. Actually that's not true. It was more money than I wanted to spend but for once, despite the ever sarcastic look on the man at the check in desks face as he informed me that as of 3 minutes ago they weren't letting anyone else onto the plan, Easyjet lived up to their name and sorted everything else out in a jiffy. That's an ancient parent type term for quick. I wasn't expressing that they handed me all documents in a padded envelope.
Oh and yes, 3 minutes is all I missed my flight by. That's it. Waking up this morning with a sniffly nose, and most of my voice whispering hoarsely in a way that only benefits me if I want to do a Tom Waits impression (its currently very good. Do ask if you see me. I won't do it for you. I'm not your performing monkey. Do ask anyway though. And I'll tell you to fuck off. Like Tom Waits would) today hurriedly seemed like it was against me. Cue rushing to Finsbury Park station on the slowest bus in the universe, only to find when I got there that I'd left my cash card at home, involving a journey back on the same bus, which now, having to do the route in reverse, seemed even more confused. Getting home I grabbed my card and my car - one was not a dyslexic mistake for the other - and drove like the wind on a stupidly small amount of petrol to Stanstead. The transfer bus from the parking place seemed to be driven by a relative of the earlier bus driver and when I finally made it I was 3 whole minutes too late. Was the plane still there? Yes they said. Was it boarding yet? No they said. Would I feasibly have time to get to it and on it without holding it up? Yes, easily. Can I check in? No. The logic of this completely evaded me. It felt as though I was being berated by someone who clearly missed out on school trips because they hit snooze on the alarm too many times and were now exacting their revenge.
I'm never late for anything. I have, what my friend Mat refers to, as an overdeveloped sense of urgency. This usually means I am places irritatingly early and bored out of my mind as a result. Even when I try my best to be on time or a tiny bit late, something will occur such as the bus driver being an F1 reject and I'll end up early again. So today there must be some misalignment of the stars, some cosmic entity messing things up or perhaps I'm just a bit full of a cold and slower than normal. Who knows? But now I can comfortably sit down, eat a Pret brownie and chill for 2 hours, I'm wondering if I should try this again soon. My flight back on Wednesday is very early. I could just get a later one. There's still time to have a first for missing a plane intentionally...
Monday, March 14, 2011
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Pet Likes
Its often said that people are like their dogs, yet watching Crufts this morning I can't see any of those pedigree owners running through hoops and allowing their fur to be curled in the way they force upon their pets. Its an odd idea of love when small animals that have little choice are groomed and trained so their normally lonely and otherwise pointlessly existing owners can project their own failures onto the successes of their canine friends. Saying that, its bloody entertaining and the flat has been filled with giggles as small dogs catch tennis balls or run through tunnels. I'm fairly sure that were dogs ever to exist as free animals in nature again that these wouldn't be their normal past times. Running through woods to find wild squeaky toys and savage rouge packs of pedigree chum. It strikes me as strange that someone one day decided that all their natural instincts were obviously wrong and these animals should really be bred to dance on two hind legs while their owner claps like a damaged seal. We had several conversations about what dog we'd get as a flat, but everytime it concluding with the possibility of Craine dropping things on it, sitting on it, not feeding it, setting it on fire or generally just preventing it from living for longer than a week. There was also an audible sigh of misery when the notion of having to walk such an animal was mentioned. I think its safe to say we won't be venturing into such pet based depths. A few days ago Tom mentioned the notion of fish, but again outside of wanting our home to become some sort of watery morgue, we have vetoed the idea. I'm starting to worry about if Tom and Nat ever have kids and how long it will be before it turns out they haven't been fed for 6 days and Tom keeps misplacing one in the fridge or behind the sofa.
An animal of a different kind, I went to watch Kid Koala last night. Ok, so he's not an animal at all, but I felt the need to create a link in this blog like I might do with a heap of material that doesn't quite fit together when I'm performing it on stage. Sure I could've just made separate headings but where is the challenge in that? Also I'm sure dogs and koalas are linked somewhere on the evolutionary scale. They both have eyes. I have been a fan of Kid Koala for years and years but haven't seen him live since about 2005 where I remember him scratching 8 different turntables at once, each playing a different jazz instrument, until combined it formed a whole new jazz piece. It left me more confused and in awe than seeing Derren Brown spontaneously combusting a goat with his mind. I haven't seen that, but I bet it would leave me pretty confused and in awe. Some people are highly cynical about scratch DJing but it's truly amazing art form when done properly. Last night I watched as KK mixed track after track, hip hop into Karen O, Somewhere Over the Rainbow into funk, creating whole new beats by mixing tracks together and all the while not wearing headphones. I could never be in tune with music like that and I would put it up there with watching a top class musician play a classical concerto or other equally amazing feats of instrument playing. And to top it all off, he was dressed in a koala onesi and made two people have a pillow fight to his beats.
The Electric, Polar Bear and Mr Thing all did amazing sets too, and drinking beers with my brother (who awesomely sorted tickets out once again. I sometimes feel that the brothers Douieb have worked things out perfectly by spreading our time between comedy and music. He gets me freebies for gigs and I er, hmm, tell him about comedy stuff...er...hmmm) and watching all this from upstairs at Koko, I realised I very much miss going to good live music gigs. Stand-up rather selfishly, happens at the same time as these things do and I think its mean that everything should be so night based. There isn't enough time in the world. Yesterday at the Comedy Club 4 Kids Stu Goldsmith asked a small child what she'd do if she had a clone and she said she'd send it to school for her. Amazing idea. I'd send mine to either do my comedy gigs or watch live music gigs and report back to me. I'd also use them to mess people up so after they speak to me and turn away I'd suddenly be standing in front of them again. Oh and I'd relearn breakdancing with them so we could do awesome synchronised moves. And I'd get them to try different beard and hairstyles so I didn't look like a dick if they went wrong. I totally want a clone. I feel this blog's gone off on a tangent I hadn't expected, but it's also occurred to me that better than a dog, fish or even koala, I might just get another me. Although I bet I'll come home to find Craine hasn't fed it and I'll find it all grubby and malnourished, sitting in the corner of the room and we'll have to leave it outside a pet shelter in a brown paper bag due to neglect.
An animal of a different kind, I went to watch Kid Koala last night. Ok, so he's not an animal at all, but I felt the need to create a link in this blog like I might do with a heap of material that doesn't quite fit together when I'm performing it on stage. Sure I could've just made separate headings but where is the challenge in that? Also I'm sure dogs and koalas are linked somewhere on the evolutionary scale. They both have eyes. I have been a fan of Kid Koala for years and years but haven't seen him live since about 2005 where I remember him scratching 8 different turntables at once, each playing a different jazz instrument, until combined it formed a whole new jazz piece. It left me more confused and in awe than seeing Derren Brown spontaneously combusting a goat with his mind. I haven't seen that, but I bet it would leave me pretty confused and in awe. Some people are highly cynical about scratch DJing but it's truly amazing art form when done properly. Last night I watched as KK mixed track after track, hip hop into Karen O, Somewhere Over the Rainbow into funk, creating whole new beats by mixing tracks together and all the while not wearing headphones. I could never be in tune with music like that and I would put it up there with watching a top class musician play a classical concerto or other equally amazing feats of instrument playing. And to top it all off, he was dressed in a koala onesi and made two people have a pillow fight to his beats.
The Electric, Polar Bear and Mr Thing all did amazing sets too, and drinking beers with my brother (who awesomely sorted tickets out once again. I sometimes feel that the brothers Douieb have worked things out perfectly by spreading our time between comedy and music. He gets me freebies for gigs and I er, hmm, tell him about comedy stuff...er...hmmm) and watching all this from upstairs at Koko, I realised I very much miss going to good live music gigs. Stand-up rather selfishly, happens at the same time as these things do and I think its mean that everything should be so night based. There isn't enough time in the world. Yesterday at the Comedy Club 4 Kids Stu Goldsmith asked a small child what she'd do if she had a clone and she said she'd send it to school for her. Amazing idea. I'd send mine to either do my comedy gigs or watch live music gigs and report back to me. I'd also use them to mess people up so after they speak to me and turn away I'd suddenly be standing in front of them again. Oh and I'd relearn breakdancing with them so we could do awesome synchronised moves. And I'd get them to try different beard and hairstyles so I didn't look like a dick if they went wrong. I totally want a clone. I feel this blog's gone off on a tangent I hadn't expected, but it's also occurred to me that better than a dog, fish or even koala, I might just get another me. Although I bet I'll come home to find Craine hasn't fed it and I'll find it all grubby and malnourished, sitting in the corner of the room and we'll have to leave it outside a pet shelter in a brown paper bag due to neglect.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
End Of The World
Starting your day by waking up, turning on the news and seeing the line 'Nuclear Reactor Emergency' is definitely one way of making you want to go back to bed. I don't want to appear over dramatic but it does all seem a bit like many of the disaster films I've watched over my lifetime what with the seemingly constant spate of earthquakes on the other side of the planet, the tsunamis and all the immanent destruction caused by it. If Jake Gyllanhal suddenly announces he's going to try and get on with his father better I will just give up and stay in bed. I worry that is what I'd do if the world was about to end. I've entertained the thought that I'd try and save people, survive by gathering supplies and digging a base underground, or even just cram in lots of things I've always wanted to do as quickly as possible. This would probably involved having several road accidents while I try and drive over ramps like a stuntman and through crates of watermelons, getting in a lot of trouble as I try to take a tiger from the zoo to take it for a walk in the park, and several women being sick as I hurriedly ask them out before everyone's face melts. It worries me that I was trying to write a really substantial list of things I'd have to do, but that's all I could come up with and I haven't even written about my desire to blow up a tower block using a T-Detonator like you used to see footage of. I presume if the world was ending doing something like that wouldn't help matters so I'd leave it be. But ultimately, based on this morning's slight panic, I'd not leave my bedroom, I'd play REM's 'End Of The World As We Know It' on repeat and generally just feel sad.
It goes without saying that everything that's happening in Japan is pretty horrifying. Watching the footage of entire buildings just being swept away is pretty hard to stop watching. Its so unreal I keep expecting some CGI beast to appear in amongst it and Nicholas Cage trying to punch it while acting badly. My brother knows lots of people over there, and despite never having met them I keep asking him for updates as to how they are. He's on Skype checking with them hourly, and luckily they live near the mountains and so seem to be safe. The world's such an ultimately small place now what with planes, the internet and teleporting - ok, not teleporting - its impossible to feel entirely detached from something even that far away. I just hope the quakes stop soon, the nuclear reactor calms down and the world realises we should probably stop using things that can only blow things up even more. I was hearing about a water powered radio on the radio last night and thinking the whole time about why, if such things can exist, we'd even bother with nuclear? So you can use something that already exists and at worst, you might get wet, or create an energy that if it all goes wrong we either turn to ashes akin to When The Wind Blows, or we all grow extra eyes, twelve legs and insect wings and spend the rest of our lives eating the young. It would nice to think that this sort of happening changes some viewpoints and we stop punching the environment in its face for a while so the world can calm down.
If the world was to end today, I'd make some point of telling the man that bought me a drink last night at my gig that I had to hide it and didn't drink it at all. He seemed like a lovely bloke and the drink was bought with full lovely intentions - him saying that he really enjoyed my set - but he had also not listened to me saying I wasn't drinking due to driving and completely ignored it. So I, like the overly paranoid over analytic man I am, decided he wasn't listening and it meant nothing. I hid the drink, finished my coffee and went home. I sometimes worry about myself that I can't just take these sorts of things as very nice compliments and get on with it. Saying that, I still would've hid the drink so it wouldn't have made much difference. To be fair, if the world was ending I doubt one of the last images that man would want is me appearing out of nowhere to tell him such things as everything sets on fire around him. Films never do that bit do they? Just as the hero is about to kiss his family goodbye, its never interrupted by someone looting, or a neighbour ruining the last speech by asking for their gardening shears back or any of the other behavior that would probably be active? I'm sure mine would involve me falling down the steps to our house in a really awkward way while everyone else on the street saw and laughed, then we'd die. It'd be just my luck. Hence why I think I'll just stay in bed.
On a final note, the new Elbow album ' Build A Rocket Boys!' is probably my current new favourite thing. It has been on constant repeat and the combination of such beautiful lyrics and incredible music has rendered me silent several times. Up to this day one of my favourite lyrics of all time is from Mirrorball from Seldom Seen Kid which says 'we took the town to town last night, we kissed like we invented it'. So simple yet absolutely poetic. I think the entire track 'Lippy Kids' from the new album has superceded that with every line. Just go get it. Before the world ends.
It goes without saying that everything that's happening in Japan is pretty horrifying. Watching the footage of entire buildings just being swept away is pretty hard to stop watching. Its so unreal I keep expecting some CGI beast to appear in amongst it and Nicholas Cage trying to punch it while acting badly. My brother knows lots of people over there, and despite never having met them I keep asking him for updates as to how they are. He's on Skype checking with them hourly, and luckily they live near the mountains and so seem to be safe. The world's such an ultimately small place now what with planes, the internet and teleporting - ok, not teleporting - its impossible to feel entirely detached from something even that far away. I just hope the quakes stop soon, the nuclear reactor calms down and the world realises we should probably stop using things that can only blow things up even more. I was hearing about a water powered radio on the radio last night and thinking the whole time about why, if such things can exist, we'd even bother with nuclear? So you can use something that already exists and at worst, you might get wet, or create an energy that if it all goes wrong we either turn to ashes akin to When The Wind Blows, or we all grow extra eyes, twelve legs and insect wings and spend the rest of our lives eating the young. It would nice to think that this sort of happening changes some viewpoints and we stop punching the environment in its face for a while so the world can calm down.
If the world was to end today, I'd make some point of telling the man that bought me a drink last night at my gig that I had to hide it and didn't drink it at all. He seemed like a lovely bloke and the drink was bought with full lovely intentions - him saying that he really enjoyed my set - but he had also not listened to me saying I wasn't drinking due to driving and completely ignored it. So I, like the overly paranoid over analytic man I am, decided he wasn't listening and it meant nothing. I hid the drink, finished my coffee and went home. I sometimes worry about myself that I can't just take these sorts of things as very nice compliments and get on with it. Saying that, I still would've hid the drink so it wouldn't have made much difference. To be fair, if the world was ending I doubt one of the last images that man would want is me appearing out of nowhere to tell him such things as everything sets on fire around him. Films never do that bit do they? Just as the hero is about to kiss his family goodbye, its never interrupted by someone looting, or a neighbour ruining the last speech by asking for their gardening shears back or any of the other behavior that would probably be active? I'm sure mine would involve me falling down the steps to our house in a really awkward way while everyone else on the street saw and laughed, then we'd die. It'd be just my luck. Hence why I think I'll just stay in bed.
On a final note, the new Elbow album ' Build A Rocket Boys!' is probably my current new favourite thing. It has been on constant repeat and the combination of such beautiful lyrics and incredible music has rendered me silent several times. Up to this day one of my favourite lyrics of all time is from Mirrorball from Seldom Seen Kid which says 'we took the town to town last night, we kissed like we invented it'. So simple yet absolutely poetic. I think the entire track 'Lippy Kids' from the new album has superceded that with every line. Just go get it. Before the world ends.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Looming Thoughts
This blog isn't about weaving. Sorry weaving fans. Sorry Hugo Weaving.
Its early March and already this afternoon has been spent organising the whole of August. Its not the first time this year I've had to think about the 8th month of 2011, and nor will it be the last. Its all Edinburgh Fringe nonsense and once again it appears I will be attending the 24 day work fest, struggling with the lack of sleep, more than moderate booze intake and ridiculous levels of adrenaline that pile through me during my show's run. This year it seems that having not learnt anything from putting myself through the endurance test several four times before, I will be doing more than just one show. I tell myself there is some logic in this, involving the idea that the busier I am, the less time I can spend in the bar. Truth be told it will just mean I spend exactly the same amount of time in the bar but consequently feel even worse than normal in September.
Its amazing how something can be so exciting and yet fill me with so much dread all at once. Various people I've spoken to that tell me they aren't attending this year say it with a kick in their step and a smile on their face, knowing full well they might get the chance of actually seeing the sunshine during the summer and not riddling themselves with stress over the whole situation. Yet come August they will feel left out, missing the joy of sitting in the Pleasance Courtyard with a beer or loitering the Loft bar with a beer or just having a beer somewhere at some point. I think about all the work it will involve and I shudder a bit. I think about all the money it will cost and I shudder a bit more. I have to willingly stop thinking about it or risk shuddering continuously until I dislodge something permanently. Yet I'm hooked. I totally have to be there. Despite shuddering. Which will have to stop or I'll spill my beer.
Final confirmations need to be made, two shows need to be written and one needs to be booked, flats found, posters designed, costs paid, blurbs written and a new rain jacket bought. Eventually, one day, I'll get to have a sleep again. One day.
Its early March and already this afternoon has been spent organising the whole of August. Its not the first time this year I've had to think about the 8th month of 2011, and nor will it be the last. Its all Edinburgh Fringe nonsense and once again it appears I will be attending the 24 day work fest, struggling with the lack of sleep, more than moderate booze intake and ridiculous levels of adrenaline that pile through me during my show's run. This year it seems that having not learnt anything from putting myself through the endurance test several four times before, I will be doing more than just one show. I tell myself there is some logic in this, involving the idea that the busier I am, the less time I can spend in the bar. Truth be told it will just mean I spend exactly the same amount of time in the bar but consequently feel even worse than normal in September.
Its amazing how something can be so exciting and yet fill me with so much dread all at once. Various people I've spoken to that tell me they aren't attending this year say it with a kick in their step and a smile on their face, knowing full well they might get the chance of actually seeing the sunshine during the summer and not riddling themselves with stress over the whole situation. Yet come August they will feel left out, missing the joy of sitting in the Pleasance Courtyard with a beer or loitering the Loft bar with a beer or just having a beer somewhere at some point. I think about all the work it will involve and I shudder a bit. I think about all the money it will cost and I shudder a bit more. I have to willingly stop thinking about it or risk shuddering continuously until I dislodge something permanently. Yet I'm hooked. I totally have to be there. Despite shuddering. Which will have to stop or I'll spill my beer.
Final confirmations need to be made, two shows need to be written and one needs to be booked, flats found, posters designed, costs paid, blurbs written and a new rain jacket bought. Eventually, one day, I'll get to have a sleep again. One day.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Strands
Today's blog has two strands. Like if London was copied and pasted somewhere just alongside it wiping out Buckinghamshire or Essex or something. Probably something. The reason for this is because I would like to tell you all about Derren Brown's new show that I went to see last night but I'm not allowed. Its so awesome and mind fuckery that even revealing the slightest thing would ruin it for you and your face, so let it just be known that you should go and see it. I didn't take a tin foil hat with me yesterday due to a lack of time to prepare, so there is also a chance that if I try and remember it he's already put a mind block on me and my brain would fizzle out anyway. Instead of using literature to weave the ins and outs of the mind man's trickery, and yes I'm proud of that small collection of words I just put together, here is Strand 1:
THE MESSAGE
I have spent well over 20 minutes - and by that I mean about 23 minutes - recording a new answerphone message. I was pleased with the last one as it was recorded in a spur of the moment brain dump and caused many a nice response. Working along the lines of telling people to leave me a message or not leave me a message and leave me in a constant state of enigma and paranoia as to who called and why, it struck a chord with many a folk. By that, I mean by the first call they sniggered and by the second, third and consecutive rings (everyone calls the T more than once to hear my dulcet tones. Fo sheezy) they were immensely bored, felt it went on too long and stopped leaving me messages going entirely against the point of my message. This had clearly got on some people's nerves more than others and today Brett sent me an email with his own suggestions of voicemails I could record just so I wouldn't have that one anymore. So, to rile the message Nazi, I spent some time trying to record a long tale about the discovery of the 'beep' in my best old wise man film voice (think John Hurt, Ian McKellen etc) over the Tron Soundtrack. It now goes on for ever and I am immensely proud. Brett likes it, but give him a week and it will grate. Martyne left me a message saying 'you are a numpty'. More will fall. Or I'll just change it in a week's time. I feel all of this is a perfectly reasonable way to waste a large portion of my afternoon when I should be working.
And now, Strand 2:
ALL ABOARD...THE NIGHT BUS
There is general consent that getting the night bus is a stressful event in one's life. Many a time I have been unfortunate to be sitting next to vomiting, shouting weird people all crawling their way onto the only means to drag their damaged selves home after a solid night of enjoyment. Then there are the eventide preachers who want you to know that God is coming, has been, once popped by or generally has lost all care. Sometimes you might be really lucky and just get the dangerous types who fight each other or someone else until the bus stops, and kicks everyone off so now you have the fortune of being left on the side of the street with said dangerous people which is far worse than the confines of a bus.
And now, after nodding your head along to all the stereotypes that I've just portrayed of the nightime transport crew like it was a McIntyre style observation, discard them all again as I am about to blow your judgemental minds. Here's a bit of a secret, so hush hush now. Despite my oh so glamorous lifestyle of living in a house filled with mould and Tom, eating out of service stations and playing in clubs where the backroom is toilet behind the stage, I do often get nightbuses. I know, I know. It must be a shock for all you 'normals' that I don't get chauffeur driven around by a man named 'Alfred' or have my own helicopter, but that's because I like to keep it real, and stay down with the kids and other phrases that are nothing but patronising to teenagers. Generally, I like them. Yes indeedy. I like the nightbus and last night was a prime example of exactly why they be the metal steed of the dark.
After a superb evening of mind messing and a much fun train ride home where myself and my friend and Derren ticket giver Corrie, ate enough cheese puffs to make a horse sick, I found myself at London Bridge many minutes after the last tube had gone. Waiting at a bus stop in the cold to be delivered an hour away to Muswell Hill by the wondrous 43, I saw a woman carrying a huge double bass struggling to look at the bus times. I decided that despite the possibility of seeming creepy at 1am by a bus stop that I would help her out, give her the information needed and then have a chat because I my phone battery had died and I was bored. Conversation struck up in seconds and it turned out she is one of the premiere female double bass players in the country, rocking her giant string instrument across the land with various groups. Amazing. It occurred to me that anyone with a less exciting job would probably not be waiting at a night bus stop at London Bridge at 1am in the morning on a Wednesday. Myself excluded of course. Much brilliant banter ensued including the notion of her using her double bass as a giant guitar like a reverse ukulele, and the idea of a real life Winzip so she wouldn't have to carry around an instrument that was the same size as her everywhere she went. Conversation made time fly and the bus finally arrived.
Niceties on a night bus you say? Well that wasn't all. During the journey it became apparent our driver was a hero of a high moral degree. Firstly berating a man to the joy of the other passengers because he had been rude as he got on the bus, the driver hit a peak when a man stumbled out of the doors, into a wall, smacked his head on some steps and fell over. Driver dude started to pull away, then quickly stopped and began to race out of his own bus to see if the man was ok. I said I would check so he wouldn't have to leave his till etc unattended and hopped off to find a very drunk man with a very sore head who assured me he was fine. I told the driver and he made some quips about him waking up tomorrow with 'two heads' which I think was an insinuation of the size of the bump he'd get rather than some sort of terrible freak genetic accident. Then we chuckled one of those chuckles you might see in a heartwarming drama about the North, and he drove us home.
I was tempted to stay on board till Barnet to see what else might happen, but I like to think that as I hopped off at my stop he went on to stop someone being mugged and rescued a kitten from a tree. All hail the night bus driver! May he continue to work anti-social hours for the benefit of society for ever more.
THE MESSAGE
I have spent well over 20 minutes - and by that I mean about 23 minutes - recording a new answerphone message. I was pleased with the last one as it was recorded in a spur of the moment brain dump and caused many a nice response. Working along the lines of telling people to leave me a message or not leave me a message and leave me in a constant state of enigma and paranoia as to who called and why, it struck a chord with many a folk. By that, I mean by the first call they sniggered and by the second, third and consecutive rings (everyone calls the T more than once to hear my dulcet tones. Fo sheezy) they were immensely bored, felt it went on too long and stopped leaving me messages going entirely against the point of my message. This had clearly got on some people's nerves more than others and today Brett sent me an email with his own suggestions of voicemails I could record just so I wouldn't have that one anymore. So, to rile the message Nazi, I spent some time trying to record a long tale about the discovery of the 'beep' in my best old wise man film voice (think John Hurt, Ian McKellen etc) over the Tron Soundtrack. It now goes on for ever and I am immensely proud. Brett likes it, but give him a week and it will grate. Martyne left me a message saying 'you are a numpty'. More will fall. Or I'll just change it in a week's time. I feel all of this is a perfectly reasonable way to waste a large portion of my afternoon when I should be working.
And now, Strand 2:
ALL ABOARD...THE NIGHT BUS
There is general consent that getting the night bus is a stressful event in one's life. Many a time I have been unfortunate to be sitting next to vomiting, shouting weird people all crawling their way onto the only means to drag their damaged selves home after a solid night of enjoyment. Then there are the eventide preachers who want you to know that God is coming, has been, once popped by or generally has lost all care. Sometimes you might be really lucky and just get the dangerous types who fight each other or someone else until the bus stops, and kicks everyone off so now you have the fortune of being left on the side of the street with said dangerous people which is far worse than the confines of a bus.
And now, after nodding your head along to all the stereotypes that I've just portrayed of the nightime transport crew like it was a McIntyre style observation, discard them all again as I am about to blow your judgemental minds. Here's a bit of a secret, so hush hush now. Despite my oh so glamorous lifestyle of living in a house filled with mould and Tom, eating out of service stations and playing in clubs where the backroom is toilet behind the stage, I do often get nightbuses. I know, I know. It must be a shock for all you 'normals' that I don't get chauffeur driven around by a man named 'Alfred' or have my own helicopter, but that's because I like to keep it real, and stay down with the kids and other phrases that are nothing but patronising to teenagers. Generally, I like them. Yes indeedy. I like the nightbus and last night was a prime example of exactly why they be the metal steed of the dark.
After a superb evening of mind messing and a much fun train ride home where myself and my friend and Derren ticket giver Corrie, ate enough cheese puffs to make a horse sick, I found myself at London Bridge many minutes after the last tube had gone. Waiting at a bus stop in the cold to be delivered an hour away to Muswell Hill by the wondrous 43, I saw a woman carrying a huge double bass struggling to look at the bus times. I decided that despite the possibility of seeming creepy at 1am by a bus stop that I would help her out, give her the information needed and then have a chat because I my phone battery had died and I was bored. Conversation struck up in seconds and it turned out she is one of the premiere female double bass players in the country, rocking her giant string instrument across the land with various groups. Amazing. It occurred to me that anyone with a less exciting job would probably not be waiting at a night bus stop at London Bridge at 1am in the morning on a Wednesday. Myself excluded of course. Much brilliant banter ensued including the notion of her using her double bass as a giant guitar like a reverse ukulele, and the idea of a real life Winzip so she wouldn't have to carry around an instrument that was the same size as her everywhere she went. Conversation made time fly and the bus finally arrived.
Niceties on a night bus you say? Well that wasn't all. During the journey it became apparent our driver was a hero of a high moral degree. Firstly berating a man to the joy of the other passengers because he had been rude as he got on the bus, the driver hit a peak when a man stumbled out of the doors, into a wall, smacked his head on some steps and fell over. Driver dude started to pull away, then quickly stopped and began to race out of his own bus to see if the man was ok. I said I would check so he wouldn't have to leave his till etc unattended and hopped off to find a very drunk man with a very sore head who assured me he was fine. I told the driver and he made some quips about him waking up tomorrow with 'two heads' which I think was an insinuation of the size of the bump he'd get rather than some sort of terrible freak genetic accident. Then we chuckled one of those chuckles you might see in a heartwarming drama about the North, and he drove us home.
I was tempted to stay on board till Barnet to see what else might happen, but I like to think that as I hopped off at my stop he went on to stop someone being mugged and rescued a kitten from a tree. All hail the night bus driver! May he continue to work anti-social hours for the benefit of society for ever more.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Sans Tin Hat
Day three of Tiernan's slow descent into hallucination via lack of food or rest. Today is a barnstorm of different things that I somehow need to slightly adjust my brain before each one. This sort of talk sounds like I've gone properly bonkers, but I do feel like I need to have a different mind set to work on say kids comedy, than for adult comedy. Or to work on sketches or write a script. I'm not capable of just flitting between them all. This is probably because I'm a tool. And not a useful too like a drill. One that sits in B&Q that no one really knows what it does and they occasionally sell just one to someone who's curiosity evades them, the try and fix a cupboard it, break the cupboard and it sits in a box under the stairs for ever more. Or it could also be because they do in fact need different mindsets. I'm getting better at doing several different comedy things in one day, but I fear that one day I will just implode into a 12 personalities freak who stands there shouting things about bogies to adults while swearing at kids and constantly being in character as a man in a wolf suit. What's extremely worrying about today is that I'm doing kids stuff first, then adult stuff, and then I'm off to my annual Derren Brown excursion in Brighton where no doubt he'll wipe my mind and I'll be back at square one again anyway.
I haven't got time to prepare for seeing the Derren this eve. No foil hat making can happen, so I will be at full mind violation risk probability. With my frail state of tiredness and mental disarray its highly likely that this could be the worst mistake in the world. Tomorrow's blog could be all about me drinking a pint of vinegar then walking on glass because he said so. Or worse, it'll just be blank as I fail to remember anything at all, let alone how to type. Yes, I'm scared. A bit. Saying that, if my mind is wiped I'll probably have to spend several days in bed while other people help me eat stuff? Hmm. I mean tweet him now with a subtle proposition. For brain wiping that is. Not marriage. I'm not sure how anyone could ever marry Derren Brown. Though I suppose if he decided he wanted to marry you, you'd have little choice. I bet he has a harem of mind washed man wives just wandering around his mansion, all of whom are unable to see each other, while Derren sits in his chair shaped like a crystal ball, only with a bit cut out otherwise he'd just slide off.
See? I'm clearly still bonkers. Just. Need. To. Get. To. Sunday....
Last note: Yesterday's Fat Tuesday was actually on a Fat Tuesday which was all very exciting. It was made more exciting by the excellent sets from Jay Foreman, Danielle Ward, Foil, Arms & Hog and Greg Davies. Go see all of them all the time. Hurry up.
I haven't got time to prepare for seeing the Derren this eve. No foil hat making can happen, so I will be at full mind violation risk probability. With my frail state of tiredness and mental disarray its highly likely that this could be the worst mistake in the world. Tomorrow's blog could be all about me drinking a pint of vinegar then walking on glass because he said so. Or worse, it'll just be blank as I fail to remember anything at all, let alone how to type. Yes, I'm scared. A bit. Saying that, if my mind is wiped I'll probably have to spend several days in bed while other people help me eat stuff? Hmm. I mean tweet him now with a subtle proposition. For brain wiping that is. Not marriage. I'm not sure how anyone could ever marry Derren Brown. Though I suppose if he decided he wanted to marry you, you'd have little choice. I bet he has a harem of mind washed man wives just wandering around his mansion, all of whom are unable to see each other, while Derren sits in his chair shaped like a crystal ball, only with a bit cut out otherwise he'd just slide off.
See? I'm clearly still bonkers. Just. Need. To. Get. To. Sunday....
Last note: Yesterday's Fat Tuesday was actually on a Fat Tuesday which was all very exciting. It was made more exciting by the excellent sets from Jay Foreman, Danielle Ward, Foil, Arms & Hog and Greg Davies. Go see all of them all the time. Hurry up.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Thumb Wars
Another iPhone blog today and once again I tap my way towards an arthritic right thumb that will have very few life benefits bar being able to never lose at thumb war through default of joints not working as they should. I dont have small hands - they are of reasonable man hand size, and able to feasibly grip a hefty orange in each with room for finger movement should such a situation ever be necessary - but my days of thumb war fighting never really took off the ground at school. I put this down to being a lover and not a fighter and the difficulties that occurred when asking to play thumb love. However it's more to do with my low tolerance for pain and thumbs that bend quicker than spoon that loves Uri Geller. I often dream of getting an iPad, watching today, again for the umpteenth time, someone I'm working with just playfully whizz their digits across a virtual book. I have no need at all for such things. I have real books. I have a phone. I have a computer. There is nothing such a device could provide me with that I need in my life apart from an overwhelming feeling of smug that would be neutralised by the knowledge that I had bought something that is essentially useless yet expensive. Oh and some thumb relief. Ill have to get one.
It's pancake day today and I'm pretty sure I won't get to eat any. I didn't last year or the year before and it appears to be a running theme in my life that despite naming my comedy club after such an event I am no longer allowed to celebrate it. Then again I suppose it's fair in that I do choose to fully embrace the scoffing of sweet and savoury crepe delights whilst entirely ignoring the next however many days of Lent. That's how I roll. Like someone who has absolutely no regard for religion at all. Sure I'll take Christmas, pancakes & Easter but you try and get me to give a shit about Whitsun Day or whatever it's called and I'll show you the door. You won't be that impressed by the door and we'll probably both question why I'd let you in in the first place, before I put it all down to taking metaphor too far about a day I'm not even sure is religious anyway and will know better for next time. I'd still just really like some pancakes.
It was another day with small children today and I have heard endlessly about how many pancakes they have had or will be having. One boy told me all he ever ever eats are pancakes, before then telling me other things he eats. These are the sorts of things that are important to children and we pretend dont matter as much in later life but they could see in my eyes I'm jealous. I'm jealous of the pancakes, I'm jealous of them being able to pretend to be Jedi's all day, and I'm jealous that they can talk absolute nonsense for hours about going to the moon with their sister and people would still sit next to them on a nightbus. I think that growing up is hugely overrated. Saying that, kids aren't allowed iPods so it's all relative I guess. If I ever see a kid with an iPad, shit will indeed go down.
I will finish today's blog here. Not just for thumb's sake but also for brain's. This week has been so busy I fear that until Sunday this blog will continue to descend into incoherent babbling. In many years to come I'll be able to look back on it and think 'wow I wrote some real shit'. More of that same shit tomorrow.
It's pancake day today and I'm pretty sure I won't get to eat any. I didn't last year or the year before and it appears to be a running theme in my life that despite naming my comedy club after such an event I am no longer allowed to celebrate it. Then again I suppose it's fair in that I do choose to fully embrace the scoffing of sweet and savoury crepe delights whilst entirely ignoring the next however many days of Lent. That's how I roll. Like someone who has absolutely no regard for religion at all. Sure I'll take Christmas, pancakes & Easter but you try and get me to give a shit about Whitsun Day or whatever it's called and I'll show you the door. You won't be that impressed by the door and we'll probably both question why I'd let you in in the first place, before I put it all down to taking metaphor too far about a day I'm not even sure is religious anyway and will know better for next time. I'd still just really like some pancakes.
It was another day with small children today and I have heard endlessly about how many pancakes they have had or will be having. One boy told me all he ever ever eats are pancakes, before then telling me other things he eats. These are the sorts of things that are important to children and we pretend dont matter as much in later life but they could see in my eyes I'm jealous. I'm jealous of the pancakes, I'm jealous of them being able to pretend to be Jedi's all day, and I'm jealous that they can talk absolute nonsense for hours about going to the moon with their sister and people would still sit next to them on a nightbus. I think that growing up is hugely overrated. Saying that, kids aren't allowed iPods so it's all relative I guess. If I ever see a kid with an iPad, shit will indeed go down.
I will finish today's blog here. Not just for thumb's sake but also for brain's. This week has been so busy I fear that until Sunday this blog will continue to descend into incoherent babbling. In many years to come I'll be able to look back on it and think 'wow I wrote some real shit'. More of that same shit tomorrow.
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