My Friday night binge is beginning to look like the first ever authentic case of "a bad pint" in British Drinking History. It's the only explanation why I still feel utterly shite. In a way it's a kind of moral victory, as I probably didn't actually drink quite as much as I thought I did on Friday night, and that my anger at my lack of willpower may have been misplaced.
This is scant comfort though.
While peering at the TV watching Tiger Woods stroll to victory, I witness the astonishing sight of Dougie Donnelly, yes THE Dougie Donnelly, being mobbed by a large posse of autograph hunters at St Andrews.
The world has officially gone catastrophically mad.
Kids these days. I don't know....I really don't know.
What next? Anne Widdecombe headlining at "The Monsters of Rock" Festival at Castle Donington?
Nicholas Witchell doing a rap duet with Eminem?
Have kids lost the ability to differentiate between the irretrievably naff and the cool?
I worry for them.
Dougie must be on such a high after that!
If I'd been a kid and had seen Arthur Montford in real life, I'd have attempted an impersonation of his legendary deadpan commentating style, "It's a disaster for Scotland...", giggled, and run off.
I wouldn't have pestered him for an autograph.
I had a really nice gig at The Stand later on. It was a small audience, but I felt I'd won them over and was getting some fairly big tasty laughs.
Jane who co-runs The Stand watched my set and gave me an appraisal. It was mostly positive. I was pleased to get some feedback and she gave me a lot of sound advice.
I figured she wouldn't have bothered if she felt I was irredeemably crap.
All in all, a good night, somewhat tarnished by getting a bleeding parking ticket. Ona Sunday night at 9.30pm!!!! bastards...bastards..bastards...!
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