Last year at around this time I was unemployed and not making enough from comedy to live off and decided on a little plan. I was going to go to Edinburgh and see what happened, so with £20 in my pocket and a car full of fuel I set off north with Steve Hughes to see what would happen.

£20, my car and a dream.

I had no gigs booked in, I had no income, I had nowhere to stay and not enough fuel to get home again.

I survived, not only that I did really well for myself, I got work I earned enough to live quite comfortably off, I got passes for most of the venues and the coveted Library Bar Pass and had the best time of my life.

I did sound tech for Matt Kirshen's Show "Have you seen this boy?" I was the main flyerer for Paul Sinha's if.comeddie nominated show, I was interviewed by Paul Provenza for the film he was making and got to play Spank! and get filmed for it doing some of the most personal material I've ever written for the first time ever.

This year it's 24 hours away from me heading up there and I'm in a similar position. I was going to set myself some tasks, but I've already broken two of the rules.

But for the sake of it, here are the rules I set myself for the festival:

1. I'm allowed enough fuel to get to Edinburgh, but not enough to get home.

2. I'm not allowed to use my bank card, surviving only on the first £20 and from then on what ever I can earn.

3. I'm not allowed to ask anyone if I can sleep on their couch/floor, I must wait to be offered.

4. I'm not allowed to sort out any work before I get there. (this is the one that I've broken so far as I'm doing lights and sound for Duncan Oakley's show and I've been offered 3 gigs whilst I'm up there.)

5. I must try and get for free or in exchange for work passes for each of the main vanues, and a Library Bar Pass.

6. I must try and get as many gigs as I can whilst I'm up there.

7. I must try and get free internet access every day to keep you guys up to date with my progress at the festival.

8. I must do all of the above and have as much fun as possible, I can only rely on my wits and my newtowrking/blagging skills and come back in a stronger position careerwise than when I went.

And so there you have it, tomorrow I head on out with these tasks in mind and I need to do what I can to get this stuff and raise my profile as far as possible. As I'm typing this I'm playing with my cat necklace, it's become a good-luck charm, a symbol of how I always land on my feet. Let's hope it doesn't let me down this time.

Right, let's get packed and let's go to work...

It seems it's only in the wee small hours when I've got to be up early I get to write on this blog anymore, but that's because for the last week or so I've had to get up early, well early for me. Technically on Sunday I got up at 11:30, but that was after ending up in poptastic dancing like a twat to Dolly Parton Remixes and the Scissor Sisters, before trying to stop a friend from jamming her fingers up the noses of complete strangers, falling out of a tree she'd climbed and dragging her out of the way of an oncoming bus.

And what did she learn from this night? Apparrently "Don't try and stick your fingers up a hookers nose unless you've given her the money first." It's good to see that hanging out with me she's learned something.

It was my friend Emma's birthday on Saturday hence the trip out to poptastic, I'd already had a full day having to get up after only 4 hours sleep to head off to Oldham for the Pride festival with Jonathan Mayor and Rosie Lugosi.

As it was their first parade I put in the effort, resplendant in black rubber trousers a fringed leather jacket and biker boots. I looked less of a twat than I sound there. But we were in the front of the parade, though by the time I'd got to where we were supposed to be meeting up I'd already lost Jonathan and Rosie and was trying to get across town without being killed (just my regular paranoia at play, then today I heard that some poor guy had been set upon in Oldham by the news staple "gang of youths" at around that time, the guy got a fractured skull, and my thoughts are with him) Anyway I managed to make it just in time for us getting ready for the procession through the town, I was right at the front, just behind Jonathan and Rosie and next to the Bishop of Bournemouth.

It was a short parade met with a few smiles and people waving, groups of people staring trying to figure out what the hell was going on and two guys outside McDonalds looking really angry. Having taken part in Manchester's parade last year it was an altogether smaller affair but no less important. It's easy enough living in Manchester (which I don't but I spend that much time there that I might as well) with the Gay village and the big pride parade and the cosmopolitain attitude to be a little sneery of smaller towns and think that the world is like the bubble we create, but to step outside that to a town just 10 minutes up the road, where they have one gay bar and that this is the first time they've ever had a parade. It means something.

When we got to the venue where they were holding the Pride festival it was lovely and the sun came out. Not what I was planning as I burn really easily and spending a couple of hours out there, even though the sun was only out briefly was enough for me to get sunburned.

I psyched myself up for my gig though, I was only doing a very short set and as the crowd outside dispursed after Manchester's Lesbian and Gay Choir had finished performing there weren't that many people down at the front ready for me. Outside, in the daytime, with a quickly dispersing audience and those who stayed at the front had an average age of 7. Then a quarter of them disappeared when he got scared by a wasp.

Suddenly I'm thinking through my stuff for anything I can do in front of a bunch of kids, there's very little. But I do it anyway and have fun with it even though no one is listening. those who are there are smiling, and I manage to get two laughs out of them so under those conditions I consider it a win.

Shortly after that I head off to get some food, as the only stand-up performing during the day, and essentially dying on my arse I know I'll have to do a lot of explaining to other artists. If anything goes wrong for them they can usually cover it, it's only with stand-up that your failure becomes so obvious to everyone. And I do. I explain to several members of the choir why my stuff didn't work, but I know from at least 100 other occasions where I've died on my arse that no one ever hears the reason, they just hear you trying to find an excuse because nothing you say or do is ever funny. It's an important lesson, no on the day I wasn't funny. But you know, you move on. Or at least you try. I left the greenroom to head back out to the stage feeling a bit better about myself thinking I'd just be able to forget about the gig and concentrate on the next one and the fun I was going to have that evening. Right up until I bumped into Jonathan and he smiled and said "I told you you shouldn't have done that material first." Naturally I did what anyone does in that situation and burst into tears. I don't even know why, well I do, it was exactly the wrong time to say something like that and I know he didn't mean it the way it sounded, it's my slightly autistic personality. I'd done exactly what he'd said and still died on my arse and then he'd told me I'd not listened to him, it was a combination of a lot of things but a big chunk was the injustice.

For other examples of that look back through these blogs and look at the bit about why I won't go into the Limelight in Crewe, even though it's about the only bar in the whole town I live in that's worth visiting because of a picture round in the pub quiz where the answer was "Raiders of the Lost Ark" and I got a point deducted because according to the other team "It's 'Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark' are you stupid or something!"

I'll have to stop talking about that now it's getting me angry again.

Anyway after Abba-mania had been on, and the Amazonian Blonde wigged one had managed to play on inspite of being attacked by a wasp, the show drew ot an end and it was time to head back, after a minor incident with me managing to lose my car keys yet again we ended up heading off to Sheffield to the Memorial Hall for the Last Laugh. Jonathan was compereing and it was great as I got to hang out with Sarah Millican, who's a good friend but someone I don't get to see often enough, and Simon Bligh who I've not seen for ages.

The gig was fine though Jonathan freaked out a little at the beginning but I did my boxing trainer thing of psyching him up to be in the perfect place for the gig, I was the Burgess Meridith's Micky Goldmill to his Rocky Balboa. and he did the job really well, the gig was lovely and then I headed back to Manchester, to Vanilla, and then to Poptastic before finally dropping people off and climbing into bed at 6, setting my alarm for 10:30 and drifing off to sleep.

Jonathan woke me eventually at 11:30 and after a berrocca a shower and some tea I headed over to Duncan Oakley's house for the run through to his first Edinburgh show the '68 Bumcrack Special, it's looking like a great show and I'm excited to be a part of it, and I don't get to hang out with Duncan enough so I'm really looking forward to it, and it's one of those things where it feels like now we've done a tech run it's starting to get real.

The fact that 48 hours from now I'll be in Edinburgh is also making it feel like it's time to start shitting it, but I've got some simple rules sorted out which I'll put in a post tomorrow before I head out to do the first run through of my 2008 Edinburgh Show "beth becomes her" which I'm doing in front of a group of selected non-comedy friends as they'll be able to give me better initial feedback on what they want from the story. One year before I'll hopefully be taking it to Edinburgh, I know few people this organised.

anyway it's late, I'm tired so I'll bid you all good night.

I love you all

BB xXx

It's 00:20 Friday night/Saturday Morning. I should be out dancing like a twat, perving over all the young and sexy things out in one of the myriad clubs within a 4 mile radius of my current location.

I'm not, I'm sat in Chorlton in Manchester at my Friend Rosie's, which is the only place I seem to be able to guarantee internet access at the moment. As of Wednesday though I think it's going to become even more difficult as I head up to Edinburgh, though on Tuesday I'll post a blog with my Edinburgh intentions and rules.

It's this week I want to talk to you about. After I posted the last blog I started to realise I wasn't feeling very well, an hour later I was unable to move from the couch, I thought I had food poisoning, but I don't know what it actually was, it felt like Food poisoning mixed with the 'flu, by mid afternoon I was delirious. The first time I'd had a house to myself in bohemian Chorlton, home of the Manchester lesbians, and I'm stuck, lying on a couch feeling ill.

The week picked up after that as I was feeling a bit better the next day and managed to buy myself the new Harry Potter book. Ok the rest of the weekend was a write-off after that, though the book was great, like Anne Frank's diary, if she'd had an over active imagination.

From Monday I've not really been out of the car for more than a few hours at a time, Monday was my gig at Vanilla. I love this gig so much, for the audience and the friends I've made because of it as much as for the serious amount of fun it is to organise and play there every month. Oddly enough about half of my compereing this month came from me doing versions of the stuff I've written on here (though made a hell of a lot funnier, well some of it was) and though the night overran it was loads of fun.

I really think that this gig's been good for me, for the first time in my life I've got a group of lesbian friends who I can hang out with and who have nothing to do with comedy. I think that that's healthy. The other thing that's good for me is that I'm aware that I'm still not very good at bantering, so as a result I've had to write at least 20 minutes of new stuff every month. Most of it's shite and doesn't work very well, but there's always at least a minute or two of stuff that can be used in my main set.

Another reason I love my gig was because of something that happened after the gig finished. The line up for the night was Jason Cook opening, Rachel Fairburn and Debbie Lee doing short spots (Rachel is excellent, anyone reading thhis who's up in Edinburgh for the festival should go and check her out when she's in the So You Think You're Funny? Semi Finals, and hopefully finals.) Jo Dakin providing main support and Jonathan Mayor headlining.

I am fully aware I overbooked the gig. I'm also aware that as a result of the smoking ban I wasn't aware of how long the breaks needed to be. The night went on for ages. But everyone had fun. Jason Ripped it, Rachel did well, Jo ripped it and Jonathan was every bit the headliner, though half way through his set some fag-hag hanging around with her pretty boy hairdresser friends wandered in and realised that in a lesbian bar she wasn't getting the attention she thought she deserved and made a tool of herself by heckling him.

Now Jonathan dealt with her, and carried on his gig. But it's what happened after the gig that made it special. A number of audience members approached her and her friends and made it perfectly clear that they weren't welcome and that trying to ruin their comedy night isn't on. And the group left after one drink.

Tuesday started, as it does with me waking up smiling. after a quick cup of tea I headed off over to Jonathan Mayor's house, I was driving him to Llangollen in Wales for a gig at the Llangollen fringe "Fringe with a Tinge" which was the culmination of a documentary series he's been doing for ITV.com which you can see here. anyway as I got in the car I realised I'd left my Sat Nav at Vanilla the previous night, this was going to be an arse as I was not only off to Llangollen today, but North London tomorrow, anyway too late to do anything about it now.

So as you can imagine we get horribly lost but the north wales country side was lovely. eventually I decided to head back to Wrecsam and ask there if anyone can tell us how to get to Llangollen and there was a lovely woman in the co-op who helped us and right then, as we were by this point two hours late to meet up with the film crew I could have kissed her and proposed marriage.

most of the day from then on for me was spent waiting around for the crew to finish filming and for the gig to start. It was a fun gig, even though I wasn't performing I had lots of fun, I've not seen Zoe Lyons since last August in Edinburgh and she was brilliant, Barbara Nice was great as usual. After the show Jonathan and I went to the local wine bar with the festival directors and a couple of audience members and the film crew and it was great fun. The people of the town were really welcoming and friendly. Eventually driving home at 3 in the morning I was tired and hungry but had a feeling of satisfaction at another day of maing sure that I was just living and having fun as much as possible.

Wednesday started with my alarm going off at 9:30. Tired I managed to get out of bed and make a cup of tea and have a shower, I've go a new haircut that takes some doing first thing. It kind of makes me look like a Manga character, it's all spikes and punkiness with really short bits in places, it's difficult to describe, it's crazy lesbian hair really, but trying to get it done without a hairdryer was a bit of a nightmare. I headed off into town a little while afte that, as I'd left my sat nav at Vanilla I got Alex, one of the assistant managers to get it for me and we met up for a coffee and a chat, it was great fun we then spent part of the afternoon making in the bear factory, or bear workshop, I don't know what it's called, but it's in the arndale, making a teddy bear for her girlfriend's birthday, we then dressed it like a lesbian, becuase we found that amusing. We also spent a while stood round just outside the arndale because there was a group of cheerleaders there doing some kind of performance. To be honest I think they were excited about performing and looking forward to hot guys staring at them, I think they were less impressed byt eh two predatory lesbians who seemed to be giving them even more attention than anyone else.

I eventually headed back to my car and drove off down to London to do the Hellfire club in Mornington Crescent. It's a lovely gig and the set up made it look slightly gothy, with a touch of Victoriana and with the union flag tied to the mic stand it had a hint of Aerosmith to the proceedings.

after downing a half pint of water with a couple of berrocca in it I was called up on stage and did a short spot with some new stuff that I wrote for monday for Vanilla along with some other slightly older stuff and I managed to break away from material to start trying to banter with the audience, I've been trying this more and more with limited success so far but I think I'm starting to make some headway with it and it was a lot easier tonight than on previous occasions. I leave the stage to rapturous applause and I really felt good about the gig, there were ways I could have done better, I tripped over a couple of words and got the timing wrong on a few things but overall it was a brilliant gig.

The downside to the gig was that the person I was supposed to be staying with wasn't on the bill and I couldn't get hold of her so as the gig drew to a close I realised I'd have a long journey back up to Manchester ahead of me. I also realised that I was getting short of cash. I've finally over the last few months managed to get to a point where I don't have to do a day job anymore, but I'm still having to be really really careful with money and at this point on Wednesday night I was using the last £20 in my account to put some fuel into the car to get me home. I reckoned I'd be hitting Manchester at about 3:30 so I called some friends to see if I could stop at theirs. I couldn't go to my sister's as if I did then I'd not have enough fuel to get to Mancehster the next day for a gig. Unfortunately everyone I called was either just off to bed, had already gone to bed and so wasn't answering or had people staying over and so had no space for me.

I started driving anyway. I love playing in London, aside from last time I was there, I've always had really good gigs in London, but I hate staying there for any longer than is absolutely neccessary. 6 and a half years ago I left tehre having just suffered a nervous breakdown and was heavily medicated and destroying myself through drink and self-harm, I think I've got reason not to want to stay there longer than I have to.

By Birmingham I was nearly falling asleep at the wel adn the redbull and slaps to the face were stopping being as effective at keeping me awake as they should be, so I mad e a judgement call and decided to stop in Crewe at my unfinished flat.

At 3:30 I pulled up outside and tried to sneak in with a bag and head up to my room. My landlady had told me not to stop there until after August Bank holiday weekend, but I was desparate. as I got to the top of the stairs I saw why, there were two double matresses blocking the landing and a pin board leaned up against them making my ability to get to my room without making a sound totally impossible.

I was as quiet as I could be right into my room where I found a partially disassembled bed lying on top of my bed, so I tried to move it and stack the wooden slats up against the wall in silence. It worked, well, for the first couple of them. then it all fell apart and one wooden slat fell and hit another which hit another which then knocked over a book case. None of this was silent.

I eventually managed to climb into bed and started to drift off to sleep hoping that I wouldn't get woken in the same fashion as last time I stayed here when my landlady walked into the room and started questioning me about why I was there. At 5:30 I finally passed out.

9am I wake up wiht my landlady stood next to my bed with a pot of white paint in one hand and a paintbrush in the other, I scream "please don't paint me!" before I've even figured out that I'm awake yet. She asks me some questions and I answer them the best I can even though I'm not yet awake and apologise for sleeping there. she doesn't seem to mind that much but decides to tell me that I owe some money for the gas and electircity bill. Fortunately I've enough presence of mind not to say "thank fuck you've not seen the phone bill then!" and soon enough she leaves me alone and I manage to go back to sleep... for half an hour before she phones me to tell me that the £388 I thought was my deposit and summer rent was actually my summer rent and last term's rent, so I did have to pay the bills and I wasn't going to get a deposit back in the near future. "Oh and Sarah's in residence at the old house." This was the last thing I wanted to hear.

I'd moved out of my old house and was pissed off at the state it'd been left in by my other flatmates, I'd tried to help out with the final clear up and then I'd had to go off to Glastonbury and left them to finish off cleaning. They didn't, and so when I got back I had to spend another two days cleaning up and moving house. After the discussion I'd had with Sarah about how it'd been over a year since we split up and I still wasn't getting over her, I'd decided that it would be best if once I'd moved out we didn't contact each other, at least until I'd managed to get over her, and I know that the only way that this would happen was if I started seeing someone else and started to fall for them. shortly after this incident over the clean up I'd sent her some angry text messages, and then deleted every text she'd sent me. then I deleted every photo on my phone of her, and then every photo I've got of her, then I burned the letters she'd written me along with the valentine's card she'd sent. Essentially she'd been edited. I've edited people before, it's ususally after they fuck me over for a second time. But this was slightly different. I'd done it and started to feel good about myself, I've started to notice when people fancy me too, and I've finally got over the mental block I've had for nearly a year.

The mental block I've had is this; Sarah's new Girlfriend likes a lot of the same things that I do, rockabilly, surf guitar, psychobilly, punk, tattoos, motorbikes, Americana, B-movies, Zombies etc. and as a result of this for the last year I've hated them, I hated them with all my heart, I even got to the point where I was considering not checking for motorbikes when I pull out at a junction on the off chance I might run over her. And then in the last two weeks I've finally got my head round to liking them again.

Then suddenly I find out she's back. I drift back off to sleep but when I wake I'm plagued with thoughts of phoning her. I get up and realise there's no milk in the house so I head over the street to the shop. it's 3 in the afternoon and I've been awake for less than five minutes, I've still got most of last night's make-up on and my hair is the most spectacular mess of bed-head you've ever seen. A combination of Mohok, with an elvis quiff and a sid vicious spikey side and a shaved side, dressed all in black and wearing a 1950's bikers jacket. the kids in the shop all point and giggle at me as I wander in and get the milk, I feel I have to explain to the woman behind the counter that I work nights and have only just got up and need a brew.

I head home and have a couple of cups of tea whilst I sort my head out. I can't stop thinking about phoning her. The Mormon's call at the door asking after my flatmate. I've stopped at the flat twice and they've called twice, this time they had a baldy scary looking man with them, they seemed really really displeased and worried that I've answered the door, especially when I go to get my flatmate and give them the non-descript excuse "she can't come to the door right now, she says she's busy. She's got someone in there." I know she's been bored over the summer sitting in the flat on her own but I think that making friends with these guys is going a little too far.

I eventually get the last of the stuff that I eed for Edinburgh from my flat and head on out to manchester, I grab a shower at Dug's and head off to Trof in the Northern Quarter for the gig.

It looks like it'll be hell, it's packed with works leaving do's and just lots and lots of people who don't seem to be there for the comedy, but as the show starts they settle down and are a lovely intelligent audience. again I step to the plate and do what I did the previous night, something in my delivery's changed though I don't know what, I think that it's just become more natural, whatever it is it works and I storm the gig, that's two in a row now, as the middle section closes Kev the MC hands round a bucket for the punters to make a contribution, later I get handed £10 in loose change. It's paid, and that's the main thing.

Towards the end of Mike Newell's set the Smoking terrace is closed an the mad woman from outside who was trying to explain to me that the Queen's a reptile and that the Illuminati and the Free Masons control everything and that the CIS tower is an obelisk without the capstone, that the all seeing eye is on us and that tower is controlling our thoughts; decides that this is the best time to heckle and the evening gets weird, Mike dealt with her really well.

I head off to meet up with Bex and Lorna in Didsbury and we go for a drink, and tlak about our day. Lorna it turns out has now got some really impressive bruises from her fall off her bike, and Bex's presentation went well, we've only time for a quick drink and then it's time to say fair well as I head over ot Dug's house where I sit with him and Michael J Dolan Britain's Favourite Funnyman(tm) and Ben Schofield. the day had its ups and downs but I feel like I managed to make my way through it with the minimum of fuss. I look forward to my day off.

that day off was today which was a day filled with foreboding like I've forgotten to do something, though it started on a high when I got a text from Rosie saying she'd received an email from Oldham Pride and that I will be getting paid for my gig there. I'd decided to do it anyway, because if there's one place in this country that needs a pride parade it's Oldham.

I was talking with Tony Burgess about that the other week, he lives there and said "they treat anything short of punching someone with suspicion, I got called a poof for recycling. the other day some kid was like "you fucking poof" and I was like "what've I done?" and he was "Fucking poof you've got a cat"."

It's 2:30 now and in 12 hours the parade will be in full swing, and it's an honour to be part of the first ever Oldham Pride Parade and the performing afterwards, even if I am apprehensive about it being a bit dangerous. Oldham has a huge BNP presence, one of the largest in the country. Whatever happens I know it'll be fun and worth doing.

Anyway, time to head off to bed I think. I hope you've enjoyed reading this. If not then you could have quit at anytime and I'd be none the wiser.

until I next get to a computer

I love you all

BB xXx

Well as it happens I've stopped naming my blogs using song lyircs as someone else one here (chortle for those of you reading this on my myspace) is naming their blogs in the same way, only using less obscure lyrics, and now I feel a little foolish doing so.

I think I've lost my funny. it's been a few weeks since I had a gig, July's always bad for that but this time seems to be worse, and I know that it's the calm before the storm as I'm off to Edinburgh at the end of next week. But I've been trying to find ways of making the story about me getting touched up and then making the man who did it cry, and I can't except for making completely over the top and silly threats. as well as that I've had to start writing new stuff for my show in October and I've not been able to figure out a way to make some of the serious stuff funny in any way yet.

I'm sure it'll happen, just need to let go and it'll be funny.

I went to see John Bishop's Edinburgh show this week, "Stick your job up your arse" and it was brilliant, though I couldn't help thinking of the 14 jobs I got fired from or walked out of in 2004 that made me realise that I had no choice but to do comedy as it's the only thing I've ever been good at, and the only thing I cen stick at without getting bored and self sabbotaging. Teh show was a couple of long and very funny stories which told the true story of his finding comedy as a way of making a living. It was fantastic and very useful for me.

I'm currently housesitting for my friend Rosie Lugosi, Manchester's lesbian Vamipre Queen. and her house is exactly as you would expect, and it's ace I love it. Though it does make my mind hate me more than usual.

I've mentioned this before but my mind saobtages me when I'm in a scary place, or on my own, in fact, about every ten minutes or so it comes up with something scary that I then panic about. I was thinking about that this morning and I think it's part of why I'm a Goth and why I have an obsession with horror, and the Gothick, because in my head if I'm a scary thing then I've got less to fear from the actual scary things that are out there.

This doesn't work. Anyway last night Dug was here with me having a cup of tea and we were sat in the house and heard the gentle plinky plonky sound of a musical box, I think it was coming from next door, but even with the two of us here it was scary and unsettling. Then when I went outside for a cigarette I saw a bat flying low overhead. it all adds to the atosphere of the place. Back over at Dug's later that evening I was saying how I was worried that my mind would turn on me when I got back here, even though it's beautiful and exactly to my taste it's like a house from a horror film, and knowing that Rosie's door was open and that as I went to bed I'd see her coffin in her room that it would tweak my overly active brain.

Dolan however, had a solution to that, "what you should do is, go up the stairs slowly and carefully and concentrate on your breathing then walk down the corridor to the room and slowly applroach the coffin, reaching your hand out slowly and then as you touch it open it in one fast go giving yourself a little scare before you see that it's empty." I followed that up with , "Yeah, and then get attacked by whatever's behind me that's been hiding in the room."

I didn't. I just tried to get from the front door to bed without looking at anything and thinking about nice things. Fortunately I'd watched Ghost rider on DVD earlier in the night so nothing would be scary after that. It's terrible, though nicholas cage is visibly acting his hardest to try and get it up from the status of utter shite, and Eva Mendes just looks bored throughout it.

right I've got things to be doing, I can't hang around chatting all day.

I love you all

BB xXx

GHB is nasty stuff and about the only drug in the world to make me puke my guts up and then some.

Anyone who describes you as looking like a testicle with the face of a pig, whilst being very very funny indeed, is not your friend.

And that I really don't like passive-aggressive people, they bring out the worst parts of my character.

Don't judge me, you weren't there.

The last thing you expect when you're opening a 'fridge at 2 in the morning is omeone leaing over your shoulder and incessantly repeating the phrase "Fist-fucking, fist-fucking"

I love you all (except the passive aggressive ones, you can fuck off.)

BB xXx

Well that's it, as a last minute thing I finally was persuaded to do my first hour show at this year's Manchester comedy festival which is in October, but the deadline for the brochure and stuff is Wednesday. So today I headed down to Vanilla to sort out dates.

It's going to be on 29th October, the last night of the Festival, and it's essentially the story of my life, but without the dreary bits, I know how egomaniacal that is, but to be fair I've had quite a bizarre life, and where I go stuff seems to happen, like the eye of a weridness storm.

So that's it, sorted, Now I just have to get on with writing the Bloody thing.

That is all for this evening, I'm going to watch some TV :D

I love you all

BB xXx

This is a short blog about the last two days which, have been a bit of a weird one. I was just reading my friend Alex Valentine's Blog and there was thing on there about people thinking it's alright to give her shit because she works in a gay bar in Manchester's Gay village, and they used her picture for one of their posters. It's essentially people who feel insecure about themselves and their place in the world having a go at someone they think has too much self confidence or a higher social status and that they can either take the abuse (not criticism, it's usually abusive in an attempt to make the person they're attacking feel small whilst they feel big). And it raises a valid point. I get that quite a lot too, from people who've seen me perform who come up to me when I'm out with friends and go "You're Bethany Black that comedian aren't you?" Yes, yes I am. "I saw you the other week, you're shit." and they think that that doesn't hurt, well these days it doesn't, but it used to, though I have infinately more respect for them than people on Myspace who send me messages, ususally from an account with a handful of friends and no picture of themself on the page hiding behind anonymity who give me abuse, it's cowardice of the highest order.

I can take criticism. I know not everything I do is for everyone and there will be people who dislike what I do and even hate me as a person based on what they've seen me do on stage, I know that and that's no biggie, whilst I'd love it if everyone got everything I try to do on stage and either take it as the silliness it's meant to be or enjoyed the underlying message of love acceptance and tollerance that I try to put in to some of my stuff or just laugh at the silly cow on stage and the embarrassing stories she tells glad that it's not them who shit themselves in public. If everyone got everthing I did I'd storm every venue I played and be able to pack out theatres by now and be well on my way to getting a DVD and a TV series. But it's not like that, comedy is subjective and one man's Bernard Manning is another man's Stewart Lee. I'm aware of this.

What I find funny though is the people who come on here and find me, after having seen me perform or just find the page and watch the videos and decide to send me a message telling me I'm shit, I got on about a year ago from someone telling me they'd seen me perform at Glastonbury and that I was shit, really really awful, that, after a year they'd found me, remembered me perform and then taken the time to send me that message suggests anything but the point that they were trying to make. There's a thousand comics out there who could for most of the general public blend into one, that I stood out enough for them to remember me and feel strongly enough about it to message me shows that I'm doing something right, you should always have a healthy supply of enemies and nay sayers it keeps you on your toes trying to be better than you are.

Then today I got a message from someone who hides behind a cartoon picture with no pictures of himself on his myspace page, calling himself Jolly and from Leeds and the message read like this: "You are so, so not funny! Yawn..... out with another cliche aftet that last one, eh? And the one shortly before that! Oh well, I suppose we can say bless you for trying..."

Why would you feel like that sort of thing needs to be said? There is no reason except to make yourself feel important or big, it's real Charlie Big Spuds behaviour especially to send that whilst hiding behind the anonymity that the internet provides.

Normally I'd just let these pass as they're not worth my time or effort to deal with. But here's where the story of last night comes in to this.

I was out at Vanilla after foing to a poetry night in Leeds, which was great but made me realise that there are just as many delusional no hopers in the open mic poetry nights as there are in the open mic comedy nights which was soothing to know, and also that there's the self confidence bell curve, that up to a point people develop self confidence if they're good, but above a certain point the self confidence someone displays about their work is inversely proportionate to the actual quality of the work. Which is why you see some people who are so incredibly confident in what they do that their work's shit, anyone who describes themselves as "a Genius" clearly isn't, just like you've all got one friend with a face like a bucket of smashed crabs and no social skills who unshakably believes that they're gorgeous and has the self confidence to back that up and so they're the one who does all the chatting up of people whilst you cry yourself to sleep alone on your sister's couch wondering why it is that you're so lonely. Ok, maybe that's jsut me, but I'm sure it's true for certain values of truth within a level of variance.

I forget my point, but after this night I'd gone to Vanilla and got talking to some people and we were having a laugh, then it came to throwing out time, and there was a sleazy guy who appeared to be in there on his own and tried rubbing up against a couple of my friends which I didn't see but was told about later as eventually Alex went and got Claire the bouncer to chuck him out.

Outside we stood round having a laugh, Alex, her girlfriend Emma, the DJ (sorry I totally forgot your name I'll ask and amend this as soon as I know) and her girlfriend, and me and it was loads of fun, then they set off and I was going to Give Alex and Emma a lift home, as we started walking down the side street to where my car was parked the guy who'd been frotteuring around in the bar earlier appeared to be following us, and then he got really close. Then I went to get into my car, which was parked about 18 inches from a wall and there was loads of space on the other side. he came up the side that I was stood on next to the wall, I smiled and said "Looks like you've made an error!"

A split second later he had when he grabbed my arse on his way past. I've said before I'll not be frightened to walk on my streets, and the streets of any town are my streets, just as they're your streets, and we all havew the right to be able to walk them wtihout fear. Ok I'm fully aware that this is an opinion that if I see it through might well lead to me getting stabbed one night, but if that happens so be it I will, in the meantime have made some anti-social arseholes think twice about their behaviour.

He walked past as if nothing had happened, right up until the moment I booted him in the hoop. at which point he stopped and turned round as I shouted at him "Don't you dare grab my arse!" he started to defend himself saying I was lying and then I squared up to him bringing myself up to my full height and broadening myself out, a bigger target psychologically makes the smaller target scared, which worked as he started screaming at me telling me I was an ugly bitch and that he didn't need to grab my arse as he had a beautiful girlfriend at home. Sure, sure he did, that's why he spent the evening getting drunk and rubbing himself up against lesbians. Arsehole. He told me if I didn't stop calling him a liar he'd punch me in the face. To be honest the way I roll that'd be a slightly sexier prospect than being touched up, though not by him. Alex made a show of calling the police to tell them what was going on, and I suggested he could stay here and face a charge of harrassment and sexual assault or he could go home. He continued calling me a liar and saying about his girlfriend at home and then called me a racist, and that I was only saying this because he was Asian.

I wouldn't back down and told him that I wasn't doing this because of his race but because he was a prick. Eventually he burst into tears and ran off.

I waited to get into the car, and eventually Alex said "Yeah, we can go, I didn't actually call the police." Followed by "you made a grown man cry!"

On the drive back to their house we talked about this and I apologised, I shouldn't have got angry, and I shoudn't have shouted or got as aggressive as I did, what made it worse was that it came after the conversation earlier in the evening had got onto fights that I've ended up in, including me punching a hippy into the worst acid trip of his life afte he stole my hat at glastonbury, which was at 6 in the morning on the day of the solstace leaving the sacred space of the greenfield feeling spiritually calm enhanced by industrial quantities of MDMA, not the perfect recipie for a fight I'll grant you, but on that occasion one that worked for me.

All the way home I thought up different scenarios, I thought up the things I could have said that would have made me sound cool and funny off the cuff. L'esprit d'escalier the French call it, the spirit of the staircase, those moments after an argument when your brain's caught up and told you what you should have said. It's a horrible thing. But if you're a comedian, it's very useful, because you know for next time, and in this case, by the time I talk about it on stage, it will be what actually happened.

So in summary, don't fuck with me, I'm beligerent and don't feel embarrassment of shame and won't take shit without giving it back.

Here endeth the lesson.

well I've been away for a while, and I'm currently kind of homeless, I've not slept in a bed for a month now, and had little time to get online. Though about a month ago I tried to post a blog about what I'd been up to, which I'll tell the story of now. How frightfully postmodern of me, I'm writing a blog about writing a blog.

Essentially I was trying to catch up on some of what I'd been up to and was writing about the gig I'd done at the Bracknell comedy cellar a couple of weeks earlier. It was the day after the Doctor Who Episode "Blink" was shown which had a cameo from fellow Chortle Blogger Ray Peacock. It was a great episode and was very scary, especially watching it in my parents house at 3 in the morning up on the Pennine moors alone in a house that I've mentioned before terrifies me. The episode was made all the more terrifying with the statues that move only when you're not looking at them by the fact that the reveal of how scary their faces are when a statue on my parents mantle piece fell off making a loud noise. A new pair of knickers was needed as my active imagination went into overdrive.

So the next night alone in that house with all the statues in the house facing a full length mirror to stop them from attacking me I sat down to write a blog about the gig. After about 1,000 words on the subject and during a pause to think about the moving statues again there was a power cut in the house.

Now, I'm terrified of the dark and so I did what any 28 year-old hard as nails independent woman would do. screamed and ran from the house got into my car and headed over to my friend Dug's house.

Anyway the blog I was writing was a little bit like this.

The Bracknell Comedy Cellar has become one of my favourite gigs after just one performance. It's a lovely gig with a fantastic audience and Katherine who booked me for it was about as close to how the idea promoter should be, virtually the Platonic form of the Comedy Promoter, between her and the other staff I turned up and was made to feel like I was an old friend who was invited for an evening out and was just asked to do a little party piece and talk to the room of people for a short time.

What made the gig that little bit extra special for me was something about the audience, on one side of the stage was a table of lesbians which always makes me happy and lets me know that this gig is going to be a good one. Most of the time unless you fulfill the audience's expectation of what a stand-up should be: male, 25-35, wearing a t-shirt and jeans and talking about wanking, star wars and why their girlfriend left them, then you've got to work to get them on side and address what they think as you go on stage where all they've got to judge you on is how you look, along with an audience's prejudice that "women aren't funny". This is just how it is, and it's a perception that I try to break every time I go on stage. Essentially unless you're a known female comic who they've seen on TV or heard on radio and have sold tickets for the show on the back of your name being on the bill you've got to be twice as funny as any of the guys ont he bill and work twice as hard to get the same response.

Knowing that there's a lesbian contingent in the audience makes it a home game, they're ususally on my side before I even get on stage. So I'm nicely relaxed, also as I'm waiting to go on stage I can see a large 18th birthday party sat round a table, they seem lovely and just happy to be out at a gig like this and sat with them are two girls who appear to be together, but they're doign that "trying to show affetion for each other though scared of what the reaction of others would be" that you see so many gay couples doing in straight environments. The slight touch of the knee, the occasionall stolen look, moving your partner's hair out of their eyes with a smile. It made me smile seeing them, and then my name was called and I took to the stage brandishing the rampant rabbit vibrator, that goes everywhere with me, above my head.

It's the first gig I've done in a while aside from a new material night the previous night in front of a handful of people, and I'm a little nervy but I don't think it shows, and I have a great time managing to banter and ad lib a bit with the audience which I've been trying to do more and more often and am getting better at. I come off stage to a fantastic response and feel so good about what I've done. But the best thing about the gig happened about ten minutes later.

I'd been outside having a cigarette and had been asked to do the Reading Pride festival and as I was walking trhough the bar I saw the two girls who now seemed to be a lot more overt that they were together, beaming smiles and a fuck you attitude to anyone who might think less of them for it. It's little things like that that are the reason I do what I do, and it made me feel good.

So yes, I'll be catching up on what I've done over the next few days whilst I've got internet acess, so you've got Glastonbury, my gig, the death of Bernard Manning, Gay gigs and why I love Jonathan Mayor and The Funny Women Competition to look forward to as well as the story of what's gone on in my life outside comedy, the moving house the parties and the reasons I've had to put part of my life firmly in the past forever.

Until then I love you all with all my heart.

BB xXx