I lost heavily at golf today on the hallowed turf of Muirfield to Colin Crabbie.
4 and 3. The King Is Dead, Long Live The King...
I feel like Superman after someone has slipped a cube of kryptonite in his back pocket, and then scarpered off.
Well it had to happen sometime. My improbable run of crushing golf victories couldn't go on forever. I blame going back to work.
Had a splendid social round at my flat on Friday night in honour of visiting dignitaries, "The Pereira Hinds".
Much laughter and banter and tasty food and wine.
All the greats were there. Nerdy physics lecturer Martin, Pete the painter, Dave the top Edinburgh restauranteur, Ann and Julia, Roz and David (aka Dr Schadenfreude). A quality line up.
Dr Shadenfreude did query the mention of "triangular sandwiches" in our Fringe programme blurb.
I think it's appropriate because ,to me, triangular sandwches are a representation of a "special occasion".
There's just something inherently more posh and sophisticated about sandwiches cut in this way, (don't ask me why though). So, you see, we've cunningly juxtapositioned our show with this "special occasion" feel. Ingenious.
Anyway, his dissection of the show has begun. Yikes.
I can only hope that he doesn't spot any "no star" reviews for "Park's Circus" in the press over the next few weeks.
If he does, I'll be expecting to see a plane overhead with a trailing banner saying,
"Hey Jim, You're S-H-I-T !!...I told you so..!" with a big smiley face next to it
I'm only bantering here...we all get a bit "schadenfreude-ish" from time to time. However, he does definitely find tales of misfortune and failure infinitely more entertaining than a dreary tale of success, recognition and critical acclaim, (not that this is likely to happen!)
I'm not saying there's anything wrong with this. Private Frazer was always my favourite character in "Dad's Army".
The "Pereira Hinds" are now on their way to the tiny village of Crovie. I was granted a goodbye kiss from their lovely daughters Harper and Alice.
I interpreted this as a sign that they enjoyed their stay at "Park HQ" and did not find me too annoying and idiotic.
Great stuff!
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Friday, July 29, 2005
29/07/05 Back To Normal
Scotland seems to have now finished its hilarious impersonation of "Saudi Arabia" and has reverted to auditioning for the location of a possible "Bladerunner" sequel.
It's dreicht, wet and miserable. Anyway, I'm stuck working in a Factory Farming-esque windowless warehouse, so it's of little consequence to me.
Friday is casual dress day. It's interesting to see how people "express" themselves when given a casual option.
It's not always a pretty sight, (a bit rich coming from style guru and bastion of sartorial elegance, Jim Park, I hear you say in a rather unpleasant, sarcastic tone ).
All the contractors are sat together at round a work station, (I think that's the technical term for it).
We all discuss how things were done better at other places in the old days, and what we would do if we were in charge, and make impertinent remarks about software applications.
It really is a rollercoaster of excitement and intrigue, and I enjoy every minute of it.
Occasionally we take turns to go and get drinks from the free vending machine.
Your preferred drink is given in number form.
For example, I ask for a "32 Strong". This is a white tea with no sugar with the "Strong" setting selected. You have the option to select a "Normal" setting or a "Weak" setting instead.
This is great, and represents the kind of thing that we used to marvel at on the popular BBC programme "Tomorrows World".
When I first started working, a wifie came round with a tea trolley and dispensed china cups of stewed tea to the masses. She also gave a chocolate biscuit to members of staff above a certain grade.
I think this practice was discontinued after threats of the "chocolate biscuit" issue being used by some militants as a pretence for a Marxist style overthrow of the company hierarchy.
We can then even have lunch in the canteen!
I see people walk past whom I've known over the years working on different contracts here. Some stop for a chat, whilst others pretend that they don't know you no more.
I don't really mind. I'll generally chat to any old fucker and am legendary for suffering fools gladly. I just can't do "rude" with any conviction.
I'm quite good at making stinging remarks about people when they are not present, but, in my experience, that's generally a much easier discipline to master.
It's great this work thing.
Never a dull moment!
It's dreicht, wet and miserable. Anyway, I'm stuck working in a Factory Farming-esque windowless warehouse, so it's of little consequence to me.
Friday is casual dress day. It's interesting to see how people "express" themselves when given a casual option.
It's not always a pretty sight, (a bit rich coming from style guru and bastion of sartorial elegance, Jim Park, I hear you say in a rather unpleasant, sarcastic tone ).
All the contractors are sat together at round a work station, (I think that's the technical term for it).
We all discuss how things were done better at other places in the old days, and what we would do if we were in charge, and make impertinent remarks about software applications.
It really is a rollercoaster of excitement and intrigue, and I enjoy every minute of it.
Occasionally we take turns to go and get drinks from the free vending machine.
Your preferred drink is given in number form.
For example, I ask for a "32 Strong". This is a white tea with no sugar with the "Strong" setting selected. You have the option to select a "Normal" setting or a "Weak" setting instead.
This is great, and represents the kind of thing that we used to marvel at on the popular BBC programme "Tomorrows World".
When I first started working, a wifie came round with a tea trolley and dispensed china cups of stewed tea to the masses. She also gave a chocolate biscuit to members of staff above a certain grade.
I think this practice was discontinued after threats of the "chocolate biscuit" issue being used by some militants as a pretence for a Marxist style overthrow of the company hierarchy.
We can then even have lunch in the canteen!
I see people walk past whom I've known over the years working on different contracts here. Some stop for a chat, whilst others pretend that they don't know you no more.
I don't really mind. I'll generally chat to any old fucker and am legendary for suffering fools gladly. I just can't do "rude" with any conviction.
I'm quite good at making stinging remarks about people when they are not present, but, in my experience, that's generally a much easier discipline to master.
It's great this work thing.
Never a dull moment!
28/07/05 Coming At Ya ; The Pereira-Hinds
Robert & Simone and daughters Harper and Alice have arrived to stay for a couple of days after driving up from t'Big Smoke.
We took wine and had a rather nice veggie curry from Eastern Spice in Canonmills. Very good. I recommend it.
Watched "Extras". I like it but it's missing a foil like the Gareth character in The Office.
I've been finding this working lark quite tiring. I don't know how people manage to do it all the time. It just seems very presumptious of employers to expect you to be there for such a long time every day. Whose idea was this?
Couldn't they just print off enough money to give the people as much as they needed without this tedious ritual of having to "work" for it?
I suppose some people would have to work in the money printing factory, but that could be done on a rotational basis, whereby those of working age could commit to work "one working day" every 5 years within the factory, thus ensuring the continuing supply of money. (a fairly relaxed form on National Service)
Then we could all play golf, laze about in the sun, become addicted to online gambling and write self-indulgent diaries on the Internet, which we could all read and make hilarious comments on, in a way similarly to the anonymous troll (or so he thinks! ha ha ) "Urban Fox"...
Of course, the forces that preserve the Capitalist system would never allow such a radical and groundbreaking departure from the current modus operandum.
Ah well a man can dream....
We took wine and had a rather nice veggie curry from Eastern Spice in Canonmills. Very good. I recommend it.
Watched "Extras". I like it but it's missing a foil like the Gareth character in The Office.
I've been finding this working lark quite tiring. I don't know how people manage to do it all the time. It just seems very presumptious of employers to expect you to be there for such a long time every day. Whose idea was this?
Couldn't they just print off enough money to give the people as much as they needed without this tedious ritual of having to "work" for it?
I suppose some people would have to work in the money printing factory, but that could be done on a rotational basis, whereby those of working age could commit to work "one working day" every 5 years within the factory, thus ensuring the continuing supply of money. (a fairly relaxed form on National Service)
Then we could all play golf, laze about in the sun, become addicted to online gambling and write self-indulgent diaries on the Internet, which we could all read and make hilarious comments on, in a way similarly to the anonymous troll (or so he thinks! ha ha ) "Urban Fox"...
Of course, the forces that preserve the Capitalist system would never allow such a radical and groundbreaking departure from the current modus operandum.
Ah well a man can dream....
27/07/05 Kerching!
My winning streak continued with bets on Celtic and Newcastle Utd NOT winning their respective European ties.
I felt a bit sorry for wee Gordon Strachan though. What a disastrous debut.
I'd have loved to see him make a joke about it, but as we all know diehard Old Firm supporters and senses of humour are mutually exclusive entitities.
If he doesn't win against Motherwell on Saturday, the writing will be on the wall. And the writing won't be saying "We all think you're great signed The Celtic fans"
...no, it'll be much ruder and not such a nice sentiment.
Tough job being an Old Firm manager though.
It's like getting a job as a barman, dropping a glass on your first night, and having thousands of people shout at you and demand that you be immediately sacked for gross incompetence.
I have to sadly confess that I have been sucked into watching Big Brother again. It's a desperate state of affairs.
I've just developed a fascination for the loathesome twat known as Craig.
He has consistently produced some of the most outstanding moments of car crash TV in the last couple of weeks.
There is something uniquely irresistible about watching someone gradually experience a nervous breakdown on national TV. It's the latter day equivalent of public executions, with the viewers enjoying the knowledge that they may have their own specific problems in life, but at least they aren't Craig.
He is going to get the piss taken out of them so relentlessly when he emerges from the house and faces the great British public.
I felt a bit sorry for wee Gordon Strachan though. What a disastrous debut.
I'd have loved to see him make a joke about it, but as we all know diehard Old Firm supporters and senses of humour are mutually exclusive entitities.
If he doesn't win against Motherwell on Saturday, the writing will be on the wall. And the writing won't be saying "We all think you're great signed The Celtic fans"
...no, it'll be much ruder and not such a nice sentiment.
Tough job being an Old Firm manager though.
It's like getting a job as a barman, dropping a glass on your first night, and having thousands of people shout at you and demand that you be immediately sacked for gross incompetence.
I have to sadly confess that I have been sucked into watching Big Brother again. It's a desperate state of affairs.
I've just developed a fascination for the loathesome twat known as Craig.
He has consistently produced some of the most outstanding moments of car crash TV in the last couple of weeks.
There is something uniquely irresistible about watching someone gradually experience a nervous breakdown on national TV. It's the latter day equivalent of public executions, with the viewers enjoying the knowledge that they may have their own specific problems in life, but at least they aren't Craig.
He is going to get the piss taken out of them so relentlessly when he emerges from the house and faces the great British public.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
26/07/05 You're Once...Twice...Five Pints An IPA
The title of this blog entry is supposed to meter like Lionel Ritchie and his Lady 1-2-3 thing.
I'm confident that it's the worst blog title I've ever thought up.
It makes an allusion to the regrettable fact that I ended up having 5 pints of IPA with old sea dog Tommy at Bennet's on a Monday night.
Why oh why .....oh why do birds suddenly appear every time I am near?
Because just like me, they love to drink 5 pints of IPA on a Monday night. D'oh.
Today at work was very unproductive on account of this merry outing on a Monday night.
I felt too rough to cycle to work as well. Shoddy. Shoddy. Shoddy.
I did walk home though. Impressive.
Heard today that cheery happy-go-lucky optimist Dickie Arnott is set to attend the opening night of "Park's Circus". Bless.
It'll be a great honour to perform to him as he has been so supportive and encouraging towards my stand-up career.
Through the tough times when confidence had dipped, Dickie was always there with words of encouragement and praise to help me get back on stage and become the accomplished journeyman comedian I am today.
He's an uncomplaining type, and is a great source of inspiration to all who know him.
I often get accused quite rightly of being a sarcastic git. Ha Ha.
I'm confident that it's the worst blog title I've ever thought up.
It makes an allusion to the regrettable fact that I ended up having 5 pints of IPA with old sea dog Tommy at Bennet's on a Monday night.
Why oh why .....oh why do birds suddenly appear every time I am near?
Because just like me, they love to drink 5 pints of IPA on a Monday night. D'oh.
Today at work was very unproductive on account of this merry outing on a Monday night.
I felt too rough to cycle to work as well. Shoddy. Shoddy. Shoddy.
I did walk home though. Impressive.
Heard today that cheery happy-go-lucky optimist Dickie Arnott is set to attend the opening night of "Park's Circus". Bless.
It'll be a great honour to perform to him as he has been so supportive and encouraging towards my stand-up career.
Through the tough times when confidence had dipped, Dickie was always there with words of encouragement and praise to help me get back on stage and become the accomplished journeyman comedian I am today.
He's an uncomplaining type, and is a great source of inspiration to all who know him.
I often get accused quite rightly of being a sarcastic git. Ha Ha.
25/07/05 IPA With Sea Dog
On Monday night, against my better judgement, I found myself in Bennet's Bar with old sea salt Tommy Hamilton, back on dry land.
He told me exciting tales of his exotic journeys patrolling the Thames Estuary on his boat. Tales of far off lands, dusky mysterious women and buried treasure were sadly not in evidence.
He is also renowned as a "Grand Prix" enthusiast. (to the uninitiated, that's Formula 1 car racing, rather than a risque male nightclub act).
Being something of a chain smoker, Tommy presented my non-smoking regime with a stern examination of my willpower, which I'm happy to divulge that I passed.
My brother Gavin was also in attendance, and miraculously I was occasionally able to get a word in edgeways. (ooohh hark at her!)
Gavin has the slightly irritating habit of interrupting my amusing anecdotes half-way through and carrying on with them himself, leaving me silently fuming with a world weary expression on my face.
One of the benefits of doing stand-up, is that I get to finish the stories myself, because I've GOT THE MICROPHONE, OK???
I shudder to think what it would be like if Gavin ever developed the technology to have his own permanent built-in microphone.
Nobody would ever be able to finish a sentence within a 2 mile radius of him.
It would be a recipe for disaster and civil unrest.
He told me exciting tales of his exotic journeys patrolling the Thames Estuary on his boat. Tales of far off lands, dusky mysterious women and buried treasure were sadly not in evidence.
He is also renowned as a "Grand Prix" enthusiast. (to the uninitiated, that's Formula 1 car racing, rather than a risque male nightclub act).
Being something of a chain smoker, Tommy presented my non-smoking regime with a stern examination of my willpower, which I'm happy to divulge that I passed.
My brother Gavin was also in attendance, and miraculously I was occasionally able to get a word in edgeways. (ooohh hark at her!)
Gavin has the slightly irritating habit of interrupting my amusing anecdotes half-way through and carrying on with them himself, leaving me silently fuming with a world weary expression on my face.
One of the benefits of doing stand-up, is that I get to finish the stories myself, because I've GOT THE MICROPHONE, OK???
I shudder to think what it would be like if Gavin ever developed the technology to have his own permanent built-in microphone.
Nobody would ever be able to finish a sentence within a 2 mile radius of him.
It would be a recipe for disaster and civil unrest.
24/07/05 Procrastination Time!
Well Sunday had been set aside as a day to re-work material for the Fringe show.
But of course very little was done.
I desperately delayed starting working by suddenly deciding to tidy up the garden for a bit instead, re-arrange the furniture in various rooms, read the Sunday papers, played the congas, made up some compilation CDs etc etc before eventually sitting down at 8pm doodling on a blank piece of paper.
Never mind. I'll do it all next weekend. that's it. The last chance saloon.
It's very pleasing that the recent spell of fine, warm weather has ended to coincide with my return to wage slavery. Quite right. I hate the thought of slackers enjoying themselves in the sun while I keep UK plc afloat.
They should get a job. Haven't they got anything better to do than lounge around all day writing self-indulgent Internet diaries, playing golf and lazing about in the sun?
Bring back National Service. that's what I say.
I hate to see people not realising their full potential.
Although, as Dylan Moran, says "Your potential? Leave it alone. It's like your bank balance. There's always less in it than you think there is..."
I'd forgotten what that "It's-Sunday-night-oh-shit-I've-got-work-tomorrow-feeling" was like. I don't like it much. Bah!
But of course very little was done.
I desperately delayed starting working by suddenly deciding to tidy up the garden for a bit instead, re-arrange the furniture in various rooms, read the Sunday papers, played the congas, made up some compilation CDs etc etc before eventually sitting down at 8pm doodling on a blank piece of paper.
Never mind. I'll do it all next weekend. that's it. The last chance saloon.
It's very pleasing that the recent spell of fine, warm weather has ended to coincide with my return to wage slavery. Quite right. I hate the thought of slackers enjoying themselves in the sun while I keep UK plc afloat.
They should get a job. Haven't they got anything better to do than lounge around all day writing self-indulgent Internet diaries, playing golf and lazing about in the sun?
Bring back National Service. that's what I say.
I hate to see people not realising their full potential.
Although, as Dylan Moran, says "Your potential? Leave it alone. It's like your bank balance. There's always less in it than you think there is..."
I'd forgotten what that "It's-Sunday-night-oh-shit-I've-got-work-tomorrow-feeling" was like. I don't like it much. Bah!
Sunday, July 24, 2005
23/07/05 Ashes To Ashes
Well, my Ashes bet on Australia is looking good. And coming on top of my Tiger Woods and Wimbledon scoops, why did I go back to work?
You fool...!
I had to cancel my trip to Spain with the Samba crew because of work commitments.
What a bummer...!
Anyway, my next tip for you to enrich yourself is to take a punt on Graeme Souness NOT being the manager of Newcastle United at the end of the upcoming season.
You can get 4/5 odds on www.bet365.com.
I'm putting £200 on it.
Hopefully I'll pick up my winnings this side of Xmas.
"Souey Gets The Chop!" The Sun, 17/12/05
You fool...!
I had to cancel my trip to Spain with the Samba crew because of work commitments.
What a bummer...!
Anyway, my next tip for you to enrich yourself is to take a punt on Graeme Souness NOT being the manager of Newcastle United at the end of the upcoming season.
You can get 4/5 odds on www.bet365.com.
I'm putting £200 on it.
Hopefully I'll pick up my winnings this side of Xmas.
"Souey Gets The Chop!" The Sun, 17/12/05
22/07/05 More Nasty Awfulness
Another large dollop of attempted bombings, successful bombings and shootings. It's all very grim.
I suspect that most of my generation thought that with the end of the Cold War, and it's accompanying nuclear stand-off, that the world would end up a safer place. Fat fucking chance of that happening.
The world seems to be in an unprecedented state of dangerousness all of a sudden.
I suppose you could argue it has always been thus, and just because it has arrived on our doorstep, it has all come sharper into focus.
To make matters worse, I forgot to take the bin bags out last night, and now I have to keep them over the weekend till Sunday night.
Unbelieveable. How could I be so stupid and forgetful?
It is now also less than 2 weeks to the start of the Fringe show.
My sphincter is already beginning to pulsate like a geiger counter in Windscale.
Well, slight exageration. Not feeling too bad. The first couple of nights are going to be fairly chaotic though.
The three of us just haven't had enough chance to get together to structure a show properly, so it's going to be more of a straight stand-up show than we had originally envisaged.
However, we're hoping to develop ideas as the run progresses, and make the show slightly different from the common-or-garden Fringe stand-up show.
I suspect that most of my generation thought that with the end of the Cold War, and it's accompanying nuclear stand-off, that the world would end up a safer place. Fat fucking chance of that happening.
The world seems to be in an unprecedented state of dangerousness all of a sudden.
I suppose you could argue it has always been thus, and just because it has arrived on our doorstep, it has all come sharper into focus.
To make matters worse, I forgot to take the bin bags out last night, and now I have to keep them over the weekend till Sunday night.
Unbelieveable. How could I be so stupid and forgetful?
It is now also less than 2 weeks to the start of the Fringe show.
My sphincter is already beginning to pulsate like a geiger counter in Windscale.
Well, slight exageration. Not feeling too bad. The first couple of nights are going to be fairly chaotic though.
The three of us just haven't had enough chance to get together to structure a show properly, so it's going to be more of a straight stand-up show than we had originally envisaged.
However, we're hoping to develop ideas as the run progresses, and make the show slightly different from the common-or-garden Fringe stand-up show.
Friday, July 22, 2005
21/07/05 Well I never...!
Banana Holder ; The Triumph of Science
While working for "the man" today (day 4, 180 to go), I was somewhat intrigued to see my colleague opposite take out a "banana holder" from his bag.
This container is furnished in solid plastic and is designed to carry a banana ;ensuring that the tender, exotic fruit remains in an unsquashed condition.
This is a new phenomenum to me. I like to think I keep up with the times. I can use "predictive text" facilities on my mobile. In fact, I've been able to do this for AGES. I also made an arse of doing an elementary Sudoku today. I'm very "street" and with it, big time baby!
However, "banana holders" had slipped through the net.
It's fair to say this is a very specialised piece of equipment. It can only be used for a single banana. The banana in question must also have the correct curvature to fit the holder. Any forced manipulation of the banana would defeat the purpose of the thing.
I imagine this creation first appeared on the little "Innovations" catalogue which we all know and love.
I wondered if there are other products on the market for alternative soft fruit?
eg a grape holder? a plum holder? (oh there's one already...I think it's called a jock strap..! ho ho...clonk...as he falls off his seat laughing)...
I've been offered three 20 minute spots at "Nichol Edwards" on Aug 1st, 3rd & 4th.
This will be the first time I've done spots of that length. I've got enough material to cover it, just haven't done it all in one show.
In the stand-up world (as opposed to the sit-down one), getting to a 20 minute set is a pivotal moment in one's fledgling career.
I know there's going to be a bit of initial padding as I'm not used to this size of slot ; but once you've got a solid 20 mins you're confident with, you can actually make some decent cash, and get better bookings.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
20/07/05 "Festival of Jim" ends
I did the last night in my 5 day residency at "The Stand". Unfortunately the "Festival of Jim" ended with more of a wet fart than a stupendous fanfare.
It's very easy to blame the audience in situations like this. But just because it's easy doesn't mean that I shouldn't do it.
Let's face it, they were moribund. The comedy audience from hell. All 20 of them.
It wasn't a "death", I hasten to add. There was a respectable chuckle count. But chuckles just don't do it for me. I want big laughs. Otherwise the teddy is on a whistle-stop journey out of my pram.
Of course top comedians can make any audience laugh in any situation. But they are generally smart arse tossers, and who would want to be like that anyway. I mean, really. To be consistently brilliant and hilarious must get very tedious after a while.
I get the thrill of the uncertainty. It could be a night of triumph or it could be a ticket for the Titanic. If I keep repeating this often enough to myself, I'm hoping I will eventually believe it.
I popped up afterwards to see funny man Richard Pulsford at "Nichol Edwards" in Niddrie St. He triumphed in a new talent competition with an assured performance.
I've always really enjoyed his material, but his performance hasn't quite matched it.
Tonight he got them both right.
I snuck off into the night when I realised that the witching hour was approaching. I'd momentarily forgotten that I was back working for "the man" again.
Did you notice that when the stage winner of the Tour de France gets presented with his jersey, that it fastens round the back like a surgeons overall?
This is obviously designed to allow him to keep his sponsors hat on at all times throughout the process. Oh dear...oh dear...oh dear.
It's very easy to blame the audience in situations like this. But just because it's easy doesn't mean that I shouldn't do it.
Let's face it, they were moribund. The comedy audience from hell. All 20 of them.
It wasn't a "death", I hasten to add. There was a respectable chuckle count. But chuckles just don't do it for me. I want big laughs. Otherwise the teddy is on a whistle-stop journey out of my pram.
Of course top comedians can make any audience laugh in any situation. But they are generally smart arse tossers, and who would want to be like that anyway. I mean, really. To be consistently brilliant and hilarious must get very tedious after a while.
I get the thrill of the uncertainty. It could be a night of triumph or it could be a ticket for the Titanic. If I keep repeating this often enough to myself, I'm hoping I will eventually believe it.
I popped up afterwards to see funny man Richard Pulsford at "Nichol Edwards" in Niddrie St. He triumphed in a new talent competition with an assured performance.
I've always really enjoyed his material, but his performance hasn't quite matched it.
Tonight he got them both right.
I snuck off into the night when I realised that the witching hour was approaching. I'd momentarily forgotten that I was back working for "the man" again.
Did you notice that when the stage winner of the Tour de France gets presented with his jersey, that it fastens round the back like a surgeons overall?
This is obviously designed to allow him to keep his sponsors hat on at all times throughout the process. Oh dear...oh dear...oh dear.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
19/07/05 G8 Drama!
Jim shortly before his assault by the Police State
Shortly after this photograph was taken, I was diverted away from my chosen route to the "Southsider" hostelry, forcing me to take a detour which added well over 2 minutes onto my journey time.
Hopefully this photo will make people stop and think about things.
It's a sad day when a man in a straw hat has to deviate from his chosen pub access approach.
It's the thin end of the wedge.
This photograph was taken, at great personal risk to herself by famed pottery and ceramics expert Lorna Fraser.
It is through her courage and determination that this photo of what actually happened during the G8 demos has seen the light of day.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
18/07/05 Return To Stalag 13 (or "Jim Goes Back To Work")
Tying my tie (with the accompanying uncomfortable restriction of respiratory function), is the defining symbolic event encapsulating the cold, painful reality of going back to work.
I had a shit sleep as I was too preoccupied with having to desert my scratcher at the ungodly hour of 8am.
God had obviously tried to stop me returning to work as he had organised a Lothian Regional Transport bus strike to coincide with my reunion with the racing rats.
I took the opportunity to cycle to work. It was all downhill from there, both literally and metaphorically.
My boss knew who I was on account of my legendary exploits in the company "Sailing Club" 6 years ago.
The incident in question occurred at Largs Marina.
I'm not much of a sailor per se, but I signed up for a weekend of tootling round the Clyde in a 6 person berth sailing boat.
The plan was to meet in Largs Marina Bar on the Friday, have a few drinks (alert alert danger!), then spend the night on the boat, sailing away early in the morning, docking in Lamlash Bay on the Saturday night, then returning on the Sunday.
This was in November, I hasten to add.
Having had a number of pints of 80 shilling I followed the captain towards the boat. I was fully laden with a weighty rucksack and also carried a crate of 24 bottles of Becks for weekend consumption.
We stepped out onto the jetty in the darkness and walked along till we came alongside our boat. Then he turned right up a little jetty alongside the boat.
It was attached by brackets to the main jetty.
My first step was on the bracket, which unbeknownst to me narrowed towards the main walkway.
My next step was into fresh air and before I could react or even shout "Fuck!", I was 20 feet underwater carring a crate of beer with a rucksack on.
I quickly took the painful decision to let go of the beer and then began my struggle for survival. I managed to thrash my way to the surface, whereby the captain grabbed my arms and pulled me up to safety. (The beer is probably still there, if there are any treasure hunters amongst you).
I was quite relaxed about the whole thing at the time. However, dwelling on what might have happened if I'd hit my head off the side of the boat as I fell etc etc managed to freak me out slightly, later on.
I had the piss taken out of me by everyone else for the whole weekend.
But I had the last laugh, as all the other novice sailors were very, very ill with sea sickness on the Sunday...and I was fine. Ha Ha.
So that story has been circulating in the "Sailing Club" for 6 years now!
I suppose it's good to leave a legacy of achievement behind me.
Ah well, first day of work...not too bad really...
The time will soon pass, Papillon...
I had a shit sleep as I was too preoccupied with having to desert my scratcher at the ungodly hour of 8am.
God had obviously tried to stop me returning to work as he had organised a Lothian Regional Transport bus strike to coincide with my reunion with the racing rats.
I took the opportunity to cycle to work. It was all downhill from there, both literally and metaphorically.
My boss knew who I was on account of my legendary exploits in the company "Sailing Club" 6 years ago.
The incident in question occurred at Largs Marina.
I'm not much of a sailor per se, but I signed up for a weekend of tootling round the Clyde in a 6 person berth sailing boat.
The plan was to meet in Largs Marina Bar on the Friday, have a few drinks (alert alert danger!), then spend the night on the boat, sailing away early in the morning, docking in Lamlash Bay on the Saturday night, then returning on the Sunday.
This was in November, I hasten to add.
Having had a number of pints of 80 shilling I followed the captain towards the boat. I was fully laden with a weighty rucksack and also carried a crate of 24 bottles of Becks for weekend consumption.
We stepped out onto the jetty in the darkness and walked along till we came alongside our boat. Then he turned right up a little jetty alongside the boat.
It was attached by brackets to the main jetty.
My first step was on the bracket, which unbeknownst to me narrowed towards the main walkway.
My next step was into fresh air and before I could react or even shout "Fuck!", I was 20 feet underwater carring a crate of beer with a rucksack on.
I quickly took the painful decision to let go of the beer and then began my struggle for survival. I managed to thrash my way to the surface, whereby the captain grabbed my arms and pulled me up to safety. (The beer is probably still there, if there are any treasure hunters amongst you).
I was quite relaxed about the whole thing at the time. However, dwelling on what might have happened if I'd hit my head off the side of the boat as I fell etc etc managed to freak me out slightly, later on.
I had the piss taken out of me by everyone else for the whole weekend.
But I had the last laugh, as all the other novice sailors were very, very ill with sea sickness on the Sunday...and I was fine. Ha Ha.
So that story has been circulating in the "Sailing Club" for 6 years now!
I suppose it's good to leave a legacy of achievement behind me.
Ah well, first day of work...not too bad really...
The time will soon pass, Papillon...
17/07/05 Still Not Tickety Boo
My Friday night binge is beginning to look like the first ever authentic case of "a bad pint" in British Drinking History. It's the only explanation why I still feel utterly shite. In a way it's a kind of moral victory, as I probably didn't actually drink quite as much as I thought I did on Friday night, and that my anger at my lack of willpower may have been misplaced.
This is scant comfort though.
While peering at the TV watching Tiger Woods stroll to victory, I witness the astonishing sight of Dougie Donnelly, yes THE Dougie Donnelly, being mobbed by a large posse of autograph hunters at St Andrews.
The world has officially gone catastrophically mad.
Kids these days. I don't know....I really don't know.
What next? Anne Widdecombe headlining at "The Monsters of Rock" Festival at Castle Donington?
Nicholas Witchell doing a rap duet with Eminem?
Have kids lost the ability to differentiate between the irretrievably naff and the cool?
I worry for them.
Dougie must be on such a high after that!
If I'd been a kid and had seen Arthur Montford in real life, I'd have attempted an impersonation of his legendary deadpan commentating style, "It's a disaster for Scotland...", giggled, and run off.
I wouldn't have pestered him for an autograph.
I had a really nice gig at The Stand later on. It was a small audience, but I felt I'd won them over and was getting some fairly big tasty laughs.
Jane who co-runs The Stand watched my set and gave me an appraisal. It was mostly positive. I was pleased to get some feedback and she gave me a lot of sound advice.
I figured she wouldn't have bothered if she felt I was irredeemably crap.
All in all, a good night, somewhat tarnished by getting a bleeding parking ticket. Ona Sunday night at 9.30pm!!!! bastards...bastards..bastards...!
This is scant comfort though.
While peering at the TV watching Tiger Woods stroll to victory, I witness the astonishing sight of Dougie Donnelly, yes THE Dougie Donnelly, being mobbed by a large posse of autograph hunters at St Andrews.
The world has officially gone catastrophically mad.
Kids these days. I don't know....I really don't know.
What next? Anne Widdecombe headlining at "The Monsters of Rock" Festival at Castle Donington?
Nicholas Witchell doing a rap duet with Eminem?
Have kids lost the ability to differentiate between the irretrievably naff and the cool?
I worry for them.
Dougie must be on such a high after that!
If I'd been a kid and had seen Arthur Montford in real life, I'd have attempted an impersonation of his legendary deadpan commentating style, "It's a disaster for Scotland...", giggled, and run off.
I wouldn't have pestered him for an autograph.
I had a really nice gig at The Stand later on. It was a small audience, but I felt I'd won them over and was getting some fairly big tasty laughs.
Jane who co-runs The Stand watched my set and gave me an appraisal. It was mostly positive. I was pleased to get some feedback and she gave me a lot of sound advice.
I figured she wouldn't have bothered if she felt I was irredeemably crap.
All in all, a good night, somewhat tarnished by getting a bleeding parking ticket. Ona Sunday night at 9.30pm!!!! bastards...bastards..bastards...!
Sunday, July 17, 2005
16/07/05 Stupid Stupid Stupid
I awoke with a hellish hangover even by the standards of this previous experience.
I was due to play in a busk with the Samba crew at The Mound. I thought that might help to blow the cobwebs away and perk me up a little. It didn't.
I still felt grim as I made my way along to The Stand for the evening show. The Dance Brothers were in attendance. This would be their first witnessing of me doing my thing. I downed a couple of Irn Brus to try and fend off this increasingly horrible hangover. It hadn't eased up all day. To make matters worse I was full of self-loathing on account having smoked 3 cigarettes the previous night in the midst of my premium lager binge. Stupid twat.
The Saturday crowd was much better than the previous night. They were really responsive and generally much more up for it.
Bearing in mind how terrible I felt, I thought my spot went really well. The adrenaline had got me through, and my fears of hitting the front rows with a spray of projectile vomit were not realised, (thankfully).
We watched Greg McHugh before heading off. His material isn't the most brilliant I've ever heard, but his delivery, timing and general stagecraft are impeccable. He's also very good looking and a big hit with the laydeez. Bastard.
We headed off to The Pear Tree to catch up with nerdy Physics Lecturer Martin Evans, it being the occasion of the day before his 40th birthday, (he decided to celebrate on Saturday night).
As the adrenaline wore off, I started feeling really shit again. I started drinking a pint but failed to finish it, made my excuses and went home.
I couldn't believe how bad I felt. Straight to bed for Jimbo.
I was due to play in a busk with the Samba crew at The Mound. I thought that might help to blow the cobwebs away and perk me up a little. It didn't.
I still felt grim as I made my way along to The Stand for the evening show. The Dance Brothers were in attendance. This would be their first witnessing of me doing my thing. I downed a couple of Irn Brus to try and fend off this increasingly horrible hangover. It hadn't eased up all day. To make matters worse I was full of self-loathing on account having smoked 3 cigarettes the previous night in the midst of my premium lager binge. Stupid twat.
The Saturday crowd was much better than the previous night. They were really responsive and generally much more up for it.
Bearing in mind how terrible I felt, I thought my spot went really well. The adrenaline had got me through, and my fears of hitting the front rows with a spray of projectile vomit were not realised, (thankfully).
We watched Greg McHugh before heading off. His material isn't the most brilliant I've ever heard, but his delivery, timing and general stagecraft are impeccable. He's also very good looking and a big hit with the laydeez. Bastard.
We headed off to The Pear Tree to catch up with nerdy Physics Lecturer Martin Evans, it being the occasion of the day before his 40th birthday, (he decided to celebrate on Saturday night).
As the adrenaline wore off, I started feeling really shit again. I started drinking a pint but failed to finish it, made my excuses and went home.
I couldn't believe how bad I felt. Straight to bed for Jimbo.
15/07/05 Tiger Tiger
As Mr Woods powered to a 4 stroke advantage after day 2, I was able to lay off my bet on Betfair (ie offer very short odds to other punters betting on Woods winning the Open).
As a result if he wins I make £250 profit, and if he loses I still make £150 profit.
I've been given a IT contract. I start on Monday! Yikes, looks like I will be suffering from "post-traumatic stress disorder" for the next few days.
The Friday night at The Stand was ok. My performance was a lot better than the Thursday, but the audience were fairly unresponsive for a weekend crowd.
In fact, Jane the compere told me that it was the worst weekend crowd she had ever experienced, (she told the crowd this later on in the night. I think they thought she was only joking. She wasn't)
There was a large group of tossers who sat at the front, but then were real pains in the arse when the comedians tried to engage them with a bit of banter.
So why did they decide to sit right in front of the stage? Very strange.
I hadn't had my dinner before the show. This is quite usual for me. I prefer to eat afterwards. However, I skipped the eating tonight, and proceeded to down a series of pints of premium lager. Got fairly pissed and made the error of remarking to Jane the compere that I have an occasional game of golf with Jack McConnell.
I don't think I'll ever hear the end of this now. The damage is done.
Luckily, I didn't tell her that I had tears streaming down my cheeks watching Jack Nicklaus coming down the 18th at St Andrews, as he said goodbye to golf. It was emotional stuff.
As a result if he wins I make £250 profit, and if he loses I still make £150 profit.
I've been given a IT contract. I start on Monday! Yikes, looks like I will be suffering from "post-traumatic stress disorder" for the next few days.
The Friday night at The Stand was ok. My performance was a lot better than the Thursday, but the audience were fairly unresponsive for a weekend crowd.
In fact, Jane the compere told me that it was the worst weekend crowd she had ever experienced, (she told the crowd this later on in the night. I think they thought she was only joking. She wasn't)
There was a large group of tossers who sat at the front, but then were real pains in the arse when the comedians tried to engage them with a bit of banter.
So why did they decide to sit right in front of the stage? Very strange.
I hadn't had my dinner before the show. This is quite usual for me. I prefer to eat afterwards. However, I skipped the eating tonight, and proceeded to down a series of pints of premium lager. Got fairly pissed and made the error of remarking to Jane the compere that I have an occasional game of golf with Jack McConnell.
I don't think I'll ever hear the end of this now. The damage is done.
Luckily, I didn't tell her that I had tears streaming down my cheeks watching Jack Nicklaus coming down the 18th at St Andrews, as he said goodbye to golf. It was emotional stuff.
14/07/05 Festival Begins...
I had to smile as I watched Vijay Singh (see link for previous Vijay blog entry), tee off at The Open.
It was at St Andrews in 2000 that the famous Vijay Singh joke incident took place.
Mr Woods has started off impressively, so my bet looks a fairly good one so far.
I began my 4 night residency at The Stand. I've been more used to doing 10-15 minute spots of late and found it tricky deciding how to distill it down to a 5 minute slot.
(what I'll be doing Thursday,Friday,Saturday,Sunday at The Stand).
It went fairly well. I probably tried to include too much in the 5 minutes and garbled a lot of the material. It's tricky. When you start off in stand-up, 5 minutes can seem like an eternity. Now it just seems to be over in a flash and there's not much time to fool around outside of your prepared material.
After I'd finished I nipped up to "The Roxy" to see Cloudland Blue Quartet and James Jamieson (together at last) perform a selection of their songs, with 3 other acts on the bill. Vocally they sound very good together.
It was all very enjoyable. Pity there wasn't an audience as such. (I hilariously announced that I'd only been able to attend on account of snapping up a ticket on Ebay) It's a reconverted church up near The Pleasance, a great venue. Acoustically it sounded great.
One of David's friends asked me about the snail on my ceiling. It's funny when strangers quote back stuff from your Blog to you. Little does that snail know how famous he/she (or is there something about snails being male and female simultaneously?) has become, as a result of crawling up my wall onto my ceiling.
I expect he and she are encountering a lot of jealousy and petty sniping from other resident snails of my garden, as news of the snails sudden new found celebrity circulates amongst the local wildlife.
It was at St Andrews in 2000 that the famous Vijay Singh joke incident took place.
Mr Woods has started off impressively, so my bet looks a fairly good one so far.
I began my 4 night residency at The Stand. I've been more used to doing 10-15 minute spots of late and found it tricky deciding how to distill it down to a 5 minute slot.
(what I'll be doing Thursday,Friday,Saturday,Sunday at The Stand).
It went fairly well. I probably tried to include too much in the 5 minutes and garbled a lot of the material. It's tricky. When you start off in stand-up, 5 minutes can seem like an eternity. Now it just seems to be over in a flash and there's not much time to fool around outside of your prepared material.
After I'd finished I nipped up to "The Roxy" to see Cloudland Blue Quartet and James Jamieson (together at last) perform a selection of their songs, with 3 other acts on the bill. Vocally they sound very good together.
It was all very enjoyable. Pity there wasn't an audience as such. (I hilariously announced that I'd only been able to attend on account of snapping up a ticket on Ebay) It's a reconverted church up near The Pleasance, a great venue. Acoustically it sounded great.
One of David's friends asked me about the snail on my ceiling. It's funny when strangers quote back stuff from your Blog to you. Little does that snail know how famous he/she (or is there something about snails being male and female simultaneously?) has become, as a result of crawling up my wall onto my ceiling.
I expect he and she are encountering a lot of jealousy and petty sniping from other resident snails of my garden, as news of the snails sudden new found celebrity circulates amongst the local wildlife.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
13/07/05 With Snail Was I
I woke up today to see a snail on my ceiling. This isn't something you see every day. In fact I've never ever seen this phenomenum before. It's a first.
The day before I'd been transporting bags of garden refuse through the flat to take to the dump, (to be recycled I hasten to add...I'm green and all that).
I can only assume that I unwittingly dropped off the snail in my flat and it decided to go walkabout up the wall.
I removed it from the ceiling and lobbed it up the garden.
I later wondered whether there might be some symbolism attached to seeing a snail on your ceiling. I decided to go to the National Library to research the issue, and check if the appearance of the snail was some strange kind of metaphor.
You can't interpret these events too literally. Of course everyone knows that with Tarot cards, the "Death" card doesn't necessarily mean you're going to die. It can symbolise the end of an element of your life, such as a change of job, relationship etc
However, I was surprised to discover that my snail vision meant, according to ancient interpretation of pagan ritual, that a giant snail was likely to disrupt my act at The Stand comedy club during the upcoming "Festival of Jim".
This was very unsettling news which could destabilise my performance. I'm going to have to consider bringing a large container of Saxa salt to all my gigs to attempt to ward off this malign intrusion.
I played golf yesterday with Bill "Top Man" Wilson. It was a lovely evening bla bla just playing golf was a joy in itself bla bla bla seemed unimportant who won bla bla bla but it was me I won bla bla bla 6 and 4 bla bla bla
(assuming Darth Vadar voice) ; Is there NO-ONE in the entire GALAXY who can threaten my POWER and AUTHORITY on the Golf Course???
The day before I'd been transporting bags of garden refuse through the flat to take to the dump, (to be recycled I hasten to add...I'm green and all that).
I can only assume that I unwittingly dropped off the snail in my flat and it decided to go walkabout up the wall.
I removed it from the ceiling and lobbed it up the garden.
I later wondered whether there might be some symbolism attached to seeing a snail on your ceiling. I decided to go to the National Library to research the issue, and check if the appearance of the snail was some strange kind of metaphor.
You can't interpret these events too literally. Of course everyone knows that with Tarot cards, the "Death" card doesn't necessarily mean you're going to die. It can symbolise the end of an element of your life, such as a change of job, relationship etc
However, I was surprised to discover that my snail vision meant, according to ancient interpretation of pagan ritual, that a giant snail was likely to disrupt my act at The Stand comedy club during the upcoming "Festival of Jim".
This was very unsettling news which could destabilise my performance. I'm going to have to consider bringing a large container of Saxa salt to all my gigs to attempt to ward off this malign intrusion.
I played golf yesterday with Bill "Top Man" Wilson. It was a lovely evening bla bla just playing golf was a joy in itself bla bla bla seemed unimportant who won bla bla bla but it was me I won bla bla bla 6 and 4 bla bla bla
(assuming Darth Vadar voice) ; Is there NO-ONE in the entire GALAXY who can threaten my POWER and AUTHORITY on the Golf Course???
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
12/07/05 Bordering On The Ridiculous
Myself and nerdy Physics lecturer Martin Evans went for a walk in the Ettrick Hills near Selkirk in the Scottish Borders area.
I bought a book 5 years ago called "100 Walks Around Edinburgh". I thought it was about time I did at least one of them to avoid the purchase of the said book as being viewed as a complete fiasco.
I selected the walk we did because it was described as a "dramatic ridge walk". In the end it turned out to be as dramatic as an episode of "Last Of The Summer Wine". It was still very pleasant though, if a little dull. And it was another scorcheroonee of a day.
I got offered a gig at The Stand next Wednesday (20th July). This means that the "Festival of Jim" now extends to Thurs/Fri/Sat/Sun/Wed of the coming week live at The Stand in Edinburgh.
The bar staff will be well and truly sick of my set by the end of this run, as will the audience in all likelihood. I hope different people go to each night otherwise my act will turn into a Catholic Mass type event, with the punters wearily joining in with the punchlines (irony), and standing up and sitting down at the appropriate moments and shaking hands with the people next to them sort of thing.
I had a samba practice at night for the upcoming Spain trip. I played with my head up my ass. Not literally. That would have been quite an impressive feat of contortionism and might have deflected any other criticisms. No, I just kept making rather stupid mistakes. I will have to spend some quality time working on being slightly less crappy. Just like anything else really.
My drive down to the Borders was soured by a succession of locals who didn't wave at me when I stopped and waited patiently to let them pass before moving out to avoid a parked car on my side of the road.
I am a stickler for this waving ritual, and see it as one of the last remaining benchmarks of decency and a feeling of community in the inherent tetchiness of 21st Century life.
Once we stop this little wave ritual, it will be a steady descent into mayhem and aggression, and we will all be in a "Mad Max" movie, and people will be dropping snakes in our cars from weird home-made helicopter things.
Mark my words.
I bought a book 5 years ago called "100 Walks Around Edinburgh". I thought it was about time I did at least one of them to avoid the purchase of the said book as being viewed as a complete fiasco.
I selected the walk we did because it was described as a "dramatic ridge walk". In the end it turned out to be as dramatic as an episode of "Last Of The Summer Wine". It was still very pleasant though, if a little dull. And it was another scorcheroonee of a day.
I got offered a gig at The Stand next Wednesday (20th July). This means that the "Festival of Jim" now extends to Thurs/Fri/Sat/Sun/Wed of the coming week live at The Stand in Edinburgh.
The bar staff will be well and truly sick of my set by the end of this run, as will the audience in all likelihood. I hope different people go to each night otherwise my act will turn into a Catholic Mass type event, with the punters wearily joining in with the punchlines (irony), and standing up and sitting down at the appropriate moments and shaking hands with the people next to them sort of thing.
I had a samba practice at night for the upcoming Spain trip. I played with my head up my ass. Not literally. That would have been quite an impressive feat of contortionism and might have deflected any other criticisms. No, I just kept making rather stupid mistakes. I will have to spend some quality time working on being slightly less crappy. Just like anything else really.
My drive down to the Borders was soured by a succession of locals who didn't wave at me when I stopped and waited patiently to let them pass before moving out to avoid a parked car on my side of the road.
I am a stickler for this waving ritual, and see it as one of the last remaining benchmarks of decency and a feeling of community in the inherent tetchiness of 21st Century life.
Once we stop this little wave ritual, it will be a steady descent into mayhem and aggression, and we will all be in a "Mad Max" movie, and people will be dropping snakes in our cars from weird home-made helicopter things.
Mark my words.
Monday, July 11, 2005
11/07/05 Possible Job Shocker!
I found out today that I have a better than evens chance of getting an IT Contract in Edinburgh.
The problem is that I can't afford not to take it, bearing in mind that I'll be getting hit by a giant tax bill at the end of the month, and will also have to pay at least £20 000 when this hugely enjoyable communal building repair is (eventually) finished.
It would have been much better if the job could have come along in September though. Working and doing a Fringe show is going to be hard work, and my late night debauchery possibilities will disappear! damn damn damn.
Ain't life a bitch!
I can maybe take some time off, but employers are never particularly impressed when you start hassling for holidays as soon as you're in the door.
I had a feeling this might happen. Ah well never mind. It could be worse. It could be raining!
Think positively man! At least I'll be able to hassle my co-workers to come and see the show.
The problem is that I can't afford not to take it, bearing in mind that I'll be getting hit by a giant tax bill at the end of the month, and will also have to pay at least £20 000 when this hugely enjoyable communal building repair is (eventually) finished.
It would have been much better if the job could have come along in September though. Working and doing a Fringe show is going to be hard work, and my late night debauchery possibilities will disappear! damn damn damn.
Ain't life a bitch!
I can maybe take some time off, but employers are never particularly impressed when you start hassling for holidays as soon as you're in the door.
I had a feeling this might happen. Ah well never mind. It could be worse. It could be raining!
Think positively man! At least I'll be able to hassle my co-workers to come and see the show.
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