Everyone @ Chortle

I wrote this in response to a fairly sensationalist news article I read on the BBC website yesterday. It's not funny, nor trying to be light-hearted. I'm genuinely interested in the sociological impact of what we do.

Comedy and Social Responsibility

This weekend a comic was booed off stage for making jokes in Liverpool about Madeline Mcann and Rhys Jones. It’s quickly become a much-read national news story with good reason; it’s about a comedian getting it wrong in a profoundly ham-fisted manner as well as concerning a current and ongoing emotive news story.
On the face of it, it’s ethically unequivocal. You would have to have a fairly skewed moral compass to think that telling those jokes in those circumstances was appropriate or right.
The issue of what is or isn’t appropriate for a stand-up comedian to say is raised with numbing regularity: sadly, large-scale tragedies occur on an almost monthly basis and wherever there is tragedy, there will be a queue of people writing jokes about it. Bad taste jokes do the rounds by email and text message, and some comics choose to talk about them on stage. The question that is always asked is ‘are there any subjects are inappropriate for comedy?’ But this is the wrong question to ask.
In private or among friends, you judge the jokes you make by the company you keep. If you’re down the pub and one of your friends is in tears about a family death, I think it’s easy to agree that to crack a joke about that subject would be morally wrong. Having said that, it’s commonplace for groups of friends to make wildly offensive jokes to each other in the knowledge that everyone will understand your true views on the matter and that what you are saying is heavily laced with irony.
This is very different, however, from being a stand-up comedian. As a club comic you don’t know anybody in your audience, and in most cases they don’t know you either. All stand-up comedians before they go on stage will make certain judgements about an audience, but ultimately this speculation is spurious: on any given evening you have no idea who is in your audience and what their particular opinions and tastes might be.
When a comic sits down to prepare for a gig (sorry to spoil the illusion, but we don’t just make it all up on the spot), the starting point is a blank page, and the subjects on which you can write comedy are infinite: your only remit is that the output is, by and large, funny. The boundaries regarding taste and decency are arbitrary, subjective and self-imposed.
I am firmly of the belief that no topics should be off limits for comedy, but what is important is the way in which you deal with the subject matter. Just because a topic is tragic, either personally or globally, it should not be taboo. World War Two was among the greatest tragedies of the civilised world and there was an abundance of jokes belittling Hitler and the Nazis. Some people deal with personal tragedy with humour, and it actually helps them to process an emotionally difficult experience. Crucially though, that is their choice.
The death or abduction of children should not be off limits for comedy per se. To give an example, I can’t imagine any comedy audience feeling morally outraged at a piece of material regarding the Pied Piper of Hamelin. It all comes down to a question of judgement. If you make a crass or offensive joke with the intention of actually causing offence, then you don’t deserve the valuable public platform that stand-up comedy provides: people have come out to a comedy club with the purpose of laughing, not to be offended. Besides, if you persist in deliberately trying to say things that people genuinely don’t want to hear your career in comedy will be short-lived. Case in point: I can’t imagine many comedy clubs will be on the phone today trying to book the act who blundered at the weekend in Liverpool.
I believe in the case of the gig in Liverpool last weekend it was genuinely a case of misjudgement rather than malice: a terrible idea, badly executed and punished by the audience.
Yet for all the offence caused, it actually displays one of the finest points of stand-up comedy: the right of the audience to interact with the performer and express immediate and forceful disapproval. It is emphatically and instantly democratic. It’s a chance for people who care to actively express their empathy for the people affected by the tragedies, and that can’t be all bad.
No topics should be off limits to a comedian; that live comedy isn’t censored is a sign of a healthy and civilised society. But as a comic should you choose to talk about real life tragedy, you have an obligation to display a degree of social responsibility. Ultimately it’s worth remembering that you’re in a comedy club. It’s meant to be fun.

It's a long way to St Andrews. It's especially arduous when a bridge has collapsed across the train tracks (how could they not see it coming? It's a fucking bridge!).
I would, however, implore anyone who has the chance to avail themselves of the wanton kindness of the St Andrews Students Union.
Firstly, a wonderful hotel; luxurious yet still small enough to be personal. Apples and shortbread on arrival and someone employed to go into your room at about 6pm to close your curtains for you. I'm never closing my own curtains again. Bathrobes of just the perfect size and fluffiness (you'll notice the plural - that's right - a morning and evening bathrobe). I paraded around the room feeling like Tony Soprano for a good couple of hours.
The sandwiches provided pre-gig were modest, as was the plate of mango and blueberries. We mentioned this in passing, so a gentleman (in the truest sense of the word) was sent out to fetch us a selection of eleven separate takeaway menus. We plumped for Thai, and I decided in a moment of sheer decadence to have the scallops.
The Thai Restaurant turned out to be closed, and so our food caddy, using his initiative, went to a nearby Indian restaurant and ordered the closest possible equivalent foodstuffs.
On his return, we were confronted with a box of assorted curries that was so large it was a struggle to lift. With no exaggeration it felt like an all you can eat buffet.
This was followed up with a steady stream of beer, and all neatly topped off the next day by a lift to the station.
The standard has well and truly been set.

There has been a major lack of posting this week, for which I apologise. This has partly been to do with carting myself around the country for gigs as the comedy season is getting into full swing again.

I've been to some very nice areas and had one particularly nice gig which took place in a big tent out the back of a pub in Bradford Upon Avon. This Bradford in not like the Bradford and thus has no curries or racists, and is all rather twee and nice. We had a rather hazardous trip to the gig due to traffic and a motorway 'incident'. I always find the term 'incident' rather ominous. Its the sort of term middle class people use if a pet has shat on the carpet - 'Fluffy's had an incident'. It seems highly demeaning to use that same term to describe a car that has gone up in flames and people that have possibly burned to death.

So during the hellish journey, when one of my fellow acts rang the gig, we found out it was going to be in a tent. Now our immediate thoughts were 'oh god, this will be crap'. My only other tent gig experience was my not great set at Bestival, and the tent we were heading to was definitely not festival size. All the panic lights were going and we continued in the frame of mind that we would have to plough on through and take a bullet for the team. On arrival though, it was a huge tent with a regular comedy savvy crowd who enjoyed every gag we all said and wanted us to stay for the beerfest that weekend. What could be nicer than that sort of reception?

The bizarre thing about this was that while the unsure gig in the tent was great, a gig earlier in the week in a nice seeming pub, was truly bad. There was a nice crowd, it was a nice place and from that you'd think it would be a cinch. However, what was completely wrong was the room. Some people scoff if an act blames their gig on the room, but it plays a massive factor. At this gig, the audience were on all three sides of you, so wherever you turned, you ignored one side. This wouldn't have been so bad if there weren't loads of pillars blocking the view everywhere and the stage hadn't been so far away from everyone. Essentially an atmosphere could not be created, let alone developed on.

I was a drama student some years ago and regularly the idea that the space was important would appear. I became increasingly bored with 'finding a space and making it become something' and tired of reading dull book's such as Peter Brook's 'The Empty Space'. Ironically its only since doing stand-up I've realised how vital to a good gig it really is. Sadly many promoters still don't. Or perhaps don't care. All it takes is finding the right place for the stage, lights for focus and the audience close together. I've been to gigs where the weirdest room has become nice because it was set out right. Yet at the same time I've been to rooms that could have been good but were placed all wrong, as well as many many venues that should never have had comedy there in the first place. This includes a mic on a carpet in front of a fire place in an estate pub, a massive dome with ceilings so high people could've parachuted in, a venue where most people are in separate rooms watching you on a TV (why not just stay at home and watch TV?) and anywhere outdoors ever (with the exception of performing on Arthur's Seat in Edinburgh because that was ace). I simply suggest that there should be some sort of list that promoters have to check before running a gig in a place. It can include questions such as: 1) Can the audience see the act? 2) Are the front row of the audience more than 5ft away from the stage? 3) Are there livestock running around during the show? and things to that effect. A 5 minute checklist could save hours of pain for comics for years to come. I might send round a memo.

The other reason there has been a lack of blog this week is because on Monday, my girlfriend and I acquired two small kittens called Bella and Rosie. They are 12 weeks old, very small, and already adapt at ruining our living room with scratches and poos. Strangely they have the ability to make the small space that is our flat very full of humour on a daily basis and thus its very hard to get anything done. There is little more entertaining than watching a tiny animal chase its own tail for half an hour. Not only is that distracting, but Bella (who is all black. Rosie is a grey tabby) seems to really enjoy sleeping across the laptop keys while I'm trying to type. Handy. And so little will now happen until they grow a bit and keep themselves busy without providing me with hundreds of cheap youtube moments. Right now I must leave this blog here as they are trying to chew through the electric cables on the TV. While the cruel of you might think that it would be a quick way to stop them from distracting me if I allow them to continue, I think I'll be nice and gently remove them from near death because I'm nice like that.

Bonobo Presents gig tonight - a variety night at Cafe Royal. Which is a very fancy place. So fancy that as I walked in from Regents Street, watching 8 similar (so I thought) people walk in in front of me, with no problem but a tip of the hat from the doormen... I meanwhile get doorstepped by the doormen, asking me if they can help me. I say I'm doing a comedy gig here, they let me in. How could they tell I didn't belong there? They let the others walk in with no problem, and I was dressed no different. Nice jacket, pressed white shirt, smart trousers, slick shoes... Was it some look about me that I had, saying to the world "I'm happier in Primark than in Selfridges"? Was in anti-gingerism? Was it the Ryman's bag I carried that set me apart as from a lower class? (They weren't to know the Ryman's bag contains high-intellect mathematical comedic props) Either way, they saw me as staff, as someone who would be more comfortable using the tradesman's entrance. That's not a gay jibe, incidentally. On this rare occasion I actually mean the tradesman's entrance.

Anyway, the show. I was on first, followed by a singer of Bulgarian folk songs, with the occasional squeak which set the audience off, and then set her off laughing. Following her was an excellent yo-yoer - basically a kid who had too much time on his hands, but what a skill he'd learned. It was certainly more than just 'walking the dog'. He walked it, let it off its lead, fed it Pedigree Chum and watched win a rosette for leaping through a hoop and weaving between standy-uppy things*. And following him was a 'fan dancer', a burlesque lady, proudly wearing nipple tassles and little else, waving, post-modernly, a couple of giant electric fans for about five minutes.

It was a rare insight onto the world of cabaret - a melding of entertainment worlds that you don't normally see when you're used to night after night of comedian after comedian. I like to think that each of these acts came from their own circuits. A yo-yo circuit of teenage kids who can't skateboard. A Bulgarian folk circuit, where dozens of acts argue over who goes on first to do the Bulgarian national anthem, and the rest grudgingly realise that the evening has peaked. And a burlesque circuit, where clubs feature up to five or six burlesque acts a night, and where the constant rows are heard in the green room... "Oh for crying out loud - are you going to do the red nipple tassle thing? I was going to do red nipple tassle thing. Well I'll have to do purple then..."

*He didn't actually do this.

Did a very different gig on Sunday - a compering job which included me interviewing someone, and me singing and dancing in the finale. If you sing and dance at a normal comedy night, it'd better have a bloody good joke at the end of it. But this was all for a great cause - www.isaiahhouse.com, part of the Hope for Latvia charity. They are a small charity building accommodation and supporting the poor in Latvia, of which there are many.

For my part it was a fun and interesting evening - when it came to the fundraising/bullying that I had to do to get people to put their hands in their pockets, it felt like I was training to be a Comic Relief presenter, and the interview with the head of the charity (first time I'd ever actually interviewed someone) I think should put me in good stead for Friday Night With Paul Kerensa, coming to your screens in 2018ish.

The performers were great (mostly a collection of songs from musical theatre), and it was organised and partly performed by Laura Jackson, my friend from uni theatre days. She did great. She's heading out to Latvia in December to see firsthand what a struggle it is for them. The only shame was that the room wasn't more full - 50 or so, but 150 would have been nice.

So, a brief plea. If your giving duties are in need of a spring-clean, do consider a donation to Isaiah House (details at www.isaiahhouse.com). It's good to change around occasionally who (if anyone) you donate to. I used to have a standing order to The Children's Charity, then one of their street clipboard muggers pissed me off so I'm switching. And Isaiah House is a good one to switch to. Go on, a one-off, a regular few quid a month... Have a gander anyway.

Worthy blog posting over. Normal egotism will be resumed.

went to sarah bennetto's storytellers' club last night.

on the tube home, sat with ava vidal, while others from the show, who had left separately, sat close-by with tom bell.

i found tom's group visually interesting; people of significantly different sizes and looks, one of whom had bright pink/red hair.

and tom himself is interesting-looking.

he said onstage that people think he looks like the "joined-together" guy" in "the corpse bride" and he does, which implies a deathly pallor but actually he has real color in his face; ruddy cheeks in a kind-of vertical, rather than the more common circular pattern.

what else have i got to think notice/think about on the tube, especially after a few wines? (ava was interesting too.)

still without a computer to call his own,
andrew

at the world's end in camden town, probably as i was standing right next to it.

diversion crime, i think the officer called it.

also in the bag was my phone charger, so for the time being, i'm to a great extent incommunicado.

more when possible.

andrew

Over the years you accumulate a portfolio of the more peculiar gigs, and last night was a certain addition.
First off it was a wedding gig, something I've never done before with good reason.
It goes like this: A couple were getting married, and the bride booked me to perform as a surprise for the groom. The back story is that they'd seen me on telly and he remembered that we'd been at primary school together between 1985-87 and apparently was going on about it in the pub, so she thought it would be exciting to have me perform at the wedding.

I turned up to a mid-sized country house in Sussex, and had to hide in the car park to wait for my contact. With hindsight maybe that's slightly undignified behaviour, but at the time it seemed terribly exciting and covert. I felt like Jack Bauer waiting for schematics to download to his PDA.

After some time my contact came to meet me, then went into the wedding (which was by now in full swing) and announced that there was a bit of a surprise.
My cue.

It's never nice to have to introduce yourself when you're doing a comedy night. It's even less welcome when you have to explain who you are, what you're doing there and somehow allude to the fact that you aren't just a dickhead, but actually a comic.
Textbook adverse circumstances.

Given that, there was a great deal of goodwill in the room especially as in one stupendous foot-in-mouth move I managed to say that I didn't really know the groom at all and wondered what I was doing there. The swearing didn't go down too well, and there were some incredibly ham-fisted attempts to shoe-horn my material into being relevant to the wedding.

In the end it wasn't that bad at all, and sometimes it's healthy to operate outside what you know you can do.

with Pappy's Fun Club, Terry Saunders and Earl Okin -- Spread the Word!

An Evening Standard Critic's Choice/Top 5 pick.

Guests on 21 Sep. include if.comeddie award nominees, Pappy's Fun Club, telling a four-man story, Terry Saunders, and Earl Okin.

Tickets available online at http://www.ticketweb.co.uk/user/?region=gb_london&query=detail&event=235356&interface=etcetera

A great way to start the Day of Atonement!

I finally remembered to update my giglist on my website today - you can see where I'm working/playing by going to www.paulkerensa.com/gigguide. There are a few unusual ones - please come support these if you fancy it, cos they're trying to do something a bit different, it should be fun, and they probably need your help to get bums on seats. They are:

Sun 23rd - Bring On Tomorrow - a fundraiser for www.isaiahhouse.com, Windmill Theatre, Blatchington Mill School, Brighton

A charity fundraiser for a great cause - helping the Latvian poor have safe, warm, dry, clean accommodation. I'm compering an evening of music, comedy and dance, and apparently I'm even singing and dancing in the closing number. Should be fun. So if you're a Brighton-or-nearby resident, come by.

Thu 27th - Bonobo Variety Night, Cafe Royal, Regent St, London

Variety Night! The e-flyer is here: www.bonobopresents.com/eflyer.htm - it's billed as "an evening of escapism, with fine dining, eclectic entertainment and slinky dancing'. I am not doing the dancing on this occasion. Someone hotter and more female is. There'll be a juggler, a late bar, and Andrew Lawrence. Should be a fun one.

Sun 14th - Genesis, Stowe School, instead of their morning chapel service.

The only current booking in the diary of doing the Edinburgh show from this year (though I'm sure I will do it somewhere). And what a weird one this will be. Stowe School is a public school, like Eton and Wellington. All very posh and full of boarding schoolboys, who probably have 'fags' and 'tuck boxes'. Instead of their chapel service, as it's their arts festival, they've booked me to do an hour on the book of Genesis. So it'll be not only my first ever morning gig (10am Sunday morning - youch) but also my first gig in front 1000 teenage boys. Plus a workshop on stand-up in the afternoon. Either way, I'm sure a blog will follow that day...

Oh, don't come to that one (unless you're already a pupil at Stowe School), cos people will think you're weird.

Fri 16th - Comedy @ My Local, ie. The Stoke, Guildford

Huzzah! A gig I can walk to. This one's co-run by my local church, St Saviour's, but if it goes well, me and the bar manager might consider running it as a regular (monthly? fortnightly?) gig. So if you're a Guildfordian, please please come and support this night, as your bum on a seat might make the difference between it carrying on as a regular thang or being banged on the head. More details on this one will follow.

For now I can recommend the Brighton charity gig on Sunday, and the Variety Night at Cafe Royal on Thursday. And that is the end of the plug. It wasn't too painful, was it? And I thought it was meant to be. Oh no, that's standing on the end of the plug. (Do not be disheartened - this joke will not appear at any of the above events.)

apparently thinks it's okay to lie down, stretched across an entire couch, in a coffee house.

Evidently not...

Here's me at the Comedy Store last Monday, and the audience were happy for me to bring Chris Langham up and laugh at it. A few people made the 'oooh' noise, but hey, if they laughed first, it doesn't count.

It's worth adding that this was a charity gig for disabled children and children with terminal illnesses, and most of the charity's staff were there too, so I consider this a moral rubber-stamping.

Stephen

I have received a fair share of odd emails over the years since the arrival of the interweb. Ranging from an email entitled 'Tiernan?' from Tiernan Deevy asking if I was really another Tiernan as he had never met another Tiernan, all the way to my friends spontaneously written essay on the dangers of the honey badger.
However, yesterday I received a rather unique email from top political comic Mark Thomas, simply stating:

'It is short notice I know but would you like to be Nelson Mandela for 5
minutes tomorrow?'

This is quite possibly the oddest request I've ever had. I wondered if perhaps he had discovered a 'Being John Malkcovich' type portal and I was going to test drive being inside the head of world peace legend Mr Mandela. Upon further reading I discovered it was not quite as nuts and merely involved me doing a reading from Nelson Mandela's speech at the unveiling of his statue in Parliament Square. This did not seem as daunting, until my friend (and Fat Tuesday co-coordinator) Georgie told me I should 'be the best Nelson Mandela you can', at which point I wondered exactly how many ways I could get this wrong by wearing a costume or face paint. Luckily I'm not an idiot.

What actually entailed was more genius from the man Thomas to oppose the ridiculous SOCPA law of central London that requires you to apply for permission from the Police to demonstrate in the Parliament area. Mark has been protesting about this for some time, both in his well documented mass lone protests (if you haven't heard about this then check out http://www.markthomasinfo.com/demo/default.asp immediately and get involved!) which I have partaken in many of, including the mass mass lone demo earlier this year in which 200 odd people all did 20 10 minute long protests each over a whole day. This in turn meant the police were dealt over 2000 forms and it was proved once again what a huge waste of time this law is. I am very ham fistedly talking about this here, but I totally advise seeing Mark's new tour on which he talks about his actions thoroughly.

Anyhoo, today's protest required Mark filling in loads of forms and getting 5 million pounds of public liability insurance (on loan from the CND) just to get agreement from the GLA that we could protest by the Nelson Mandela statue. We proceeded at 12.45 today to hold banners and read extracts from the speeches of Richard Attenborough, Gordon Brown, Ken Livingston and of course Nelson himself from merely a few weeks ago. But why, you might ask. What was the point? Well, many of us were curious too, but Mark didn't let us down. After all the proceedings and wise words, Mark pointed out that we had permission to do such an event, but on August 29th neither Gordon Brown or Ken Livingston had got permission for their unveiling, which means they have broken the law. Again, sheer proof that the SOCPA law is a waste of time if the PM and the Mayor of London can so easily break it. Crazy huh? It also makes you really angry at the extent that the new terrorism laws have infringed on human rights. What say does anyone have if you have to ask the government before you voice your opinion about them? Slightly scary thought methinks.

Now I'm not very political in general. I try to be, but I sadly lack enough understanding to be quite as cleverly pro-active. My parents are both very sharp on politics and so is my brother. For me, I spent years thinking Trotsky was the Russian word for a short stroll, so basically I have no idea of anything. I'm pretty good at music knowledge and what happened in most Marvel comics from the years 1990-1994. Sadly I don't feel that this knowledge will change the world anytime soon. I must endeavour to be a bit more clever about it methinks, and I can only aim to help in more of Mark's antics and try and research other bits I can do. Expect me to be arrested anytime soon for getting it all wrong. However first I will spend tonight playing some xbox with my mate and discussing honey badgers.

Do go check out Mark's website (http://www.markthomasinfo.com) and his tour and the benefit gig "A Seriously Funny Attempt to Get The Serious Fraud Office in The Dock!" - Hammersmith Apollo, Sunday 23rd September. It'll all be ace and well worth your hard earned moolah. And hopefully I'll see you at the next mass lone demo (Interesting protests are best. Winner of recent times is the man from the Monster Raving Loony Party's 'More Use of the Word Globule! Excellent stuff)!

Brief other news (sorry, this is a stupidly long blog!) - possibility of me running another gig in a very lovely room in a lovely area. While this is great, I must try and maintain some sort of line between being an act and not a promoter. Even more so now there are a couple of promoters happy to book their acts at my gig but not give me a spot at theirs. That's not even stevens at all. Is it possible to be regarded as both an act and promoter? Some people do it very well, like Stephen Grant or Toby Foster. I however might lack the organisational skill for this. Watch this space for either a new gig or a full mental spazz out. I wanted to use the word meltdown there, but thought spazz out might provoke higher response.

Word.

i don't think i've ever been in a place with more broken/unhinged toilet seats than the uk.

There are so many things going wrong at the moment, I am literally just waiting for someone to stab me and steal my shoes.
It's not even sod's law govering my life - it's worse than that.
It's Shit's law.
Crap's Law.
Crap's Law Sounds like something out of a Beckett play.
Which would just involve everything lots of disembodied limbs flying about and everything in life being a metaphor for death.

Actually, the shoes I'm currently wearing are only worth £3.50 (in a loss-prevention measure should someone actually decide to steal them). They are smelly and old but i like them.
A bit like grandparents.

It's very cold where I'm working. My fingernails are turning blue.
Perhaps orks are near
(you know, like in lord of the rings where the sword glows blue when orks are near)

I think i've bruised my ribs. It hurts when I breathe.

Oh my god! Janis Martin is still alive! She's a wicked 50's rockabilly singer - just found a youtube video of her from 2006 looking like Marlene from Neighbours...

A rockin' Marlene from Neighbours.
In a jewelled poncho.

I hope never to own a jewelled poncho.

See you later, hopefully, if I'm not stabbed and shoeless by then

R x

Life beyond Edinburgh does exist. I took the train home at 11am from Edinburgh to London on the Tuesday, like many, many other comics. I made the reasonable observation that should that train crash it could potentiallly bring the UK comedy circuit to its knees. Pulling into Kings Cross was an oddly anticlimactic experience. Al's wife Anita was there to meet Al, and was applauding the comics off the train, which was just lovely.

I then took a break of ten days in a tent in Cornwall, with the intention of leaving Comedy aside for a little while. It's impossible, of course. That's one of the main paradoxes of being a Comic; your time off is supposed to be relaxing, but it's only when you relax that ideas come through more easily. I think the ideal holiday for a Comedian would actually be a stint of hard labour in a mine.

For the duration of the holiday, I left my fish (Michael Palin) without food to try to kill him. To the innocent bystander this could be construed as cruel but nothing could be further from the truth. He's lived far, far too long for a fish. If he were to mysteriously die then I could get pretty tropical fish to replace one fat boring goldfish. He survived ten days without food, and now I'm beginning to suspect I own an immortal goldfish. How shit is that? Were immortality to be bestowed upon any beast, I think a sodding goldfish would be in the bottom ten on the list. Why couldn't I have an immortal puppy?

I'm now a few gigs into the new season, and it's both enjoyable and frustrating. The benefits of Edinburgh are reaped immediately in terms of stagecraft and performace. This is tempered by doing the same bloody material that you've been doing for a relentless month, not having had time to produce new work yet.

I plan for this account to chart the year between Edinburghs I suppose; I'm definitely going back up next year and I've already got a few ideas rattling around, so work starts now. I've learnt a lot, and there's no substitute for hard work. There will be the usual gigs, and hopefully some new and interesting projects: already a few things are coming through on the back of a relatively successful first year at the festival, some of them fascinating. If nothing else, it should provide a more readable blog than me relating my various successes at Pro-Evo and Age of Empires.

i'm staying with apologized because it was too cold and he had to close the windows and turn on the heat. but he wanted to know why i like it so cold. can he not know that i keep the windows open, not because i like the cold, but so that i can breathe?

he closed all the windows.

and lit a cigar.

then reopened his loft window a crack.

but it was not enough.

At the back end of this year's fringe, TheLondonPaper approached me asking to see if I could have a go at posting stuff onto the new www.constantcomedy.com clip sharing site to see how it differed from other video portals. Here's what went horribly wrong...

http://www.thelondonpaper.com/cs/Satellite/london/lcsearch/article/1157148999950?packedargs=suffix%3DArticleController

Stephen

near where i've been staying.

i was going to jaywalk when i saw him and i considered not jaywalking but i didn't think that london was one of those cities where they get you for jaywalking, so i started to cross the street right in front of him when, suddenly, he asked me to come to him.

at least that's the way i remember it.

but he didn't say anything about jaywalking. he wanted to know if i was involved with drugs.

according to him, i saw him and then ducked behind a bus shelter and put something in my left pocket.

in fact, (before the jaywalking thing) i didn't see him and ducked behind a bus shelter to put my foot up on its bench and re-tie my shoes. i also put my cell phone into my pocket.

the cop (are they called that here? are they bobbies? patrolmen? constables?) didn't believe me when i told him i had re-tied my shoes because a few days earlier i'd seen guys spraying insecticide along the path i'd be walking i didn't want the loops of my laces to touch the bug spray-poisoned sidewalk.

now, why wouldn't a guy accept a reasonable explanation like that?

he made me show what was in my pocket.

it's good to know that london police officers (i actually mean this) are on the job.

tonight, i headlined at laughing horse, oxford circus (shouldn't it really be called laughing horse, carnaby street?) and enjoyed myself thoroughly, as did the crowd (of 6),

no gig scheduled tomorrow, which means i theoretically don't have to leave the house.

i wonder if i can get through the day without spending any money.

I'm bored again. The problem with bored is that it perpetuates itself. Being bored doesn't lead to free time to be creative, it just leads to more bored. Because the things you find to do when you're bored are usually boring. Because if you could find something to do that wasn't boring, you wouldn't be bored.

Apple tea
in Napoli
is nice for me

I have never been to Napoli.

Turkish apple tea is not even tea. It's just sugar and apple flavour. It should be called 'Turkish apple sugar drink'
Which would be
icki turkce elmali ve sekerli
I think.

I have tummy ache from too many apples
And backache from dancing
And toothache from tooth death
And a headache from too much tea
And heartache
At the state of the world

It was our engagement party on Saturday. We hired a bar, it was fun, until at about midnight, the owner's son turned up with 50 absolute twats all dressed in durham university rugger bugger blazers and ties. Didn't really fit with our 1950's rock n roll theme, and proceeded to cause much aggravation and hilarity as Nick and my cousin went about threatening to punch the 'f#ck*ing w@nkers" who had invaded our party, and several of my friends went about exploting the drink-buying possibilities of the posh rich boys.

My favourite moment was when, towards the end of the night, we were trying to convince one of them to give us their tie, which, oddly, they weren't prepared to exchange for a pint (why would you be so keen to keep a nasty durham university tie instead of some beer?)
Don't ask me why we wanted a tie so much, it seemed like a funny idea at the time...

And I said, to a fine specimen named Ivan, "Come on, with a name like Ivan you're not exactly poor, you can afford to give me your tie"
He looked incredulous and refused to give up the tie.
"Come on!" i said, "Daddy wasn't born on a council estate, now was he"
To which he exclaimed, in the poshest voice imaginable,
"My FATHER is from BIRMINGHAM!"
As if Birmingham is somehow shorthand for being poor.
"He was born in BIRMINGHAM in 1920!"
As if his father being almost 90 made a difference to his social class.

Poor Ivan with the 87 year old father. He had pain behind his eyes.
I told him he should work in the theatre, which with retrospect probably sounded like I was calling him gay.

And there was another 'hilarious' man wearing a 'hilarious' jester hat (you know the ones that people get in a 'buy fun here' shop along with hen-night outfits and green afro wigs)

He asked if we liked his hat and I said,
"Can i be honest? I don't like your hat".
I tried to say it in a cheeky, piss-taking way. He wasn't amused.
I didn't see why he should be so offended, so decided to continue being rude.
"Was it a choice between being bummed by a paedophile or wearing the hat?"
I asked merrily.
He still didn't look amused.
When he turned round, I noticed he had a hole in his trousers in the exact position of his bumhole.
Evidently he'd had to wear the hat whilst being bummed by a paedophile.
These poor posh boys, you've got to feel sorry for them really.

Incidentally the paedophile in question was with them as well. A fat old bearded man hanging around with a bunch of boys in their 20s at midnight on a Saturday night definitely isn't a normal student / teacher relationship.
Although I think I mentioned my idea that he was a paedophile rather too loud, several times, whilst he was in close proximity. Poor fat paedophile. Even his mother doesn't love him.

I'm either extremely annoying and rude or utterly hilarious when I'm drunk.

But these people had no sense of humour! I kept taking the piss out of them (in a cheeky, non-aggressive way) and instead of responding with the usual light-hearted merriment I am accustomed to, they just got extremely offended. Their simple inbred minds just couldn't cope.
"Papa, someone is ridiculing me! Mwaaa!!"

I'm sorry, it's terrible social stereotyping I know, but I've literally never seen so many of them in one room before. It was like being at the zoo.

And really, if you don't want people to treat you like you're a twat, why go out in central london on a saturday night in matching suits, white shirts and school ties?
Why would you do that?
And more importantly, why would you do that and then crash someone's engagement party just because one of your little bum-buddies is the manager's son?

We got our money back in any case, so I was more amused than annoyed. And a good time was had by all, I think.

My friend said his favourite posh-boy quote of the evening was,
"Timothy, get me a Stella Artois, I'm off for a dirt"

Genius.

Better go, work to do now (I've finished being bored).

R x

I was heckled last night, and I wasn't gigging. It was in a pub car park, at 8pm. By a girl. She was pretty drunk, and I was dressed like a tool, but still. Thing was, in my olden days, I'd have put my head down and marched on, but I'm used to putting people down now, so I did, and nearly got in a fight. It turns out you can get away with more when you've a 200-strong audience on your side, plus a collection of bouncers working with you, plus a stage and lights. Pub car park during daylight - not so much.

Basically I was walking past my local dressed like this (http://www.moviemistakes.com/photos/2007/07-09-15%20-%20Zoe's%20birthday/IMG_2315.JPG), and this lass yells, "You look like a f*cking c*nt!" (to be fair, look at the pictute - she was right)

So I retort, "Well at least I'm not one." (Oh yeah, Comedy Store's finest...)

She returns volley: "Yeah, you look like a fu*king *unt and you are a *ucking cun*!"

I reply: "Ever wondered why you're single, you crazed bint?"

She waves her full pint at me and yells: "Do you want this down your head? Do you want me to glass you with this?"

I haven't had enough yet, so I fire back: "You're about 4 seconds away from getting yourself barred from this and every pub in Guildford." An empty threat, though I could probably have got her barred from that pub. I think I only said it cos I was dressed as Shakespeare and was going for a 'bard/barred' pun. Which needless to say went over her head. Like the pint glass nearly did to me.

By this point my brain kicked in and reminded me that I wasn't onstage, didn't have the support of several large bouncers, and should probably shut up before her big mates decided they needed to take a side in what was heading towards a bit of a scuffle. Thankfully at this point her friends intervened and bundled her back to her seat. I marched on and into a wonderful rest-of-evening, where me and 40 like-minded folks celebrated my girlfriend's 30th. It was great.

Several times that conversation in the car park came back to me - should I have responded differently? Or at all? Or decimated her with words? It's the same feeling you get after a rowdy gig where you've tried putdowns that haven't really worked. You end up questioning if you handled it best. I found it odd - and a shame - that it's the negative comments and conversations that you end up coming back to and trying to rewrite in your head. It's never the good things you say or the nice conversations you've had that replay in your mind so much - maybe because they're good, and they've gone right, and you don't need to rewrite those. Either way, I'm partly hoping to meet that young car park hussy again at some point so that I can ask her if her mum remembers me, or if her carer's got the night off, or if her neck's just vomited.

see here: http://www.thisislondon.co.uk/comedy/article-23412029-details/Critic%27s+choice%3A+top+five+comedy+shows/article.do

and also a Time Out pick: http://www.timeout.com/london/comedy/events/513262/andrew_j_lederer-talks_to_you.html

Tonight, I'm not doing the "Anthology" storytelling show with guests, rather an hour called "Andrew J. Lederer Talks to You", which is a (somewhat one-sided) improvised conversation between comedian and audience. I made an event page the show but the ticket-buying link on that page is wrong. It's actually http://www.ticketweb.co.uk/user/?region=gb_london&query=detail&event=235357&interface=etcetera. Here is the event page -- http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=18970173792.

Like "Anthology", the show is at the Etcetera Theatre, 265 Camden High St, NW1 7BU, above the Oxford Arms. (Here's a map: http://www.timeout.com/london/map.php?event_id=513262)

But there is a DIFFERENT START TIME. Tonight's show starts at 8:30 pm.

I hope some of you can come.

Andrew

Amazing how coughing fits literally stop you from sleeping...

I am poorly sick but have clawed my way to my laptop as it dawned on me that I really should pre-warn everybody of an impending change.

It's basically about the podcast I do, and the change is that the complete first series is available for less than 24 more hours before it disappears for ages only to return on iTunes in years to come at a ridiculous financial price (we got the idea from Disney). It is available for free right this second on iTunes and chortle.co.uk/raypeacock.

The next time we speak all that will be left from the critically acclaimed first series is the "best of" compilation, and brilliant as it is - it's really not the same as having them all.

Series Two starts on Monday though (same places as above) - so that's a bit of consolation for you, and bear in mind quite how difficult the recording was for me given that I am so ill and probably at deaths door.

Not that I would expect any fucking sympathy.

xx

due to one too many event invitations. nobody contacted me to say that but the timing made it obvious.

perhaps it speaks to the rightness of their decision that i can't figure out who's gone. still, is promotional e-mail (which is what we're discussing, really, since facebook users are alerted to messages via e-mail) that much of a nuisance in the modern era?

not in my experience.

for instance, i use gmail as the interface for all my accounts, as it has a great spam filter. i have but to scan the spam folder to make sure good mail hasn't been misunderstood (it usually hasn't), then, with the click of a mouse button, i can delete everything in the folder. messages sent via facebook and its ilk are not treated as spam, since i may want to see some of them, but when the subject or sender is uninteresting to me, i simply ignore then -- i never even open them.

so, what's so annoying or intrusive about promotional email?

it says more about the receiver than about the (as we've demonstrated) low-impact messages that he or she is so exercised by this minor nuiscance that squelching it becomes a major -- and genuinely distracting -- priority. these are people who are naturally inclined toward being irritated.

hell, it's not as if i wouldn't like to be above the fray and not have to push my shows or be so eminent that people clamor to be apprised of my offerings.

but that's not where i'm at.

i have to inform as many people as possible of my appearances 'cause i can't risk not reaching someone who might be interested.

so, with that in mind, please consider coming to tonight's "anthology" storytelling programme at the etcetera theatre, above the oxford arms in camden town.

guests will be matt crosby, sajeela kershi, gary colman, elise harris, and luke roberts of the gently progressive behemoth. (ray peacock is sick.)

show's at 9:30. tickets are £7.50.

there. that wasn't that hard, was it? (of course, it wasn't e-mailed.)

My car broke - the thermometer light started flashing, and sure enough the dial told me that the water temperature in the radiator was now 100 degrees celsius. Ooh. It then went up to 120 degrees celsius. Now I know that technically that's no longer water, but I'd have thought this would be a good thing for a radiator, as a radiator that's doing its job gets very hot. But apparently this water is to cool down the engine, so my dad told me that I needed to stop driving the car pronto or the engine would overheat causing £3000's worth of damage. This happened a few days beforehand too, again when stuck in traffic - on the open road it's fine and stays cool, because the air cools it.

So I needed to get from a readthrough in North Acton to a replacement car waiting for me in Balham, at 6pm in the evening, making sure I kept the car moving wherever possible. Easier said than done. I genuinely felt like Keanu Reeves in his pre-Matrix, post-Bill & Ted days, racing through London, not necessarily worrying too much about going the right direction (though that did ultimately help), but worrying instead about finding traffic-free roads. It was very exciting, although with the slightly fretful element that my car could actually die if the traffic got too bad.

Made it anyway, and now drive a white van till Monday as a replacement. People seem to give me much more room. Pop quiz, hotshot...

in the holland park area for rosh hashonnah services.

according to its literature, it's the only synagogue in the uk that offers a traditional turkish/balkan service.

well, i grew up in an ashkenazic synagogue (and a non-orthodox one to boot), so they ween't my liturgical customs. but i felt comfortable there just the same as the words of the prayers often familiar and the overall sound was, well, jewish.

i loved what were, to me, englishy touches like some of the elders wearing top hats.

and i was exhillerated by the notion of "duelling shofars" (rams horns played like bugles).

so, having happily done my new year's duty and all but certain i would now be inscribed in the book of life, i reentered the harsh, secular world to find, while shopping at boots, that i had lost a fiver.

now, this, on top of the rounds of drinks they force you to buy around here, whether you can afford to or not, and the constant topping-up of the mobile phone and the expense of the tubes was a crushing blow, causing me to question my luck. (and who knows? maybe i haven't been inscribed in the book of life.)

also, now i can't afford stuff i was gonna buy today.

and it's all transport for london's fault.

y'see, when i purchased my oyster card in july, they didn't give me the holder that's supposed to come with it, which i typically use as a wallet and which i thought would replace the one i'd lost in december.

in the interim i'd been checking my pockets frequently, fearful loose money would be pulled out and lost when i reached for other items.

well, my fear was not unfounded.

that day has come.

but i don't expect tfl to make me whole again. i'll just have to suck it up and suffer my heightened pauperdom somewhat gladly.

although they did give me a black holder thing when i went down and asked after discovering my loss. i wasn't gonna let that loose, lost, money thing hit me again anytime soon.

of course, now i don't have any paper to put in the thing.

but i'm prepared.

and again i had no one to celebrate with.

in this city of some 250,000 jews, it seemed there was not a single plate of gefilte fish with my name on it.

Tonight combined two of my favourite things: a really nice gig, and a really good pie. Neither of these things can be disputed as not good. They are both guaranteed damn good things.

Good thing number one: The good gig. For the first time in ages I responded to a last minute text about a last minute non-paying gig. Previously I had been ignorantly snobbish towards this sort of thing. I believed that as I had so little time devoted to actually seeing my girlfriend and friends that I should cherish nights off and do nothing regardless of offers. Unless of course they paid. Yes, I was very shallow about it all.
However tonight's gig was perfectly timed. I have a bigger gig tomorrow and was feeling a bit down about Sunday's festival pooness (real word, says me). I also have some new material I needed to try, so it all seemed a perfect opportunity.

However, the one thing holding me back was the fact that our good friend was going to be over for dinner and my girlfriend was making a big pie. From scratch. Pie from scratch is something that is almost impossible to ignore. Pie is a truly solid trustworthy food. No one messes with pie. Some people have disputed how, when being vegetarian I can appreciate good pies, but these people are fools. There are many many good veggie pies out there: cheese and leek, cheese and potato, potato and leek, mushroom and stuff. Yes many seem to involve the same ingredients, but they are still good pies. Is it at all possible to have a bad pie? Watching Mr Scruff DJ at Bestival, he had many comedy visuals of dancing 'special pies' which included 'cheese and lead' and 'spam and tissue' which I believe would still not be as bad as the ingredients themselves, due to the pie form in which they were baked.

The best pie I've ever had was in a place called 'Pudding Face, the Pie Place' in a small village called Deddington. Silky, the lovely comic who knows far too much stuff, recommended I go there before doing his brilliant gig in Banbury. The pies were so huge that I took pictures on my phone next to a fork for scale. And it came with mash and vegetables. Unbelievably good pie. The only thing was though that after eating it I genuinely couldn't move for hours, and Silky hadn't warned me that trying to gig after one of those would only induce sickness. I've done gigs ill, I've done gigs tired, I've done gigs drunk/wasted, but the toughest was gigging after that pie.

My girlfriend has only started making home made pies recently, but has quickly perfected the art, with seriously crispy pastry and fillings that make me stay in just to eat them instead of doing gigs. Its quite a dangerous new talent she's found and its ruining my productivity. Perhaps gigs and pies do not mix?

Tonight I proved this theory wrong as the gig was truly excellent, despite a small crowd thanks to the frikkin' football. All the new stuff worked, there was some lovely banter and I felt generally perked up after Sunday's mishap. Then upon returning home, I found a large bit of pie shaped goodness heated up for me with mash and veg. Can this day ever be bettered? I doubt it, but only time, and pie, will tell.

Postscript: If after reading this you feel compelled to shout 'who ate all the pies' at me, please don't. It will only make me feel sad. I have not eaten all the pies, and I wish I could out of sheer pie love. However I have neither the stomach nor the willpower to achieve such a thing.

here at the kitchen and pantry.

when i got here the place was filled with beautiful mothers, beautiful older women, beautiful younger women, beautiful black women, beautiful foreign women . . .

now a second wave may have begun.

and tobacco smoke and it's been making me sick.

yet other people live on it.


there's another storytelling show at the etcetera tonight at 9:30 with martin white, chris neill, peter buckley hill, and more. 5 quid if you demand that price. (otherwise, £7.50.)

etcetera theatre
265 camden high street
london nw1 7bu

phone: 020 7482 4857

How do you get those little sections on your blog?
Andrew J Lederer seems to know.

I have toothache. My teeth are crap and my dentist is worse. He is an Eastern European man intent on trying to convince me to spend as much money as is humanly possible on a filling. I said no no no.

Been brainstorming some tv comedy ideas and have deduced from what I've written that I definitely have ADD and am probably retarded.

i don't actually have much to report on. Many of the things happening in my life I can't really discuss for legal reasons...which sounds more intriguing than it really is.

I made a dress recently. It has monkeys on it.

I'm going to try my best to getting around to some gigs. It's so hard trying to pay rent and organise gigs and not worry that you're going to end up homeless and lifeless and dead.

R x

I had my first ever festival gig yesterday at the Bestival weekender. I had been looking forward to playing the festival for ages and had spent time thinking of a set that might work. I was only doing 10 mins, sharing a 20 minute slot with the excellent Tom Wrigglesworth.

As the slot drew nearer I realised two things I wasn't happy with. One was that unlike most of the other comics on, I had been up for the whole weekend and had consequently not slept enough, eaten properly and drank too much. Not too dissimilar from my month in Edinburgh then. This state of health was the not the best for coping with the second problem. This latter problem was that being first on at the comedy tent meant the audience were wondering in and out, some people were on severe come downs and just hiding from the sunshine, six people were eating curry and two people were actually asleep.

Hence my set was a lot tougher than I wanted it to be. Al Pitcher did a nice warm up at the top which was ruined by a woman demanding she was kicked out of the tent. Al made her smoke a cigarette so that the security guard ran in, picked her up and kicked her out to rapturous applause. This created an environment where people would just walk up to the stage and shout things at Al. He was fine with this of course, but when it got to me, my brain was not in working order to deal with impro. So I just belted out my set, and struggled to get any kind of atmosphere going. There were pockets of interested audience, but as soon as it didn't involve them, several people wandered off and started chatting and it all became a bit tough. I ploughed through to the end and walked off in a sulk. Bad way to have a first gig back I felt and I'm hoping its not the start of a bad run.

The rest of the weekend was pretty good. I don't know if its a sign of age, but after three days of camping , drinking and watching bands, I was quite sick of the lack of showers, beds and proper loos and was quite ready to get back. I'm not some sort of cleanliness freak, but there is something about uncleaned portaloos that scars the mind for about 6 days after having to use them. It took all my adult willpower not to childishly yell 'UUURRRGGHHH' every time I had to use one.

Our tent was situated right near some total arseholes too, which meant that even when we did hit the sack, they would be shouting and singing to make sure we didn't get any sleep. Well when I say we, their aim was to keep their friend 'Emma' awake. A selfish enough prospect I feel, but little did they know how far they had actually surpassed their aim by keeping several other people up as well.

To be fair I had been too organised and hired a tent and booked ferries before I got the festival info, and it was only after I found out I could have stayed in the artists area which was a shame. For once my over exaggerated sense of urgency had got the better of me. This general confusion and disarray seemed to be the theme of the whole festival though and after a 7 hour traffic filled journey on the Friday, we only found where we were going after being directed to the wrong car park 4 times. How a festival of that size can have no one working there who has any idea whats going on, I'm not sure.

Despite all this, it was a good weekend, with the highlight being Billy Bragg on Saturday afternoon in the hot sun. He was truly brilliant and played some classic stuff with a few new excellent songs. I was never a huge fan and my girlfriend hadn't even heard of him (I know. Her music taste is quite appalling in places) but we were both in awe of his great audience banter and touching songs. Other good things included Mr Scruff's special pies of the day (goats cheese and spiders, spam and tissue), Chemical Brothers, the incredible Flutebox (beat boxing and flute playing at the same time. Truly nuts), interviews with Bestival FM, the Hidden Disco, Ramases the parrot, Nachos , Liquorice, bumping into old old friends, giant pandas dancing and shagging to Phil Nichol and Ed Byrne singing old Corky and the Juice Pigs songs, my pirate costume and people dressed as bananas.

By the way. The advert from previous blogs is now out and can be seen here - www.carlsbergkaraoke.co.uk I think its quite good if I do say so myself, not least because of the Bryan Ferry 'support act' moment. If I ever get a big theatre tour I'll book him in to open I think.

I've been concerned about my storytelling show on the 11th because I arranged it too late to get in any listings and also about the early shows in general, so I've decided to offer a discount to readers of my blog and selected others for the "Anthology" shows on Tuesday and Wednesday, the 11th and 12th.

The discounted price will be £3.50 on the 11th and £5 on the 12th with the code "I thought this was supposed to be £____ (state appropriate ticket price here)."

Storytellers on the 11th include Abi Roberts, Mackenzie Taylor, and Gareth Berliner. The 12th features Martin White, Peter Buckley Hill and Chris Neill.

Coming on the 15th, we'll have Ray Peacock and Matt Crosby. And on the 21st, Pappy's Fun Club, Earl Okin, and Terry Saunders

I know there are more "marquee" names in the later shows, but these shows are always good and you'll be doing me a favor if you come to the early ones. (In return, I'll be doing you a favor by making them cheaper. The later shows are £7.50.)

All the performances are at 9:30 pm at the Etcetera Theatre, 265 Camden High Street, London NW1 7BU. Phone: 020 7482 4857

Hope to see you.

Andrew

I went to the recording tonight of ep3 of series 2 of Not Going Out, which I wrote plenty of. Twas good fun, though I took my parents and their friends, thinking it was a very cute episode about a baby... but oh no, they swapped the episode order around and instead 'Baby' is next week - this one actually was largely set in a strip club instead. So it was bawdier than planned. We even saw a nipple. Twice. It was for one of those shots where a lass turns and we go from naked back to her facing camera, but a couple of actors' shoulders are meant to block the view of the main event. This, naturally, took several takes to get right. I had my mum to the left of me and my girlf to the right, and I had to explain to them that I wrote this. I explained how it was all Lee Mack's idea to set it in a lapdancing club, but I'm sure Lee's at home now explaining to his wife that "It was all Kerensa's idea..."

The main guest this week is an actress called Thalia who you may know as The Guest Australian Fake Actress Who Appeared Halfway Through Big Brother. I had seen a bit of this, but failed to realise that I knew her already - we did a pilot last year for MTV in which I played an interpreter for a deaf rapper. Small world and all that gubbins - I had no idea that all along I knew someone who was in Big Brother. I may have actually watched it. But I doubt it.

but i can't watch it because he has it laterally stretched to fit his wide screen -- it's not a hard day's night, it's some stretchy thing.

perhaps appropriately, the film seems to have been speeded up (i'm listening) to fit its time slot.

the other day and excitedly told me he'd seen me perform in camden once and i was terrific. (and that was a year ago.)

said he'd come to one of my etcetera theatre shows. (we'll see.)

then, last night, i was at joe allen's with a couple of friends and, after i chatted with her for a while, the girl who seemed to be running the place wiped a round of drinks off our tab.

it's kinda like, even though i don't have money, i was able to contribute twenty-two pounds to the proceedings. (she gave me her chips, too.)

wednesday night, i hung out with john gordillo, wandering around the bayswater area, lighting periodically upon stairs and other inviting perches.

i, of course, solved his personal problems quickly (well, we talked about our lives, anyway), enabling us to move on to discussions about comedy and broadcasting and the influential greats of yesterday and today.

also, we saw (or i did, anyway) orlando bloom and maybe natalie portman coming out of a richard branson bowling party.

thursday, hung with debra frances-white at the soho theatre. (where else would entertainment-types like us hang out?)

meanwhile, it seems tim colman's fine efforts have gotten my upcoming "andrew j. lederer talks to you" a recommendation star from time out london. (online, anyway.)

i hope enough people come to the various etcetera shows to keep zena from regretting she booked them.

Thank God its Friday! "Thanks God.".

I've had quite a good week in summary, and I have a fabulous girls night planned for this evening. Now let me just point out here that I don't do "girls nights out" usually because they make me cringe, as do hen nights. I can't stand this hypocritical thing that women do which is to give it the "Sisters are doing it for themselves" and all that shit, but when push comes to shove alot of them are a bunch of bitches ready to stab their mates in the back as quick as you can say "Hang on, I fancied him first!"

Yes if the truth be known lots of women don't have the TRUE sisterhood vibe that I speak of. I blame Heat Magazine... Always pointing out imperfections of the almost perfect celebs in this world, doesn't promote things like anorexia and all that, more like bitchiness to the extreme. Sending it down the lines to all the gulliable teenage girls out there.... Nope my pals and I have true sister-hood going on - and thus we don't need to go on crazy night's out screeching "I will survive!" at the tops of our voices.

So I arranged this fabulous night out for six of us and out we shall go. We're going out in my (new) manor which is Greenwich and we shall drink and laugh but not screech and sing. We won't do that thing women do, where they pretend to be lesbians so boys might speak to them. I do like women, I DO! Please don't see this as an attack on women its not. Its not. I just get sick of women who don't stick together.

Poor example': 2 years ago I was "seeing" a man for about 4 months. Unbenownst to me, he was simply sleeping with me regularly which isn't the same thing. After a while I started to get a bit bored of being used, having the occassional act of reassurance thrown at me, and thought, "actually, I quite like myself," so wasn't sure of how much more using I could take. We had some cross texts between us - and I was very hurt.

A couple of weeks later, I went to a function and at the function was this strange man who'd been sleeping with me, and there on his arm was a lady who was clearly his girlfriend. I kept my cool for about 6 drinks and then I was very very angry. I went up to the man and I was very angry to him. I was sad too. The lady with him shifted uncomfortably but my beef wasn't with her, it never was, even if she'd known about me, it wasn't her problem, it was all HIS. (this is an act of sister hood) I eventually had to be bundled into a cab by my good pal Pats (another act of sister-hood) and home I went. I never contacted him again.

Many months later it emerged that the lassie with him that night knew who I was, but I didn't know who she was - and through a mutual pal we met up and she divulged that she was the girlfriend at the function with the strange man that had slept with me regularly. We'd had an over lap of about 3 months. But me and her, well, we became firm friends. She is great and he's a COCK.

SO! Tonight should be GREAT! Wooh! I got my shopping from Tesco online and there was lots of wine in the delivery, also bits and bobs to eat. We plan to sufficiently line our tummy's at my flat and then head on out.

The rest of the weekend is pretty busy too. Seeing my parents tomorrow so that I can get rid of the crapola I've had at their house for the last decade. Sunday its mine and Gareth's 1 year anniversery. Yes I can't quite believe it myself cause he's really whiney. Only joking. Or am I? We had an argue today, cause the oysters I ordered to be delivered didn't come which was all HIS fault. "how is it MY fault?" he says.. God. Not really, he a lovely little cat head and we're going to have a day of lovely-ness.

It was my last show at SW1 Radio on wednesday so now I'm setting about making my audio reel so that I can submit it to one and all.

And finally, Catface Cabaret is booked and confirmed for the 4th November for a special gunpowder, treason and plot edition. Pappy's Fun Club, Anthony Davies (of LBC fame), Brian and Kystal, Evie Anderson and Amphlett & Candy will be starring in this show, at the Hen and Chickens in Islington! Get booking!

Have a lovely weekend

A bit late, but I did promise it. Some are about my show, some are about other people's - I'll leave you to work out which is which...

- Don't presume box office staff know that your show is on. They may be morons.
- Noise travels through tents
- Don't take a chance on a new venue.
- People don't laugh when they've just got up as much as they do in the evening
- Just because a show sells itself on 'sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll', and is at a big venue at 9pm on a Friday night, it doesn't mean it'll sell
- The Fringe has got too big
- £10.50 is too much for an hour of an average comedian
- Not everything should be in batter
- The hill is not your friend. When you're looking down, it's very helpful, but when things look up, it'll make you hurt.
- Involving the audience is a good thing
- Surprising the audience is a good thing
- Silly can make a very good show but you need a point to make it spill over into brilliance
- Even if you've broken up with a girl years before, and never quite got to 'that' stage with her, you may still get to see her naked, if she randomly appears starkers on stage with 40 others as a big show surprise finale

will draw a few people, i think,

or would, if they were listed in time out.

but, though i sent the relevant information early monday -- before deadline -- yesterday, i began to fear the shows would not make t