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
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
posted by Ben Schofield at 7:05 PM
1 Comments:
you didn't mention how you GOT HOME from Winsford or whereever that was...
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