We had our first preview for TSOTT at the Traverse theatre on Monday night.
68 paying punters rolled in which was way more than we had anticipated.
Alas, we couldn’t show our intro Tram spoof video due to technological constraints, but the show was generally well-received and it was certainly a worthwhile outing.
It’s clear that the show name was what got the punters in, rather than the individuals involved in it, (even though we are all brilliantly funny…obviously).
I’d also imagine that there was very possibly, a certain degree of disappointment amongst a proportion of the audience,that the show wasn’t entirely devoted to lampooning the saga that the Edinburgh Trams Project has developed into.
The challenge we face is to make the show so funny, that people ultimately won’t mind that the show didn’t quite fit into their pre-conceived idea of what it was all about.
It’s handy that the name attracts people, but we need to get a good word-of-mouth going from these punters to really get the box-office zinging.
I reckon that by the end of August, neither myself, Jeff O’Boyle, Martin McAllister or Gordon Alexander will want to set eyes on one another for at least 6 months, or wish to hear any of each other’s material ever again.
That’s my prediction.
They intensely irritate me already and we haven’t even started the run yet.
It’s not their fault though…they just don’t realise how naturally irritating they are.
Maybe I should mention it to them sometime?
Other news, I have bought an Apple Mac.
I have finally summoned the courage to tell Bill Gates to “step off”.
Is it too late for me to re-train in the way of the Mac?
Who knows…the point is I really hate “Windows” and always have done.
I only justified sticking to a PC because I’m generally using a PC at work.
Now, however, the IT freelance market is on the point of collapse, so it’s maybe time to move on and do something else.
Maybe I’ll write a best-selling guide on switching from one to another “with hilarious consequences”.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Saturday, July 25, 2009
That's what friends are for...
So anyway, I did this gig at The Stand a few weeks ago.
It was a Sunday night and I had a 10 minute open spot.
I made up my mind to try out some completely new material.
Shortly after arriving at the club, I was told there were 2 reviewers in.
One of them was the Daily Record.
After a bit of thought, I decided to press on with my original plan, and just go with some new stuff.
There were 6 acts on the bill, so if it went badly I'd most likely be ignored, as most of the review would probably concentrate on the legendary Phil Nichol, who was headlining.
I'd say trying out new material is a bit like asking someone out on a date when you are by no means certain what the response will be.
It's also difficult to do it confidently in front of an audience of strangers.
So I do the gig...it doesn't go particularly well.
Most of the acts were in agreement that it was a very quiet audience, and it was a night where everyone had to work hard for the laughs.
In a way it was probably an ideal night to try out new material, because if it had gone over really well with that audience, then it was obviously comedy dynamite you had on your hands.
Weeks passed, and I forgot about the Daily Record review.
I'd done a bit of googling but there was no sign of it.
My good friend Billy came to the rescue.
His girlfriend had spotted it in the Daily Record, and Billy was helpful enough to read it to me on the phone.
He is a kindly soul.
What became immediately apparent was that the reviewer only talked about 2 acts from the 6 who were on.
This was myself and the headliner Phil Nichol.
Surprisingly, he'd actually written more words about me than Phil.
Anyway, here it is......
"As Frank Carson endlessly pointed out, the way you tell 'em often matters more than the material itself when it comes to being funny.
Carson's advice sprung to mind while watching Jim Park, one of half a dozen acts at the Sunday night package show.
Jim has a neat line in oddball oneliners but cunningly manages to deliver each and every one of them absolutely stillborn. Deadpan just doesn't do him justice.
Presented with more vim,verve and structure, or possibly by someone else, his surreal gags could slay an audience.
Instead, he left this one looking confused and slightly embarassed for him.
Cruelly, the more Jim died on stage, the funnier I found his act, to the point where I began to wonder if he was deliberately sabotaging his own set.
I laughed until I cried but I suspect it was for all the wrong reasons."
When you get a "rave" review like that, the first thing your comedy training tells you to do is look for a quotable quote...
"I laughed until I cried" Daily Record, is the one that stands out.
(I have misquoted it slightly on my web page, but taken from the Daily Record, there's an amusing irony in that)
There's also "a neat line in oddball oneliners" "surreal gags...slay an audience"
So that's all positive.
I can't really regret trying out a load of new stuff with reviewers in.
I think if I'd gone for the tried and tested and had a solid gig, I wouldn't have been mentioned.
Elaine Malcolmson and Jeff O'Boyle had top gigs I thought, but didn't warrant a mention by Mr Jonathan Trew.
He'd obviously wanted a sacrificial lamb to use in his "Frank Carson" themed piece, and I assumed that role.
So, yes, it's a bit unfair, but he still has a point.
I was talking to a UK comedy mogul recently, and he said he really liked my stuff, but that I needed a greater stylisation in the delivery if I was to climb further up the comedy ladder.
We have a preview of "The Silence of the Trams" at the Traverse Theatre on Mon 27th July.
Feel free to come along and watch me "deliberately sabotage" the show... :-)
It was a Sunday night and I had a 10 minute open spot.
I made up my mind to try out some completely new material.
Shortly after arriving at the club, I was told there were 2 reviewers in.
One of them was the Daily Record.
After a bit of thought, I decided to press on with my original plan, and just go with some new stuff.
There were 6 acts on the bill, so if it went badly I'd most likely be ignored, as most of the review would probably concentrate on the legendary Phil Nichol, who was headlining.
I'd say trying out new material is a bit like asking someone out on a date when you are by no means certain what the response will be.
It's also difficult to do it confidently in front of an audience of strangers.
So I do the gig...it doesn't go particularly well.
Most of the acts were in agreement that it was a very quiet audience, and it was a night where everyone had to work hard for the laughs.
In a way it was probably an ideal night to try out new material, because if it had gone over really well with that audience, then it was obviously comedy dynamite you had on your hands.
Weeks passed, and I forgot about the Daily Record review.
I'd done a bit of googling but there was no sign of it.
My good friend Billy came to the rescue.
His girlfriend had spotted it in the Daily Record, and Billy was helpful enough to read it to me on the phone.
He is a kindly soul.
What became immediately apparent was that the reviewer only talked about 2 acts from the 6 who were on.
This was myself and the headliner Phil Nichol.
Surprisingly, he'd actually written more words about me than Phil.
Anyway, here it is......
"As Frank Carson endlessly pointed out, the way you tell 'em often matters more than the material itself when it comes to being funny.
Carson's advice sprung to mind while watching Jim Park, one of half a dozen acts at the Sunday night package show.
Jim has a neat line in oddball oneliners but cunningly manages to deliver each and every one of them absolutely stillborn. Deadpan just doesn't do him justice.
Presented with more vim,verve and structure, or possibly by someone else, his surreal gags could slay an audience.
Instead, he left this one looking confused and slightly embarassed for him.
Cruelly, the more Jim died on stage, the funnier I found his act, to the point where I began to wonder if he was deliberately sabotaging his own set.
I laughed until I cried but I suspect it was for all the wrong reasons."
When you get a "rave" review like that, the first thing your comedy training tells you to do is look for a quotable quote...
"I laughed until I cried" Daily Record, is the one that stands out.
(I have misquoted it slightly on my web page, but taken from the Daily Record, there's an amusing irony in that)
There's also "a neat line in oddball oneliners" "surreal gags...slay an audience"
So that's all positive.
I can't really regret trying out a load of new stuff with reviewers in.
I think if I'd gone for the tried and tested and had a solid gig, I wouldn't have been mentioned.
Elaine Malcolmson and Jeff O'Boyle had top gigs I thought, but didn't warrant a mention by Mr Jonathan Trew.
He'd obviously wanted a sacrificial lamb to use in his "Frank Carson" themed piece, and I assumed that role.
So, yes, it's a bit unfair, but he still has a point.
I was talking to a UK comedy mogul recently, and he said he really liked my stuff, but that I needed a greater stylisation in the delivery if I was to climb further up the comedy ladder.
We have a preview of "The Silence of the Trams" at the Traverse Theatre on Mon 27th July.
Feel free to come along and watch me "deliberately sabotage" the show... :-)
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Thoughts
Well it looks like, for the first time ever, I’m on course to get through a series of “Big Brother” without watching ANY of it…
I am very proud.
It is one of my finest achievements.
By not watching any of it, I am sending out a powerful message to Channel 4 that as a product, “Big Brother” is finished.
This has to be the last series.
I watched Andy Murray impersonating Tim Henman last night…it was quite convincing.
Tennis can be entertaining, but there’s far too much faffing about.
If I was in charge, I’d make the following rule amendments ;
You’ve got only one service…and if it hits the net cord and lands in play, THEN JUST PLAY ON…!
(all this “First Service”, “Second Service”, “Let” is a big waste of time…)
From now on you get to sit down at the end of a SET not every TWO bleeding GAMES.
Come on…! You’re athletes…not Chelsea Fucking Pensioners.
Furthermore, you’re only allowed to dab a towel on your face once every twenty minutes.
If you break strings in your racket you just have to carry on with it.
Look after your equipment!
If they’d have introduced these rules before last night’s game, it would have finished two hours earlier, and we might have achieved more at out TSOTT strategy meeting.
This week it’s become clear that Edinburgh has decided to stop being known as the “Athens of the North” , and is now competing for the title of “The San Francisco of the East”.
San Francisco is famous for Trams as well…
This could form the basis for our satirical Tram show.
or maybe not.
I am very proud.
It is one of my finest achievements.
By not watching any of it, I am sending out a powerful message to Channel 4 that as a product, “Big Brother” is finished.
This has to be the last series.
I watched Andy Murray impersonating Tim Henman last night…it was quite convincing.
Tennis can be entertaining, but there’s far too much faffing about.
If I was in charge, I’d make the following rule amendments ;
You’ve got only one service…and if it hits the net cord and lands in play, THEN JUST PLAY ON…!
(all this “First Service”, “Second Service”, “Let” is a big waste of time…)
From now on you get to sit down at the end of a SET not every TWO bleeding GAMES.
Come on…! You’re athletes…not Chelsea Fucking Pensioners.
Furthermore, you’re only allowed to dab a towel on your face once every twenty minutes.
If you break strings in your racket you just have to carry on with it.
Look after your equipment!
If they’d have introduced these rules before last night’s game, it would have finished two hours earlier, and we might have achieved more at out TSOTT strategy meeting.
This week it’s become clear that Edinburgh has decided to stop being known as the “Athens of the North” , and is now competing for the title of “The San Francisco of the East”.
San Francisco is famous for Trams as well…
This could form the basis for our satirical Tram show.
or maybe not.
Monday, June 29, 2009
FF Row
There was an article on “The Silence of the Trams” in the Evening News on Saturday.
I look on it as an empirical test of the theory “There is no such thing as bad publicity”.
On the positive side, it’s almost a full page in the newspaper, and in terms of Fringe publicity, very valuable.
On the debit side, I fear we come across as a bunch of tossers…but maybe we are a bunch of tossers.
The article implies that the show is entirely devoted to Trams.
We never said this, but at the same time, I’m not stupid and realise that they were always going to emphasize
the Tram angle as they know that it’s a hot, local topic.
We’ll have a few tram references of course, but I just hope people aren’t disappointed that it’s not an hour-long satirical revue on Edinburgh Trams.
It’ll probably be a good idea to make fun of the lack of tram references.
I sent 300 “TSOTT” promotional emails last night as I went through all the historic entries in my yahoo address book.
I’d no idea who many of them were, and I suspect there may be a bit of confusion from some of the recipients as to who I am.
I’d joked before doing this, that some of my old contacts may not actually be around any more.
Unfortunately this turned out to be tragically true.
My email to old snowboarding buddy Paul McCrae bounced from his Westminster Council email address.
I thought I’d do a quick Google to see if I could find an alternate contact address for him.
I was then stunned to find a “Just Giving” page set up “in memory of”.
I stayed at a snowboard chalet with Paul and his girlfriend Fiona a few years ago, and principally remember spending the whole of that week continuously laughing.
My snowboarding was largely rubbish, but the banter was spectacular.
He was an incredibly warm, full-on funny guy, and I find it very hard to take in that he’s not around any more.
On a lighter note, I spent a recent weekend golfing in Northern Ireland.
Again the actual “sport” aspect of the holiday was fairly dreadful in terms of my individual performance ; however, there were a few amusing off-course moments.
I’ve never seen a hotel more anxious to get the money for accommodation paid as quickly as possible.
In a way I was impressed, as they obviously regarded our party of “golfers” as capable of larging it up and causing wanton destruction to the hotel, when in fact, we neither have the energy nor the inclination for that kind of stuff any more.
Interestingly, the founder of the hotel had obviously done a fair amount of animal slaughter in Africa judging by the abundance of animal heads on the walls, (as well as a stuffed tiger in a glass cage).
I was interested to spot 2 antelopes arses on the wall as well (with a drink dispenser emerging from a predictable source).
This isn’t something you see every day.
Another talking point occurred on the Saturday night.
It was a fairly large hotel with about 8 different bars, as well as a couple of club-type bars which attracted top local youth in their hundreds.
At one point, along with about 50 other people, I found myself in the “smoking area” ; a roofless ante room to the main club bar.
I was talking there to fellow golfer Calum.
He stopped in mid-sentence with a vaguely startled expression on his face.
I looked around and saw a young couple sitting on a bench snogging.
Nothing unusual about that per se….
However, as my eyes descended, I noticed that the gentleman’s forearm had disappeared under the lady’s skirt.
The arm movement was akin to a lead violinist playing “The William Tell Overture”.
There’s not really any way you can dress this up…
This was a public act of energetic fingering...
A bouncer intervened and informed “Romeo” that his actions were “inappropriate”.
Stunned by this spectacle, we left…then tried to explain our gobsmacked expressions to the rest of the party.
This isn’t what Jane Austen had in mind, surely?
I look on it as an empirical test of the theory “There is no such thing as bad publicity”.
On the positive side, it’s almost a full page in the newspaper, and in terms of Fringe publicity, very valuable.
On the debit side, I fear we come across as a bunch of tossers…but maybe we are a bunch of tossers.
The article implies that the show is entirely devoted to Trams.
We never said this, but at the same time, I’m not stupid and realise that they were always going to emphasize
the Tram angle as they know that it’s a hot, local topic.
We’ll have a few tram references of course, but I just hope people aren’t disappointed that it’s not an hour-long satirical revue on Edinburgh Trams.
It’ll probably be a good idea to make fun of the lack of tram references.
I sent 300 “TSOTT” promotional emails last night as I went through all the historic entries in my yahoo address book.
I’d no idea who many of them were, and I suspect there may be a bit of confusion from some of the recipients as to who I am.
I’d joked before doing this, that some of my old contacts may not actually be around any more.
Unfortunately this turned out to be tragically true.
My email to old snowboarding buddy Paul McCrae bounced from his Westminster Council email address.
I thought I’d do a quick Google to see if I could find an alternate contact address for him.
I was then stunned to find a “Just Giving” page set up “in memory of”.
I stayed at a snowboard chalet with Paul and his girlfriend Fiona a few years ago, and principally remember spending the whole of that week continuously laughing.
My snowboarding was largely rubbish, but the banter was spectacular.
He was an incredibly warm, full-on funny guy, and I find it very hard to take in that he’s not around any more.
On a lighter note, I spent a recent weekend golfing in Northern Ireland.
Again the actual “sport” aspect of the holiday was fairly dreadful in terms of my individual performance ; however, there were a few amusing off-course moments.
I’ve never seen a hotel more anxious to get the money for accommodation paid as quickly as possible.
In a way I was impressed, as they obviously regarded our party of “golfers” as capable of larging it up and causing wanton destruction to the hotel, when in fact, we neither have the energy nor the inclination for that kind of stuff any more.
Interestingly, the founder of the hotel had obviously done a fair amount of animal slaughter in Africa judging by the abundance of animal heads on the walls, (as well as a stuffed tiger in a glass cage).
I was interested to spot 2 antelopes arses on the wall as well (with a drink dispenser emerging from a predictable source).
This isn’t something you see every day.
Another talking point occurred on the Saturday night.
It was a fairly large hotel with about 8 different bars, as well as a couple of club-type bars which attracted top local youth in their hundreds.
At one point, along with about 50 other people, I found myself in the “smoking area” ; a roofless ante room to the main club bar.
I was talking there to fellow golfer Calum.
He stopped in mid-sentence with a vaguely startled expression on his face.
I looked around and saw a young couple sitting on a bench snogging.
Nothing unusual about that per se….
However, as my eyes descended, I noticed that the gentleman’s forearm had disappeared under the lady’s skirt.
The arm movement was akin to a lead violinist playing “The William Tell Overture”.
There’s not really any way you can dress this up…
This was a public act of energetic fingering...
A bouncer intervened and informed “Romeo” that his actions were “inappropriate”.
Stunned by this spectacle, we left…then tried to explain our gobsmacked expressions to the rest of the party.
This isn’t what Jane Austen had in mind, surely?
Monday, June 15, 2009
Anyone still there?
I've been neglecting the poor old Blog...
I can't apologise enough to you both...
It's lazy, lazy, lazy.
Anyway, I felt a chill today as I read the sad news that someone had a fatal fall on Clachaig Gully at the weekend.
The location of this accident is on (what I am now aware is) the dangerous, inadvisable descent from the frankly, terrifying Aonoch Eagath ridge walk at Glencoe.
There is a much safer way down, but stupidly neither I nor my companions on that day decided to take it.
I didn't even realise that the Clachaig Gully route down was dangerous anyway.
The problem is that it leads straight down to the Clachaig Inn, and on intial inspection appears a fairly straightforward descent to the pub and the enticing prospect of a delicious cold beer.
It had been a blistering hot day, we'd run out of water half way across the ridge (clever) ;I was dehydrated and my knees were tired and aching.
The path down is badly eroded with large sections of scree.
I fell over loads of times on the way down, as my feet repeatedly gave way in the scree.
I didn't think much of it at the time, but what I didn't realise was that, slightly disguised by high grass, was a several hundred foot drop which was literally inches from where I was frequently losing balance.
What an idiot.
Never go up mountains without a map.
On a brighter note, we ran a TSOTT preview as part of the "Leith Festival".
It was a sell-out and we ended up having to turn away about 40 people.
(We put an extra show on later on)
It was a great night, great crowd. Quite remarkable!
This is really encouraging and hopefully bodes well for the marketability of our Fringe run.
On a less brighter note I had a near-death experience at a comedy club in Glasgow on Friday at a place where I'd had a stormer on my last visit.
This brought to an end a great run of really rocking gigs.
So one duff gig after ten great ones should be put into some kind of perspective, shouldn't it?
Of course not, that would be too logical. I'm pissed off about it. Curses.
The main reason that I'm starting to write this again is to try and get some creative energy going to write some new material.
I tried a few things last week with variable results.
Monday, May 04, 2009
Ding ding! All aboard...
If you have ever walked around all day with a pit bull terrier’s jaws locked onto your calf muscle, than you have an inkling of what it is like to have presented funnyman Gordon Alexander with a tempting opportunity to take the mickey out of you in a sustained attack.
Gordon’s attention had been captured by my “QI” warm-up spots posting.
He spent most of yesterday, casting doubt on the veracity of my tragic tale of missed opportunity and heartbreak.
We were forced together, as yesterday was the photoshoot for our upcoming show “The Silence of the Trams” ; now forever referred to as “TSOTT”.
I took the opportunity to dress up as a “tram conductor”, complete with a false moustache and a camp hat.
There are people who may think that the “QI” anecdote was a crude episode of self-promotion…a desperate, cloying attempt to take something positive from a day of disappointment by hoping that the disclosure, that I was within a million miles of being selected for a job of this nature, might inflate my comedy profile, and cause the conservative, small-minded Scottish promoters who consistently pass me over for gigs, to think again and re-evaluate my comedy status, (I’m joking…I’m joking…).
Nothing could be further from the truth.
It’s warts and all on this blog, and, of course, everyone knows that disasters make much better reading than success stories.
I have just experienced two dropping incidents in two days.
Last night I dropped a pint glass during Billy Kirkwood’s impressive set at The Stand.
The glass, thankfully, didn’t smash, but everyone turned and stared at me disapprovingly, which I found very unsettling.
Then today at work I dropped a carton of tea, causing mayhem. Losing my grip? (on reality?)
I didn’t get where I am today by dropping a pint of lager and a cup of tea, on consecutive days.
We got a little mention in the Evening News…
http://edinburghnews.scotsman.com/opinion/Liam-Rudden39s-Fringe-Firsts.5227716.jp
I particularly liked the “finest young comedians” bit.
Gordon’s attention had been captured by my “QI” warm-up spots posting.
He spent most of yesterday, casting doubt on the veracity of my tragic tale of missed opportunity and heartbreak.
We were forced together, as yesterday was the photoshoot for our upcoming show “The Silence of the Trams” ; now forever referred to as “TSOTT”.
I took the opportunity to dress up as a “tram conductor”, complete with a false moustache and a camp hat.
There are people who may think that the “QI” anecdote was a crude episode of self-promotion…a desperate, cloying attempt to take something positive from a day of disappointment by hoping that the disclosure, that I was within a million miles of being selected for a job of this nature, might inflate my comedy profile, and cause the conservative, small-minded Scottish promoters who consistently pass me over for gigs, to think again and re-evaluate my comedy status, (I’m joking…I’m joking…).
Nothing could be further from the truth.
It’s warts and all on this blog, and, of course, everyone knows that disasters make much better reading than success stories.
I have just experienced two dropping incidents in two days.
Last night I dropped a pint glass during Billy Kirkwood’s impressive set at The Stand.
The glass, thankfully, didn’t smash, but everyone turned and stared at me disapprovingly, which I found very unsettling.
Then today at work I dropped a carton of tea, causing mayhem. Losing my grip? (on reality?)
I didn’t get where I am today by dropping a pint of lager and a cup of tea, on consecutive days.
We got a little mention in the Evening News…
http://edinburghnews.scotsman.com/opinion/Liam-Rudden39s-Fringe-Firsts.5227716.jp
I particularly liked the “finest young comedians” bit.
Friday, May 01, 2009
Almost quite interesting....
I got an email yesterday from the Hackney Empire people.
It was confirming a couple of gigs (one of them doing an extended set back at the Hackney Empire “Best of Hackney New Act of the Year” show on July 18th ; I’m looking forward to that!).
They also went on to ask if I’d be interested in doing warm-up spots for the studio audience of the BBC show “QI”.
Apparently, the “QI” people had been at the Hackney final and were “very impressed”, and had asked about my availability.
I said I was interested, after picking myself up off the floor.
I then made the classic mistake of telling a few people about the “QI” thing, and then got another email later that day to say that unfortunately they’d already filled the spots.
I wilfully broke the law concerning talking about something before it was a done deal.
Idiot.
The initial email had been in my inbox for a few hours before I had the chance to read it, so perhaps I missed the boat timewise.
Gutted.
Still, it was flattering to be considered for such a position, and hopefully I’ll get another opportunity.
We’ve recently been spending some time sorting out all the Park memorabilia which has been stored away in my sister’s flat.
Being involved in this process stirs up a lot of emotions.
There were a lot of laughs, but also a great many poignant moments.
There was some hilarity when an old diary belonging to my Gran was discovered.
One entry concerned my sister and I and read ; “Jim and Janie came to visit me. It was nice to see Janie”.
Now, my interpretation of this was that my Gran mentioned “it was nice to see Janie” because she wasn’t as regular a visitor as I was,
and that her happiness at my presence didn’t need to be explicitly remarked upon, as I was pretty much the favourite Grandchild who was constantly doted on, (well this is my clear recollection anyway).
A visit from Janie was a rarer event, and this is obviously what Gran is alluding to.
She was too busy going to parties and hanging out with freaks.
What worried me was thinking, that if I was to become a famous comedian/national-treasure-type figure, some BBC commissioning editor
might decide, in the future, to commission yet another mean-spirited BBC bio-pic on a British comedian.
They’d be researching my life, and on finding this diary, would wrongly assume that my Gran couldn’t stand the sight of me, and would
no doubt feature this in the film as one of the many indicators of the private tragedy behind funnyman Jim Park’s chirpy demeanor.
Obviously, I’ll have to make sure I write a tedious autobiography to counter such possible misconceptions.
(suggested titles? “No Parking!”, “Just Jim!”, hmmm…very poor)
But there were also sadder things.
There was a stack of “Get Well” cards that the kids at my Mum’s school had made for her when she was ill.
The cards had obviously meant a lot to my mum.
We were trying to be ruthless with a lot of the stuff, but couldn’t bring ourselves to bin things like this ; even though they were painful to read.
We also found an old cassette tape with a Park party going on in the background…lots of laughter, singing songs round the piano.
I heard myself playing a medley of tunes on the piano at the party.
There was “Sleepy Shores” (my piece of resistance) as well as (very ironically) “The Sash My Father Wore” and “Derry’s Walls”.
I did this mainly to annoy my Dad who was raised a catholic, and couldn’t stand Rangers.
I’ll always remember his face when my Grandpa gave me a Rangers LP for my 8th birthday with all the usual delightful, sectarian bilge on it.
Although, at the time, I thought it was great and played the record incessantly.
Then we read this by successful Edinburgh singer/songwriter Kim Edgar.
We were all really touched by how she regarded my mum as such an inspirational figure.
It was confirming a couple of gigs (one of them doing an extended set back at the Hackney Empire “Best of Hackney New Act of the Year” show on July 18th ; I’m looking forward to that!).
They also went on to ask if I’d be interested in doing warm-up spots for the studio audience of the BBC show “QI”.
Apparently, the “QI” people had been at the Hackney final and were “very impressed”, and had asked about my availability.
I said I was interested, after picking myself up off the floor.
I then made the classic mistake of telling a few people about the “QI” thing, and then got another email later that day to say that unfortunately they’d already filled the spots.
I wilfully broke the law concerning talking about something before it was a done deal.
Idiot.
The initial email had been in my inbox for a few hours before I had the chance to read it, so perhaps I missed the boat timewise.
Gutted.
Still, it was flattering to be considered for such a position, and hopefully I’ll get another opportunity.
We’ve recently been spending some time sorting out all the Park memorabilia which has been stored away in my sister’s flat.
Being involved in this process stirs up a lot of emotions.
There were a lot of laughs, but also a great many poignant moments.
There was some hilarity when an old diary belonging to my Gran was discovered.
One entry concerned my sister and I and read ; “Jim and Janie came to visit me. It was nice to see Janie”.
Now, my interpretation of this was that my Gran mentioned “it was nice to see Janie” because she wasn’t as regular a visitor as I was,
and that her happiness at my presence didn’t need to be explicitly remarked upon, as I was pretty much the favourite Grandchild who was constantly doted on, (well this is my clear recollection anyway).
A visit from Janie was a rarer event, and this is obviously what Gran is alluding to.
She was too busy going to parties and hanging out with freaks.
What worried me was thinking, that if I was to become a famous comedian/national-treasure-type figure, some BBC commissioning editor
might decide, in the future, to commission yet another mean-spirited BBC bio-pic on a British comedian.
They’d be researching my life, and on finding this diary, would wrongly assume that my Gran couldn’t stand the sight of me, and would
no doubt feature this in the film as one of the many indicators of the private tragedy behind funnyman Jim Park’s chirpy demeanor.
Obviously, I’ll have to make sure I write a tedious autobiography to counter such possible misconceptions.
(suggested titles? “No Parking!”, “Just Jim!”, hmmm…very poor)
But there were also sadder things.
There was a stack of “Get Well” cards that the kids at my Mum’s school had made for her when she was ill.
The cards had obviously meant a lot to my mum.
We were trying to be ruthless with a lot of the stuff, but couldn’t bring ourselves to bin things like this ; even though they were painful to read.
We also found an old cassette tape with a Park party going on in the background…lots of laughter, singing songs round the piano.
I heard myself playing a medley of tunes on the piano at the party.
There was “Sleepy Shores” (my piece of resistance) as well as (very ironically) “The Sash My Father Wore” and “Derry’s Walls”.
I did this mainly to annoy my Dad who was raised a catholic, and couldn’t stand Rangers.
I’ll always remember his face when my Grandpa gave me a Rangers LP for my 8th birthday with all the usual delightful, sectarian bilge on it.
Although, at the time, I thought it was great and played the record incessantly.
Then we read this by successful Edinburgh singer/songwriter Kim Edgar.
We were all really touched by how she regarded my mum as such an inspirational figure.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Walking
I did a couple of days walking the West Highland Way last week.
It was a charity event organised by The Stand to benefit “Barnardos”.
The weather was glorious, and the walk down the whole length of Loch Lomond from Inverarnan to Drymen was spectacularly beautiful.
Well that's all very well, but where were the funnies?
I'd say, the Inversnaid Hotel "lunch experience" deserves a mention.
It’s situated about half-way down the east side of the Loch and immediately brings to mind the building in “The Shining”.
3 of us arrived and made our way to the bar to order lunch.
I was told to remember that my order was “order number 1”.
I was a little surprised that a numbering system was being used, mainly due to the fact we were the only people who on the premises.
We sat outside and awaited our order.
About twenty minutes later a waitress appeared carried two dishes.
Is this for “number 1” I said helpfully.
“What?”
“I was told to remember that we were order number 1!”
“What?
“It’s our order number…number 1”
“You’re number 1? I don’t know what you mean…”
“The barman told me to remember our food order was number 1”
This went on for quite a while…
Eventually, it was firmly established that the food was for us…
However there were only 2 dishes…we were short of one plate of fish and chips…
“I’ll get another one” she said.
Twenty minutes later there was still no sign of my fish and chips.
I decided to go and find out what was happening.
I am an alpha male.
I saw the waitress in question chatting merrily to the receptionist.
“Hello. I just wandered when I was getting my fish and chips?”
“Oh! I’m sorry! I completely forgot! I’ll order it now! I’m sorry…”
I was too stunned to react angrily.
Now these things will happen occasionally in any restaurant.
Admittedly, it is unusual to happen in a restaurant when there is only one table being occupied by customers.
That takes a superior level of incompetence to carry off successfully.
It must be fairly manic in there when they’ve got two, or maybe even three, tables to deal with at a time.
After a couple of minutes reflection, I did feel like smashing the door to the kitchen with an axe, sticking my
head through the hole and shouting “Here’s Jimmy!”, but would that have speeded up the preparation of my fish and chips?
I don’t know…perhaps?
I also found it amusing that many of the people we passed coming in the opposite direction described the walk they’d just done
in terms comparable to a final push for the summit of K2.
Although it is fair to say though that there was the odd exposed 6ft drop, and once we had to use our hands to scramble over a
small boulder.
At this point my life did flash before me.
But overall it was a right old laugh, and I’d like to do the whole thing at some point, and have a dessert at the Inversnaid Hotel.
It was a charity event organised by The Stand to benefit “Barnardos”.
The weather was glorious, and the walk down the whole length of Loch Lomond from Inverarnan to Drymen was spectacularly beautiful.
Well that's all very well, but where were the funnies?
I'd say, the Inversnaid Hotel "lunch experience" deserves a mention.
It’s situated about half-way down the east side of the Loch and immediately brings to mind the building in “The Shining”.
3 of us arrived and made our way to the bar to order lunch.
I was told to remember that my order was “order number 1”.
I was a little surprised that a numbering system was being used, mainly due to the fact we were the only people who on the premises.
We sat outside and awaited our order.
About twenty minutes later a waitress appeared carried two dishes.
Is this for “number 1” I said helpfully.
“What?”
“I was told to remember that we were order number 1!”
“What?
“It’s our order number…number 1”
“You’re number 1? I don’t know what you mean…”
“The barman told me to remember our food order was number 1”
This went on for quite a while…
Eventually, it was firmly established that the food was for us…
However there were only 2 dishes…we were short of one plate of fish and chips…
“I’ll get another one” she said.
Twenty minutes later there was still no sign of my fish and chips.
I decided to go and find out what was happening.
I am an alpha male.
I saw the waitress in question chatting merrily to the receptionist.
“Hello. I just wandered when I was getting my fish and chips?”
“Oh! I’m sorry! I completely forgot! I’ll order it now! I’m sorry…”
I was too stunned to react angrily.
Now these things will happen occasionally in any restaurant.
Admittedly, it is unusual to happen in a restaurant when there is only one table being occupied by customers.
That takes a superior level of incompetence to carry off successfully.
It must be fairly manic in there when they’ve got two, or maybe even three, tables to deal with at a time.
After a couple of minutes reflection, I did feel like smashing the door to the kitchen with an axe, sticking my
head through the hole and shouting “Here’s Jimmy!”, but would that have speeded up the preparation of my fish and chips?
I don’t know…perhaps?
I also found it amusing that many of the people we passed coming in the opposite direction described the walk they’d just done
in terms comparable to a final push for the summit of K2.
Although it is fair to say though that there was the odd exposed 6ft drop, and once we had to use our hands to scramble over a
small boulder.
At this point my life did flash before me.
But overall it was a right old laugh, and I’d like to do the whole thing at some point, and have a dessert at the Inversnaid Hotel.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Yorkshire Tour
I had a one date Yorkshire Comedy Tour last week in Beverley.
The gig itself was great ; although not so great was the 6 hours it took me to drive there as I got caught up in
the Easter traffic. I’ve got a very low boredom threshold, and long journeys do my head in.
It would probably have helped if I’d brought some decent cds to listen to on the way down, rather than the collection
of garbage currently residing in my glove compartment, (I like the way we still quaintly refer to this storage area as the “glove compartment”
in spite of the fact that very few drivers (I suspect) are currently still in the habit of donning “driving gloves”.)
In addition, most of my cds get stuck on certain tracks, and when this happens in the midst of yet another traffic jam…well, it all gets a bit too much for me.
I listened to “The Best of Bananarama” twice.
Desperate.
The gig was a “Buzz Comedy” gig run by the legendary “Agraman”.
He’s a true maverick of the comedy business who delights in the pun.
Most comedy clubs start with a fanfare of loud music, followed by an enthusiastic compere whipping the crowd up into a frenzy, by asking members of the audience where they come from and what job they do.
Agraman is different.
He just appears on stage without any intro, and gradually batters the audience into submission with a long series of terrible puns, and
an innate charm. I really liked his approach, and so did the audience.
They’re obviously very familiar with his style and took it in their stride.
The last time I’d gigged in this neck of the wood was when I’d only done a handful of gigs, and had a spot in Scarborough.
At that stage in my career, I was quite freaked out to discover that there was an audience of 400 at the club.
I talked at 100mph throughout my set, and was told by many people after the gig that they had absolutely no idea what I was talking about as they ouldn’t understand I word I’d said,(they do definitely talk a bit slower in Yorkshire than they do in Scotland).
This time I deliberately slowed down the delivery, and it all went really well.
Rather than immediately embark on the epic journey home after the gig, I decided to get drunk and stay at a B&B in Beverley ; a very pretty town I thought.
It was at this point that I decided to give up smoking (again).
There was no “Marlboro Lights” to be had, so I ended up buying a pack of “Lambert & Butler” out of the machine (£6.20).
I smoked 2, but didn’t enjoy them at all, and ended up throwing the rest away.
£3.10 a fag…
Ridiculous, I thought…that’s it, I’ve had enough of this stupid habit…
It was the latest in a long line of “nicotine epiphany moments”.
Oh well, have now gone 11 days now without smoking with relative ease….(yawn!...I know…I know…)
On the bill with me were Liane Ross, Marc Lucero and Kevin Dewsbury, and extremely funny they all were too.
I noticed that Liane Ross was also dazzlingly attractive.
It’s fair to say that Marc and Kevin were also dazzlingly attractive ; albeit in a slightly less conventional interpretation of “dazzlingly attractive”.
At the end of the show everyone drove off into the night, but I stayed around to have a couple of pints.
Unfortunately, I got locked in a less-than-enthralling discussion with a Beverley-based, ex-pat Scotsman.
His main topic of conversation was the Glasgow Underground.
He maintained, at considerable length, that it was a far superior underground system to the London Underground because in Glasgow ALL of
the track is underground.
London “pathetically” has several stretches of it’s erroneously titled “underground system” which are ABOVE the ground.
We discussed this for a good (I use the term loosely) half-an-hour.
What made Glasgow even better was the fact that they even had to make the trains underground, as there was no other way to get them there.
Rather than starting to self-harm, I made my excuses and left…cleverly getting lost in Beverley (which is a tiny place ; I am an idiot), as I tried to find my B&B
The gig itself was great ; although not so great was the 6 hours it took me to drive there as I got caught up in
the Easter traffic. I’ve got a very low boredom threshold, and long journeys do my head in.
It would probably have helped if I’d brought some decent cds to listen to on the way down, rather than the collection
of garbage currently residing in my glove compartment, (I like the way we still quaintly refer to this storage area as the “glove compartment”
in spite of the fact that very few drivers (I suspect) are currently still in the habit of donning “driving gloves”.)
In addition, most of my cds get stuck on certain tracks, and when this happens in the midst of yet another traffic jam…well, it all gets a bit too much for me.
I listened to “The Best of Bananarama” twice.
Desperate.
The gig was a “Buzz Comedy” gig run by the legendary “Agraman”.
He’s a true maverick of the comedy business who delights in the pun.
Most comedy clubs start with a fanfare of loud music, followed by an enthusiastic compere whipping the crowd up into a frenzy, by asking members of the audience where they come from and what job they do.
Agraman is different.
He just appears on stage without any intro, and gradually batters the audience into submission with a long series of terrible puns, and
an innate charm. I really liked his approach, and so did the audience.
They’re obviously very familiar with his style and took it in their stride.
The last time I’d gigged in this neck of the wood was when I’d only done a handful of gigs, and had a spot in Scarborough.
At that stage in my career, I was quite freaked out to discover that there was an audience of 400 at the club.
I talked at 100mph throughout my set, and was told by many people after the gig that they had absolutely no idea what I was talking about as they ouldn’t understand I word I’d said,(they do definitely talk a bit slower in Yorkshire than they do in Scotland).
This time I deliberately slowed down the delivery, and it all went really well.
Rather than immediately embark on the epic journey home after the gig, I decided to get drunk and stay at a B&B in Beverley ; a very pretty town I thought.
It was at this point that I decided to give up smoking (again).
There was no “Marlboro Lights” to be had, so I ended up buying a pack of “Lambert & Butler” out of the machine (£6.20).
I smoked 2, but didn’t enjoy them at all, and ended up throwing the rest away.
£3.10 a fag…
Ridiculous, I thought…that’s it, I’ve had enough of this stupid habit…
It was the latest in a long line of “nicotine epiphany moments”.
Oh well, have now gone 11 days now without smoking with relative ease….(yawn!...I know…I know…)
On the bill with me were Liane Ross, Marc Lucero and Kevin Dewsbury, and extremely funny they all were too.
I noticed that Liane Ross was also dazzlingly attractive.
It’s fair to say that Marc and Kevin were also dazzlingly attractive ; albeit in a slightly less conventional interpretation of “dazzlingly attractive”.
At the end of the show everyone drove off into the night, but I stayed around to have a couple of pints.
Unfortunately, I got locked in a less-than-enthralling discussion with a Beverley-based, ex-pat Scotsman.
His main topic of conversation was the Glasgow Underground.
He maintained, at considerable length, that it was a far superior underground system to the London Underground because in Glasgow ALL of
the track is underground.
London “pathetically” has several stretches of it’s erroneously titled “underground system” which are ABOVE the ground.
We discussed this for a good (I use the term loosely) half-an-hour.
What made Glasgow even better was the fact that they even had to make the trains underground, as there was no other way to get them there.
Rather than starting to self-harm, I made my excuses and left…cleverly getting lost in Beverley (which is a tiny place ; I am an idiot), as I tried to find my B&B
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Hello! Hello! We are the silly boys!
Barry Ferguson and Allan McGregor had already annoyed me before “Fingergate” all kicked off last week.
I’d settled down to watch the Holland v Scotland match, with limited expectations..
As “Flower of Scotland” droned away, the camera panned down the line of Scottish players, in the traditional
fashion.
The majority were making some effort to sing along, but right at the end were Ferguson and McGregor, tight-lipped and both displaying
a deeply-negative body language.
With hindsight, this image was the opening scene of a peculiarly Scottish Shakespearian-esque tragedy.
These images are shown on the big screens in the ground, and are an opportunity to connect with the Scottish support , letting them know
that the team are fired up and ready to burst into action.
This was not the subliminal message imparted by Ferguson & McGregor.
They came across as a couple of surly, dim-witted neds being asked to play against their will.
Now, to be honest, I can’t stand “Flower of Scotland”.
For starters, tunes in “waltz time” just don’t work as anthems.
Furthermore, the lyrics are mawkish, browbeaten nonsense.
Yes, we did send Edward homeward to think again, but after thinking for a bit, he came back and whupped our asses.
And, of course I’m sure that the majority of the ancestors of the middle-class, investment bankers in the Tartan Army were in all probability fighting for the Government army at Culloden.
There are so many other things to celebrate positively about Scotland in song.
I think “Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep” by “Middle of the Road” would have more gravitas as an anthem than “Flower of Scotland”,
For example, there’s a wealth of Burns poetry positively celebrating Scotland and mankind (and womankind) in universally appreciated sentiment.
Get some people to come up with some new tunes for them, and let’s get it on.
TV Show to select the winning tune? “You’re Bard!” ?
As a text I really like “A Man’s A Man For A’ That”, but the melody is a bit rubbish, I think.
I hope “Flower of Scotland” gets the boot soon.
Listening to the supporters singing it like a “London’s Burning” round, on International sporting occasions, because they can’t get the timing right (2/4 always works better than ¾ for anthems, ok?), makes me feel like sawing my own head off.
However, in spite of all this, if I was representing my country, I would sing “Flower of Scotland” at the top of my voice, as if I was auditioning
for a Broadway musical.
It’s a no-brainer. Let the opposition know you mean business, THEN lose heavily…
It was annoying to read in the next day’s press that Holland “outclassed” Scotland.
That’s baloney…a distinctly average Dutch team were gifted some soft goals, by an insipid Scottish team led by a ned.
I have to say, I was slightly surprised by the ensuing 8 hour drinking binge.
I thought we’d moved on a bit from the crazed footballer drinking syndrome….but apparently not.
I suppose there still remains a cultural attitude in Scotland that if a bar is open it should be used, regardless of time,(check out the pre-holiday binge drinking going on at 6am at Scottish airports for an example of this phenomenum).
It’s basically the same attitude the over-70s have to toilets.
It’s the stupid factor which really stands out in this instance.
I love the fact that it doesn’t occur to them that remaining sitting in a bar after an all-night drinking sessions, as members of the public appear for lunch,
might not be such a great idea.
And of course after their hilarious “offensive gesture” japes at the Iceland game, they declared open season on themselves.
You’d think anyone in their situation, who regularly have to deal with the media, would realise that as soon as the press published photos of their puerile pranks, they’d have to get out there double-quick with big, big apologies and contrition to every media outlet available.
That’s what the great Max Clifford would have done.
But no, they did nothing, and they got hit with a particularly heavy punishment.
Rangers deserve credit for acting decisively, but you can’t ignore the fact that given Rangers’ disastrous financial position, they’d love to be shot of these two under-performing numpties and their huge (by Scottish standards) wages.
They are expendable, both for Scotland and Rangers.
Their idiotic behaviour unfortunately coincided with a groundswell of opinion that someone should finally take a stand against moronic, out-of-touch, overpaid footballer behaviour.
If I was them, I’d blame the “credit crunch”.
“We’re mad as hell, and we’re not going to take it any longer!….” as someone once said.
Friday, April 03, 2009
Relatively armless
3 weeks ago, I spent an enjoyable Sunday afternoon thrashing about on a drumkit with some musical associates.
This was all fine and dandy, but by the next morning my right shoulder had seized up completely.
I probably should have immediately gone to see a physio, but kept thinking that it was just a minor strain and would soon clear up.
The pain was ok during the day, but at night it was impossible for me to find a comfortable position to sleep (in spite of being loaded up with industrial painkillers).
As a result, I hardly had any sleep for a week…
Lack of sleep is not a lot of fun.
It makes you grumpy (I know..un-BELIEVABLE), tired (obviously), unable to pay attention (even more than usual).
It’s not good.
You get very little sympathy either.
An incredibly short timescale elapses before your friends and aquaintances declare your moaning about the constant pain you’re experiencing to be deeply tedious.
I’ll now always be much,more sympathetic in future to tedious idiots who moan incessantly about their varied aches and pains.
I will, I will…
They are good, gentle people and I was wrong to dismiss them as twats.
Anyway, I was then off to France for a few day’s boarding.
There was sunshine, blue skies and lots of snow, (including one big powder day).
As usual my boarding was at its best over the first couple of days, then gradually began to deteriorate as the fatigue set in.
My unusual “no sleep for a week” fitness preparation didn’t really work out.
I had meant to get a lot fitter for this holiday, but sadly this wasn’t possible.
As ever, I loved it though, and it remains extremely invigorating to be hurtling down slopes in the Alps on a beautiful sunny day.
On my last day, the light went a bit flat, and I succumbed to a few heavy falls…all of them involving landing heavily on my right shoulder…ouch!
I then started experiencing a continual numbness in my fingers, indicating that I had trapped a nerve.
Such is the current strength in my right arm that a mug of tea wobbles about while I drink from it.
For the foreseeable future, I can’t sit beside elderly people in cafes in case my tea drinking technique is misconstrued as a cruel lampooning
of them.
The Chiropractor didn’t seem to help that much, so I made an appointment at a Physiotherapist.
This does seem to have improved things, but the session itself was 40 minutes of sheer torture, pushing me to the absolute limit of my pain tolerance.
Ah “deep tissue massage”, how I love thee so...
As I flew back into Edinburgh from France in a zombie trance-like state, I was cursing the knowledge that I immediately had to travel through to
Glasgow to do a gig, and also the thoughts of other gigs in Glasgow on the following days, made me feel even more weary.
However, the gigs at McPhabbs (“Ding Dong Comedy”) and Bacchus (“Four Play”) were cracking gigs for me.
I have found in the past that sometimes when you feel absolutely zonked and spaced out, it can often lead to really good gigs in the end.
I was also due to perform at Jim Hobbit’s show but had to get bumped as the show was running way over time and I had to head for the hills.
Oh, and I should get the plugging started and say that our show this Fringe is called “Silence of The Trams”, and it will be on at “The Stand 4” from August
7-30 at 6.05pm…
I’ll remind you all nearer the time.
This was all fine and dandy, but by the next morning my right shoulder had seized up completely.
I probably should have immediately gone to see a physio, but kept thinking that it was just a minor strain and would soon clear up.
The pain was ok during the day, but at night it was impossible for me to find a comfortable position to sleep (in spite of being loaded up with industrial painkillers).
As a result, I hardly had any sleep for a week…
Lack of sleep is not a lot of fun.
It makes you grumpy (I know..un-BELIEVABLE), tired (obviously), unable to pay attention (even more than usual).
It’s not good.
You get very little sympathy either.
An incredibly short timescale elapses before your friends and aquaintances declare your moaning about the constant pain you’re experiencing to be deeply tedious.
I’ll now always be much,more sympathetic in future to tedious idiots who moan incessantly about their varied aches and pains.
I will, I will…
They are good, gentle people and I was wrong to dismiss them as twats.
Anyway, I was then off to France for a few day’s boarding.
There was sunshine, blue skies and lots of snow, (including one big powder day).
As usual my boarding was at its best over the first couple of days, then gradually began to deteriorate as the fatigue set in.
My unusual “no sleep for a week” fitness preparation didn’t really work out.
I had meant to get a lot fitter for this holiday, but sadly this wasn’t possible.
As ever, I loved it though, and it remains extremely invigorating to be hurtling down slopes in the Alps on a beautiful sunny day.
On my last day, the light went a bit flat, and I succumbed to a few heavy falls…all of them involving landing heavily on my right shoulder…ouch!
I then started experiencing a continual numbness in my fingers, indicating that I had trapped a nerve.
Such is the current strength in my right arm that a mug of tea wobbles about while I drink from it.
For the foreseeable future, I can’t sit beside elderly people in cafes in case my tea drinking technique is misconstrued as a cruel lampooning
of them.
The Chiropractor didn’t seem to help that much, so I made an appointment at a Physiotherapist.
This does seem to have improved things, but the session itself was 40 minutes of sheer torture, pushing me to the absolute limit of my pain tolerance.
Ah “deep tissue massage”, how I love thee so...
As I flew back into Edinburgh from France in a zombie trance-like state, I was cursing the knowledge that I immediately had to travel through to
Glasgow to do a gig, and also the thoughts of other gigs in Glasgow on the following days, made me feel even more weary.
However, the gigs at McPhabbs (“Ding Dong Comedy”) and Bacchus (“Four Play”) were cracking gigs for me.
I have found in the past that sometimes when you feel absolutely zonked and spaced out, it can often lead to really good gigs in the end.
I was also due to perform at Jim Hobbit’s show but had to get bumped as the show was running way over time and I had to head for the hills.
Oh, and I should get the plugging started and say that our show this Fringe is called “Silence of The Trams”, and it will be on at “The Stand 4” from August
7-30 at 6.05pm…
I’ll remind you all nearer the time.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Not that I'm one to complain, but...
So anyway, I poured some “organic” milk into my cup of tea, and glanced down at the “best before” date…
It said “March 4th”, and the actual date was “11th March”….
I cautiously sniffed the top of the carton, but a nasty pong was conspicuous only by its absence.
“Hang on a minute”, I thought…”organic milk shouldn’t last that long…”.
This leads me to believe that the whole “organic milk” industry is complete bollocks.
There surely must be preservative chemicals in the milk for it to last that long.
In the olden days I remember milk used to last a couple of days max.
When I was at school, by the afternoon the old free milk would often be “on the turn”, and was best avoided.
My “organic” milk was now 10 days old, and should really be stinking out the joint…
If this is the case with organic milk, I wonder how much else of this whole organic business is a complete con…
I’ve also been having a wretched time trying to book a snowboarding holiday in France.
It should be a piece of piss doing this on the Internet, bad sadly this is not the case.
Too many annoying companies and businesses have second-guessed every possible “Google” search you might carry out trying to sort out the details of such a holiday.
As a consequence, it’s infuriatingly difficult to find precisely the information that you need, as every search result is awash with sites of no interest at all to me.
It’s trying to discover relatively simple things, like trying to work out what the transfer options are from airports to the different resorts.
If you didn’t know better, you might assume that the only option available would be an expensive private hire cab, as these
companies have managed to smother all the search results completely.
There are maybe ways you can tinker with google to filter off all this shit, but unfortunately it’s beyond my ken.
There were times where I was on the point of giving up and abandoning the idea of even taking a stupid, bloody snowboarding holiday.
And don’t get me started on booking flights.
It’s now an obstacle course of trying to avoid accidentally paying too much for baggage handling, insurance, car hires, “special” check-in
privileges…eg pay a tenner and get on the plane first (marvellous…well worth the money)
The sites are designed to catch out people making bookings in a hurry.
It’s ridiculously easy to unwittingly include an add-on you don’t require, and once you’ve booked it, you’ll get charged an admin fee and will have a long extended 0871 call to pay for, should you try to revise your booking details.
I made a vow never to use Ryanair again after I’d recently booked a flight to Dublin, and found at the end of the procedure that the “booking fee” for using a “Visa debit” card was £9.50.
In the future I’d rather pay more to another airline than go with them.
It’s pure deception, and I’m surprised they’re allowed to get away with it.
How on earth can you justify £9.50 as a handling charge for a debit card?
The flight I booked from Edinburgh with www.jet2.com was advertised at £69.99.
By the time they’d added on taxes, snowboard carriage fee, card handling fee, a meal on board (I wasn’t going to, but weirdly I always enjoy airline food…I know..I know…), it came to £143.50.
I was mildly irritated at the discrepancy between advertised and actual fare.
Is this still legal?
I did a charity gig this week, and unwittingly found myself on the bill as the “Headline act”.
I was introduced as”…and now…our headline act, “The Stand’s” Jim Parks (sic)….”
I’m not quite sure how I became an official ambassador for “The Stand”, and I can only apologise for any damage that I have caused to their
reputation as a result of this unforeseen association.
I had a pretty good gig, but must admit to being slightly spooked by the “headline” tag…it’s a very different feeling to that comfy womb-like place in the middle of the running order.
It said “March 4th”, and the actual date was “11th March”….
I cautiously sniffed the top of the carton, but a nasty pong was conspicuous only by its absence.
“Hang on a minute”, I thought…”organic milk shouldn’t last that long…”.
This leads me to believe that the whole “organic milk” industry is complete bollocks.
There surely must be preservative chemicals in the milk for it to last that long.
In the olden days I remember milk used to last a couple of days max.
When I was at school, by the afternoon the old free milk would often be “on the turn”, and was best avoided.
My “organic” milk was now 10 days old, and should really be stinking out the joint…
If this is the case with organic milk, I wonder how much else of this whole organic business is a complete con…
I’ve also been having a wretched time trying to book a snowboarding holiday in France.
It should be a piece of piss doing this on the Internet, bad sadly this is not the case.
Too many annoying companies and businesses have second-guessed every possible “Google” search you might carry out trying to sort out the details of such a holiday.
As a consequence, it’s infuriatingly difficult to find precisely the information that you need, as every search result is awash with sites of no interest at all to me.
It’s trying to discover relatively simple things, like trying to work out what the transfer options are from airports to the different resorts.
If you didn’t know better, you might assume that the only option available would be an expensive private hire cab, as these
companies have managed to smother all the search results completely.
There are maybe ways you can tinker with google to filter off all this shit, but unfortunately it’s beyond my ken.
There were times where I was on the point of giving up and abandoning the idea of even taking a stupid, bloody snowboarding holiday.
And don’t get me started on booking flights.
It’s now an obstacle course of trying to avoid accidentally paying too much for baggage handling, insurance, car hires, “special” check-in
privileges…eg pay a tenner and get on the plane first (marvellous…well worth the money)
The sites are designed to catch out people making bookings in a hurry.
It’s ridiculously easy to unwittingly include an add-on you don’t require, and once you’ve booked it, you’ll get charged an admin fee and will have a long extended 0871 call to pay for, should you try to revise your booking details.
I made a vow never to use Ryanair again after I’d recently booked a flight to Dublin, and found at the end of the procedure that the “booking fee” for using a “Visa debit” card was £9.50.
In the future I’d rather pay more to another airline than go with them.
It’s pure deception, and I’m surprised they’re allowed to get away with it.
How on earth can you justify £9.50 as a handling charge for a debit card?
The flight I booked from Edinburgh with www.jet2.com was advertised at £69.99.
By the time they’d added on taxes, snowboard carriage fee, card handling fee, a meal on board (I wasn’t going to, but weirdly I always enjoy airline food…I know..I know…), it came to £143.50.
I was mildly irritated at the discrepancy between advertised and actual fare.
Is this still legal?
I did a charity gig this week, and unwittingly found myself on the bill as the “Headline act”.
I was introduced as”…and now…our headline act, “The Stand’s” Jim Parks (sic)….”
I’m not quite sure how I became an official ambassador for “The Stand”, and I can only apologise for any damage that I have caused to their
reputation as a result of this unforeseen association.
I had a pretty good gig, but must admit to being slightly spooked by the “headline” tag…it’s a very different feeling to that comfy womb-like place in the middle of the running order.
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
The Write Stuff
I’ve got some new clips on Rooftop comedy.
I don’t think they are the strongest elements of my set, and it is likely that the ensuing publicity will dictate that I never work again.
But on the bright side, it’s all been a marvellous “journey” hasn’t it?
I’ve also got my Hackney set on youtube.
I think that most of my set is now in the public domain on various sites.
This is a good reason to get writing and revamp the whole set.
I’m trying to stick to a new regime of writing for an hour every day.
I figure this is better than spending hours on end at one sitting, banging my head off the table trying to come up with some new, dynamite funnies.
The disheartening fact is that 99% of the stuff I write is complete rubbish and totally unusable.
(Some people might hold the opinion that I am badly underestimating this figure)
However, you just have to keep plugging away to mine that 1%...there is no alternative.
Rather than increase the price of alcohol, I would introduce legislation whereby all Scottish children, upon attaining the age of 13, must drink the entire contents of a large bottle of Advocaat.
This certainly completely ruined my taste for alcohol throughout my succeeding adolescent years in which you traditionally tend to perform your most anti-social acts.
Most of us can handle drink without going around punching people and jumping up and down on car roofs, so surely this practice would be more efficient, and would target would-be troublemakers while they are still young and impressionable.
I didn’t so much have a hangover per se , more a 3-day vomit-fest, wondering what on earth had hit me.
I don’t think they are the strongest elements of my set, and it is likely that the ensuing publicity will dictate that I never work again.
But on the bright side, it’s all been a marvellous “journey” hasn’t it?
I’ve also got my Hackney set on youtube.
I think that most of my set is now in the public domain on various sites.
This is a good reason to get writing and revamp the whole set.
I’m trying to stick to a new regime of writing for an hour every day.
I figure this is better than spending hours on end at one sitting, banging my head off the table trying to come up with some new, dynamite funnies.
The disheartening fact is that 99% of the stuff I write is complete rubbish and totally unusable.
(Some people might hold the opinion that I am badly underestimating this figure)
However, you just have to keep plugging away to mine that 1%...there is no alternative.
Rather than increase the price of alcohol, I would introduce legislation whereby all Scottish children, upon attaining the age of 13, must drink the entire contents of a large bottle of Advocaat.
This certainly completely ruined my taste for alcohol throughout my succeeding adolescent years in which you traditionally tend to perform your most anti-social acts.
Most of us can handle drink without going around punching people and jumping up and down on car roofs, so surely this practice would be more efficient, and would target would-be troublemakers while they are still young and impressionable.
I didn’t so much have a hangover per se , more a 3-day vomit-fest, wondering what on earth had hit me.
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
Thatch's dotage
I very much enjoyed the play “Margaret” on the telly the other night.
It concerned itself prinicipally with the fall from grace of Margaret Thatcher.
I find it difficult to fathom that this occurred more than 18 years ago.
Lyndsay Duncan was excellent in the leading role and inhabited the
character of Thatcher very accurately.
I have to confess though to being in a highly confused state during and after the play, mainly down to the fact that this particular characterisation of “The Iron Lady” was unarguably giving me the horn.
This is beyond “wrong”, and I am honestly thinking of receiving counselling to allow me to come to terms with this trauma.
This blurring of fiction and reality in this way is highly dangerous.
It’s probably fair to say that I found Denis Healey to be sexier than the real Margaret Thatcher, (it was the eyebrows, I think).
John Sessions was great as “Geoffrey Howe”…he WAS Geoffrey Howe!
There was an interesting portrayal of John Major, apparently base on the character of “Blofeld” in the James Bond films.
Also, less-than-convincing was the Michael Heseltine character who looked (and talked) like he was half-way through a werewolf transformation scene.
Other good news is that myself and the “No Comedy For Old Men” boys have got our show accepted as part of “The Stand’s” 2009 Fringe programme.
This is fantastic news.
It’s a big step up from last year’s show in a pub at the bottom of Leith Walk, (enjoyable though it all was).
I reckon we’ll be changing the name of the show though, as “No Comedy For Old Men” is somewhat out-of-date
It concerned itself prinicipally with the fall from grace of Margaret Thatcher.
I find it difficult to fathom that this occurred more than 18 years ago.
Lyndsay Duncan was excellent in the leading role and inhabited the
character of Thatcher very accurately.
I have to confess though to being in a highly confused state during and after the play, mainly down to the fact that this particular characterisation of “The Iron Lady” was unarguably giving me the horn.
This is beyond “wrong”, and I am honestly thinking of receiving counselling to allow me to come to terms with this trauma.
This blurring of fiction and reality in this way is highly dangerous.
It’s probably fair to say that I found Denis Healey to be sexier than the real Margaret Thatcher, (it was the eyebrows, I think).
John Sessions was great as “Geoffrey Howe”…he WAS Geoffrey Howe!
There was an interesting portrayal of John Major, apparently base on the character of “Blofeld” in the James Bond films.
Also, less-than-convincing was the Michael Heseltine character who looked (and talked) like he was half-way through a werewolf transformation scene.
Other good news is that myself and the “No Comedy For Old Men” boys have got our show accepted as part of “The Stand’s” 2009 Fringe programme.
This is fantastic news.
It’s a big step up from last year’s show in a pub at the bottom of Leith Walk, (enjoyable though it all was).
I reckon we’ll be changing the name of the show though, as “No Comedy For Old Men” is somewhat out-of-date
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Got My Mojo Back
Well, I was granted redemption and had a rocking gig at The State Bar in Glasgow on Saturday night; finally getting this cursed monkey off my back.
The journey to the gig had an inauspicious start.
Driving out of Edinburgh, I decided to recite my act, as I’d been having trouble lately remembering the correct sequence, having
recently switched some of the set around.
This was all going fine, but unfortunately my mind wandered from the job in hand, and I found myself on the Edinburgh Bypass
heading towards Berwick-on-Tweed.
I’d driven straight past the M8 turn-off. This was unprecedented, (that means it’s never happened before).
Anyway, I had to drive a good few miles in the opposite direction before I was able to turn around and once more head in the direction
of Glasgow.
From having plenty of time, I was now on a fairly tight schedule.
I got a bit bogged down in Glasgow city centre, and it was now 5 minutes till showtime, I’d still to find a parking place, and I was due on first.
I hate this sort of scenario, and tend to arrive early and swan about for a while before the show.
I got parked then sprinted towards the venue…
It was 8.45pm, the advertised start time…
When I arrived, I was the first person there…apparently the show wasn’t now starting till 9.30pm…Marvellous!
45 minutes of completely unnecessary stress.
I really enjoyed the show though.
It was a great crowd, and a pleasure to play to.
I’d spent the previous evening watching with fascination as Mojo the Chihuahua enthusiastically played with Ziggy the 12 week old kitten at my friend’s house,(they come from two different families)
It was a great example of communal living by natural enemies.
I think Ziggy and Mojo should be hired by the “United Nations” and perform in all the World’s trouble spots in front of the various political leaders involved in all long-running, intractable conflicts.
Having just signed up to Facebook, I extended my continuing years-out-of-date approach to embracing fads by trying out the Wii product range.
I triumphed at golf, but was soundly whipped at tennis, bowls and boxing.
I also aggravated my sore shoulder as a result of the manic, flailing about of punching during the boxing Wii.
Coincidentally, I almost had a real-life boxing match yesterday with a cyclist in Edinburgh.
Dressed all in black, and with no lights, I didn’t see him speeding towards me as I crossed Maitland Street, (it was semi-darkness)
“Dickhead” he shouted as he had to brake and swerve past me.
“You’re the dickhead! Where’s your lights?” I shouted at him at the top of my voice (slightly startling an elderly lady who was walking past me)
About 50 yards further on, I watched him stop the bike, dismount and start heading purposefully towards me.
He looked well over 6ft and quite well-built.
I decided to use the psychology of walking towards him to demonstrate that I wasn’t feart.
It’s a technique I saw used by a man who used to live alongside grizzly bears in Canada, (it worked for a while but he was eventually eaten alive)
We then went face to face…
I said “I didn’t see you..you’ve no lights”
“It’s not dark” he said.
“So why has every car passing got their lights on I said?” (it was very much a “Rumpole of the Bailey” moment)
Then there was a pause as we just stared at each other.
“Why don’t you kiss my arse!” he said aggressively.
At this I just laughed and said “very good!” very good!” and walked away.
I was half-expecting an attack, but it never came.
Whenever I find myself in a situation like this (quite often), I ponder on whether I should really learn some martial arts stuff for self-defence.
The thing is, I reckon you’ll get into more trouble if you have these skills because you’d be less likely to defuse the situation, motivated by self-preservation.
Maybe, I should just take more care crossing the road?
The journey to the gig had an inauspicious start.
Driving out of Edinburgh, I decided to recite my act, as I’d been having trouble lately remembering the correct sequence, having
recently switched some of the set around.
This was all going fine, but unfortunately my mind wandered from the job in hand, and I found myself on the Edinburgh Bypass
heading towards Berwick-on-Tweed.
I’d driven straight past the M8 turn-off. This was unprecedented, (that means it’s never happened before).
Anyway, I had to drive a good few miles in the opposite direction before I was able to turn around and once more head in the direction
of Glasgow.
From having plenty of time, I was now on a fairly tight schedule.
I got a bit bogged down in Glasgow city centre, and it was now 5 minutes till showtime, I’d still to find a parking place, and I was due on first.
I hate this sort of scenario, and tend to arrive early and swan about for a while before the show.
I got parked then sprinted towards the venue…
It was 8.45pm, the advertised start time…
When I arrived, I was the first person there…apparently the show wasn’t now starting till 9.30pm…Marvellous!
45 minutes of completely unnecessary stress.
I really enjoyed the show though.
It was a great crowd, and a pleasure to play to.
I’d spent the previous evening watching with fascination as Mojo the Chihuahua enthusiastically played with Ziggy the 12 week old kitten at my friend’s house,(they come from two different families)
It was a great example of communal living by natural enemies.
I think Ziggy and Mojo should be hired by the “United Nations” and perform in all the World’s trouble spots in front of the various political leaders involved in all long-running, intractable conflicts.
Having just signed up to Facebook, I extended my continuing years-out-of-date approach to embracing fads by trying out the Wii product range.
I triumphed at golf, but was soundly whipped at tennis, bowls and boxing.
I also aggravated my sore shoulder as a result of the manic, flailing about of punching during the boxing Wii.
Coincidentally, I almost had a real-life boxing match yesterday with a cyclist in Edinburgh.
Dressed all in black, and with no lights, I didn’t see him speeding towards me as I crossed Maitland Street, (it was semi-darkness)
“Dickhead” he shouted as he had to brake and swerve past me.
“You’re the dickhead! Where’s your lights?” I shouted at him at the top of my voice (slightly startling an elderly lady who was walking past me)
About 50 yards further on, I watched him stop the bike, dismount and start heading purposefully towards me.
He looked well over 6ft and quite well-built.
I decided to use the psychology of walking towards him to demonstrate that I wasn’t feart.
It’s a technique I saw used by a man who used to live alongside grizzly bears in Canada, (it worked for a while but he was eventually eaten alive)
We then went face to face…
I said “I didn’t see you..you’ve no lights”
“It’s not dark” he said.
“So why has every car passing got their lights on I said?” (it was very much a “Rumpole of the Bailey” moment)
Then there was a pause as we just stared at each other.
“Why don’t you kiss my arse!” he said aggressively.
At this I just laughed and said “very good!” very good!” and walked away.
I was half-expecting an attack, but it never came.
Whenever I find myself in a situation like this (quite often), I ponder on whether I should really learn some martial arts stuff for self-defence.
The thing is, I reckon you’ll get into more trouble if you have these skills because you’d be less likely to defuse the situation, motivated by self-preservation.
Maybe, I should just take more care crossing the road?
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Strum Enchanted Evening?
Well last night’s gig was always going to be tricky.
I thought I did ok-ish, but it was hard work.
The show at the Voodoo Rooms is predominantly an open-mic musical event, featuring a succession of acoustic singer-songwriters performing 3 songs each.
The compere cheerily introduces the acts, but the overall tone of the evening is quite earnest.
To parachute stand-up comedy in the middle of a show like this is something of a challenge ; a challenge which I was happy to accept, as it’s definitely worthwhile to get out of the comedy club “comfort zone” and test your act on an audience who have not been warmed up by a comedy compere, or perhaps have not even anticipated that there was a scheduled comedy element on the bill.
I was highly impressed by the quality of the musicians. There was some really excellent stuff, and regardless of how my act went, I thoroughly enjoyed the evening..
I did feel I possibly lost a few of the audience even before I got on stage though.
A young male act deadpanly introduced an instrumental piece by informing the audience that he’d written it especially for his girlfriend and was originally intending playing it on a local radio station on Valentine’s Day and dedicating it to her.
He then went on to lament that his girlfriend had unexpectedly ended their relationship earlier this week.
There were a few suppressed titters at this tragic revelation, but I involuntarily loudly guffawed, and attracted several withering glances.
Being an alleged comedian, I was anticipating a punchline, and when it didn’t appear my big laugh reverberated around the room, as my brain computed “jeezo…! he’s serious!”.
There were pockets of the audience giggling away merrily during my act, but there were also quite a lot of blank, non-comprehending expressions.
It probably would have worked better if I’d tried to write some material specifically about the musical open-mic phenomenum.
As a form, it seems to have really exploded, and there must be a lot of humour to extract from it.
I did feel awkward in that some of the preceding acts had described their aspirations for a “raised level of consciousness” to save mankind, with many other worthy sentiments of peace, love and understanding.
I’m not saying I disagree with these ideals, just that it felt a bit odd in context, to be bemoaning my Grandfather’s blocked toilet.
I did mention that I felt I’d inadvertently emptied a large bucket of shit into the “stream of consciousness” which had pervaded the evening.
That got quite a big laugh.
The puns got a lot of groans.
This is always a sign of a troublesome gig for me, in that the audience are reacting solely to the admittedly, often awful punchlines, rather than, ,for example, finding the concept of someone walking around all day with a pot of pasta attached to their foot, intrinsically amusing.
I thought I did ok-ish, but it was hard work.
The show at the Voodoo Rooms is predominantly an open-mic musical event, featuring a succession of acoustic singer-songwriters performing 3 songs each.
The compere cheerily introduces the acts, but the overall tone of the evening is quite earnest.
To parachute stand-up comedy in the middle of a show like this is something of a challenge ; a challenge which I was happy to accept, as it’s definitely worthwhile to get out of the comedy club “comfort zone” and test your act on an audience who have not been warmed up by a comedy compere, or perhaps have not even anticipated that there was a scheduled comedy element on the bill.
I was highly impressed by the quality of the musicians. There was some really excellent stuff, and regardless of how my act went, I thoroughly enjoyed the evening..
I did feel I possibly lost a few of the audience even before I got on stage though.
A young male act deadpanly introduced an instrumental piece by informing the audience that he’d written it especially for his girlfriend and was originally intending playing it on a local radio station on Valentine’s Day and dedicating it to her.
He then went on to lament that his girlfriend had unexpectedly ended their relationship earlier this week.
There were a few suppressed titters at this tragic revelation, but I involuntarily loudly guffawed, and attracted several withering glances.
Being an alleged comedian, I was anticipating a punchline, and when it didn’t appear my big laugh reverberated around the room, as my brain computed “jeezo…! he’s serious!”.
There were pockets of the audience giggling away merrily during my act, but there were also quite a lot of blank, non-comprehending expressions.
It probably would have worked better if I’d tried to write some material specifically about the musical open-mic phenomenum.
As a form, it seems to have really exploded, and there must be a lot of humour to extract from it.
I did feel awkward in that some of the preceding acts had described their aspirations for a “raised level of consciousness” to save mankind, with many other worthy sentiments of peace, love and understanding.
I’m not saying I disagree with these ideals, just that it felt a bit odd in context, to be bemoaning my Grandfather’s blocked toilet.
I did mention that I felt I’d inadvertently emptied a large bucket of shit into the “stream of consciousness” which had pervaded the evening.
That got quite a big laugh.
The puns got a lot of groans.
This is always a sign of a troublesome gig for me, in that the audience are reacting solely to the admittedly, often awful punchlines, rather than, ,for example, finding the concept of someone walking around all day with a pot of pasta attached to their foot, intrinsically amusing.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
CSb RIP
I think most people are probably bored reading about anything with “credit crunch” references in it, (I know I am).
However, I have to admit I’m pretty shocked at what is going on in central Edinburgh.
As I take a lunchtime stroll around Tollcross, I notice with each passing day more and more businesses collapsing.
The only firm that seems to be doing quite well at the moment is the one which manufactures the “To Let” signs.
They must be selling like the proverbial cakes of the hot variety.
Many of the restaurants in this area no longer even bother to open at lunchtime, and those that do are virtually empty.
The “Festival Alehouse” and “Scruffy Murphys” bars have closed, (admittedly no great loss, but they seemed reasonably busy compared with many other bars).
The musical instrument shop next to the King’s Theatre has now closed (can’t remember its name).
If things carry on at this rate, the only businesses still open will be the big Coffee chains, and a couple of Poundstretchers.
Although maybe a few more charity shops will start up? (just what Edinburgh needs).
More bad news emerged this morning when I discovered that my beloved snowboarding haven “CSb Chalet Snowboard” has gone out of business.
This is a total disaster as there is nothing else like it on the snowboarding market.
I may have lost millions on misplaced share deals recently, but this is ultimately more painful.
Csb ran a dedicated snowboarding chalet near the Avoriaz resort.
What made it unique was that the people who ran the chalet were also all top boarders, who would act as guides and take you all over the resort, including to a lot of off-piste areas, where their local knowledge was invaluable.
Everybody at the chalet boarded together, ate and drank together ; and although you’d get the odd mentalist, 99.9% of the residents were great people.
I’ve been there 5 times, and I’m gutted to hear of its demise.
I’ve had some fantastic times there over the years, and it’s just not the same anywhere else.
What is particularly annoying is that in Canada last year, I finally ditched my old board, got a Burton T6 on Ebay and totally transformed my snowboarding abilities, and was really looking forward to doing another CSb holiday to consolidate my gains.
Pah!
A couple of years ago, myself and a couple of aquaintances were toying with the idea of taking over the lease of the “Holyrood Tavern” .
In spite of all my financial disasters of late, the fact that this never came to fruition represents a great escape.
In the current economic climate, re-launching the Holyrood would have been a financial catastrophe beyond imagination.
Phew!
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Pow!
“Hurtin’ my back
On the way to the gym…”
Of course, that could be a couple of lines from “Isn’t It Ironic” by Alanis Morrisette, if it was actually about irony…
But it isn’t, it’s what happened to me yesterday.
I thought I would start the week positively, in a blaze of smug glory, by going to the gym at work.
I also had to carry my laptop in to work as it’s been acting up and I wanted to take it to the repair shop at lunchtime.
So, while walking up the street and carrying this lopsided load, something tweaked in my back and the gym visit had to be cancelled on disability grounds.
And now I’m hobbling about in pain.
Those of you in your early 70s will remember the BBC series “Colditz”.
On Sunday night, I found myself watching a whole episode on Youtube, (I am living the dream).
The episode I was watching is generally regarded as the most memorable one, and has been repeated many times over the years.
It’s called “Tweedledum” and is the story of one of the POWs who feigns insanity in an attempt to be repatriated.
It features a brilliant performance by Michael Bryant as “Wing Commander Marsh”, the central character.
I enjoyed watching it again, but was somewhat dumbfounded that the very end of the episode was missing.
It’s fair to say that the end is quite important.
It involves “Colonel Preston” (the senior British officer at Colditz) reading a letter he has just received from Marsh’s wife.
The upshot is that by spending so long appearing to have cracked, he has had a genuine mental breakdown and is now permanently
hospitalised in England, with no hope of recovery.
It’s quite a powerful ending.
However, today’s generation of Youtube viewers will think that “Tweedledum” completely fooled the Germans with his cunning plan, and lived happily ever after back home in dear old Blighty.
(It’s probably what would have happened had Hollywood made a version of the tale)
It can be quite misleading missing the end of films and stuff.
Imagine you’d walked out of “The Sting” just as Paul Newman and Robert Redford were shot?
You’d think it was a rather tragic and abrupt end, to what had been quite a jolly film up till that point.
Or you might have left “Snow White” before the end, and felt pained to realise that she was going to spend eternity sleeping in a glass case…very sad!
Robert Wagner was in “Colditz”, although he only ever has about one line an episode to say…(I wonder how much he got paid?)
I laughed more than I have just about ever laughed at anything last night watching Irish comic Paul Currie at The Stand.
He did a lip-sync to the “Hart to Hart” theme (starring Robert Wagner ; what a flawless link…) with an embarrassed-looking couple forced to join him on stage.
The theme is funny in itself, but when he mimed “when they got together….it was moidah!!!!” , and then froze for a couple of minutes while the rest of the theme played out…well, I nearly had a fit.
Beautiful stuff…
My “Chairman Mao” watch has attracted a lot of admiring interest.
Unfortunately, it loses approximately 10 minutes in every hour.
There should be a joke there somewhere?
Gordon Alexander made one last night, but I have managed to forget it.
Something about “a cultural step back in time”.
Sunday, February 08, 2009
well hello there China!
My sister has just returned from a month long holiday in sunny China.
She has brought me back a great watch which has an image of Chairman Mao waving his hand on the face.
It is the best watch ever. Hilarious.
She did a 2 day tour of Beijing and complimented her tour guide on China's overall organisation of the Olympics.
She also mentioned that the Paralympics were impressively staged as well.
At this the tour guide said "I didn't like the Paralympics"
Puzzled, my sister asked "Why?"
The guide replied "I don't think it is right to make people with one leg to race each other...it is cruel!"
Hmmm...now that is a puzzling, yet highly interesting take on things!
My niece Kitty (2) now routinely asks my brother ; "Have you sold your house yet?"
(it has been on the market for quite a long time)
This is very funny too.
She has brought me back a great watch which has an image of Chairman Mao waving his hand on the face.
It is the best watch ever. Hilarious.
She did a 2 day tour of Beijing and complimented her tour guide on China's overall organisation of the Olympics.
She also mentioned that the Paralympics were impressively staged as well.
At this the tour guide said "I didn't like the Paralympics"
Puzzled, my sister asked "Why?"
The guide replied "I don't think it is right to make people with one leg to race each other...it is cruel!"
Hmmm...now that is a puzzling, yet highly interesting take on things!
My niece Kitty (2) now routinely asks my brother ; "Have you sold your house yet?"
(it has been on the market for quite a long time)
This is very funny too.
Saturday, February 07, 2009
Punctured bicycle on a hilltop desolate
So anyway, last night at the Heresy Comedy Club was pretty much up there on the “Jim Park disastrous, crash-and-burn gigs roll of dishonour”.
It was always going to be difficult.
I was on first. (It’s like assuming the role of the Star Trek crew member you don’t recognise, going off on a reconnaissance mission).
The bulk of the audience comprised of some kind of works night out thing, where the men were, without exception,acting like the most annoying, surly, ignorant adolescent twats.
It was clear from the start that they wanted the show to be entirely about them, and that they weren’t interested in listening to material of any sort.
There followed an extended, hideous demonstration of showing-off and one-upmanship between them.
To a certain extent I could compare my experience with that of Chesley Burnett "Sully" Sullenberger III.
When a couple of banker jokes failed in the opening minutes of my act, you could make an analogy with Chesley’s plane smashing into a flock of Canadian Geese.
It was at this point that we both realised we were in trouble.
The other comedians on the bill (Rob Kane, Elaine Malcolmson and Mark Nelson), did a much better job than me of stepping outside their material (athough, more or less forced to), and taking on the heckling idiots.
I tried this once at my disastrous State Bar gig, trading insults merrily for 25 minutes, but I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s not really my bag.
So I gamely ploughed on with my material.
If myself and Chesley Burnett "Sully" Sullenberger III. had swapped places ; rather than land the plane safely on the Hudson River, I would have steered the plane
straight into the foyer of the Rockefeller Center with catastrophic consequences.
As well as the adolescent idiots, a psychotic-looking woman in the front row seemed furious about my Islamic Terrorist “You’ve Been Framed” TV special joke ; repeatedly shouting “I KNOW people there…! I KNOW people there..!” (continuing long after I’d finished that bit).
Experience informs you when a gig is beyond rescue, so I cut the set short and beat a hasty retreat.
Chesley was hailed as a great American hero.
I wasn’t.
If I'd taken out a sub-machine and sprayed the front rows with bullets, I would have been entirely justified.
The tabloids would have a field day with the man who was a "lifesaver" last week becoming a mass murder the following week.
It would make a great film too.
My next engagement is at a “spoken word” event in which I am the only comedian, and will be performing a 15 minute set.
Before last night, with a high confidence rating, I had no worries at all about taking on something like this.
However, now the doubts have set in again.
Carey Marx did a line last night about getting into a train carriage full of Chinese peopl that had me howling with laughter.
First time I've seen him...sublime stuff.
It’s a right old laugh isn’t it?
It was always going to be difficult.
I was on first. (It’s like assuming the role of the Star Trek crew member you don’t recognise, going off on a reconnaissance mission).
The bulk of the audience comprised of some kind of works night out thing, where the men were, without exception,acting like the most annoying, surly, ignorant adolescent twats.
It was clear from the start that they wanted the show to be entirely about them, and that they weren’t interested in listening to material of any sort.
There followed an extended, hideous demonstration of showing-off and one-upmanship between them.
To a certain extent I could compare my experience with that of Chesley Burnett "Sully" Sullenberger III.
When a couple of banker jokes failed in the opening minutes of my act, you could make an analogy with Chesley’s plane smashing into a flock of Canadian Geese.
It was at this point that we both realised we were in trouble.
The other comedians on the bill (Rob Kane, Elaine Malcolmson and Mark Nelson), did a much better job than me of stepping outside their material (athough, more or less forced to), and taking on the heckling idiots.
I tried this once at my disastrous State Bar gig, trading insults merrily for 25 minutes, but I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s not really my bag.
So I gamely ploughed on with my material.
If myself and Chesley Burnett "Sully" Sullenberger III. had swapped places ; rather than land the plane safely on the Hudson River, I would have steered the plane
straight into the foyer of the Rockefeller Center with catastrophic consequences.
As well as the adolescent idiots, a psychotic-looking woman in the front row seemed furious about my Islamic Terrorist “You’ve Been Framed” TV special joke ; repeatedly shouting “I KNOW people there…! I KNOW people there..!” (continuing long after I’d finished that bit).
Experience informs you when a gig is beyond rescue, so I cut the set short and beat a hasty retreat.
Chesley was hailed as a great American hero.
I wasn’t.
If I'd taken out a sub-machine and sprayed the front rows with bullets, I would have been entirely justified.
The tabloids would have a field day with the man who was a "lifesaver" last week becoming a mass murder the following week.
It would make a great film too.
My next engagement is at a “spoken word” event in which I am the only comedian, and will be performing a 15 minute set.
Before last night, with a high confidence rating, I had no worries at all about taking on something like this.
However, now the doubts have set in again.
Carey Marx did a line last night about getting into a train carriage full of Chinese peopl that had me howling with laughter.
First time I've seen him...sublime stuff.
It’s a right old laugh isn’t it?
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