it's been a good week, punctuated with fuck-ups.

a short version runs like this:

Drove Scott Cappurro between gigs and hung out, went to Chinese Karaoke, Had John Scot stop over at mine, Worked on my show and made myself sad, had a great gig in Chorlton, Had fun at a 24 hour comedy event, had the day from hell yesterday going up to Newcastle and back in a day because I messed up. if you want to read the longer version it's here:

I was driving Scott Capurro round last weekend as I'd no gigs on and that's something I do to make a little extra cash from time to time, he's a great guy and really interesting for me to listen to and to watch, we talked about a lot of stuff, LGBT politics, movies comedy, it was lots of fun. After bringing him back from Baby Blue in Liverpool to the frog and watching him manage to offend a good chunk of the audience with some fantastic material he left to go back to his hotel and I stayed at the Frog with John Scott who was waiting for Gemma the bar manager to finish as he was staying at hers. we hung around for a while and went through some of his new material and I came up with a coupple of new tag on gags for him to try. After a while Mick Ferry turned up fresh from doing Rawhide and we stood hanging round exchanging stories until the bar closed. There was still stuff to do so we all decided to head off down to Charlie's, Manchester's premier late night Chinese Karaoke bar, with Sam and Tony one of the Security staff. As we all squeezed into his BMW, Sam, looking big and scary in the front, Tony looking big and scary driving and me sat in the back wiht John Scott on one side and Mick Ferry on the other it struck me that to the casual observer from outside it looked like I was about to be driven off to the woods and shot, or receive some kind of punishment beating.

I love Charlie's at that time of night, there where about five of us in there so we managed to get through our requests fairly quickly, and John does a mean Rocks by Primal Scream. Mick disappeared off early and we waited outside for Gemma to turn up when the bar closed. when she didn't and we realised that my phone had died and John didn't have her number we headded back over to my parent's house.

John Scott is fantastic for this reason, the next morning he got up and was chatting with my mum and dad, now they're both quite suspicious of what it is that I do, all they see is me not spending money on anything except petrol travelling up and down the country doing gigs that either don't pay but promise to in the future, or just about cover my fuel, and on a rare occasion actually pay me well. As a result they think that I'm probably not that good and will never be able to make a living from it and that I should probably quit trying to do this for a living, though I know that my dad's incredibly proud of me for doing this as it's something I think he wished he'd given a go at some point. My mum on he other hand has a complete phobia of public speaking and won't let me talk to her about gigs. Last week I was in the paper and she refused to even look at the article.

Anyway, whenever any comics come back and I'm not there they ask them if they've seen me and if I'm any good, and if it's actually possible to make a living from comedy. Thank you to John for backing up everything I've ever told them, and thank you for telling them that most of the proffessional acts have been at the point I'm at right now, and that in time it'll change and I'll reach the point where I can stat earning enough to live off.

Anyway I spent most of the rest of the day doing an interview for the local paper, which brought up some things I'd not thought about for a long while, some of which were difficult to think about, but it was neccessary, more of that later.

Saturday night, I picked up Scott and we went over to Liverpool, and in the opposite of the previous night the Liverpool audience was hell, there was a table of 25 who were in for an office do who just seemed to want whoever was on the stage to take the piss out of their boss, when that wasn't happening they took it in turns to get up and dissappear off to the toilets. Now I'm not saying they were taking cocaine, they might have been the Office Toilet Relay team, I don't know, what I do know is that they managed to kill any atmosphere in the room.

We left fairly soon after that, time to leave the scene of the crime, though not before a punter gave us some of that legendary Scouse wit. Don't get me wrong, I do love playing liverpool, and I do like the people, my mum's a scouser and I can kind of understand why they are like they are, they're not quite like anyone else in England, but sometimes some of them can be arseholes, Scott hadn't done well, mainly becaue it only takes about 4 people in an audience to ruin a gig, in this case there was 25 of them, and as we're getting ready to go a guy at the bar walks over to Dcott and says "You going? I'm not surprised that last guy was shit!" Then followed by "Only messing with you."

I don't understand this, I really don't, it's just utterly stupid, how on earth was that supposed to be anything other than utterly offensive? OK so the guy has probably never got on stage in his life to try and do comedy, but even so you'd think he'd have some level of empathy, to know what it feels like after you've had a bad gig. It's been brought up in a number of interviews with comedians over the years that Public speaking, to most people is scarier than death. I've lost my thread, so I'll move on suffice to say some people are just tools, it could have happened anywhere, it just happened to be in Liverpool, maybe my piss taking of the legendary scouse wit was a bit out of order.

Anyway the journey back to Manchester was fairly quiet, until I nearly killed us trying to cross two lanes to get to a petrol station, by the time we got to the Frog though it was show time again, and I watched a masterclass. Scott was on fire it was amazing.

On Monday My friend Cat came to a gig at the Iguana bar in Chorlton with me. I'd spent the whole day not looking forward to it, and getting there and seeing some of the audience again I still didn't want to do it.

My highlights of the evening included Des Sharples the resident compere reading stories from the newspaper, then asking the crossword questions, no one in the pub could get any of the answers right so he went to ask the questions from the daily quiz offering a free half to the person who answered the most right, before realising that the answers wouldn't be in until tomorrow.

Matt Green opened and was great, though the audience took a while to warm up and there was a little bit of chatter, all the way through this I'm still thinking, "I don't want to do this" then a character act called Lydia Mold was on before me and didn't really do anything to change my view.

Then I went on and it was so much fun. I managed to get some of them onside straight away, and thought "Fuck it" and decided to do some very personal material that I'm going to be putting in my show, it's divided rooms before, and as I was leading into it I realised that the audience was already on my side, I could feel the rhythm of the laughter through the room. That is I'd got into a rhythm, in spite of my having difficulty catching my breath, and I was saying aobut four words and then pausing and there was a laugh in that space whether it was a joke or not. So here I go and bare my soul...

It works, kind of, some of the audience just stare at me, some look downright hostile, some sit smiling a fair few are really into it, and about 7 or eight audience members find it so funny I can hear them having difficulty getting their breath.

All the while the words of Silky are echoing through my head "You'll split rooms and you'll die on your arse more often than most but you'll be true to your soul and whilst there'll be those that don't get it, and those that do, those that do will really get it, and they're the ones who will come and see your edinburgh show and they're the ones who will allow you to eventually do a theatre tour."

Bouyed by this after the gig I'm on a high, and for the rest of this week I've been working more on my show, Like the interview last weekend it involved a lot of soul searching and dragging up some very painful memories, but it'll be worth it.

Yesterday I realised that I'm close to the end of my overdraft limit (this time a small overdraft after all that unpleasantness with the bank which ended in me taking them to court and them refusing to pay me and then me having the bailiffs sent round. I wonder what that did to their credit rating? Anyway in the nice letter they sent with the cheque they told me I'm not allowed to tell anyone about any of this so I'd better stay schtum.) And that I'm due a whole load of cheques that will sort that out.

As it happens I've actually got an overdraft £100 less than I thought, but I didn't find this out until I was in Newcastle and my card wasn't working.

rewind 24 hours, I'm at The Frog watching the Irish weekend start with Vince Atta, Rob Reilly and Mick Ferry, as it ends we head on down to Opus for the Stand-up and be counted 24 hour comedy event which starts at midnight.

now it's a long show, and I'm there from midnight until about 6am, and in the short time I'm there the highlights are:

Mick Ferry slowly disintergrating due to alcohol as he comperes, including some fantastic introductions, the two best of which as far as I can remember are "this next act came and asked me for advice when he first started and I said "Can you carry 12 kg of spuds?" he said "No" and I said, "well give up. you've not got what it takes." but he did like David Caradine in Kung-fu and last week he carried 12kg of spuds round a half marathon, and now he's ready!"

And the other for my little bro Dug Shelmerdine: "The next act's got the life I wished I'd had. I often wonder what would have happened if I'd carried on taking drugs, I stopped when I was 22, I wondered what I'd look like when I reached 30, when I first saw this next act I realised what I'd have looked like."

Other high-points, Garry Delaney kicking the whole thing off, Jason Rouse's testicles and specific sexual threats, and my favourite of all Dug.

Just before he goes on stage a whole bunch of guys stood at the back look over at him and ask me "Is he on?" "Oh yes, I can't wait." "this is going to be brilliant, has anyone got a camera?" as dug is swaying about all over theplace barely able to stand at this point. As Mick introduces him he's leaning against the wall for support as Vince Atta tells him he's got a plane to catch and not to over-run. "Fuck you Atta, I'm the whole fucking show, I'll do what I like!" he says as he nearly falls on his arse.

As he makes his way to the microphone he hugs Mick, and gets to the microphone "I'm starting to realise beer and speed was a bad idea." he rambles through his set at about third speed ranting and shouting, the boy's a genius, he just does funny, though he needs to get a handle on the excess, as he says he's expecting his friends to have an intervention in the next couple of days, I'm actually considering that. Even so he's brilliant as ever.

He takes to the stage again during my set, where, at 5:30am I'm just sharing stories of why I don't drink anymore, the worst things that I've done and a couple of stories of some of the things that Dug and I have got up to over the years.

He joins me on stage and sits in a chair behind me. As I tell the crowd he's the closest living person to Captain Jack Sparrow, they laugh, an alternative description I offer is Russell Brand, if he'd stayed on the smack.

6am, I pass out through tiredness at Dugs and wake up at 1pm, feeling grotty, I've had a cold coming on all week and it's finally arrived.

Showered and changed I head off to Newcastle, filling my car up along the way, I've not eaten yet today, but it'll be alright I'll get something after the gig, when I stop over at John Scott's.

The traffic's hell, but I put on my positive thinking CD and get myself in the mood. I get there at 8:10 and the gig's started, John Gordillo's about to go on and I head back into the dressing room and get changed, I send John a text asking if it's still ok to stop at his. As I'm about to go on stage I see that there's a guy in the front who'll be hard work, but it should be alright.

I go on stage and it's strangely quiet they're all watching but I can't seem to get them, I keep a slow confident pace and they're not really going with it, there's a couple of hit and run heckles which I ignore, I've decided not to go with the personal material and just stick to my regular set, I get a luke warm response I feel.

The gig is a weird one, I don't die, I just about manage to get a decent response all the way through but not enough for it to be an enjoyable gig. After I'm kicking myself for not going for the personal stuff. It would have got a reaction and I think it would have changed the level of my confidence and could have actually managed to pull the gig round, I could have stormed it or it could have backfired and I could have been booed off stage or even attacked, either way it would have been preferable. In the end it was just one of those days where it was felt like work. On top of that I hit the wrong button on my vibrator and the gag that I use it for didn't work, which is usually a great closer to the gig. Instead I come off feeling like I've compromised for an audience who didn't deserve it, I feel slightly cheapened and violated, If I had a doll I could show you where the bad audience touched me.

The gig finished by 10:30 and I was in Durham waiting on a call from John Scott, I couldn't top up my phone for some reason, so I thought I should probably just head up to Newcastle, which I did, still no answer, I stopped off at a petrol station to top up my phone and it wouldn't work there either. Driving around I found a cashpoint and checked my balance, "today you may wihtdraw: Nil" Arse!

I find a quiet spot and park up and wait for a call from John, I'm starting to worry. Eventually at 11:30 he calls and asks if I got his message earlier on in the week, I didn't, it turns out he's switched gigs and is in Bolton, so I can't stay at his. Double Arse. I've got 19p of credit on my phone, I call Stefan Peddie, he answers and I ask him to call me back, he does, he's got friends up from Crewe so I can't stop at his tonight.

Well that's it, I don't have the number of anyone else in Newcastle, I've only two choices, sleep in the car or head back to my parent's house. I choose the latter, put the address into the sat nav and head back through the windiest scariest country roads in the country.

As I'm driving I get into a forrest and think "You'll be alright as long as you don't think of the ghost story Barry Dodds told you." My mind clearly hates me.

Driving through this forrest suddenly the wind picks up and a fog descends and the radio suddenly cuts out just leaving static. I'm getting more and more terrified. suddenly I turn an corner and in the distance on the side of the road I can make out a hooded figure.

My fight or flight response kicks in and I'm petrified as I draw closer I think of the Ghost story about the owls and the woman with the cowl, and I remember as long as you don't see her face you'll be fine...

As it happens it's just a Chav dressed in a brown hoodie, I know this because whilst ghostly figures who emerge from the forrest to steal your soul look like smack addicts they don't tend to carry a DVD player under their arm, and they certainly don't wear Reebok Classics.

As the fog lifts and I'm well on my way to reaching civilisation, well Penrith, the radio slowly kicks back in and through the hiss of the static I can hear what sounds like 1950's rock and roll, with nothing around me to place where I am, or even what era I'm in I suddenly think that in the fog I've been transported through time into the 1950's. At this point in the evening that would be entirely plausible. Then Mark Lamarr's voice comes on and I realise that it's just his Radio 2 show.

It's been an emotional day, and just as I'm getting onto the M6, the radio announces that the Kinks are the featured artist, and they play a live version of "Days" and then Cher's cover version of "I go to sleep" I nearly have to pull over as it's just a little too much and I suddenly find that I'm in tears.

Eventually getting back to the house it's cold, I have a look through the 'fridge. Mum and Dad are away in France for a month so there's nothing, no milk or anything even though they only went the day before yesterday. No bread either, just a jar of Bockwurst and some anchovy paste. I'm not that hungry.

I crawl off to bed. Tomorrow will be a better day, the universe is abundant and brings only good into my life.

And it's true, it does, and today's better, I get paid for the gigs tonight in cash, and later this week all the cheques that've been sent to me will land in my account and I'll be back on top.

And tonight, in Gateshead, I'm not going to compromise, and I will have a good gig whatever happens.