13/04/08 'Ee it were grand...!

I really couldn't have wished for a better run of weekend gigs.
But who wants to read such self-aggrandising cock? Let's move on...
I had an odd moment last night when the beep alarm on my watch went off halfway through my set. It took me a while to work out that it was coming from MY watch.
It was funny though.
Just as I was winding up last night, I said "well that's just about the end of my set...", when this woman piped up in the front row and audibly announced "Good...!"
I couldn't really tell whether she was being jokey, or whether she genuinely was relieved I was vacating the stage.
With rapier wit, I guffawed and pronounced..."Fuck OFF!" (in a jokey, non-aggressive way).
After the gig I gave a demonstration of classic "comedian fragile ego syndrome" by wondering at length why she had felt moved to say that.
It was obviously ridiculous to think like that. I'd just had a rocking gig (definitely one of the best ever), and yet I seemed obsessed with why one person didn't like my act, rather than bask in the afterglow of experiencing the vast majority of the audience totally going with everything I put in front of them.
AND I even managed to drink responsibly throughout the weekend, and impressively avoided being found unconscious in my stairwell wearing a traffic cone.
It was a win-win-win situation.
My old mucker Jamie Frain is apparently appearing as "team captain" on STV's highly rated award-winning quiz show "Postcode Challenge" this Monday coming (14th April).
I'm intrigued to see how the boy comes across, as he was always a shy retiring type who shunned the limelight in any situation.
He's certainly not the type who would spend 30 minutes shamelessly mugging to the camera and trotting out a host of wisecracks dating from the Jurassic period.
No sir, Mr Frain would never be found doing that...or would he? Hmmmmm.....
I've just been watching "TV's Funniest Music Moments".
(I'm having a busy day)
There was a gruesome montage of musical moments from "Crackerjack" as a number of hit records of the day were spectacularly murdered beyond recognition by Peter Glaze and his cronies.
It was actually even more shite than I'd remembered it as.