I've done my bit for a good cause...

... last night at the Unite Against Fascism benefit gig and despite my initial resignations it was a lot of fun. The fact that I was sandwiched on the bill between two such heavyweights as Jason Manford and Alan Carr was a concern but I did the business and held my own.

I came home, retrieved Dug from Pleasure Bar, where another comedy pal of mine, Mike Belgrave, was onstage being heckled by drunken scallies. Unable to sit through this cringeworthy debacle we went back to the flat to be with Bron as it was her birthday yesterday. Unfortunately she was in low spirits as she had argued with her sibling earlier and so the remainder of the evening was spent cheering her up with kind words and cake.

I'll spend today making calls about gigs (again) and then I'm off to Newcastle tonight to headline a student gig. Full report tomorrow.

Peace. X

Oh I do like to be beside the seaside...

...and indeed I was this weekend with a fun trip to Bournemouth. I drove down with double act Rob & Scatz, walked along the promenade, got the monorail up the cliff, had fish and chips on the seafront and generally had a lovely time.

Oh, the gig was fun too. I got a lift back with headliner Duncan Oakley, a comedy pal of mine, and stayed at his in Nottingham, giving me a chance to see for the first time the place he has bought with his missus, Kirsty. Both are accomplished musicians and multi-instrumentalists and as such their house was full of guitars and the like. I was in hog heaven.

Kirsty was a source of great inspiration for me too in my quest to find a woman who will appreciate and share my passions. First of all, she starts the day by banging away very skillfully on a drumkit, whilst still in her jim-jams. Later, I could hear her in the shower singing "Whole Lotta Love" at the top of her lungs. Be still my beating heart.

Now obviously she is spoken for, but women like her exist. I have seen proof.

A quiet few day, sorting through more receipts (grrrrr) and taking time to go bowling on Monday. I've not done it years, but can safely say that it is now added to the list of sports I am officially crap at.

Anyhow, I went to XS Malarkey, my local comedy gig, to watch the show last night and bore witness (and chipped in a little) to a great political debate. Two comedian friends of mine, Chris Tavner and Jonathan Paylor, had a ranging and at times quite heated debate on the topic of socialism.

Now, I love a good debate. A lot of the time it's just because I'm not sure of where I stand on an issue and wish to hear other's opinion on the matter (although my predilection for playing devil's advocate does annoy people sometimes - they think I disagree with and am attacking their convictions, where as I actually just want to explore alternative viewpoints). I am willing - keen, in fact - to discuss and dissect most issues, but party politics is something I tend to leave well alone.

I despise politics and try to avoid it (and discussion of it) in the course of my day. This is of course an act of extreme folly, as it permeates every aspect of our lives whether we like it or not. But open discussions on the subject are to be avoided as they nearly always end in the participants falling out with eath other and I, as irresponsible or shallow as it may seem, am wont to do just about anything for an easy life. I suspect that I am not alone in this - the vast majority of people I come across do not seem to be very politically motivated. As long as they have bread on the table and a roof over their heads, they seem content to plod along and are more concerned with whether their team will win at the weekend or who is shagging who on Coronation Street.

John and especially Chris, a passionate socialist, are obvious exceptions (or maybe most people are when you scratch the surface, maybe it's just me being a woolly headed beatnik) as they thrashed around for hours. Although I eventually had to distance myself from this, I did pause and consider that, be it indicative of the fine city I live in or just the pedigree of the company I keep, this was a rare and uniquely beautiful thing - a pub argument, that at times looked set to degenerate into a fist fight, over the nature and definition of socialism. Anywhere else it would be over a spilt pint or who had looked at whose bird. Priceless.

Tonight though I too am going to do my bit for the polical cause, as I am to appear at a benifit gig at the Dancehouse Theatre called "Stand Up to the BNP", a night of comedy to raise money for Unite Against Fascism's campaign against the BNP. Chris Tavner was organising it and I, rather gallantly I thought, offered my services. It should be fun. I hope. I have a visions of two hundred or so lefties overly tutting at percieved political incorrectness in my act. Don't get me wrong, I'm no Bernard Manning, but I do say a few off colour things. Oh, I sure it will be fine. Just pre gig paranoia. I'll let you know either way.

Peace. X

I've been doing my tax return...

... and, bearing in mind that I foolishly neglected to keep my accounts up to date from about October onwards, it has taken me the best part of today and yesterday to get just last year to a straight edge. When I go to bed tonight, I will see dancing receipts in my sleep.

Now, not wanting to suggest for a second that I dislike my job, I must say that wading through huge piles of unprocessed receipts is one aspect of being self employed I can live without. Yes, I know, if I did it more regularly it wouldn't be such a big job. But this is me we are talking about. If I was organised I'd be dangerous.

Anyhow, can I just get something off my chest;

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRR
RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
RRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG
GGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG
GGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Thanks. I feel much better for that.

Peace. X

Not much to report...

... on the personal or professional front (my life remains as reliably dull as ever) but I must tell you that I have engaged in a dialogue with the blogger whose less than favourable review of me I provided a link to on my previous post.

It turns out that Ben (for that, coincidentally, is his name) found out that I had started a thread about the review on the Manchester Comedy Forum (link here). I was inviting other comedians who use the forum to share their experiences of negative feedback. It was meant to be a bit of cathartic fun but my initial post caused Ben 2 some offence as I did use a very rude word indeed to describe him. Some people then went a bit far in verbally crucifying their detractors and caused further offence.

Ben 2 himself then waded into the debate on the forum, with some eloquence I might add, and we ironed the whole thing out. Basically, we agreed to disagree (he still thinks I suck and I still happen to think that I'm rather good), but both retracted certain things - basically, I apologised to him for the namecalling, but pointed out that he had no right to call my act "lazy". I work very hard on my act, always trying new bits of material and striving to tighten and polish older bits. To infer otherwise is just not true and as such I found that very insulting. He conceded that this was uncalled for, before we settled on the alternative adjective of "uninspired". Still hardly complimentary, I grant you, but a valid opinion nonetheless.

Above all, I learned (or rather reiterated in my mind) two important lessons. Firstly, anything that one does, artistically or creatively, is always going to divide opinion. Not everyone will appreciate everything you do. I personally would rather provoke polarised opinions in people than have most people think that I'm "okay" or "alright". As far as I'm concerned, faint praise is damning indeed.

Secondly, just because someone disagrees with you on something, even something you fundamentally believe in, it doesn't make them a bad person. Ben 2 turned out to be a decent enough sort and is also clearly a passionate man, a trait I admire and respect in people above just about all others.

Anyway, Ben 2's site is here. Have a read. The guy has something to say.

Peace. X

I need to blog more often...

... according to her royal Bronness. I will try, but I prefer to do it every few days so as to be sure of having lots of fun things to talk about. Still, what Bron wants... You may remember I mentioned some posts ago about her taking over the flat. I was not kidding. Her insidious influence tendrils through the very fabric our dwelling, bending all to her maniacal will. We have left it too late. We are powerless to deny or defy her.

Just kidding. We're still the best of friends.

Anyhoo, Bradford on Friday was much fun. I am starting to really enjoy my residency there, as are the audience, many of whom are coming every week. I've got a good rapport going on with several of them, one of whom has the ever so slightly masochistic tendency to sit at the front every month. I, like a doofus, always forget this and get talking to him every time. This month, when I asked what he did for a living, he actually said, "You know, you've asked me loads of times before", which got a big laugh. I stopped, then shouted after a short pause, "STUDENT RADIOGRAPHER", the correct answer, which got a round of applause! A fun moment, but I doubt I will forget again.

A fun Saturday night as we went for a curry and then on to the Comedy Store to celebrate Chris' birthday. He's hit 30, bless him. I didn't get him a card or anything and feel a bit bad now. Still, I suppose he'll get over it (oh the guilt...)

The night was very jolly as we were joined by freinds Daisy and Derek and, it seemed, the best part of Chris' family who made the trip up to see him. I do have pictures, but her ladyship is not around to show me how to upload them (apologies for being a bit of a technophobe, but it's a wonder I can tie my own shoes). I might try to get them on later, because I wore my new purple jacket and looked and felt a million bucks. I sense your doubt, but I have pictures, I can prove it. I looked like Jack the Biscuit.

Whoever he is.

On Sunday I compered a lovely gig in Sunderland. The fact that the locals were friendly was a huge relief as the first thing to greet me as I bounded enthusiastically off the train were some chavvy kids shouting, "LONG HAIR! HA HA HA! LONG HAIR!". Jesus, I thought, how backwards is it here? A false start, as it turned out, as the night was great fun with a table of three IT workers who I told a joke to in binary code (the punchline was, "010001111010000....010!"). The crowd gave a round of applause for this, before I got another laugh for pointing out that one of my stooges, who had nearly fallen of his chair, actually seemed to have got it.

I love moments like that. Little moments that exist only on that night, at that gig. Audiences know it too and nearly always react accordingly, making them a special occurrence in any performance. Another reason why I love what I do.

Not everyone is so appreciative though, as a dull Monday sat vainly googling my own name uncovered. I found a stinking review of me, just from someone else's blog but a corker all the same. What is curious is that I did very well at the gig in question (although that fact is curiously omitted), bringing to mind a glorious image of him sat with a distasteful look on his face, scribbling contemptfully into his notepad as the people around him fell about laughing.

Still, he's entitled to his opinion, I suppose. And on that note (and a link to the forementioned) I will leave you. Enjoy.

Peace. X

A day of mixed emotion...

...for me yesterday. I took Bron to Bradford, land of my birth, to pick up some leaflets from Birch Printers, the firm I used to work for (okay, that was a plug, so in for a penny; Birch Printers (Bradford) Ltd - 01274 884455. Call for a competitive quote on all short to medium length runs of lithographic and digital printing).

Whilst there I took the time to go for lunch with Nicky, my former collegue and proud possessor of West Yorkshire's most nippable hips. It was cool to catch up with her a she is one of the few people I've met who shares my idiotic sense of humour. She's also going through a purple patch in her life at the moment too which is good to hear.

On the down side, the food at the local, which used to be spot on, has gone rapidly downhill in my absence. The cook lollopped about the kitchen for the best part of 45 minutes before bringing me a mixed grill that looked and tasted like assorted roadkill and Bron a burger with a burned bap (which, with it's inherent alliteration, is a joy to say but a bugger to eat). I think she was still getting to grips with the concept of flame. "Ooooh, the bright thing, it dances, it burns......".

It did feel kind of weird to be back there, what with it being my last "proper" job before throwing my lot in with the comedy. Adam in the repro department did jokingly say that he had some proof reading for me to do and I nearly told him, without the merest hint of humour, to put it on my desk.

In for a penny, in for a pound, I figured - let's make a day of it. So we went back to the house I used to live in in Clayton, which has magically transformed from a bohemian slum to a respectable dwelling, and then on to the house in Allerton where I lived with my family for the lion's share of my formative years. This felt really weird - I've never quite felt settled or truly at home ever since leaving this house, the house I grew up in. My parents have now moved to Skipton but their house, charming as it is, has never really felt like home either and the flats and lodgings I've stayed in since have just been places I've hung my hat, as it were. But here I was, back at the place I'd always thought of as home... but it wasn't. It felt wrong, somehow distorted, like a picture with all the colours streaming. It was familiar to me but at the same time seemed eerily distant. It made me feel very odd, sort of detached.

A walk through Chellow Dene Woods, setting for many of my childhood adventures, did little to exorcise ghosts of the past, though I did find time, even in my unsettled state, to pose for a daft photo or two.

From there we went into Bradford centre and the National Museum of Photography, Film and Television. Seeing Bron's little face light up at all the vintage cameras was a joy to behold. I love it when people overtly display their passion. We live in a sadly cynical age.

We then went in to watch a film in IMAX, involving a safari in, as the theme song put it, "Yeeeeeaaaaah, Africa". This was much fun, although the highlight was the gratuitous sex scene. Trust me, until you've seen two leopards indulging in a hot dicking in glorious 3D on a giant cinema screen, you haven't lived.

On the way back we popped in to see my parents, have a drink and listen to my mum chide me over the length of my beard. Okay. It was getting a bit out of hand.

I trimmed it today, which in itself was contender for most memorable event in what has been a dull old day. The only other highlight was buying some new trousers and a cracking purple jacket at TK Maxx as part of my ongoing campaign to do something about the blandness of my pastel colour infested wardrobe.

I'm going to do some thinking about tomorrow night's gig now - I'm back in Bradford again for my monthly residency at the Bag of Quips. I have some new routines to try, so I'll try to edit them in preparation.

Peace. X

A weekend of excess...

... especially for my housemate Douglas, who, in honour of his birthday on Sunday, has spent the last two days on an drug and vodka fuelled bender. He is not his usual perky self today (unsuprisingly) and is currently sleeping in his room.

There was a party at ours on Sunday night, however, resulting in much noise and mess, signs of success for any good shindig. I drunk lots of WKD (grrrr, manly) and tried to eat my own body weight in nibbles. I stayed up very late too - the birds were tweeting and everything - without any chemical assistance, save perhaps for the sugar in the alcopops I was so bravely drinking.

Another big social do without smoking too! I've kind of got used to it at gigs now, but parties and the like are still a strain. Still, I did it...

Speaking of gigs, I did my first gig at Rawhide, a HUGE comedy club in Liverpool that is built into a disused theatre, on Thursday. I brought the house down. Well, I did a good job, anyway. There's something about big clubs with a good sized stage that cranks an extra gear out of me; I often find I scale my performance to the size of the room to some extent and that was certainly the case on this night. Lots of applause, even an impromtu second ovation from punters waiting for taxis outside the venue as I was leaving. Most satisfying. I'll be back there I suspect.

Then a fun gig in the sleepy hollow of Winsford in Cheshire to a much more intimate crowd of about 20-30 people on Friday. I was compering and the locals were quite heckly (to use an adjective I've just made up) but were a lot of fun, with punters ranging from Debbie (who had the cheek to introduce herself to the other comics and I before the gig in the following fashion; "Hi, are you the comics? Nice to meet you, I'm the heckler") to a total stoner mentalist on the front row who looked so of his tree on god knows what that I was in two minds over whether to talk to him, but eventually could not resist. With his big mop of hair and his Wishbone Ash t-shirt he looked, on the surface anyway, to be my kind of guy. But he wasn't even sure what day it was I don't think, let alone what was going on. I made the crowd laugh and applaud when talking to him by leaning over and saying quietly, "Listen mate, I don't want to worry you, but... I'm not really here". I swear for a second he looked genuinely concerned, before roaring with laughter himself. Later, when Rob and Scatz, a musical act (who were excellent, by the way), were on stage, he moshed enthusiastically along to all their songs. Bless.

Then a trip to London on Saturday, gigging at the Bearcat Club in Twickenham. The Bearcat is unusual in that there is no compere (well, a guy with a clipboard goes out and says your name, but he's not a compere as such). This problem is compounded when you are on first, as you effectively hit the crowd cold. Guess who was on first... yep, it was me. I still had a good gig though (get in) - it took them a minute or so to get into it, but when they did they really did and I had a lovely time. The night was topped off swimmingly with a curry supper with my comedy pals Barry Dodds and Paul Sinha.

Today was spent with Bron and her Comedy Sportz pals from Chorley, filming some sketches (the world's most lame "Jackass" style stunts was a running theme) and eating lots of pizza. Mmmm, pizza.

Right, I'm off to wake Dug up. It's a crazy hour to be asleep. Carpe Diem, and other latin platitudes. I wonder what the latin is for, "Sorry to disturb you Dug, please don't cut me".

Peace. X

A test of my professionalism...

... and a hark back to my amateur dramatics days (luvvie, darling) as the mike at my gig in Barnsley tonight packed in and I was forced to do twenty minutes using only the admitttedly formidable power of my own lungs. Against all odds, to a big room with a hundred or so people in it, I had a good gig.

It's been a while since I had to project my voice, as evidenced by the aching in my torso from an underused diaphragm. Having said that, all of me aches for reasons that will become clear later. Suffice to say my classical training (ahem) won over and I was informed, to my delight and relief, that I could be heard at the back of the room with crystal clarity. I am a true pro, unflappable in the face of such petty setbacks. The show must go on (and all those other showbiz cliches).

Nothing wrong with my ego.

Or my bank balance! Over £600 of the cash owed to me rolled in over the weekend, along with a £400 tax bill. A tad unfortunate, but not-so-easy come, easy go, as my finances seem to work at present. At least my rent was covered.

Quiet weekend just gone, especially so as my gigs on Friday and Saturday were pulled at short notice. I felt like weeping, as if I were watching those little bags of money just fly away...

Still, a good gig last Thursday in Welwyn Garden City, the first night of a new comedy club, which is always a challenge as you are effectively setting the standard, determining whether people come back. There is also the added problem that the crowd may not be used to how a comedy night works and will not know how to "behave". Fortunately the night went swimmingly. I opened the gig with a fun 25 minutes, even having the audacity to start with a joke I'd just thought of, something I would have never dared do not so long back. I think the improv workshops have really helped my confidence in that respect, broadening my capacity to think on my feet.

What was the joke? Oh go on, I'll tell you. Basically, the compere was doing a routine about corporal punishment and asked if anyone had ever received any at school. A woman in the crowd replied with a (frankly horrific) tale of how she once had a teacher put a monkey wrench over her ear and twist it, all because she didn't happen to be very good at maths. I went on and told the woman I felt her pain, because;

"When I was at school, I really struggled with cross country, so the gym teacher... fucked me up the arse. After which I learned to run very very fast indeed!"

Not in the best taste, but it brought the house down.

Ah, you had to be there.

Anyway, a quiet weekend as I said, save for drinks in the Comedy Store on Saturday and accompanying my flatmates to a frankly mental gong show in Middlesbrough on Sunday, where I consumed my own body weight in Guinness and curry and yet didn't spend a penny, due to the profound and appreciated hospitality of the promoter (cheers Pete). Oh happy days.

Anyway, on to the root of my aches and pains... I played five-a-side last night! Some freinds of Chris Tavner needed a couple of extra bodies for a game, so Dug and I headed down to make the numbers up (which is just about all we did). It was much fun and there is the possibility of it becoming a weekly thing, which would be benificial since, when naked, I already have trouble seeing my dick when looking down, due to my ever-expanding barrel-like gut. Not that I spend hours doing such things, but you get the jist.

Today though, I ache as if four or five large men had taken turns over several hours to methodically beat me with large sticks. I swear it even hurts when I blink. Or type.

Owww.

Owww.

Owww Owww Owww.

No, sorry, I can't take it anymore. Catch up soon.

Peace. X