On Friday I set off up North for a weekend walking/camping up in the Highlands.
We were heading to Kinlochewe where the plan was to walk up to the banks of Lochan Fada to camp on Friday and Saturday ; do a couple of mountains on the Saturday, then do Ben Slioch on the Sunday and then head back down.
We decided to take wood up there as there isn't any around at Fada.
The walk up was pretty long (about 10k), and was tougher than I anticipated ; mainly due to my ridiculously heavy rucksack.
I had 8 logs of wood, 3 litres of wine, a tent and various other bits and pieces.
I found the carrying of this weight brutally hard work.
At the best of times I'm more of a "mountain snail" than a "mountain goat", so progress was slow and I found myself in my traditional backmarker role.
I had a map and stuff, and knew that we were camping at the side of the loch, and assumed that when I arrived at the loch it would become obvious where the camp was.
Of course you should never make assumptions of anything in this environment.
My overriding concern was just getting this ridiculous rucksack up the path, and nothing else was really occupying my thoughts.
There were quite exposed parts of the path along the way and a careful crossing of a steam in spate.
These moments would not normally be any cause for concern, but the destabilising effect of carrying a large pack on your back is something you have to be acutely aware of.
A slip at the stream crossing would lead to a virtually certain death as you plunged down the waterfall into the steep gully.
Eventually I reached the loch but became a bit confused as the path seemed to diverge.
At first I took the right turn (this was the correct way), and followed it down towards the loch.
I couldn't see the tents anywhere, so convinced myself that I should walk back up the path and carry on the left fork which headed up the side of the loch.
For about an hour and I half I walked up this path.
There was a series of dips and plateaux, and I kept convincing myself that when I reached the next plateau I'd be able to spot the camp.
I didn't.
I was as knackered as I can ever remember and it was starting to get dark.
No mobile coverage. Shit.
I blew long and hard on my whistle and waited for any response. Nothing.
I then had to take the awful decision that I'd have to take shelter and put up the tent while I still could see what I was doing.
It was a highly stressful time as I fully realised the anxiety that my non-appearance would cause, but there was now no alternative.
The forecast was pretty grim and I'd definitely have perished with exposure without the tent.
It wasn't a good place to camp.
I effectively put the tent up in a bog and was slightly submerged when I clambered into it.
A fog came down and it started pissing with rain.
I worried that the high winds forecast might blow the tent away as pegs in bog ain't that secure.
I didn't sleep..I was cold, wet and knackered but the stress of the situation kept me wired all night.
It's a very lonely and desolate place to hang out.
I just waited for light so I could get moving .
I started off at about 5.30 and began to head back down the side of the loch again.
At about 7.00 I clambered up a slope then saw me old mate Mitch pop up on the horizon.
"Jim?' "Jim Park?" he shouted.
"Yes" I shouted back.
It was very emotional when we met up.
He pretty much thought I was dead and must have fallen off the path.
Like laughter, tears are very infectious...and we both had a greet and a hug.
Then he told me that the mountain rescue were out looking for me.
I was absolutely mortified when he told me this...I hadn't anticipated this at all.
Then the mountain rescue man appeared.
Then over the mountains appeared a huge rescue helicopter.
He seemed slightly bemused when he noticed I was carrying 8 logs on my rucksack.
Must have thought I was a mentalist.
Then a flare was set off to guide the chopper in to land.
It was one of the most surreal experiences of my life.
Although I was fine, I was told I had to get on the helicopter and get flown back down to Kinlochewe to report in and see if the police wanted to interview me etc.
2 of our group had headed back down the path in the middle of the night to get to Kinlochewe to dial 999.
I felt terrible about this, because by making this journey, they'd put themselves in a far more dangerous situation than I was in.
The helicopter ride was very exhiliarating ; although there was a sombre reminder of different outcomes when I looked at the stretcher beside my seat.
The rescue team were great though, and assured me that in the circumstances, the right decision had been made to call them out.
I got talking to a bunch of Jehovah's Witnesses out on a day trip, and explained to them what had just been happening.
They didn't miss the opportunity of reminding me of the God stuff, and handed me some leaflets and a magazine to read.
What was weird was that I had never really been in danger, but as as result of all this going on, I was beginning to feel that I'd escaped a near-death situation.
I was all choked up...and there was John and Dave at the rescue centre...looking as relieved as I was embarrassed.
The knowledge that your friends thought you were dead is quite upsetting.
I booked into a hotel, but then decided to re-join the rest of the gang as they'd decided to move camp to lower down.
We had a great night by the camp fire with exotic home-made curries, wine and whisky, then went up Ben Slioch the next day.
It was an unexpectedly sunny, warm day with the most incredible views.
So all's well that ends well, I suppose.
I made a sizeable donation to the rescue team.
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
Friday, April 02, 2010
Spotted
I bumped into Kenny, the manager of The Stand, last night.
He'd seem me doing my main road walk in Barnton as he passed on his motorbike, and thought that I looked "highly suspicious".
There's no real privacy in Edinburgh. It's a village.
I was thinking that if there was any serious crime committed on Wednesday, within the vicinity of my main road walk, then I could easily find myself to be a suspect.
The "Crimewatch" reconstruction would mention that "a man with a vacant expression wearing a blue waterproof jacket was seen walking alone in the area at approximately the same time as the offence was committed".
The police would be urging this oddball to come forward to "eliminate himself from police inquiries".
I'd be reluctant to do that though, as I'd have to reveal to the nation that I walk along main roads as a recreational activity.
The police would find that alibi so unlikely, that they might stitch me up, thinking that my defence would get thrown out by any jury as incredible ; and I don't mean that in a good way.
I've just got to hope that there wasn't a murder near the Barnton roundabout on Wednesday.
I woke up this morning with the most appalling hangover I've had in years.
I did the usual vows to never drink again, or at least for a while etc etc
But then it dawned on me that alcohol has not passed my lips for 3 days.
What I was experiencing was the after effects of spending 5 hours digging in my garden.
I was aching all over and could hardly get out of bed.
This is what happens when a normally sedentary worker dabbles in hard, manual labour.
I'd imagine that my net-curtain-twitching neighbours found the sight of me digging for 5 hours to be "highly suspicious".
What with the main road walking, and the uncharacteristic, prolonged digging in my back garden, a compelling case is being built up against me.
I finished up quits on the Wednesday night football action.
I won on Inter Milan beating CSKA Moscow, but lost on my bet of Arsenal beating Barcelona.
The Arsenal match was a perfect illustration of why you should always consolidate your winnings if you are in a favourable position on a football match.
Barcelona were leading 2-0.
The match up till that point was like Brazil vs Accrington Stanley reserves.
It's very rare to see a team so comprehensively outplayed as Arsenal were, at this stage of the Champions League.
You could have got 160/1 on Arsenal winning at this point.
The people who betted on Barcelona to win must have felt completely secure about their investment.
But of course, the unpredictable nature of football comes into effect and Arsenal score twice to draw.
They should have been 5 down at half-time ; a draw was a totally ridiculous result, given the balance of play.
Of course, a draw is a great result for bookies.
Relatively few people bet on a draw ; the inclination is to back a winner.
He'd seem me doing my main road walk in Barnton as he passed on his motorbike, and thought that I looked "highly suspicious".
There's no real privacy in Edinburgh. It's a village.
I was thinking that if there was any serious crime committed on Wednesday, within the vicinity of my main road walk, then I could easily find myself to be a suspect.
The "Crimewatch" reconstruction would mention that "a man with a vacant expression wearing a blue waterproof jacket was seen walking alone in the area at approximately the same time as the offence was committed".
The police would be urging this oddball to come forward to "eliminate himself from police inquiries".
I'd be reluctant to do that though, as I'd have to reveal to the nation that I walk along main roads as a recreational activity.
The police would find that alibi so unlikely, that they might stitch me up, thinking that my defence would get thrown out by any jury as incredible ; and I don't mean that in a good way.
I've just got to hope that there wasn't a murder near the Barnton roundabout on Wednesday.
I woke up this morning with the most appalling hangover I've had in years.
I did the usual vows to never drink again, or at least for a while etc etc
But then it dawned on me that alcohol has not passed my lips for 3 days.
What I was experiencing was the after effects of spending 5 hours digging in my garden.
I was aching all over and could hardly get out of bed.
This is what happens when a normally sedentary worker dabbles in hard, manual labour.
I'd imagine that my net-curtain-twitching neighbours found the sight of me digging for 5 hours to be "highly suspicious".
What with the main road walking, and the uncharacteristic, prolonged digging in my back garden, a compelling case is being built up against me.
I finished up quits on the Wednesday night football action.
I won on Inter Milan beating CSKA Moscow, but lost on my bet of Arsenal beating Barcelona.
The Arsenal match was a perfect illustration of why you should always consolidate your winnings if you are in a favourable position on a football match.
Barcelona were leading 2-0.
The match up till that point was like Brazil vs Accrington Stanley reserves.
It's very rare to see a team so comprehensively outplayed as Arsenal were, at this stage of the Champions League.
You could have got 160/1 on Arsenal winning at this point.
The people who betted on Barcelona to win must have felt completely secure about their investment.
But of course, the unpredictable nature of football comes into effect and Arsenal score twice to draw.
They should have been 5 down at half-time ; a draw was a totally ridiculous result, given the balance of play.
Of course, a draw is a great result for bookies.
Relatively few people bet on a draw ; the inclination is to back a winner.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
The Walk
I went for a 12 mile walk today.
I walked out to Corstorphine, then across Drumbrae to Barnton, then back into Haymarket.
Why?
No idea...I was a bit cabin feverish after yesterdays glorious weather and felt I needed some fresh air.
Walking along main roads is quite an unusual activity.
I didn't meet anyone else doing it.
I was wondering if I could maybe write a guide on great main road walks in the UK?
It's not very picturesque, and you are forced to inhale the exhaust fumes of thousands of vehicles.
However, if you get bored, you have the opportunity to stop at a bus stop and jump on a bus.
This is not possible when you are hillwalking in the Highlands.
One thing I noticed in the course of my grand walk is that I have a long-standing predilection to stop and look in the windows of fish shops.
I'm not sure why I do this.
The wares on display tend to be pretty constant.
Haddock,Cod,Halibut,Smoked Haddock,Whiting,Sole,Mussels,Prawns and that's about it.
One thing that annoys me looking in fish shop windows is when the fishmonger(s) stare at me while I'm doing it.
It makes me feel uncomfortable, and I probably spend less time looking in the window than I would ideally like.
It's the expression on their faces that gets me.
I imagine that it's a similar expression to one that somebody would do if you walked into their garden and pressed your face against their living room window while they were watching television.
Surely you should welcome people looking at your fish?
They should smile and wave at me...that way I'm more likely to come in and buy a fish.
I've come to the conclusion that I was a fish in a previous life.
This is the only rational explanation as to why I am constantly drawn to look into fish shop windows.
I'm beginning to think that the Fishmongers recognise this and see me as some kind of threat to their livelihood.
Perhaps they fear that I want to steal all their goods so that I can give all my brother and sister fish a decent burial, rather
than allow their bodies to be disgracefully displayed to the public by the evil Fishmonger trade.
Anyway, month 2 of my football betting system got off to a poor start when I bet on Rangers to beat Dundee United last week, but discovered just before kick-off that Walter Smith had slected a virtual reserve team.
Dundee United Won.
I got back on track by backing Liverpool to beat Sunderland.
Last night I hit the jackpot.
I was already backing Bayern Munich to beat Manchester United.
Man U scored after a minute.
I deviated slightly from my system by putting more money on Bayern to win.
I just had a gut instinct that Man U had scored too early and that Bayern could come back and win. (at odds of 8/1 now)
There is a bit of a history of teams scoring first in big games then going on to lose the match...most recently Aston Villa in the league cup final against Man U...
It can slightly discombobulate a team to score so early, and they end up surrendering the momentum of the match.
In the end Bayern won 2-1, and I made £366.70 on the match.
My month 2 situation is now £273 in profit.
I walked out to Corstorphine, then across Drumbrae to Barnton, then back into Haymarket.
Why?
No idea...I was a bit cabin feverish after yesterdays glorious weather and felt I needed some fresh air.
Walking along main roads is quite an unusual activity.
I didn't meet anyone else doing it.
I was wondering if I could maybe write a guide on great main road walks in the UK?
It's not very picturesque, and you are forced to inhale the exhaust fumes of thousands of vehicles.
However, if you get bored, you have the opportunity to stop at a bus stop and jump on a bus.
This is not possible when you are hillwalking in the Highlands.
One thing I noticed in the course of my grand walk is that I have a long-standing predilection to stop and look in the windows of fish shops.
I'm not sure why I do this.
The wares on display tend to be pretty constant.
Haddock,Cod,Halibut,Smoked Haddock,Whiting,Sole,Mussels,Prawns and that's about it.
One thing that annoys me looking in fish shop windows is when the fishmonger(s) stare at me while I'm doing it.
It makes me feel uncomfortable, and I probably spend less time looking in the window than I would ideally like.
It's the expression on their faces that gets me.
I imagine that it's a similar expression to one that somebody would do if you walked into their garden and pressed your face against their living room window while they were watching television.
Surely you should welcome people looking at your fish?
They should smile and wave at me...that way I'm more likely to come in and buy a fish.
I've come to the conclusion that I was a fish in a previous life.
This is the only rational explanation as to why I am constantly drawn to look into fish shop windows.
I'm beginning to think that the Fishmongers recognise this and see me as some kind of threat to their livelihood.
Perhaps they fear that I want to steal all their goods so that I can give all my brother and sister fish a decent burial, rather
than allow their bodies to be disgracefully displayed to the public by the evil Fishmonger trade.
Anyway, month 2 of my football betting system got off to a poor start when I bet on Rangers to beat Dundee United last week, but discovered just before kick-off that Walter Smith had slected a virtual reserve team.
Dundee United Won.
I got back on track by backing Liverpool to beat Sunderland.
Last night I hit the jackpot.
I was already backing Bayern Munich to beat Manchester United.
Man U scored after a minute.
I deviated slightly from my system by putting more money on Bayern to win.
I just had a gut instinct that Man U had scored too early and that Bayern could come back and win. (at odds of 8/1 now)
There is a bit of a history of teams scoring first in big games then going on to lose the match...most recently Aston Villa in the league cup final against Man U...
It can slightly discombobulate a team to score so early, and they end up surrendering the momentum of the match.
In the end Bayern won 2-1, and I made £366.70 on the match.
My month 2 situation is now £273 in profit.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Goldfish Bowl
To be involved with either Old Firm club either as a player or a manager, your existence will constantly be referred to by the media
as like "living in a goldfish bowl", in terms of the scrutiny you come under.
Celtic need a new manager now.
I think it would be a good idea to actually appoint a goldfish.
This isn't as idiotic as it sounds.
There are advantages.
For instance, the goldfish would be unlikely to get into bother with the SFA as a consequence of openly criticising match officials.
In a post-match interview, if the goldfish was asked about a controversial penalty in the first half, he'd already have forgotten about it completely, and would have no view to make known.
(yes it will be a male goldfish...the SPL isn't quite ready for a female goldfish manager)
Also, the goldfish can say that he will "take one match at a time" without being regarded as spouting managerspeak cliches.
At press conferences, the media representatives should be forced to throw a ping pong ball into a goldfish bowl before they can ask the manager a question.
The goldfish could also win favour with the hacks by producing a series of quotable, dreadful, fish puns...
"Are you expecting a big crowd at Parkhead on Saturday?"
"Yes, we fully expect to fillet"
"What's your favourite pop group?"
"Fishbone Ash"
The press will love all that sort of stuff and give the goldfish an easy ride in the tabloids.
I gigged at "Hamish's Hoose" in Paisley last night.
It was hard work, and the heckles were coming thick and fast, but I enjoyed the combative nature of the performance.
I always know now when it is going to be quite a tough gig.
I come on and say that I "specialise in impro-VISATIONAL comedy"...I raise my clipboard and shout "thank you very much" before the audience get a chance to respond.
Most of the time this gets a big laugh, as it all comes across as being a bit mental.
I usually have a good gig if they find this bit funny.
Occasionally, it gets nothing, and from that moment I know that it is going to be hard work.
It went ok in the end but a tough gig nonetheless.
It's a great room for comedy though, and it's always a pleasure to do a gig that fellow comedian Chris Scoular promotes.
He's one of the genuine good guys in comedy, and a very funny man as well.
There was a big crowd at the gig, but it was noticeable how dead the rest of Paisley was on a Saturday night.
There were boarded up night clubs and bars that previously had been swarming with hundreds of revellers.
It had a real ghost town feel to it.
I got back at about 3.00am (losing an hour in the process)
Starving.
The only place I could think to go was the kebab joint at Tollcross.
It's weird being in a place like that when you're stone cold sober and everyone else is pissed out of their skulls.
The way alcohol makes everyone shout at each other is a fascinating phenomenon to observe.
Was alcohol ever called the "shouting drug" in its early days?
I was going to order a healthy kebab, but I couldn't stand waiting in this shouty nightmare, so went for the instant option of a large doner.
I haven't had a doner kebab in years.
I have to admit I enjoyed it, but 2000 calories just before bedtime is not ideal preparation, in terms of conditioning, for
a triathlon.
as like "living in a goldfish bowl", in terms of the scrutiny you come under.
Celtic need a new manager now.
I think it would be a good idea to actually appoint a goldfish.
This isn't as idiotic as it sounds.
There are advantages.
For instance, the goldfish would be unlikely to get into bother with the SFA as a consequence of openly criticising match officials.
In a post-match interview, if the goldfish was asked about a controversial penalty in the first half, he'd already have forgotten about it completely, and would have no view to make known.
(yes it will be a male goldfish...the SPL isn't quite ready for a female goldfish manager)
Also, the goldfish can say that he will "take one match at a time" without being regarded as spouting managerspeak cliches.
At press conferences, the media representatives should be forced to throw a ping pong ball into a goldfish bowl before they can ask the manager a question.
The goldfish could also win favour with the hacks by producing a series of quotable, dreadful, fish puns...
"Are you expecting a big crowd at Parkhead on Saturday?"
"Yes, we fully expect to fillet"
"What's your favourite pop group?"
"Fishbone Ash"
The press will love all that sort of stuff and give the goldfish an easy ride in the tabloids.
I gigged at "Hamish's Hoose" in Paisley last night.
It was hard work, and the heckles were coming thick and fast, but I enjoyed the combative nature of the performance.
I always know now when it is going to be quite a tough gig.
I come on and say that I "specialise in impro-VISATIONAL comedy"...I raise my clipboard and shout "thank you very much" before the audience get a chance to respond.
Most of the time this gets a big laugh, as it all comes across as being a bit mental.
I usually have a good gig if they find this bit funny.
Occasionally, it gets nothing, and from that moment I know that it is going to be hard work.
It went ok in the end but a tough gig nonetheless.
It's a great room for comedy though, and it's always a pleasure to do a gig that fellow comedian Chris Scoular promotes.
He's one of the genuine good guys in comedy, and a very funny man as well.
There was a big crowd at the gig, but it was noticeable how dead the rest of Paisley was on a Saturday night.
There were boarded up night clubs and bars that previously had been swarming with hundreds of revellers.
It had a real ghost town feel to it.
I got back at about 3.00am (losing an hour in the process)
Starving.
The only place I could think to go was the kebab joint at Tollcross.
It's weird being in a place like that when you're stone cold sober and everyone else is pissed out of their skulls.
The way alcohol makes everyone shout at each other is a fascinating phenomenon to observe.
Was alcohol ever called the "shouting drug" in its early days?
I was going to order a healthy kebab, but I couldn't stand waiting in this shouty nightmare, so went for the instant option of a large doner.
I haven't had a doner kebab in years.
I have to admit I enjoyed it, but 2000 calories just before bedtime is not ideal preparation, in terms of conditioning, for
a triathlon.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Catching Up
The poor old blog has been sadly neglected of late. I can't apologise enough.
Anyway, in hindsight my cunning plan of doing a gig in Edinburgh an hour before I did my solo show in Glasgow was
completely mental.
Idiot.
The normal stand-up has been going really nicely, but I wasn't happy with the solo show.
I decided not to include any existing material in it, and just wrote an untested hour of monologue.
Again this was probably more than a little mental.
Because the show had a narrative thread to it, I thought it would work by keeping the script fairly loose.
But on the night I seemed to be using all my energies trying to remember what I was going to say next rather than
breathing life into the story.
I was stressed out bigtime anyway, and that didn't help.
I even decided to smoke a few cigarettes before the show, thereby ruining my glorious 5 months abstinence ;
(back off them again though...I'll probably have to accept there may be an odd lapse every few months)
It was certainly a learning experience, that's for sure.
I was away in the mountains at the weekend with a pal of mine who informed me that the car he was driving used to belong
to someone who was killed in a mountaineering accident this year.
I'm not really superstitious, but the tabloid sub-editor in me could see a good "story" if the two of us managed to fall off a cliff on this trip.
"The Curse of the Car".
I've relaunched the Betfair football betting as an alternative source of income (hopefully).
It's going pretty well at the moment ; I've made £772 profit in March so far.
It's critically important to stick to the rules though.
My policy is to never have a bet "just because I feel like having a bet".
I must only bet on a match where I perceive there is some "value" in the odds.
I must always resist the temptation to make another bet immediately after a losing bet.
I only bet on matches which are live on television and facilitate in-play betting.
The other rule is that if the team I am betting on scores the opening goal, I must immediately lay off on the other team to cover my initial stake.
This means that if my team doesn't win, I don't make any profit, but I don't lose any money.
If my team wins, I make a profit with a deduction on the amount I've laid off against them winning.
You get so many games where a team goes into the lead, dominates the whole game but then loses a late equaliser.
The in-play bet guards against this coupon bustin' possibility.
The last time I got involved with this Befair malarkey, I ended up even over the long term.
I should have been way ahead but made some ridiculous, foolhardy bets chasing after losses.
I'm hoping I can make a decent profit if I stick rigidly to my system.
It doesn't really feel like a particularly honourable job though.
Am I contributing to society in a meaningful way?
Probably not.
Oh well, I'll be attempting to spread the gift of laughter this evening ; it being the best medicine and all that...allegedly.
Anyway, in hindsight my cunning plan of doing a gig in Edinburgh an hour before I did my solo show in Glasgow was
completely mental.
Idiot.
The normal stand-up has been going really nicely, but I wasn't happy with the solo show.
I decided not to include any existing material in it, and just wrote an untested hour of monologue.
Again this was probably more than a little mental.
Because the show had a narrative thread to it, I thought it would work by keeping the script fairly loose.
But on the night I seemed to be using all my energies trying to remember what I was going to say next rather than
breathing life into the story.
I was stressed out bigtime anyway, and that didn't help.
I even decided to smoke a few cigarettes before the show, thereby ruining my glorious 5 months abstinence ;
(back off them again though...I'll probably have to accept there may be an odd lapse every few months)
It was certainly a learning experience, that's for sure.
I was away in the mountains at the weekend with a pal of mine who informed me that the car he was driving used to belong
to someone who was killed in a mountaineering accident this year.
I'm not really superstitious, but the tabloid sub-editor in me could see a good "story" if the two of us managed to fall off a cliff on this trip.
"The Curse of the Car".
I've relaunched the Betfair football betting as an alternative source of income (hopefully).
It's going pretty well at the moment ; I've made £772 profit in March so far.
It's critically important to stick to the rules though.
My policy is to never have a bet "just because I feel like having a bet".
I must only bet on a match where I perceive there is some "value" in the odds.
I must always resist the temptation to make another bet immediately after a losing bet.
I only bet on matches which are live on television and facilitate in-play betting.
The other rule is that if the team I am betting on scores the opening goal, I must immediately lay off on the other team to cover my initial stake.
This means that if my team doesn't win, I don't make any profit, but I don't lose any money.
If my team wins, I make a profit with a deduction on the amount I've laid off against them winning.
You get so many games where a team goes into the lead, dominates the whole game but then loses a late equaliser.
The in-play bet guards against this coupon bustin' possibility.
The last time I got involved with this Befair malarkey, I ended up even over the long term.
I should have been way ahead but made some ridiculous, foolhardy bets chasing after losses.
I'm hoping I can make a decent profit if I stick rigidly to my system.
It doesn't really feel like a particularly honourable job though.
Am I contributing to society in a meaningful way?
Probably not.
Oh well, I'll be attempting to spread the gift of laughter this evening ; it being the best medicine and all that...allegedly.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Really? Well I never...
The first thing I heard when I woke up this morning was some blustering buffoon on a radio phone-in show complaining about the government "squandering millions" on a variety of "white horses".
It's nice to have a good rueful sneer to start the day with.
So I was waiting at a bus stop on Monday and along came a bus. Who'd have thunk it?
Anyway, what made this event slightly more noteworthy was the fact the LED display denoting the number and destination of this particular bus wasn't working.
The bus pulled up at the stop, the doors opened, and the bus driver shouted out "Number 44!".
He did not sound at peace with the world at all.
Having to shout "Number 44" at the top of his voice at every single stop on the route was undoubtedly taking its toll on him.
To make matters worse, after he shouted "Number 44", the woman in front of me in the queue asked him "Is this a 44?".
I found it very amusing that a few of the people at the stop who got on the bus seemed very, very cagey about the whole business.
It was as if they were deeply uncomfortable about getting on a bus without a number and destination clearly visible.
I sensed they thought it might be some kind of trick.
They had the demeanor of a group of chickens boarding a vehicle who'd just noticed that the driver was a fox.
The tailspin in enthusiasm with which the driver shouted "Number 44" at each successive stop on my journey was keeping me entertained big time.
In fact I'd say it's pretty much the funniest bus journey I'd ever been on.
I used my telepathic skills to get people at the bus stops repeatedly ask the driver that it definitely was a "44".
At one point he shouted "Do you think I would just make this up?"
In hindsight, I would have been tempted to bribe the driver and get him to shout out a completely different number at the next stop.
"Number 31!".
At this point I would jump out of my seat screaming "Oh my god! It's a trap! It's a trap! We're all going to die!", and then pretend to faint.
I'd then try to get a hold of the closed circuit tv footage and create a viral phenomenon on youtube.
Oh well, next time.
After my disastrous gig of 2 weeks ago, I had probably as good a gig as I've ever had anywhere at The Stand on Sunday night.
The most important aspect of it for me was that it was the "main support" slot, but the energy level felt like a 5 minute middle-of-the-bill spot.
It was bizarre to have such contrasting gigs at the same venue in a short period of time.
It's nice to have a good rueful sneer to start the day with.
So I was waiting at a bus stop on Monday and along came a bus. Who'd have thunk it?
Anyway, what made this event slightly more noteworthy was the fact the LED display denoting the number and destination of this particular bus wasn't working.
The bus pulled up at the stop, the doors opened, and the bus driver shouted out "Number 44!".
He did not sound at peace with the world at all.
Having to shout "Number 44" at the top of his voice at every single stop on the route was undoubtedly taking its toll on him.
To make matters worse, after he shouted "Number 44", the woman in front of me in the queue asked him "Is this a 44?".
I found it very amusing that a few of the people at the stop who got on the bus seemed very, very cagey about the whole business.
It was as if they were deeply uncomfortable about getting on a bus without a number and destination clearly visible.
I sensed they thought it might be some kind of trick.
They had the demeanor of a group of chickens boarding a vehicle who'd just noticed that the driver was a fox.
The tailspin in enthusiasm with which the driver shouted "Number 44" at each successive stop on my journey was keeping me entertained big time.
In fact I'd say it's pretty much the funniest bus journey I'd ever been on.
I used my telepathic skills to get people at the bus stops repeatedly ask the driver that it definitely was a "44".
At one point he shouted "Do you think I would just make this up?"
In hindsight, I would have been tempted to bribe the driver and get him to shout out a completely different number at the next stop.
"Number 31!".
At this point I would jump out of my seat screaming "Oh my god! It's a trap! It's a trap! We're all going to die!", and then pretend to faint.
I'd then try to get a hold of the closed circuit tv footage and create a viral phenomenon on youtube.
Oh well, next time.
After my disastrous gig of 2 weeks ago, I had probably as good a gig as I've ever had anywhere at The Stand on Sunday night.
The most important aspect of it for me was that it was the "main support" slot, but the energy level felt like a 5 minute middle-of-the-bill spot.
It was bizarre to have such contrasting gigs at the same venue in a short period of time.
Monday, February 08, 2010
The Tree
I thought I'd better do another blog.
It's maybe not a good idea to leave a shit review on the first page, even if it was penned by my good self.
I'll have to do another one pretty promptly after this one too as I've now referenced the aforementioned "shit review" twice.
Many people have emailed me asking for an update on the tree situation.
Well, what's happened is that a large branch (itself the size of a medium tree) just fell off the big tree one day.
I'm a bit worried in case the whole tree falls down, and I happen to be working in my garden pruning fruit trees.
it could land right on top of me.
The ramifications of such a tragic event would be unthinkable in the world of Scottish Comedy.
Middle-aged, alcoholic women in West Lothian would likely commit mass suicides in a chilling echo of the Jim Jones sect's demise in Guyana.
Anyway, I'm on the case.
The tree must go.
AND it blocks out the late afternoon sun.
However, this is primarily a health and safety issue, and the fact that the tree blocks out the sun and fucks up my TV reception, is purely incidental.
Monday, February 01, 2010
First Gig of 2010
I hadn't gigged since before Xmas, so was a little edgier than usual before last night's gig.
Unfortunately, my debut gig of 2010 was a far from joyful occasion.
I thought it looked a pretty good crowd initially, but it soon became clear from the compere's opening exchanges that the
stage was ring-fenced by a large group of pissed-up, spray-tanned, over-made-up, gobby, middle-aged women from West Lothian.
Scott Agnew went down very well with them, but my gut feeling was that they were really not my demographic and that this might well be a bit of a struggle.
I started off ok, but it soon became clear that I was a little too "out there" (or "not funny" ; whatever is most applicable for "The Friends of Subo" collective's comedy sensibilities).
They spent the rest of my set talking amongst themselves and periodically heckling.
I didn't really handle it all that well, and not having gigged in almost 6 weeks certainly wasn't helping.
There was another strange man who kept shouting out weird random comments from the back.
I couldn't really see him properly because of the lights, but when I clocked him at the interval, my first thought was "is he going to a fancy dress party as a paedophile, or are these his own clothes?" (he had a big bushy beard as well).
That might have helped my cause if I could have seen him properly during my set.
The problem is that the nature of my set encourages people to shout things out (although 99% of the time they don't).
It was an impossible situation, and the ladies succeeded in making the show about them.
More able comedians would have ripped them apart though.
Anyway, it was 15 minutes of pain, and immediately became one of my top 3 "least enjoyable gigs of all-time".
I could criticise the crowd, and call it a large-scale "Cunts Convention", but the other comedians had decent gigs, so I have to take the blame for not being quick enough on my feet to reverse the catastrophic progress of my performance.
Oh well, at least the "Daily Record" weren't in to review it (I don't think so, anyway).
I am feeling a bit wounded, but am trying to channel my genocidal impulses towards the people of West Lothian by throwing myself into writing with a vengeance.
Unfortunately, my debut gig of 2010 was a far from joyful occasion.
I thought it looked a pretty good crowd initially, but it soon became clear from the compere's opening exchanges that the
stage was ring-fenced by a large group of pissed-up, spray-tanned, over-made-up, gobby, middle-aged women from West Lothian.
Scott Agnew went down very well with them, but my gut feeling was that they were really not my demographic and that this might well be a bit of a struggle.
I started off ok, but it soon became clear that I was a little too "out there" (or "not funny" ; whatever is most applicable for "The Friends of Subo" collective's comedy sensibilities).
They spent the rest of my set talking amongst themselves and periodically heckling.
I didn't really handle it all that well, and not having gigged in almost 6 weeks certainly wasn't helping.
There was another strange man who kept shouting out weird random comments from the back.
I couldn't really see him properly because of the lights, but when I clocked him at the interval, my first thought was "is he going to a fancy dress party as a paedophile, or are these his own clothes?" (he had a big bushy beard as well).
That might have helped my cause if I could have seen him properly during my set.
The problem is that the nature of my set encourages people to shout things out (although 99% of the time they don't).
It was an impossible situation, and the ladies succeeded in making the show about them.
More able comedians would have ripped them apart though.
Anyway, it was 15 minutes of pain, and immediately became one of my top 3 "least enjoyable gigs of all-time".
I could criticise the crowd, and call it a large-scale "Cunts Convention", but the other comedians had decent gigs, so I have to take the blame for not being quick enough on my feet to reverse the catastrophic progress of my performance.
Oh well, at least the "Daily Record" weren't in to review it (I don't think so, anyway).
I am feeling a bit wounded, but am trying to channel my genocidal impulses towards the people of West Lothian by throwing myself into writing with a vengeance.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Testing Times
I had a gruesome session of root canal treatment yesterday.
It was just not enjoyable on any level ; very disappointing.
I had a very sore face at the end of it.
If the dentist had spent 40 minutes repeatedly punching me in the face, it wouldn't have been any less pleasant.
It's the slow-grinding drill which seems to make your whole head vibrate that I particularly dislike.
The day had started badly when I missed the attempted delivery of my new astro-turf trainers which I'd bought on the Internet.
I bought them on the Internet because the trainers i looked at in all the shops in Edinburgh were shitty, gimmicky and craptastic.
I didn't want trainers that lit up or were fluorescent silver with embarassing slogans written on them.
Anyway, I checked the card...the Citylink man had ticked the box that said "customer must collect at depot".
The depot was in Livingston.
Handy.
I drove to Livingston the next day, only to discover that the driver had ticked the wrong box, and that he was going to attempt another delivery that day.
I wasn't best pleased at this revelation, and resorted to my usual default setting of extreme sarcasm towards the Citylink receptionist.
I asked for the driver's mobile so that I could arrange to meet him in Edinburgh.
Apparently, I couldn't get this without his express permission.
I sometimes wish I would go completely ballistic in a situation like this.
I'm sure it would be immensely satisfying.
It's just not in my nature though.
They were having trouble contacting the driver, but my sarcasm eventually paid off, and they miraculously managed to contact him, and he agreed to meet me in Grove Street.
He wasn't apologetic about his idiotic mistake when I met him.
"Bit of a drag driving out to Livingstone chief!" was all he said as he handed me the package.
I was playing football that afternoon.
The trainers were too small for me.
This didn't improve my mood.
I then realised that the Internet shop was in Kirkcaldy so I just decided to drive across and exchange them.
I then went to Sainsburys.
I was walking down the steps into my flat when my baguette slid out my bag.
I didn't notice I'd dropped it until I stepped along the length of it in my muddy boots and squished it.
I wasn't happy about this development, but it was an exceptional moment of physical comedy that Rowan Atkinson would have definitely incorporated into his next hilarious Mr Bean adventure, if he had witnessed it.
In a more positive development, I have completed my self-assessment tax return a full 10 days ahead of the deadline.
This is unprecedented.
And 3 months of no smoking has now been achieved.
It's time to get the cigars out...it's finally over...possibly.
I didn't drink for 2 weeks just after the New Year.
Worryingly, I found this much more difficult that stopping smoking.
It's the continual active encouragement to drink that makes it tougher...it's still socially acceptable to pickle your liver.
Going to the cinema these days and watching all the ads is like being subjected to a massive alcohol propaganda campaign.
I think it's just a matter of time before these ads go the same way as the old fags cinema ads.
"Never Knowingly Underwater" Glasgow Comedy Festival Friday 12th March, State Bar, Glasgow.
It was just not enjoyable on any level ; very disappointing.
I had a very sore face at the end of it.
If the dentist had spent 40 minutes repeatedly punching me in the face, it wouldn't have been any less pleasant.
It's the slow-grinding drill which seems to make your whole head vibrate that I particularly dislike.
The day had started badly when I missed the attempted delivery of my new astro-turf trainers which I'd bought on the Internet.
I bought them on the Internet because the trainers i looked at in all the shops in Edinburgh were shitty, gimmicky and craptastic.
I didn't want trainers that lit up or were fluorescent silver with embarassing slogans written on them.
Anyway, I checked the card...the Citylink man had ticked the box that said "customer must collect at depot".
The depot was in Livingston.
Handy.
I drove to Livingston the next day, only to discover that the driver had ticked the wrong box, and that he was going to attempt another delivery that day.
I wasn't best pleased at this revelation, and resorted to my usual default setting of extreme sarcasm towards the Citylink receptionist.
I asked for the driver's mobile so that I could arrange to meet him in Edinburgh.
Apparently, I couldn't get this without his express permission.
I sometimes wish I would go completely ballistic in a situation like this.
I'm sure it would be immensely satisfying.
It's just not in my nature though.
They were having trouble contacting the driver, but my sarcasm eventually paid off, and they miraculously managed to contact him, and he agreed to meet me in Grove Street.
He wasn't apologetic about his idiotic mistake when I met him.
"Bit of a drag driving out to Livingstone chief!" was all he said as he handed me the package.
I was playing football that afternoon.
The trainers were too small for me.
This didn't improve my mood.
I then realised that the Internet shop was in Kirkcaldy so I just decided to drive across and exchange them.
I then went to Sainsburys.
I was walking down the steps into my flat when my baguette slid out my bag.
I didn't notice I'd dropped it until I stepped along the length of it in my muddy boots and squished it.
I wasn't happy about this development, but it was an exceptional moment of physical comedy that Rowan Atkinson would have definitely incorporated into his next hilarious Mr Bean adventure, if he had witnessed it.
In a more positive development, I have completed my self-assessment tax return a full 10 days ahead of the deadline.
This is unprecedented.
And 3 months of no smoking has now been achieved.
It's time to get the cigars out...it's finally over...possibly.
I didn't drink for 2 weeks just after the New Year.
Worryingly, I found this much more difficult that stopping smoking.
It's the continual active encouragement to drink that makes it tougher...it's still socially acceptable to pickle your liver.
Going to the cinema these days and watching all the ads is like being subjected to a massive alcohol propaganda campaign.
I think it's just a matter of time before these ads go the same way as the old fags cinema ads.
"Never Knowingly Underwater" Glasgow Comedy Festival Friday 12th March, State Bar, Glasgow.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
2010 (time and a half)
Happy New Year.
I liked the way Gordon Brown referred to the current Ice Age as a "cold snap" today.
Nobody in the meteorological camp is sticking their head above the parapet and predicting with any conviction when this is going to end.
It feels like the Festive season hasn't finished yet.
It always does drag on a bit towards the end, but this is ridiculous.
The Park clan was split up in various locations this Christmas, so I ended up in a merger with some friends and friends of friends.
It made a really refreshing change to do the Christmas thing with a mix of relatives and friends.
I was supposed to be spending New Year up North but bottled driving up with the weather and all that.
I'm now viewed as "unreliable" though, and I sense that my personal approval rating has disastrously slumped.
My brother gave me the biggest laugh of the Festive season.
A few of us were round at my sister's for a meal, and a fair amount of wine had been consumed.
I was in the kitchen, and noticed my brother opening a bottle of Italian champagne which was part of a bulk mail order my sister had organised.
I tipped Ann off about this.
Once Gavin had returned, Ann talked about how she'd invested a lot of cash in a highly prized bottle of Italian champagne.
She's been specifically advised to invest in this brand, and it would reportedly be worth a 5 figure sum if she held onto it for 10 years.
The look on Gavin's face was priceless.
It was reminiscent of a "Tom and Jerry" cartoon in which the colour theatrically drains from a character's face.
She had him hook, line and sinker for a couple of minutes.
Beautiful.
2009 was a real up and down comedy year.
The highs were fantastic gigs at the Hackney Empire and the Comedy Store.
There were also some really good reviews and also a lot of awful reviews.
(the Daily Record one stands out as the worst)
It was a great honour to be invited to do a Fringe show at The Stand.
We were mega-successful at the box-office, but took a severe kicking critically.
In 2010, I'm doing a solo show at the upcoming Glasgow Comedy Festival to drag me kicking and screaming out of my comfort zone.
I think I might finally have quit cigarettes for good.
That's nearly 3 months now, and I didn't really have any inclination to smoke during the Festive season ; traditionally,
a burial ground of ex-smokers.
Now, I can start thinking about taking the weight off (part of the non-smoking strategy was to allow gluttony)
I liked the way Gordon Brown referred to the current Ice Age as a "cold snap" today.
Nobody in the meteorological camp is sticking their head above the parapet and predicting with any conviction when this is going to end.
It feels like the Festive season hasn't finished yet.
It always does drag on a bit towards the end, but this is ridiculous.
The Park clan was split up in various locations this Christmas, so I ended up in a merger with some friends and friends of friends.
It made a really refreshing change to do the Christmas thing with a mix of relatives and friends.
I was supposed to be spending New Year up North but bottled driving up with the weather and all that.
I'm now viewed as "unreliable" though, and I sense that my personal approval rating has disastrously slumped.
My brother gave me the biggest laugh of the Festive season.
A few of us were round at my sister's for a meal, and a fair amount of wine had been consumed.
I was in the kitchen, and noticed my brother opening a bottle of Italian champagne which was part of a bulk mail order my sister had organised.
I tipped Ann off about this.
Once Gavin had returned, Ann talked about how she'd invested a lot of cash in a highly prized bottle of Italian champagne.
She's been specifically advised to invest in this brand, and it would reportedly be worth a 5 figure sum if she held onto it for 10 years.
The look on Gavin's face was priceless.
It was reminiscent of a "Tom and Jerry" cartoon in which the colour theatrically drains from a character's face.
She had him hook, line and sinker for a couple of minutes.
Beautiful.
2009 was a real up and down comedy year.
The highs were fantastic gigs at the Hackney Empire and the Comedy Store.
There were also some really good reviews and also a lot of awful reviews.
(the Daily Record one stands out as the worst)
It was a great honour to be invited to do a Fringe show at The Stand.
We were mega-successful at the box-office, but took a severe kicking critically.
In 2010, I'm doing a solo show at the upcoming Glasgow Comedy Festival to drag me kicking and screaming out of my comfort zone.
I think I might finally have quit cigarettes for good.
That's nearly 3 months now, and I didn't really have any inclination to smoke during the Festive season ; traditionally,
a burial ground of ex-smokers.
Now, I can start thinking about taking the weight off (part of the non-smoking strategy was to allow gluttony)
Thursday, December 17, 2009
I understand...
To a certain extent, I have sympathy for Tiger Woods and the predicament he currently finds himself in.
I too am a golfer, and only too aware of the accompanying pressures which participating in this sport bring.
The basic truth of the matter is that for millions of females, the sight of a man carrying a bag of golf clubs, whilst wearing a pringle sweater with brightly-coloured slacks, is the personification of irresistibility.
I've experienced this phenomenum first hand many times, and understand how easy it would be to succumb to temptation and use golf as a convenient vehicle to get off with literally hundreds of women.
In fact, as well as my regulation, full set of clubs in my bag, I also keep a shitty stick, which I use to ward off the hordes of groupies who loiter outside clubhouses waiting for golfers to emerge.
At least Tiger's downfall has brought global attention to the plight of golfers having to cope on a daily basis with this constant hounding.
It is only by choosing to play on rainy days, with a wind chill factor of minus 5C, that I can "enjoy" a game of golf without constant interruption these days.
I'm playing probably the last game of 2009 next Monday. (I thought you might be interested)
Bob, who usually whips my ass (this is a golfing metaphor), has failed to beat me in the last 8 matches.
Next Monday represents his last chance in 2009 to halt the "Jim Park Golfing Juggernaut" (I thought you might be interested).
I could just write about golf all the time really...
Is anyone still reading this?
btw I am on twitter as jimmyparker99
I can give you a hole-by-hole update if you follow me.
So there you go...
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Round up.
My sketch got a pretty decent reaction at "Melting Pot".
It probably would have been better received if anybody in the audience had heard of the Broons comic strip, (very international crowd).
I'd already decided that a Broons parody was all a bit hack anyway. Must try harder.
I was already aware that there's not quite as much money in pro snooker as there used to be.
This was confirmed when I saw that this week's snooker on BBC is the "Pukka Pie UK Snooker Championship".
No disrespect to pies, but I suspect that the sponsorship cash on offer from PP represents a tiny fraction of what the fag companies used to put up before they were banned.
It's a reverse situation from football.
In football the older retired players must curse that they missed out on the big cash £100K a week wages possibilities.
In their day, they had to either become managers or run a pub after they retired ; whereas a lot of today's players don't really need to do anything beyond their playing careers, such are the riches they can now achieve in the game.
However, in snooker, the heyday was the 80s and early 90s when Embassy and Benson & Hedges etc threw millions at the game as it gave them extended prime time terrestial TV advertising.
But now, it's the time of "Pukka Pies" and selling advertising space to local traders on their waistcoats...
I was interested to see the BBC pre-match announcer shout "Let's Get The Boys On The Baize!".
Some of the audience joined in, so I assume this is the new snooker catchphrase.
It's snooker's answer to dart's "Let's Play DARTS!" (genius)
Just been for a haircut...quite a grumpy Australian barber.
This was the opening chat?
Barber : "Were you out last night?"
Me: "Yes, just for a couple of beers"
Barber: "Where were you?"
Me: "Burlington Bertie's"
Barber: "Was there a lot of pussy in?"
Now, I thought that was a bit over-familiar, and I was a bit shocked.
I hesitated, then replied "A reasonable amount", but didn't elaborate.
This seemed to put a dampener on the conversation, and there was silence for the next 5 minutes.
Then he suddenly shouted "You stupid cunt!"
I thought he was talking to me, but he was berating someone outside who had accidentally walked into his barber "A" board on the pavement.
He then moaned about people in Gorgie being "the fucking thickest on the planet, mate..."
Australian people are supposed to be relentlessly cheery.
What has happened?
It probably would have been better received if anybody in the audience had heard of the Broons comic strip, (very international crowd).
I'd already decided that a Broons parody was all a bit hack anyway. Must try harder.
I was already aware that there's not quite as much money in pro snooker as there used to be.
This was confirmed when I saw that this week's snooker on BBC is the "Pukka Pie UK Snooker Championship".
No disrespect to pies, but I suspect that the sponsorship cash on offer from PP represents a tiny fraction of what the fag companies used to put up before they were banned.
It's a reverse situation from football.
In football the older retired players must curse that they missed out on the big cash £100K a week wages possibilities.
In their day, they had to either become managers or run a pub after they retired ; whereas a lot of today's players don't really need to do anything beyond their playing careers, such are the riches they can now achieve in the game.
However, in snooker, the heyday was the 80s and early 90s when Embassy and Benson & Hedges etc threw millions at the game as it gave them extended prime time terrestial TV advertising.
But now, it's the time of "Pukka Pies" and selling advertising space to local traders on their waistcoats...
I was interested to see the BBC pre-match announcer shout "Let's Get The Boys On The Baize!".
Some of the audience joined in, so I assume this is the new snooker catchphrase.
It's snooker's answer to dart's "Let's Play DARTS!" (genius)
Just been for a haircut...quite a grumpy Australian barber.
This was the opening chat?
Barber : "Were you out last night?"
Me: "Yes, just for a couple of beers"
Barber: "Where were you?"
Me: "Burlington Bertie's"
Barber: "Was there a lot of pussy in?"
Now, I thought that was a bit over-familiar, and I was a bit shocked.
I hesitated, then replied "A reasonable amount", but didn't elaborate.
This seemed to put a dampener on the conversation, and there was silence for the next 5 minutes.
Then he suddenly shouted "You stupid cunt!"
I thought he was talking to me, but he was berating someone outside who had accidentally walked into his barber "A" board on the pavement.
He then moaned about people in Gorgie being "the fucking thickest on the planet, mate..."
Australian people are supposed to be relentlessly cheery.
What has happened?
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
Suspicious
Amongst the pile of Christmas cards, I spotted a plain envelope addressed to "The Parents or Carers of Jim Park".
That's an unusual first line, I thought.
Has my performance at the "Heresy Comedy Club" last week led to moves for me to be sectioned?
With a degree of trepidation, I opened the letter...even though it was not actually addressed to me personally.
Was I breaking the law?
Anyway, it turns out that it was from the Organ Donor Registry people confirming that "Jim Park" had registered to donate his organs.
I then noticed that the date of birth of "Jim Park" recorded in the document was "14/05/2009".
I was officially only 6 months old, hence the letter being addressed to my "parents or carer".
I can't help feeling that there is something slightly dodgy in a parent registering his infant child for organ donation.
There is obviously a question of consent!
And it's not really the nicest present you can give your 6 month old son.
I could now be under suspicion for having some illegal organ dealing business.
I might already be under surveillance by the social services.
This is the most interesting thing that has happened to me today.
I've got sketch on in "Melting Pot" tonight at The Stand, so will be going along to hear how it goes.
I don't think it's that great, but it's good to force yourself to write.
I saw "Me and Orson Welles" yesterday, and it's the most I have enjoyed a film for yonks.
I still haven't managed to buy new trainers yet.
It's a scandal.
I noticed that this weekend there are a couple of "Tap O'Lauriston Memorial" events.
I used to work and socialise in this much missed Edinburgh Institution, so may go along to pay my respects.
It was an interesting bar, in that one side of it was very much a traditional "old man" type pub, whilst the other side was a trendy, muso, arty bar.
When you worked there, you effectively worked in both bars, as the service area was circular with the trendy and old-fashioned bars on different sides.
It was hard work, and you could hardly see for smoke...but hey, ...good times!
That's an unusual first line, I thought.
Has my performance at the "Heresy Comedy Club" last week led to moves for me to be sectioned?
With a degree of trepidation, I opened the letter...even though it was not actually addressed to me personally.
Was I breaking the law?
Anyway, it turns out that it was from the Organ Donor Registry people confirming that "Jim Park" had registered to donate his organs.
I then noticed that the date of birth of "Jim Park" recorded in the document was "14/05/2009".
I was officially only 6 months old, hence the letter being addressed to my "parents or carer".
I can't help feeling that there is something slightly dodgy in a parent registering his infant child for organ donation.
There is obviously a question of consent!
And it's not really the nicest present you can give your 6 month old son.
I could now be under suspicion for having some illegal organ dealing business.
I might already be under surveillance by the social services.
This is the most interesting thing that has happened to me today.
I've got sketch on in "Melting Pot" tonight at The Stand, so will be going along to hear how it goes.
I don't think it's that great, but it's good to force yourself to write.
I saw "Me and Orson Welles" yesterday, and it's the most I have enjoyed a film for yonks.
I still haven't managed to buy new trainers yet.
It's a scandal.
I noticed that this weekend there are a couple of "Tap O'Lauriston Memorial" events.
I used to work and socialise in this much missed Edinburgh Institution, so may go along to pay my respects.
It was an interesting bar, in that one side of it was very much a traditional "old man" type pub, whilst the other side was a trendy, muso, arty bar.
When you worked there, you effectively worked in both bars, as the service area was circular with the trendy and old-fashioned bars on different sides.
It was hard work, and you could hardly see for smoke...but hey, ...good times!
Friday, December 04, 2009
Born to be Mild
So I did my joke about a clipboard facilitating a speedy passage along Princes Street at the Heresy Comedy Club last night.
Nothing.
Not a sausage.
Unprecedented.
That immediately sends a comedy flare up that you should just abandon the script and fool around as much as possible, which
is what I tried to do, with varying degrees of success.
I made some banter with some IT guys about Cobol.
It wasn't very funny.
Who'd have thunk it?
It's a good training exercise.
Mind you, the chuggers on Princes Street seem to have abandoned their trademark clipboards, and are less easily identifiable.
The clipboard has obviously become a loathed symbol of their ilk, and has been replaced by a little badge that you don't notice
until it's too late.
"Excuse me sir!"
Aaarrghh...!
I watched Channel 4 News depressingly document the continuing, seemingly unstoppable, deforestation of the Amazon.
I'd like the whole of Scotland to be covered in trees again just like the good, old days of the "Great Caledonian Forest" (we've only got about 1% of the forest we used to have).
So, couldn't we reforest the whole Highlands, and by doing so get a massive indefinite EEC subsidy for our carbon offsetting, then the population could forever live off the fat of the land, and we'd all live happily ever after.
And by doing so we could help fix the global warming thing.
Just a thought.
I know...but I'm trying to come up with a quick thought every day to keep my brain active.
Right. Xmas Shopping. Go go go.
Nothing.
Not a sausage.
Unprecedented.
That immediately sends a comedy flare up that you should just abandon the script and fool around as much as possible, which
is what I tried to do, with varying degrees of success.
I made some banter with some IT guys about Cobol.
It wasn't very funny.
Who'd have thunk it?
It's a good training exercise.
Mind you, the chuggers on Princes Street seem to have abandoned their trademark clipboards, and are less easily identifiable.
The clipboard has obviously become a loathed symbol of their ilk, and has been replaced by a little badge that you don't notice
until it's too late.
"Excuse me sir!"
Aaarrghh...!
I watched Channel 4 News depressingly document the continuing, seemingly unstoppable, deforestation of the Amazon.
I'd like the whole of Scotland to be covered in trees again just like the good, old days of the "Great Caledonian Forest" (we've only got about 1% of the forest we used to have).
So, couldn't we reforest the whole Highlands, and by doing so get a massive indefinite EEC subsidy for our carbon offsetting, then the population could forever live off the fat of the land, and we'd all live happily ever after.
And by doing so we could help fix the global warming thing.
Just a thought.
I know...but I'm trying to come up with a quick thought every day to keep my brain active.
Right. Xmas Shopping. Go go go.
Thursday, December 03, 2009
Resting
The problem being "between jobs" at this time of year is the shit weather.
Sometimes I think, I might as well be sheltering in someone else's office using their central heating.
If it was June or July, this enforced leisure period would be much more enjoyable.
But dems da breaks.
Jeff O'Boyle was compering Red Raw at The Stand on Monday.
He informed the audience that there would be a "prize draw".
There is always a prize draw, and the existing convention is that on hearing this news, the audience make an excitable
"woooooooooo!" sound.
Interestingly, I was the only person in the club that night who made an excitable (and very loud) "woooooooooo!' sound.
It was very funny.
You had to be there.
I've always thought of myself as having a relaxed, informal Bohemian style when it comes to dress sense and appearance.
This is a look I've assiduously cultivated through the years.
However, my self-image took a bit of a knock on Monday when I was compared to a "tramp" by two separate individuals of my aquaintance.
I assume the remarks were borne primarily out of jealously, as the accusers themselves are highly unlikely to find themselves in the shortlist for "Best Dressed Person 2009".
Nevertheless, I don't want to be complacent, and am going to buy some new clothes this weekend.
I've now gone 7 weeks without a cigarette, and feel good.
My lungs are cock-a-hoop, but my liver is a bit pissed off at the additional workload that has come its way as a consequence of my decision to bid farewell to Mr Nicotine.
I got through the "Beechers Brook" of the no fags regime ok (ie doing a Thurs/Fri/Sat run at The Stand without succumbing to the temptation of the ritual pre and post-gig cigs).
However, this is just a warm up for the "Festive Period" ; very much the Helmand Province tour for the ex-smoking fraternity.
I was trying to get parked near Causewayside in Edinburgh yesterday without much success.
Then suddenly I came across a street with loads and loads of free "pay and display" spaces.
Something didn't seem right.
Anyway, I parked and approached the meter to buy my 30 minutes of parking time (more than enough, but sensibly buying a little extra in case I got delayed).
So anyway, it turns out you have to buy AT LEAST 3 hours of parking time...for £3.
No wonder the street was empty.
Whose idea was that?
I reluctantly paid the £3 then found out that the sports shop that I was told was a good place to buy trainers, doesn't exist any more.
I just want a bog standard pair of trainers, without lights on them, or big padded heels, or stupid colours, that have astro turf studs on them...but apparently this is impossible.
It's an injustice, it is.
Sometimes I think, I might as well be sheltering in someone else's office using their central heating.
If it was June or July, this enforced leisure period would be much more enjoyable.
But dems da breaks.
Jeff O'Boyle was compering Red Raw at The Stand on Monday.
He informed the audience that there would be a "prize draw".
There is always a prize draw, and the existing convention is that on hearing this news, the audience make an excitable
"woooooooooo!" sound.
Interestingly, I was the only person in the club that night who made an excitable (and very loud) "woooooooooo!' sound.
It was very funny.
You had to be there.
I've always thought of myself as having a relaxed, informal Bohemian style when it comes to dress sense and appearance.
This is a look I've assiduously cultivated through the years.
However, my self-image took a bit of a knock on Monday when I was compared to a "tramp" by two separate individuals of my aquaintance.
I assume the remarks were borne primarily out of jealously, as the accusers themselves are highly unlikely to find themselves in the shortlist for "Best Dressed Person 2009".
Nevertheless, I don't want to be complacent, and am going to buy some new clothes this weekend.
I've now gone 7 weeks without a cigarette, and feel good.
My lungs are cock-a-hoop, but my liver is a bit pissed off at the additional workload that has come its way as a consequence of my decision to bid farewell to Mr Nicotine.
I got through the "Beechers Brook" of the no fags regime ok (ie doing a Thurs/Fri/Sat run at The Stand without succumbing to the temptation of the ritual pre and post-gig cigs).
However, this is just a warm up for the "Festive Period" ; very much the Helmand Province tour for the ex-smoking fraternity.
I was trying to get parked near Causewayside in Edinburgh yesterday without much success.
Then suddenly I came across a street with loads and loads of free "pay and display" spaces.
Something didn't seem right.
Anyway, I parked and approached the meter to buy my 30 minutes of parking time (more than enough, but sensibly buying a little extra in case I got delayed).
So anyway, it turns out you have to buy AT LEAST 3 hours of parking time...for £3.
No wonder the street was empty.
Whose idea was that?
I reluctantly paid the £3 then found out that the sports shop that I was told was a good place to buy trainers, doesn't exist any more.
I just want a bog standard pair of trainers, without lights on them, or big padded heels, or stupid colours, that have astro turf studs on them...but apparently this is impossible.
It's an injustice, it is.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Disappointing
I started to watch France v Ireland last night and had an inkling that the Irish were more than capable of pulling off a shock result.
They've got a fantastic togetherness about them, which Scotland occasionally have, but often pathetically don't, (eg last Saturday).
In the end, that controversial goal was hard to take.
I desperately didn't want to witness a "glorious failure" in the Scotland tradition, but I think Ireland's experience eclipsed even Scotland's formidable record in this area.
It's so disappointing that in a match of this stature, the wrong call was made on a huge decision.
There's now an overwhelming case for video technology to be made available to the 4th official, and perhaps use the "2 appeals allowed" system currently in force in tennis.
There is a fair amount of hypocrisy doing the rounds though.
I remember Joe Jordan's handball against Wales which bizarrely resulted in Scotland getting a penalty and scoring the decisive goal that took us to the Argentina World Cup in 1978.
I can't remember a lot of agonising going on in Scotland over the unfairness of the decision against the Welsh, (who were by far the better team on the night).
Although, if time travel became available, I'm sure a few Scots might want to go back and kidnap the referee before the Scotland v Wales match, and hope that a less myopic replacement would give a different decision.
In the end, it might save Scotland from making that harrowing trip to Argentina, and "Ally's Tartan Army" would never have been written, and Andy Cameron would never have appeared on Top of the Pops.
I know you shouldn't meddle with the Space-Time Continuum, but there should surely be some exceptions to this general rule?
Mind you, Archie Gemmil's goal against the Dutch was good...
Hmm...
I'm still not sure what Joe Jordan was trying to do.
I assume he wasn't trying to get a penalty.
I've never seen a decision like that one before or since.
I'll be taking advantage of the fine weather to go for a relaxing drive through to Glasgow tonight, as I'm doing the weekend at The Stand there.
Headlining is one of my all-time comedy heroes, Simon Munnery.
They've got a fantastic togetherness about them, which Scotland occasionally have, but often pathetically don't, (eg last Saturday).
In the end, that controversial goal was hard to take.
I desperately didn't want to witness a "glorious failure" in the Scotland tradition, but I think Ireland's experience eclipsed even Scotland's formidable record in this area.
It's so disappointing that in a match of this stature, the wrong call was made on a huge decision.
There's now an overwhelming case for video technology to be made available to the 4th official, and perhaps use the "2 appeals allowed" system currently in force in tennis.
There is a fair amount of hypocrisy doing the rounds though.
I remember Joe Jordan's handball against Wales which bizarrely resulted in Scotland getting a penalty and scoring the decisive goal that took us to the Argentina World Cup in 1978.
I can't remember a lot of agonising going on in Scotland over the unfairness of the decision against the Welsh, (who were by far the better team on the night).
Although, if time travel became available, I'm sure a few Scots might want to go back and kidnap the referee before the Scotland v Wales match, and hope that a less myopic replacement would give a different decision.
In the end, it might save Scotland from making that harrowing trip to Argentina, and "Ally's Tartan Army" would never have been written, and Andy Cameron would never have appeared on Top of the Pops.
I know you shouldn't meddle with the Space-Time Continuum, but there should surely be some exceptions to this general rule?
Mind you, Archie Gemmil's goal against the Dutch was good...
Hmm...
I'm still not sure what Joe Jordan was trying to do.
I assume he wasn't trying to get a penalty.
I've never seen a decision like that one before or since.
I'll be taking advantage of the fine weather to go for a relaxing drive through to Glasgow tonight, as I'm doing the weekend at The Stand there.
Headlining is one of my all-time comedy heroes, Simon Munnery.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Thursday Thoughts
My sketch got a great reaction at "Melting Pot".
I was very happy about this, feeling weirdly nervous about the whole thing as my sketch was introduced.
So I now feel suitably motivated to write some more.
I have plenty of free time to do it...there is no excuse.
I've been watching a bit of "International Bowls" on BBC2 this week.
One of the prominent sponsors on the advertising hoardings is "Co-operative Funeral Services".
This was the first time I have seen a funeral business sponsor a televised sport.
I know that sponsorship is thin on the ground at the moment in light of the prevailing economic climate, but have
the Bowls people really thought this through?
It doesn't exactly make bowls seem like an aspirational lifestyle choice.
The subliminal message seems to be "why not have a game of bowls? oh and btw you're going to die soon ...".
Where do you draw the line though?
Would they also accept sponsorship from "Incontinence Pants R Us"?
It might be an idea to stipulate that the competing players dress up as "Grim Reapers" to reinforce the brand sponsorship?
I think that funeral advertising would work better on Motorway signs, bottles of whisky, packets of cigarettes, the summits of mountains and comedy club green rooms.
At least these activities have a more obvious link with the death thing.
The problem is that people don't really like being reminded that there is a sport called bowls, and that we will all watch it accidentally one day.
There's a universal squeamishness about this subject.
But there's no way you can avoid it.
I was very happy about this, feeling weirdly nervous about the whole thing as my sketch was introduced.
So I now feel suitably motivated to write some more.
I have plenty of free time to do it...there is no excuse.
I've been watching a bit of "International Bowls" on BBC2 this week.
One of the prominent sponsors on the advertising hoardings is "Co-operative Funeral Services".
This was the first time I have seen a funeral business sponsor a televised sport.
I know that sponsorship is thin on the ground at the moment in light of the prevailing economic climate, but have
the Bowls people really thought this through?
It doesn't exactly make bowls seem like an aspirational lifestyle choice.
The subliminal message seems to be "why not have a game of bowls? oh and btw you're going to die soon ...".
Where do you draw the line though?
Would they also accept sponsorship from "Incontinence Pants R Us"?
It might be an idea to stipulate that the competing players dress up as "Grim Reapers" to reinforce the brand sponsorship?
I think that funeral advertising would work better on Motorway signs, bottles of whisky, packets of cigarettes, the summits of mountains and comedy club green rooms.
At least these activities have a more obvious link with the death thing.
The problem is that people don't really like being reminded that there is a sport called bowls, and that we will all watch it accidentally one day.
There's a universal squeamishness about this subject.
But there's no way you can avoid it.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Never Knowingly Underwater
That's the working title for my debut solo show at the Glasgow Comedy Festival in March next year.
It makes me laugh, but that is no guarantee of anything.
Other news.
I've extended my unbeaten run of golf challenges against Bob Hind to 3 matches.
I thought you might be interested in that impressive statistic.
We've started playing a regular game at Braid Hills of a Monday morning.
It's a great start to the week, and the views over Edinburgh were amazing in the bright autumnal sunshine.
You can never really get blase about stuff like that.
I've written a few bits and pieces and am getting one of my sketches performed at "Melting Pot" at The Stand tomorrow night.
I'm slightly apprehensive about what "death by proxy" might feel like, if it bombs.
And through the letterbox has just arrived, "The Rhythm Method".
Yes, it's the memoirs of erstwhile "Revillos" drummer, Rocky Rhythm, aka Nicky Forbes.
I was an obsessive Rezillos/Revillos fan, and got to know the band and their entourage fairly well, way back in the day.
I am looking forward to reading some warts and all retelling of the anecdotes of these halcyon days.
Nearly 4 weeks of no cigarettes.
I am now feeling slightly healthier, I think.
I'm going to try and sign up for a Smoking Cessation Group.
I think I could probably manage ok on my own, but I'm interested in getting involved and seeing how it's run.
It makes me laugh, but that is no guarantee of anything.
Other news.
I've extended my unbeaten run of golf challenges against Bob Hind to 3 matches.
I thought you might be interested in that impressive statistic.
We've started playing a regular game at Braid Hills of a Monday morning.
It's a great start to the week, and the views over Edinburgh were amazing in the bright autumnal sunshine.
You can never really get blase about stuff like that.
I've written a few bits and pieces and am getting one of my sketches performed at "Melting Pot" at The Stand tomorrow night.
I'm slightly apprehensive about what "death by proxy" might feel like, if it bombs.
And through the letterbox has just arrived, "The Rhythm Method".
Yes, it's the memoirs of erstwhile "Revillos" drummer, Rocky Rhythm, aka Nicky Forbes.
I was an obsessive Rezillos/Revillos fan, and got to know the band and their entourage fairly well, way back in the day.
I am looking forward to reading some warts and all retelling of the anecdotes of these halcyon days.
Nearly 4 weeks of no cigarettes.
I am now feeling slightly healthier, I think.
I'm going to try and sign up for a Smoking Cessation Group.
I think I could probably manage ok on my own, but I'm interested in getting involved and seeing how it's run.
Friday, November 06, 2009
Comedy Gospel
"Comedy criticism is basically what a cunt thought of something they didn’t understand"
Frankie Boyle.
Amen.
Frankie Boyle.
Amen.
So anyway...
I haven't smoked for 3 weeks...
Do I feel any different?
No...
Oh well, at least I've saved some cash.
I've been spending a lot of time trying to write various things. It's hard, really hard.
I have a lot of stuff, but have no idea whether any of it is funny or not.
Someone passed me a video of a typical day in a Factory Egg Farm type place.
Hideous.
The sight of a continuous conveyor belt of "commercially valueless" live male chicks getting dropped into a grinding machine has put me right off eggs.
It's the way no concession is made whatsoever that these are living creatures that really sticks in the craw.
I don't have a problem eating animals that are reared humanely, then stunned and slaughtered.
And yes, amn't I great?
It's ironic in that a lot of "vegetarians" will happily eat eggs.
And, oh shit, eggs get used in cakes don't they?
And omelettes...
Jeezo...
Anyway, on that hilarious note, I had a fun gig at the "Queens Retreat" in South Queensferry this week.
This was my venue of choice for underage drinking when I lived in SQ.
Underaged beer is the best tasting beer you will ever taste...Nectar of the gods.
(obviously I'm not going to extend this metaphor)
They must have been very relaxed about things.
I didn't even look 18 when I was 18.
Funnily enough, the decor in the bar is pretty much exactly the same as I'd remembered it.
Well if it ain't broke, don't fix it...that's what I say.
JoJo Sutherland runs a really great comedy night there, with a great regular crowd who are well up for the comedy thing.
I left my clipboard in the bar though.
Was this a subconscious decision to free myself from its clutches?
I'm looking forward to seeing Miles Jupp get bollocked by Peter Capaldi in "In The Thick of It" on Saturday.
I can just imagine the chemistry being really funny there.
I read Frankie Boyle's autobiography.
Very funny.
The complete absence of hyperbole is impressive.
He just routinely describes the different stages of his successful career in a matter-of-fact way, and throws in a lot of
his trademark acerbic descriptions.
(it makes my self-congratulatory prose on doing a good 5 minutes at Red Raw seem horribly embarassing. Perhaps it's better just to concentrate on writing jokes and let others say whether it's any good or not)
His affectionate tribute to The Stand's Chris Cooper as "..a frighteningly degraded-looking 26. He looked like a 26 -year-old man from the Middle Ages and spoke in a low, rasping, sexualised whisper." caused me to nearly fall off my seat laughing.
I know Chris will have been equally amused.
At the same time I was reading Michael Palin's diaries.
This was with his permission though, as he's published them in a book.
You could hardly get two more different author perspectives, but they were both absolutely compelling reads.
I am now making soup.
I am loving the not-having-a-proper-job-thing.
Do I feel any different?
No...
Oh well, at least I've saved some cash.
I've been spending a lot of time trying to write various things. It's hard, really hard.
I have a lot of stuff, but have no idea whether any of it is funny or not.
Someone passed me a video of a typical day in a Factory Egg Farm type place.
Hideous.
The sight of a continuous conveyor belt of "commercially valueless" live male chicks getting dropped into a grinding machine has put me right off eggs.
It's the way no concession is made whatsoever that these are living creatures that really sticks in the craw.
I don't have a problem eating animals that are reared humanely, then stunned and slaughtered.
And yes, amn't I great?
It's ironic in that a lot of "vegetarians" will happily eat eggs.
And, oh shit, eggs get used in cakes don't they?
And omelettes...
Jeezo...
Anyway, on that hilarious note, I had a fun gig at the "Queens Retreat" in South Queensferry this week.
This was my venue of choice for underage drinking when I lived in SQ.
Underaged beer is the best tasting beer you will ever taste...Nectar of the gods.
(obviously I'm not going to extend this metaphor)
They must have been very relaxed about things.
I didn't even look 18 when I was 18.
Funnily enough, the decor in the bar is pretty much exactly the same as I'd remembered it.
Well if it ain't broke, don't fix it...that's what I say.
JoJo Sutherland runs a really great comedy night there, with a great regular crowd who are well up for the comedy thing.
I left my clipboard in the bar though.
Was this a subconscious decision to free myself from its clutches?
I'm looking forward to seeing Miles Jupp get bollocked by Peter Capaldi in "In The Thick of It" on Saturday.
I can just imagine the chemistry being really funny there.
I read Frankie Boyle's autobiography.
Very funny.
The complete absence of hyperbole is impressive.
He just routinely describes the different stages of his successful career in a matter-of-fact way, and throws in a lot of
his trademark acerbic descriptions.
(it makes my self-congratulatory prose on doing a good 5 minutes at Red Raw seem horribly embarassing. Perhaps it's better just to concentrate on writing jokes and let others say whether it's any good or not)
His affectionate tribute to The Stand's Chris Cooper as "..a frighteningly degraded-looking 26. He looked like a 26 -year-old man from the Middle Ages and spoke in a low, rasping, sexualised whisper." caused me to nearly fall off my seat laughing.
I know Chris will have been equally amused.
At the same time I was reading Michael Palin's diaries.
This was with his permission though, as he's published them in a book.
You could hardly get two more different author perspectives, but they were both absolutely compelling reads.
I am now making soup.
I am loving the not-having-a-proper-job-thing.
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