Thursday, November 03, 2011

Read All About IT

Last Friday got off to an inauspicious start.
My trusty old Ford Mondeo broke down on the M8 and was later officially pronounced dead by a mechanic.
Unlike many people, I'm not a big fan of hanging out on the hard shoulder of a busy motorway.
The RAC man who came and towed me away told me that the organisation lose a man every year on hard shoulder recoveries.
You just want to get the hell out of there as quick as possible.
It's the general speed, your proximity to the vehicles, the mental tailgating which goes on and the fact that the drivers tend to look at you as they drive past rather than the road ahead of them.
It all fosters the fear that you could be inadvertently caught up in a big pile-up.
Nasty.
Then there was the gig in Glasgow.
Boom boom...good start...but then one of the front tables started shouting out comments to everything I said.
I tried to engage with them to shut them up.
I asked one woman what her favourite packet of crisps were as part of a funny joke thing.
She said "salt and vinegar" and I said "ah, "prawn cocktail", interesting you should say that...!"
Of course, I deliberately misquoted her for an intended comic effect.
It's the kind of thing that people who do stand-up comedy do.
The technical term is "fucking about".
Most people go with that,..
Not this lot...she and her friends kept shouting indignantly "She didn't say that! She didn't say that!"
It's weird because paralytically pissed post-menopausal women are very much my target demographic.
(check that impressive alliteration, huih?)
But not tonight.
I battled away, but it got to the stage that the venue staff had to intervene and escort one of them away from the table and out the room.
Of course, it's difficult to hold the audience's attention when everyone is rubbernecking the spontaneous drama of a shouty drunk woman being led out the room by security.
You can't compete with that.
My other shock was when a frankly idiotic routine advocating "votes for voles" (as well as all other animals) was deemed hugely offensive by another couple of tables.
It was an unexpected Sadowitz/Hicks moment in my comedy career.
I'm pleased to say that I finished reasonably strongly, but I knew that in spite of this I'd been sabotaged by the shouty ladies of old Glasgow toon.
I've gigged all over Britain, but it's always Glasgow that delivers gigs like this for me.
(although also some of the best as well)
I don't really understand it....
I'M FROM GLASGOW...I GREW UP THERE...THE GLASGOW HUMOUR IS IN MY FUCKING DNA
IT'S MY HOMETOWN GIG..WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO DO TO ME YOU BASTARDS??????
ARE YOU STILL ANGRY AT ME FOR LEAVING YOU TO LIVE IN EDINBURGH WHEN I WAS 8 YEARS OLD???
GET OVER IT!
I still love you though (blush).
I BELONG TO GLASGOW.
..and I still had fun at the gig though...it was just disappointing because I wanted to impress the management.
Jeezo...
Never mind.
On a more positive note, hats off to Helen Bywater and her fantastic new "Another Fine Mess" comedy club in Edinburgh last Sunday.
Great room, great crowd...a hugely enjoyable gig and the my battered old comedy mojo is back...oh yeah!
Down in Portsmouth, I've been ill all week.
I caught a bug on the plane on Monday morning...just felt my throat starting to get croaky.
Of course, I am a freelance worker which means I am never ill no matter how ill I am...it's been a rough few days.
I've been living in Hayling Island this week.
I don't want to seem uncharitable, but it can sink into the sea as far as I am concerned.
I think I'm going to try and live in the centre of Portsmouth to see how I get on there.
I'm going to see a room for rent above a "Dog Fighting Club" tonight (joke).
Rent seems reasonable...but I'll see what I think.
The work is good though...my IT work is storming it every day. so there.

Monday, October 24, 2011

On Tour

So anyway, the hotel is a bit grotty...not horrendous but I shall be vacating it shortly and seeking alternative options.
My room is basically a low-budget version of Gaddafi's drainpipe hideout.
The owner bears a striking resemblance to renowned serial killer Dennis Nilsen.
I won't name the hotel until I've left in case he really is Dennis Nilsen.
I wouldn't want to upset him whilst I'm a resident here.
"Will you be out after 11.30?" he asked me, in a tone that suggested doing so would put him to enormous inconvenience...
"We don't have a night porter, so we'd need to make special arrangements if you were".
Thankfully, I can't think of any reason to be out after 11.30pm in Havant.
"Will you be dining in the restaurant during your stay? I'd recommend booking..."
Now I'd say, that the restaurant can accommodate 200 people, and I've only seen one table being occupied in the last three nights, so perhaps the warning about the need to book in advance is slightly overstated.
I went out briefly last night for a quick pint.
I tried two pubs, but on both occasions walked in, then did that "pretending you're looking for someone thing" and immediately walked backed out again.
Incredibly rough pubs...
"The 6 Bells" in particular was one of the weirdest pubs I've ever been in...a lot of people shouting at each other for no apparent reason.
It really reminded me of the pub featured in the last episode of "The Boys From The Blackstuff".
The bar that really fascinates me is "The White Hart" which has had a grand total of zero customers in the several times I've walked past it in the last 3 days.
It's not even open tonight!
In other news, I had a very enjoyable weekend of gigs at the Edinburgh Stand last week.
The previous week, I had a slightly less triumphant gig at the Frog and Bucket in Preston.
I kind of forgot that there was a "gong" element to the gig, and fooled around with my notes on the clipboard before I got going.
I made it half-way through the first joke, and oh fuck bloody shit, I was gonged off.
I don't think I even made a minute.
Oh dear...
I never even noticed any cards going up.
If I was going to compare this gig to an historic event, it would be the assassination of JFK.
I never saw it coming...
Too bad as I had written some hilarious observations about Preston based on my afternoon there.
I headed to Manchester after the gig to help my brother prune his wine cellar.
In spite of everything, I love the way that stand-up comedy is always capable of severely punishing any hint of complacency.
Bastards....
The folk where I'm working for a few weeks are very friendly and good fun, so that's good.
Tired though...

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Nights drawing In etc

Ted the Cat had a traumatic afternoon today.
The trip to the vet is never one of his favourite experiences at the best of times, but this one was especially upsetting due to an enormous rottweiler unexpectedly bounding up to his catbox window and loudly barking in his face.
A comparable human experience might be a T. Rex sticking its head in your living room and roaring in your face while you are watching "Deal Or No Deal", (I don't actually watch "Deal Or No Deal").
The rottweiler became the third dog that he had to share the waiting room with.
When I got back home and released him, he really did seem to give me a look that said "What the fuck are you trying to do to me, you stupid bastard!".
It was writ large on his face.
I tried out some new jokes at Red Raw this week.
You tend to get advised to slip new bits of material in between "bankers" when you try them out, but I think you have to really expose them on their own to get an accurate impression of whether they have any future.
I started off with some old stuff...it was going down a storm..big laughs, applause breaks...and then I told 3 clunkers in a row.
I'd lost them...
It's fascinating, that no matter how well a gig is going, you can just lose the audience belief in an instant.
I did some old stuff to finish up with, but couldn't get the reaction back up to the level it was at the start.
It was as if I was a juggler and dropped my balls (steady...) half way though my act, and even though I did some reasonably impressive tricks at the end, all they could think of was that messy bit in the middle.
Or maybe like kids watching a magician saw a lady in half, when the front panel of the box falls off, revealing a woman in each half of the box to the audience (sorry "Magic Circle").
No matter what magic trick he's does after that, the spell for the kids is catastrophically broken.
I like this though...it makes it all interesting, and that's why testing big chunks of new material is always a slightly nervy experience for your common-or-garden stand-up comedy person.
The next night I was flattered to be asked to take part in "Breaking News" at The Stand in the highly esteemed company of Vladimir McTavish, Sian Bevan, Keir McAllister & Mark Nelson.
As the title of the show suggests it's a topical-based show, with rounds involving making up headlines, odd one out, what do they all have in common, putting forward a motion.
I had a few awkward moments, particularly during the "odd one out" pictures round, where my inane remarks created some classic tumbleweed audience reactions.
Luckily, everyone else was hilarious for this bit.
I fared better in the individual stand-up bits, and also in presenting my motion "Animals Should Be Allowed To Vote".
I have to admit I was bricking it bigtime on the day of this show...but it's a great learning experience to get out of your comfort zone.
In other news, I managed to win the "Stirling University Old Boys Golf Championship" at the weekend in Milnathort.
This was no mean feat, as amongst the field were such golfing giants as Richard Arnott, Billy Wilson and Alastair Johnson.
(The Big Three)
This was probably my greatest achievement of the whole weekend.
The major talking point amongst my Stirling buddies was when I described the Ipad as "an awesome piece of kit".
As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew I had made a terrible, terrible error.
I will never hear the end of this.
Why didn't I just say "it was a reasonably impressive gadget".
Twat.

Thursday, September 08, 2011

Good grief!

As I suspect many of my fellow countrypeople did, I found watching Scotland v Czech Republic an extremely painful experience.
We are brilliant at finding new ways to embrace failure. It's almost impressive.
The aspect of the game which led to the most inane shouts from me at the television was the fashion in which we played when we regained the lead with 7 minutes to go.
There was no composure, a complete inability to retain any semblance of control and some utterly brainless decision making.
It reminded me of my recent gig in Uddingston.
I got particularly animated when the Czechs punted a long hopeful ball from their own half which was heading out for a goal kick.
However, rather than let it run out and use up some of the dwindling remaining time, our keeper stopped the ball before it crossed the line and then kept play going.
I just can't imagine any other team doing that.
It wasn't the streetwise, canny thing to do.
When will we learn.
A production of "Macbeth" I saw during the Fringe was a light-hearted romp compared with this torture.
The penalty was no surprise...a dive yes...but a leg was stuck out and that's just asking for trouble.
It's the footballing equivalent to sticking your head out of a train window.
The referee was demonised, but overall I thought he had a decent game and was very lenient to Scotland on a few occasions, with his interpretation of some of our more "enthusiastic" tackles.
At one point in the game, the camera zoomed in to a Scotland player.
"Who is "Roam" I said "I've never heard of him."
I was in a pub, and unfortunately was operating in speaker mode rather than just thinking this to myself.
It turned out it was "Adam", admittedly in quite an unusual font.
This precipitated an hour of Jim baiting.
My eyesight is sadly failing.
I decided not to watch Scotland v Lithuania, thus ensuring a narrow victory for the Scots.
I think we're out though.
And yes, I know this is one of the latest match reports ever.
It does look like the IT Contracting market for me is over...it's been flatlining for 6 months.
I'm not getting enough comedy gigs to live off so it's time to diversify.
I know people who used to do the same job as me and are now working in call centres.
Fair play to them, but I think I would finally go completely insane if I was to try that.
So instead it's painting and decorating, comedy, gardening (business cards being delivered tomorrow), low class escorting,
football betting and car boot sales for me.
It's actually quite an interesting experiment to try and live entirely off your wits rather than working for the man.

Monday, August 15, 2011

and now for something very similar...

So anyway, I'm not one to walk out of a show unless the circumstances are particularly extreme, but I have to confess I only lasted 10 minutes in a lunchtime play today.
Luckily, I was sitting right next to the exit and was able to discretely leave the room.
It was very painful viewing and the thought of spending an hour of my life watching it to completion was too much for me to bear.
My "go to see other stuff apart from comedy for a change" policy is hitting quite a lot of turbulence.
I'm going to see "King Lear" tomorrow, performed in Mandarin with subtitles.
THAT'S a proper Edinburgh Festival show.
In other news, I've found myself in the front row of comedy gigs in the past few days, not by design, but because these
were the only seats available.
And boy, I've been getting dogs abuse from the performers.
I have to admit, I've not really enjoyed it... quite vitriolic stuff.
And yes, that does make me sound a big hypocrite, I know...although, in fairness, any contact I have with the audience is generally inoffensive, knockabout banter rather than personal abuse.
I've never been a fan of aggressive compering..I can't really be bothered with it anymore.
It's fair enough if someone is being an annoying twat, but other than that it's tedious stuff.
The most recent one was a female questioning my ability to get laid during the Fringe. Outrageous.
I took comfort from the fact that whilst the profile photo on her Twitter page makes her look like a young Kate Bush ; in real life she bears more than a passing resemblance to Bella Emberg, best known for her "Blunder Woman" character, in the "Russ Abbott's Madhouse" tv show.
She was very funny though...see, I'm not bitter or anything like that.
I spent yesterday evening playing drums with legendary Samba/Punk combo "Bloco Vomit". Hugely enjoyable.
And tonight I will be seeing the legend that is Neil Hamburger. Oh yes.





Thursday, August 11, 2011

more Fringe stuff

So anyway, I went to see American comic W. Kamau Bell, good , entertaining, thought-provoking stand-up.
I didn't agree with everything he said, but I don't ever really expect to agree with everything a comedian says.
It's interesting watching an American comedian get to grips with a typical Fringe audience though.
I suspect they're generally quieter than your typical US club audience, and you could see it was taking him a little while to get used to our slightly more passive nature.
Edward Aczel's pre-show music included "South American Getaway" from "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid", so he had me onside well before he made his shambling entry on to the stage.
This is anti-comedy at its most inaccessible, and I love it.
It was a pretty tough gig for him though, as the majority of the audience didn't seem to know what was going on and watched in bemused silence, whereas I was reaching for my inhaler.
I then went to see a play about a comedy double act.
Again, I realised within 30 seconds that I wasn't going to enjoy it.
Of the double act itself, one of the actors was very good, but the other one wasn't.
To successfully portray a top comedy double act, you have to capture the magical chemistry between the two comedians which makes the act work.
There's not a second in this play where you feel that, so the whole piece is torpedoed below the water line.
I've done a fair bit of shit acting in my life, so feel qualified to notice it.
It mainly involves thinking about your next line and when you're going to say it, rather than giving the impression of "listening" and then reacting naturally to your feed line.
I was notorious for this, and it produces that distinctive wooden acting, which we all know and love.
A pity, because I find the dynamics of double-acts fascinating, and was looking forward to this play.
Next it was on to Michael Legge's hilarious one man show on Sir Walter Raleigh.
Top notch stuff, and even though I was familiar with most of the material through reading his blog, he performs with such great gusto that I'm roaring with laughter anyway.
Just before his show I walked past a group of obvious Fringe performers having an impromptu pavement meeting.
I heard one say "Yes, that TOTALLY changes the whole dynamic of the scene."
Now, what I reckon has happened here is that the first few performances of their play have been absolutely disastrous, but they've now agreed that by getting one of the characters to wear a hat in a scene, and also drop one of his lines ; the play will be saved!


Wednesday, August 10, 2011

It's that time again...

So anyway, rather than the usual pre-Fringe week of panic and trauma arguing about show format, and fretting about box office sales, I spent a relaxing week in sunny Spain.
I'm now back and am without a show for this year's Fringe...I can't say I'm too bothered about that...it'll be the first time in 6 years, I'll be experiencing the event purely as a punter.
My first day got off to an inauspicious start when I stuck a cotton bud in my ear, compacting wax and rendering me completely deaf in that ear.
I know that medical advice is overwhelmingly in favour of not sticking cotton buds in your ear, but I like it too much, and just accept the risk that this sort of outcome occasionally happens.
It's very disorientating, and seems to affect my balance.
Thanks to Boots almond oil though, I was quickly cured and rejoiced in the restoration of my hearing.
It was like getting out of prison (I imagine)...ear majesty's prison? ha ha ...oh fuck off, I don't care any more.
My first Fringe thing that I noticed was my that upstairs neighbour has failed to let out his flat for the festival ("to let" sign still on window).
This is unprecedented, (that means it's never happened before).
Usually I can hear lots of excitable drama students shouting "OMG" at the top of their voices, as their Fringe experience begins.
It's like seeing sheep high 5 other sheep as they arrive at the abattoir.
Like relaxing in a jacuzzi until the first one star review catastrophically diverts the untreated sewage pipe into it.
I walked down my street and noticed that all the little hotels had the "vacancies" sign up.
Again this is unusual, and I wondered if Fringe visitor numbers are down this year.
I've been having this recurring dream in which I'm in the audience of a comedy club.
A comedian leaps onstage saying "I know what you're thinking...!".
I then stand up and blow his head off with a single shot from a bazooka gun.
I've had this dream analysed by experts, and as a result have been advised to take a short break from the comedy scene.
Cocking a snook at stand-up comedy, I went to see "Ed Reardon : A Writer's Burden" at the Pleasance.
The audience enjoyed it, but it wasn't my cup of tea.
I was expecting something a bit darker, but it was more a Terry Scott style, buffoonery characterisation.
I must try to do a bit more research before I part with my precious cash.
Liam Mullone's show "Down To The Bone" was great, and I'll be surprised if I see a more impressive hour of stand-up this Fringe.
I had an idea of doing a paid ticket show next year and then doing a collection at the end as well, hoping that a reasonable percentage of the audience will forget that they've already paid for this show.
It's the same principal as restaurants having a "gratuity" option on their card machines even though service is already included in the bill.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

HP Sauce

The title refers to the gratuitous shots of Hermione Granger's cleavage in the latest, and last, Harry Potter film, "The Deathly Hallows Part 2".
I've only ever seen the the first Harry Potter film, so I thought I'd symbolically repeat my 2001 cinema visit and see the last one in the series.
I was banking on an update at the start of the film to explain what had happened, but sadly, it was not forthcoming.
There then followed a very confusing couple of hours for yours truly.
At the start of the film Harry was in attendance at a grave, so I managed to work out that someone must have been killed in the first part (I should get a job in the Metropolitan Police with skills like this).
I was touched that the cinema chose to mark my 10th anniversary of Potter watching by selling sweets in the pick'n'mix which were first put on display in 2001.
I'm pretty sure that spending extended periods of time being confused and eating foosty jelly beans is valuable preparation for the experience of being moved into an old folks home.
I always look for the positives in any situation.
I still enjoyed the film, and it was the first time I've been to one of the modern era 3D films.
The pre-film 3D adverts worked the best, but in general the effect is very impressive...although it probably doesn't justify the huge premium on the ticket price.
I couldn't help thinking what lucky bastards the 3 actors who play the central characters are.
They're 21, and are multi-millionaires...and can do jack shit for the rest of their lives.
I don't begrudge them the cash at all...I just find it funny that the level of acting required from them is so slight for such enormous reward.
Harry delivers the majority of his lines in a fairly deadpan, competent manner, whilst the other 2 spend most of the film perfecting their concerned, anxious look.
There's no real character development from their initial blueprint.
Fair play to them though..take the cash...I certainly would.
The highlight of the film for me was the impeccable comic timing of Dame Maggie Smith. Legend.
I'm wearing my 3D glasses all the time now, and the effect is quite remarkable.
They're quite flattering as well.

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Olympics Preview

So anyway, the good news is that I am NOT pregnant after all.
I’m quite relieved about this as I was worried about taking responsibility for a child when I am not currently working (all that much).
I did some research and it turns out that the cider I’d started regularly consuming contains an additional 50 calories per pint in comparison to my normal tipple of lager.
That explains everything.
Goodbye cider…you’re dumped.
It’s not you..it’s me.
I didn’t apply for any Olympic tickets, principally because the Olympics are rubbish.
Rubbish? Why?
I’ll tell you why.
First of all, I can’t stand the swimming events due to a childhood trauma.
Aged 10, I qualified for the 50m breaststroke in the West Lothian Swimming Championships.
This sounds mildly impressive, but there weren’t very many good swimmers in my Primary 6 class in South Queensferry Primary School, and just having the ability to swim at all made me a hot favourite to secure a place in the glittering final held in Bathgate, the jewel in West Lothian’s crown.
The deafening cacophony of hundreds of schoolchildren screaming their partisan support in the pool complex was terrifying to a sensitive young boy like me.
The race itself is now a blur, but I remember clearly that everyone else had finished the 2 lengths of the race before I had completed my first length.
That solo length of shame was the most humiliating experience of my life (up till that point…it doesn’t even make the Top 10 now.).
The final indignity was one of the officials shouting at me to hurry up as he wanted to start the next race.
Hopefully these days they have a minimum qualifying time to achieve before you are allowed to compete in the final.
But let me borrow your DVD of “Great Swimming Races” and I might change my mind about the whole thing.
What? You don’t have one..? I didn’t think so….
Ok, that was quite a convoluted reason for disliking swimming competitions…I’ll keep the others succinct.
The javelin?
You see someone throw it, then you see what could be the same stock footage, which has been used for the last 20 Olympics , of a javelin flying through the air and landing.
Dull.
Do you have a “Great Javelin Throws” DVD? No, I didn’t think so…
Table tennis?
Now I actually quite like this sport, but the constant accompaniment of squeaking footwear renders it completely unwatchable.
Badminton and Squash also fall victim to the aforementioned “squeak syndrome”.
Judo?
A scuffle outside a pub on a Saturday night is much more entertaining, (and easier to judge)
Do you have a “Great Judo Fights” DVD? No, I didn’t think so…

Basketball?
Too easy to score.
It’s like playing golf with a hole the size of a dustbin lid. I’m not going to extend this metaphor.

3000m Steeplechase.
The most ludicrous event of the whole Games.
A water jump? Why?
Do you have a “Great Steeplechase Races” DVD? No, I didn’t think so…

Marathon?
Would be more entertaining if fancy dress was compulsory.

Tennis?
if it’s in the Olympics, which it shouldn’t really be anyway, it should have to adhere to “Jim’s Rules”, ie you only get one serve and you only get to sit down and eat a banana after you’ve you’ve played a set.
It’s ridiculous that you have these poor bastards running 26 miles without stopping in one event while you have the pampered tennis players sitting down every five minutes to have a rest and some elevenses….

To be continued….

Sunday, June 12, 2011

The Land of Concrete Cows

So anyway, there's a possibility of contract work, but it's in Milton Keynes.
Ok Milton Keynes isn't exactly Barcelona...I know that.
However, I won't be able to turn it down if I get offered it, as I need to do something to reverse the exlusively outward movement of cash from Jim Park Inc.
They've got concrete cows there and everything.
It would probably be a positive thing for the comedy angle though..more clubs..more possibilities...
Talking of comedy, I had a blast at the "Jo Caulfield Comedy Collective" night at The Stand...and good to see a big crowd along for the first night.
Other news...Aberdeen has a rival for the title of "World's Worst Fish And Chip Shop".
I thought the one round the corner from me was way out on its own, but I was shocked and stunned to find out that it has a north-east rival.
Microwaving items which had been already deep-fried, was certainly an unusual touch, and the batter on my fish was approximately an inch thick.
I don't know what surprised me more...was it seeing a deep fried king rib (haven't seen one for ages), or was it seeing one of my party order it.
I was up there playing terrible golf on fantastic golf courses.
I'd compare it to hiring a vintage Les Paul guitar for the weekend and spending the allotted time playing "3 Blind Mice" (badly) on the fucking E string.
I lost all 3 matches for the third year running.
I can't believe I was seriously thinking of turning pro 4 years ago.
What happened?
In other news, I bought 4 new wheel covers for my car, and was down to 3 within one day.
This almost reduced me to tears, but not quite.
Milton Keynes.
It's not the end of the world.
The money's good?

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Good Afternoon

I thought I'd rip off the "Do Not Resuscitate" notice from the end of my blog's bed and write a new entry.
So anyway, I was in Ireland last weekend for the glorious wedding of Padraig & Muireann.
I've known Padraig for 6 years since he beat off opposition to win a role in the acclaimed 2005 Fringe show, "Park's Circus".
There may only have been one other applicant, (who, I was advised by a number of independent sources, was a complete cnut), but this should in no way detract from Padraig's achievement in convincing Tony and I that he was the man for the show ; and what an asset he was.
The weekend got off to a difficult start as I couldn't find my wallet.
I decided to go to the airport anyway, resigning myself to reinforcing Scottish stereotypes by borrowing hundreds of pounds off other people at the wedding.
My last hope was that I'd left it in my local shop...and it turns out that I had (even though I gave a ludicrously wrong description of its appearance to the shop assistant).
No free drinks or food on the plane though ...and 2.5 euros for a cup of tea with the dreaded UHT milk...scandalous.
The wedding was great...Muireann was beautiful...Padraig was just about but not quite as beautiful...the sun shone...there was a tsunami of champagne and guinness...hilarious speeches...songs...dancing...fantastic food.
In Ireland they adhere to the "If it's worth doing, it's worth overdoing" mentality, and the next day there was the Day 2 party.
We had an eclectic mix singers, musicians, dancers...funny comedians and also me talking about kissing hen's arseholes and stuff like that. (I kept on repeating "I don't know if this is appropriate" through my set)
I hardly saw anyone smoking all weekend ; I seem to remember a lot of weddings I've attended as smoking festivals.
I remember as a smoker, smoking more than I usually did, and then also seeing people who didn't usually smoke at all just deciding to have a couple of ciggies since it was a wedding.
It really does seem to be on the way out...and as I approach my 4th month of abstinence, I think I've finally beaten the addiction.
I'm currently in the Filmhouse Bar trying to write jokes for my appearance in the inaugural "Jo Caulfield's Comedy Collective" show which starts at the Edinburgh Stand on Wed 1st June.
I'm really looking forward to it...it's going to be a bit different.
There's a man called "Hugh Carr" on his mobile phone in here...it's like some Shakespearian actor appearing on stage...his voice booming round the bar...everybody has stopped talking and are craning their heads to check who this Foghorn Leghorn personification is.
In some ways I admire his dedication to the art of lack of self-awareness....
As I said earlier, if it's worth doing, it's worth overdoing.
The gigs are going well but there's not enough of them and sorties down to England are very expensive for the journeyman stand-up...what to do...what to do?
I'm also working on a show about Golf...hopefully giving it some runouts during the Fringe.

Saturday, March 26, 2011

Here Comes The Summer

So anyway, I had a bit of a health scare 3 weeks ago.
It turns out I'm completely fine and I came through my medical MOT last Wednesday with flying colours.
I can't help wondering whether I would have made it onto the front page of "Chortle".
Probably not...it would have to have been a relatively slow news day in the world of comedy.
Obviously I'm glad that I didn't of course..
One of the benefits of having a health scare is that it panics you into making big lifestyle changes that you are
likely to keep.
I didn't drink for 3 weeks...ate incredibly healthily...charged up mountains and all that kind of thing.
I've lost a stone and feel fitter than I have done for ages.
I haven't smoked for 3 months either.
It's interesting how quickly my alcohol tolerance has now deserted me.
To celebrate my medical news, I went to Chris's birthday drinks at the Stand on Thursday.
I had 4 pints and was absolutely out my face, talking slurred shite to all and sundry.
I can't even remember what I was talking about most of the time.
I'm now on my way to Manchester to visit my wacky brother.
I've managed to get a couple of gigs to coincide with my trip.
I've got a spot tonight at the "Lass O Gowrie" comedy night, and another tomorrow night on Toby Hadoke's "New Stuff" night at the Comedy Store.
I've done a couple of Red Raws in the last month trying out some new ideas.
It's nervy doing a whole set of untested stuff, but I reckon it's the only way to really check if it works.
Bookends new bits with bankers doesn't quite expose it to the uncomfortable glare of reality.
Although, in saying that, if doing hundreds of gigs has taught me one thing, it's to shamelessly mug my idiotic stage persona to milk laughs out of the most crap and awful pieces of material.
It's a survival strategy learnt from dying spectacularly on one's hole of an evening's comedying.
And of course, Red Raw is primarily a new act night, so it's generally a fairly sympathetic audience.

After my (cough) "performance" , quite a few people came up to my afterwards to say how much they enjoyed the show, prompting the hard-bitten comedians present to laugh and kindly inform me, that all these people were assuming that my ramshackle nonsense was my first ever gig.
I couldn't really argue against this.
But hey, a laugh is a laugh.
I then came under a sustained micky take form these aforementioned comedians, which I genuinely found highly amusing.
However, in a scene reminscent of Muhammad Ali bouncing off the ropes to knock out George Foreman and reclaim the World Heavyweight title in 1974, I began to return fire.
I have to say that for one comic, the teddy was thrown out the pram with such ferocity that it had to be admitted to the Edinburgh Rpyal Infirmary with severe concussion.
I think it's hilarious that in a profession in which "taking the piss" is such a fundemental aspect, some comedy people can be very touchy.
In case you're interested, my new material subjects covered were ; Norman Wisdom's gravestone, being mistaken for a waxwork dummy, imaging the volcano supporting Edinburgh Castle erupting during the Festival Fireworks Concert, and talking sheep in Peebles.

Monday, February 07, 2011

London trip

As I headed down to London on the train from Edinburgh, on two occasions I spontaneously burst out laughing while reading the paper.
I find that when you do this, you can sense the other people in the carriage are putting you on a period of "nutter watch" ; as lone laughers can be unsettling.
The bits that got me going were....
An article in the Guardian on Simon Pegg in which he references political correctness in the 1980s, recalling an anecdote about someone getting fired from a feminist theatre company for saying "Shall I be mother?" when they were pouring the tea.
The other guffaw was caused by the "Q&A" feature on Patrick Stewart.
When asked "What was your most embarrassing moment?".
He mentions shouting out "What trumpets that?" too early (a page too early to be precise) during a speech Eric Porter was making in the role of King Lear in a production staged in Cornwall.
Porter was just pausing.
The kicker is that Stewart did the same thing on two consecutive nights.
I kind of had a giggling fit imagining the look on Eric Porter's face when it happened a second time.
I remember him as a very stern, brooding actor...(certainly, most of the characters he played fitted this description).
Apparently he never forgave Stewart for this.
No matter what line Patrick shouted out, this was still going to be a funny story.
But "What trumpets that?" is just such a ridiculous line, that it really soups up the funny in this tale.
I've almost got a temptation now to actually go and see a production of King Lear and shout out that line in the wrong place as a tribute to Patrick Stewart for making me cackle with laughter on the East Coast Line for a good 10 minutes.
But obviously, that would be wrong.

I had a couple of gigs on Saturday at Sohoho Comedy and the late show at the Comedy Store.
There were 3 hours between the gigs though, so I had quite a bit of time to kill.
It's difficult finding something to do on your tod in the West End of London on a Saturday night.
The pubs and restaurants are jammed, so there's not really anywhere you can just grab a seat and chill out for a couple of hours.
And Piccadilly Circus is total mayhem.
In all seriousness, I felt more isolated wandering around Piccadilly Circus on my own on a Saturday night, than when I
was lost up a mountain on my own overnight last year.
I found it an unremittingly grim experience.
The Sohoho gig was decent and very enjoyable, but I had a real cracker at the Comedy Store, which I celebrated by quaffing a few pints in the immediate aftermath.
This was all fine and dandy ; but crashing out in the hostel and then having to continually get up repeatedly in the middle of the night, and make the journey to the gents to process the late flurry of pints was something of a pain.
It's not all glamour.
I decided to get moving early on Sunday and got to Piccadilly Tube station at 7.30am
Apart from a couple of people coming up the escalator as I headed down, the station was completely deserted.
It was surreal in comparison with the heaving mass of humanity who were there the night before.
As I sat on the empty platform, I saw a mouse scurrying along towards me.
It stopped briefly, acknowledged my presence, and then ran off down the tunnel.
I thought about writing a poem based on this experience but I had a sore head and didn't feel up to it.

Monday, January 17, 2011

Coining it in...

I had to abandon my loose-change-carrying fitness regime due to treacherous conditions underfoot throughout December ; but I’m now very much up and walking again.
I carried £70 worth of change 2 miles today, including up and down Dundas Street.
It left me feeling sleepy afterwards and my back was aching slightly, but “no pain, no gain” and all that sort of thing.
In addition, psychologically, it feels good to get a cash payment at the end of the workout.
It’s as if I’m not only avoiding gym membership fees, but am getting paid to do my alternative workout.
Of course, I realise that it’s my money to begin with, but it seems to assume a different status when it is magically transformed into cash.
I don’t know how I managed to accumulate such vast piles of loose change.
I definitely didn't rob any charity collections...well, I certainly don't remember doing so?
It’s ridiculous…I don’t know where it all came from.
By the time I’ve finished carrying it all to the bank, I will be greasing up and appearing in my nearest “Mr Universe” heat.
I won’t win, but as is the case with comedy competitions, it’s all about taking part.
I walked past one of these slightly dodgy looking “cash loans/cheques cashed etc” emporiums today on the way to work. It hadn’t opened yet, but there was a queue of about 15 people waiting outside, looking a bit down on their luck. It all looked very grim, and reminded me of old black and white photos documenting the Great Depression in America in the 1930s.
As well as feeling physically uncomfortable carrying a rucksack full of loose change, seeing this depressing scene made me feel a bit guilty. Although, in fairness, it’s looking increasingly likely that I’ll be back to being a “full-time” comedian next month, so I’ll probably need my converted cash to supplement the haphazard comedy earnings.
I’m definitely vulnerable to attack though when I'm carrying this burden.
I'm like a wildebeast with a torn hamstring shuffling across the plains.
It’s hard enough walking with a rucksack full of loose change, so running is right out, and I tend to avoid walking along the canal paths, or break dancing on harbour walls.
It’s all about being aware and adapting accordingly.
In other news, I reckon I’m now saving approximately £100 a month by giving the deli shops a body swerve and making my own deluxe sandwiches.
I’m not saving money overall though…I’ve been splashing out buying snow shovels, various gardening tools, more than one lifetime’s supply of dvd box sets and comedy stuff on Amazon.
You know, stuff that’s ultimately a little bit more rewarding than a sandwich.
The other benefit of making your own sandwiches is that you avoid the temptation of buying a jumbo-sized bag of
kettle crisps to supplement your lunch sandwich.
I find crisps difficult to resist when I can see them fluttering their eyelashes at me from behind the counter.
But now that I don’t see them, I don’t think about them.
So that’s about 1500 calories a week saved in one fell swoop.
I’m scared to weigh myself though, in case crushing disappointment acts as the catalyst to an outburst of comfort binge eating.
I thought I was doing really well in the first week of the year by not eating between meals, exercising regularly and doing a lot of long walks.
However, I was surprised to see I’d put on 3 pounds.
The moral of the story seemed to be that not eating between meals and exercise are good things, but if your meals are dustbin lid size portions, then you are still going to put on weight.
So anyway, it’s all about “portion control” now.
This had better work.

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Happy New Year

Whenever I was in an Art Gallery as a child, I was always more impressed by the picture frames than anything else on display.
From my perspective, the actual paintings were upstaged by their intricately, carved golden frames.
I can’t remember if I actually thought they were made of real gold , but this is a distinct possibility.
Around the same time, I remember watching some heist action film on television, and being totally confused when I saw
the robbers cut out the paintings from the frames with stanley knives, rolling them up and then make their escape whilst leaving the frames in situ.
One one level, I could present this as a touching tale, illustrating how an innocent child can find beauty in an unexpected source.
Alternatively, you could present this as a demonstration of an early indicator of my somewhat confused and idiotic view of the world.
I’m sure Picasso and Dali would be raging if they found out that I was more impressed by their painting’s frames than the work itself.
To make matters worse, it was likely the case that neither of these artists had any input in the actual selection of frames
for their paintings at Kelvingrove Art Gallery.
It would have been an interesting finish to this anecdote if I went on how to describe what a talented painter and artist I have gone on to become in later life.
Alas, I remain completely useless at arts and crafts, to this day.
Although, it is still one of my remaining ambitions in life, to present an exhibition of picture frames during the Edinburgh Festival.
It would be a dream come true.
It would to a certain extent, mitigate the disappointment I felt when the tv series “You’ve Been Framed!” appeared on our screens.
I didn’t want to see people falling off hammocks or kittens playing a piano, I wanted to see a documentary on picture frames.

Coincidentally, I remember at school there used to be great big fights between all the boys called John against all the boys whose proper name was John but who were in practice referred to as "Jack".
It was as if the Jacks were seen as a threat by the rest of the Johns to the integrity and survival of the John forename.
I always got on ok with the James and Jimmys, but found the Jamies a bit odd.