Everyone @ Chortle

and it's so sweet that they came to drive us the rest of the way from the train.

now, how do we get out of here?


(written, while tired, out of town.)

Probably the only ITV show I set the video ('video'? ha! DVR, please...) for is the British Comedy Awards. Always a treat - whether it's Julian Clary suggesting he'd just fisted a cabinet minister, or Caroline Aherne heckling Nigel Hawthorne, or Michael Barrymore ripping out the autocue, or Spike Milligan calling Prince Charles a grovelling bastard, it's always ripe for scandal. The 2005 show seemed to be scandal-free, though it's now been unearthed as being the most scandalous of the lot, by doing one of these phone-rigging naughtinesses like naming the Blue Peter cat Mufty or whatever it was. Either way, it's been pulled this year. Seems an odd choice, since Blue Peter's still going on, and so's Ant & Dec's Saturday Night Takeaway, and so's GMTV, all of which were accused of greater scandals. But ITV see The British Comedy Awards as a one-night thing you can do without, so not only are they not showing it, but they've not allowed any other channel to show it either by clinging to their contract. This is a shame.

If you agree it's a shame, go here: http://www.petitiononline.com/chortle1. Go on. Support a beery backslap fest for comedians. You know you want to.

My other query today is a discussion with my other half, where it transpired that the oldest pair of briefs I still own are now celebrating their first decade since purchase. She didn't see it that way. She's of the mind you should bin all undergarments after a year of use. Well it's not a year solid of use, and I do wash them, so I see no problem with keeping a pair of boxer shorts for a few years. So if any blog-reader wishes to help my argument, and can claim to own underwear more than a couple of years old, please let me know. And if you can beat me record of ten years of pant-ownership, even better. Any takers?

with my body straining against itself as if it were attempting to change from larva to pupa.

a trip to the bathroom,'round 4 am, gave me the oh-so-sweet relief of rejecting recent meals, but i'm still something of a spent vessel.

it couldn't have helped that my friend and his colleague spent hours with the windows closed, seriously smoking up the place, and i was subsequently told i couldn't open the window 'cause it was too cold.

you know that link they've reported on between smoke in the house and cot death (sudden infant death syndrome or crib death in the states)? well, i can understand it -- it was like my body was rejecting something it didn't recognize as air. (not a good combination with my apnea.)

i'm somewhat better today but blog-brother tiernan douieb was kind enough to switch me over to the next fat tuesday show.

now, i can rest up for my halloween visit to the terrifying village of braughing.

I feel qualified to give some film reviews, having seen 8 cinematic releases in 3 days. Anyone top that? Anyone want to? You probably have better things to do. I didn't, thanks to far-flung gigs. And I had my Cineworld Unlimited card (a must for any travelling film fan), and had worked blimin hard the last few weeks, so I've had myself a few weekend days, midweek.

So, in order of liking, they are: Stardust, Sicko, Eastern Promises, Ratatouille, The Kingdom, Razzle Dazzle, The Heartbreak Kid, Saw IV.

So, selected comments. Razzle Dazzle I was curious to see, as it's co-written by Robin Ince, who I know. And twas good fun, though probably the driest comedy I've seen in a cinema. I think it'll struggle to find an audience it's aimed at, cos it's about an Australian dance contest, but the tone is quite adult. I saw it in one of only two showings at that cinema that week, and it was me and two families with young daughters, who clearly came to see it because of the dancyness. But both families walked out about 15min in, when a line about gonorrhoea confirmed their suspicions that it wasn't a cutesy half-term movie after all. To those that know it, it's a slight Drop Dead Gorgeous rip-off, but still worth a punt.

My favourite film I've seen in ages was Stardust. It's just lovely. Maybe it caught me in the right mood. It's very feelgood. Maybe I just deliberately liked it to spite the barracking half-termites in the rows behind me who clearly were bored by it. But I suspect that my instincts are correct, and it is actually very good. It's a fairytale, for grown-ups as well as for kids (maybe moreso for grown-ups). It's very Princess Bridey, and also quite Terry Gilliam/Monty Python-y too. Great cast, great script, and it's directed by the guy behind Layer Cake and Lock Stock and X3, which is bizarre. I think one of the main things I liked was that I was caught out at least 3 times, plot-wise. And I liked that we saw a couple fall in love throughout the movie, from first meet to realisation between both of them, to save-the-day romantic ending. Aw. I'm an old softie it turns out.

...but a softie who's now hardened to the Saw franchise. Saw IV bored me. So what, you've got gore, whoop-de-doo, there's a bloke stuck in a room with a chain attached to a bit of him, and the other end to a machine on a timer for some reason. Do I want him to escape? Well you've painted him as a bit of a baddie who needs to be taught a lesson, but then if that lesson is that he has to gouge his own eyes out before his limbs get pulled off or his ribs split open before the timer goes off and the room seals with no visible means of... oh I can't be bothered any more.

at the very crowded "kitchen and pantry" coffee house in notting hill --

non-native english-speaker: "see, this is just like "friends" but with no room."

from "how to succeed in business without really trying" to an insecure friend at the end of my set tonight.

i had the idea just after leaving the flat today, which means i might have been (illegitimately according to the rules and regulations under which i live my life) influenced by the ambient pot smoke that lingers where i've been staying.

but where women are concerned, rules go out the window -- it was a good idea and i determined to implement it, hoping it would make my friend feel special.

of course, when i thought up the thing, i imagined an emotional moment, whereas, in reality, i hammed it up for the audience and didn't focus so much on my friend.

but i guess she knew it was for her and nothing could change that.

i even made sure i had my trousers pulled up to the proper waist level so i did not look like a parakeet. (more on that later.)

you know, sometimes you're trying to be funny but your timing is off and the other person somehow gets hurt. but how does this happen with people who you know, who ought to know that you mean well and would never set out to hurt them?

i mean, you'd think you'd get some indulgence but i guess the mistake is thinking that other people are inert boards against which which you can simply bounce your feelings and thoughts.

talking to someone is, in reality, more like setting off a chemical reaction or becoming part of a mathematical equation -- the other element interacts with your elements in ways that may not be predictable but which produce an unavoidable result, casting relationships in new, disturbing lights that seemingly can't be turned off.

i suppose another lasting regret will be found inside my christmas stocking.

thank god i'm a jew.

didn't tell me 'til today that it's likely the crumbling paint in her building's stairwell contains asbestos. (she was kind enough to tap the walls and send potentially deadly material flying as she did so.)

this was before we went outside -- at 5:30 pm -- and she fretted that she had not put on her sunblock. (asbestos si, uva, no.)

later, on the way back in, i started to hold my breath but for some reason -- possibly because the walls seemed intact -- i forced myself to breathe.

maybe it was because i feared i'd otherwise, just short of asphyxiation, have to suck in a shitload of air at the exact spot where the asbestos-laden walls were crumbling.

of course, my self-protective breathing began just as the danger zone came upon me.

meanwhile, bookended by these invitations to mesothelioma, elise and i took a trip to the movies where i worried that the smell of a sardine-stained napkin in my pocket and the perhaps-related bad breath would offend her.

i've been cautious about hygiene with her since she told me how last year, when we went to the science museum, i stank. (i'd intended to use the washing machine that morning but my host had laid claim to it and i had to put on sweat-steeped clothes.)

i don't think i stank today but, fortunately, talk-spitting -- not one of my usual afflictions -- seems to have placed me in it's grip and i rained on elise's facial parade a couple of times, to her understandable chagrin.

now, she's brought me a cup of tea, which is on the floor within shedding distance of the sneakers in which i walked on carpets that are likely imbued with years of asbestos dust.

i guess i have to drink the tea or make elise feel bad by spilling out something she took the trouble to make. (i just presented her with the notion that the tea may be tainted and she didn't seem to want me to discard it.)

ulp.

to get out of there last night. (see yesterday's entry.)

there was just something about the vibe that felt off. it could have been due to an unspecified pre-show conflict alluded to onstage or it could (largely) have been me generating my own discomfort.

all i know is i didn't like being around so many people whose judgments i feared.

also, the show was sluggish (perhaps due to too many canadians in a row). of course, i can only speak of the first half, 'cause i left early in the second.

i did get the chance to test the simon munnery situation, asking if his latest child had yet arrived and saying "mazel tov" when told she (miranda) had, sparking no obvious fury. but the pleasure of congratulating the new papa faded as my nerve ends grew increasingly agitated beneath my clothes with each additional minute i hung out there.

still, i wanted to show ava i cared, so i determined to stay through her set, seeing as how she was, she told me, going to be next.

but she wasn't. instead, the lovely hils barker -- beautiful but too thin for me to gaze upon in my nervous state -- took the stage.

i followed (i thought) ava out of the room, but she seemed to vanish, so i continued out into the world, toward regent street and the 94 bus, the gently cool air soothing my too-frayed nerve endings, but not assuaging my guilt.

i should have stayed for ava, i thought, and considered turning back all the way to the point at which i found myself on the bus toward home.

the gentle air, the bus ride home, and a phone conversation about brand-naming conventions with my friend elise harris made me a new man by the time i hit royal crescent.

i promised ava by text that i would be a better friend (i have a history of disappearing suddenly) and washed the dishes before heading for another venue, that most cherished place called "dreamland".

My hands are covered in blisters and my right buttock is pulled. BUT MY FURNITURE IS UP! Thats quite an achievement. My good pal Heather came over to help me and help me she did. We just had to have a system. We got the system and we did it!

Granted, by the time it got round to 11pm and we were assembling the last chest of drawers we were down to playing, "Guess the TV Theme tune" and Heather claimed she knew the dance to "Wizbit" when once she'd performed it, we both realised she didn't know this dance, and I gladly demonstrated this by performing it accurately. Heather then claimed that "Button Moon" was sexist. "Why?" I asked. "Because the daughter wasn't ever allowed to go with Mr Spoon on a trip in the spaceship" I never noticed that to be honest, I just thought she wasn't old enough or something. The crescendo of the game came around midnight when I started to sing the popular kids show "Lets Pretend" and Heather said rather seriously that my version of this sounded ghostly and eerie. (I was singing it quite slowly so maybe that was it.)

Now my flat looks like I've just moved in again with crapola everywhere, but its all new smelling like the shop "Texas" which I don't think exists anymore.

So I read in the news today that children as young as ten will be judging other youth on their crimes and wrong doings. WHAT!??

"Kids are taking over with their 'no-rule', adults SUCK mentality... "

"I KNOW! Lets give them MORE power."

Good one.

In other news I've got a hacky cough, its gross.

I have two gigs this weekend, both MCing in far away places. Friday's in Bury St Edmunds, and Sunday night's is Portsmouth. I love MCing, its my very favourite thing in the whole world (of comedy). Only problem with this is, sunday is the last "Soprano's". Sunday's penultimate episode was mental. I haven't got Sky Plus which means I'll have to watch it tuesday which means that my mates Leon and Denis will know whats happened before me and that simply will not do.

Gareth's in Scotland at the moment doing The Stand at both Edinburgh and Glasgow, and apparently the Ed one last night when damned well! Jolly good!

Oh my God I had a rehearsal on thursday for Catface Cabaret and me and two of my dancer friends are doing this new routine in one part of the show. They're so good at dancing, like they're out of Top of the Pops, and its WELL hard to keep up with their Pineapple Studio's style moves.. Don't forget, this show is on the 4th November. Come along if you can.

I'm contemplating going for a sun bed. Tiz true, I am almost see-through with pale-ness and I do have 100 mins to use up at Fitness First for ladies, but its cold out. Hmmm yeah, I'll go. Next time I write I shall be a bronze goddess. (sort of)...

Every day's different. This was Monday:

BREAD: 1:30-6:30pm - An advertising company has run out of ideas for how to sell Hovis so paid for 4 comedians to sit in a pub for 5 hours and talk about bread in whatever funny or not-funny way we could think of. I know, I'm a sell-out. But if you're a sell-out, that involves the word 'sell', which means money, so you can see why people do it. And it wasn't a huge amount, but enough to buy my thoughts on bread, which aren't many. It largely consisted of things they got wrong with the Hovis ad with the boy walking up the hill. Thing is, I don't personally feel any artistic integrity is compromised when it's supporting something I like anyway. I like bread. If I was helping advertise a nuclear hairdryer or a new genocidal milkshake.

TIMOTHY WEST: 7:30-9pm - And other actors. But mainly Timothy West. It was the readthrough of the Xmas Special of Not Going Out, only finished at 4am that day. Timothy West, Shakespearean actOR and Henry VIII lookalike, is guesting as Tim Vine's dad. It all came together well, so we're about two more writing days away from the end of Not Going Out series 2. Been on it since January. The end is in sight. Recording the Xmas special next Wednesday, and still waiting for news on series 3... (And NGO series 1 is available now on DVD in all good stores and most bad ones.)

GIRLIE MUSIC: 9:30pm-11pm - Pen-To-Paper New Material Night in Ealing. It's an unusual night, in that rather than have 10-20min, you have up to 40min to bed in a new full-length show. Now it's a little early (October) for next Edinburgh (August). But I did have a half-thought-up idea from last year that I dropped in favour of doing a show on Genesis. So I went over some of that, and hey hey, some of it worked. It's all about music, and genres, and itunes, and playlists, and involves me surveying the audience for their favourite musical genres, and confessing my own guilty pleasures. And it turns out, my tastes in music are surprisingly girlie. I admitted to liking Love Machine by Girls Aloud and All I Want For Christmas Is You by Mariah Carey, and musicals, and hoped for a little more support than one woman at the back agreeing with me. Ah well. I'm sure there are more like me out there. I hope to find out over the next few months of working this show up.

(So in other words, no I'm not doing a show about Exodus next year at the Fringe. Though that decision is subject to change. Actually Tim Vine suggested a nice idea for an Exodus show - a column of reserved seats down the middle of the audience, and 'unreserve' them halfway through for the parting of the Red Sea...)

at the phoenix on old cavendish (as opposed to the phoenix on charing cross). brett vincent and martyne green(e?) just went outside to have a cigarette.

i'm sitting at the same table as they are but i'm not with them. the room is filled with people of some (social, at least) comedy scene eminence, including the genuinely eminent paul byrne and a girl who goes out with nick doody (i think), who is always friendly to me in edinburgh but doesn't acknowledge me too much here (and she saw me do my awful set at the king's head in crouch end last month).


(show started)


it's now the interval. (turns out the [possibly] nick doody girl is named kirsty.)

i didn't feel like i could push myself into the vincent/green(e?) pre-show conversation and didn't necessarily want to but as i listened to it, i realized their conversation (also involved was a blonde woman i don't know) was full of the basic small talk i would have contributed but with an underpinning of familiarity and implied relevance that my small talk would not have had (the same words from me would have seemed forced.)

i was supposed to meet ava vidal here and after the show started i kept checking my cell phone for texts from her, hoping the visible checking would make me -- sitting at a table with people i kind of knew but not interacting with them -- seem connected to someone (or something) and therefore not just a lonely lingerer at other people's party.

eventually, i resigned myself to the fact that ava -- who had been uncertain about the location of the show -- was not going to come.

but she did. (hooray!) . . . and almost immediately went off to to work on her set.

of course, i had greeted her conspicuously and gotten up to go over to her but by the time brett vincent arrived at the bar to get another drink, she was focused on prep and i was again alone and noticeably so. (sigh.)

tiffany asked me if i wanted to maybe do the show next week. (hopefully, actual involvement will make me feel more comfortable then.)

i should have a drink to induce comfort now, seeing as how i'm not going on (i thought i might so i didn't pay to get in -- i hope i wasn't "caught") but if i can spend only five quid a day (i haven't been doing well at keeping to that), i can make it to january.

maybe ava will buy me a drink.

second half has just started. (simon munnery is headlining. i was standing near the door when he came in and hoped he wouldn't attack me about the anti-semitic thing with his wife, who, by the way, i love.)

i think i'll venture back into the (rather sedate) maelstrom.

I picked a great day to do the BBC's in-house gig. The day that it's announced they're looking at 2000 job cuts (but no one knows who) and also that they're going to sell off The Doughnut (aka Television Centre, aka one of the most famous workplace buildings in the country). London Lite says they're going to sell it either to a business (so Shepherd's Bush finally gets a Primark), or knock it down for housing. Urgh. I feel sick even writing that. It's a great building - a magical one - I still get the shivers walking in there, thinking of all the history of shows and talent that have made television there over the last century. Monty Python was filmed there, countless Comic Reliefs and Children In Needs, the Blue Peter garden is there, Roy Castle tapdanced around there... And by 2013 it's going to be a big Wetherspoons.

The BBC gig itself was fun tonight - I was compering, and baited them a little on the jobs front. Some of them even believed me when I said that, thanks to the unique way the BBC is funded, us comedians were paid by sacrificing their jobs. No one really knows who's safe. It looks like being news and factual (ie. Planet Earth and the like) who'll lose out the most. My suggestion was that, as BBC employees, they make a show like Job Swap or something just before the redundancies kick in, then just make sure the other job has more security. Swap with a Sky employee or something. Then what do you know - Sky worker comes to the beeb and gets sacked. Beeb worker carries on at Sky. Who loses? I should be Director General.

As a beginner/L-plated comic, all you want to happen is that you become a full-time professional comedian. This wish is without any knowledge of what that entails; it's based in naked, unthinking, unblinking ambition. But sometimes it can grind you down.
I've spent 13 days on the road, and I've never been so happy to be incarcerated in my house. I never want to leave again. Please, should you feel it's possible, send me food parcels.

It started a while back, the first gig I did I filled in for Russell on the Edinburgh & Beyond tour, because he had radio commitments.
Now given that this is a national tour, you'd think it would be treated with a degree of respect by the venues. At the Hull Truck theatre, we had to perform amongst the set for a play called Neville's Island, which involves trees, ponds, twigs, hay, more twigs and rocks. This is Simon checking the mic - you can get a feel for how little like a comedy set the stage seemed. I'll thank you for noticing the BLOODY TREE STUMP centre-stage:

Against the odds, the gig was quite nice actually.

Then onto York for the University Freshers. It's a real one-off treat, that one. 1,200 young minds waiting to be impregnated with comedy for the first time. I like doing freshers gigs because you can do all of the shared 'hack' compering lines, and they think it's your own material. That way, from then on, whenever they go to a comedy gig and hear someone use them they'll whisper 'Thief! that's Dan Atkinson's line!'. If I employ my technique at enough freshers gigs, the lines phenomenologically actually will become mine! Mwa Ha Ha!
Whilst in York I saw this headline for the local paper which made me chuckle: 'Why, it's just what we've always wanted!'

Then onto Wales. Four dates in Wales for Silky. I've done them before, and the gigs are nice. Some of the South Wales towns are depressed, as you'd expect. In researching one of the gigs I found out that Pontypridd Town Council's official line is that their town is 'dying'. Nothing like a bit of PMA, is there?

Narberth is what I really want to write about. Not the town itself, although that is admittedly a bit strange. It's quite hippyish, and there's a lot of English there considering how far west it is, but overall charming. There's a village feel, with permanent bunting. The only problem with permanent bunting is that if you don't change it, it can give the feeling of a broken old fairground.

I also found this mural. Kids really shouldn't be allowed to paint unless they are prodigies. If this was sanctioned then shame on the hippies. It's shit. If it was a clandestine operation, then these kids really need to rethink their graffiti tags.
JELLYFISH DO NOT HAVE EYELASHES.

Anyway. Importantly, whilst there, a long way from anywhere, the only comfort you can expect to have is a decent Bed and Breakfast. And this is where things got really shitty.
I arrived at the B & B, and my initial reaction was 'Ooh, this is a bit cold damp and dirty!'. Because it was.
By the door was this thing, a sort of warning shot across my boughs. It was the size of a small child, and I swear at one point I saw it move. I don't care if it was home-made or bought, I've never felt more like Edward Woodward.

Then things became a little clearer when I clapped my eyes on this little beauty. I've taken a close-up for the sake of the detail, but let me assure you there were millions of these fuckers dotted around:

So. She (being the landlady and having a severe limp) told me that breakfast was at 8am. I said that I was doing a gig and would be back late, so would it be OK to have breakfast a little later. With not a hint of humour in her voice she said 'I'll put you down for the 8:15 sitting then'.
I trudged to my room to sit on the bed and watch the telly, which I had to turn on at a plug on the wall. Then a shower. The shower took about ten minutes. When I came back into my room, the TV had been turned off AT THE PLUG ON THE WALL.

She'd been in my room while I'd showered to turn off the telly. It was at this point that I realised that not only had I not been given any keys: there weren't any keys because there were no locks. Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

In a slight daze, I stared mindfully at the dead flies on the windowsill.

I hotfooted it to the gig, then returned for a night in a bed that felt like it had been pissed in (I wouldn't have put it past her to be frank). I set my alarm to get breakfast at 8:15am.

Next morning. 7:30am. She knocks on the door of my room, and then without any warning limps her fetid way in, opens my curtains and says 'time to get up now; I've got things to be getting on with.'

Well now I was ready for anything, so when she sat and watched me eat my breakfast in utter silence it didn't seem in the slightest bit odd.
Here is a picture of the other people with whom I was dining in the breakfast area:

THAT'S RIGHT! NOBODY! This wasn't actually a B & B, just some mad limping Welsh lonely old fucknut in a house that should be condemned.

She then charged me £45 for the privilege of her hospitality (£45! No joke!) and ushered me out the door, presumably so that she could get on with her busy day scraping the mould off cheese and her manky leg.

The worst experience of my days.

After that went up to headline at Edinburgh University which for years has been a formidable gig and this was no exception. Lovely gig, great, intelligent students with a passion for comedy.
I also had the bonus of seeing this poster for an Open-Mic music night. I presume that's meant to be a guitar he's carrying, but if you've never really grown up, it makes for one of the funniest pictures you'll see in a while:

in restaurants and other public places, for being too loud. (i call it enthusiasm).

i generally don't wish i had heeded his advice, but in london, where loudness is equated with americans, i find i suddenly represent not just myself but also my countrymen.

the other day, in a restaurant near leicester square, a classic, cranky, english dowager-type loudly (and without irony) chastised me for my volume as i passionately analyzed the anti-michael moore film, "manufacturing dissent".

and today, a classic, cranky, older gent wouldn't shut up (again without irony, though brits believe they are suffused with it) about what he saw as my loud and lengthy phone conversation in a local cafe.

well, this is the kind of offense that actually mortifies me, since loudly talking into a cell phone is one of the most obnoxious things people do and i've mocked others -- in their presence -- for this rude obliviousness.

unfortunately, when you get lost in the world of a phone call, you can suffer a diminished awareness of the physical world around you.

still, though sometimes they're unavoidable, these technology-inspired affronts are the ultimate responsibility of the affronter and i was deeply embarrassed when confronted with my sins.

but . . .

the offended dowager, protecting the gentility of her beloved britain against boorish americans, was doing so in a "cheap eats"-listed chinatown hideaway where she was about the only brit present and one of the few people even speaking in english. (where, exactly, did this "classy" dame imagine she was eating?)

and the cranky guy this morning wouldn't shut up even after i immediately took control of my volume and was clearly responding to his criticism.

frankly, it made me not want to apologize to him.

but i did anyway, because it isn't just me in the indiscriminate, "you're different than we are", redhead-mocking eyes of the british (though my father could tell them otherwise).

i represent americans.

have a nice day.

I feel torn between facebook and My Space - I hate that people who used to update their My space pages regular, no longer do... Like for example blogs. I only read a few blogs and for different reasons. To be completely honest, there are one or two blogs I read of people who aren't my myspace "friends". Like there's this girl who's linked through someone who IS my friend on my space, and her blogs are hilarious. She's a right dick and she hasn't updated in months and this hurts me quite frankly.

There are still a few decent blogs being updated, like Nancy's, Christina's, Katie's, Jo's and Gareth's. These people all have interesting blogs but you can't access them all unless you are pals with them.

Things I like about facebook are that you can easily see when people are online and when their status's are updated. But this seems stalkerish to me, also you can find out loads about people too which is great for nosy people like me. If you join the network of the person you wish to stalk, you can do so and then check out their profiles and find out all sorts of information about them and then never use it against them............ (except of course in your mind)

I've noticed that lots of people on facebook have pictures of themselves horsing around in tents at festivals and camping and such. And for some reason this tent action makes them appear the height of cool! Therefore I propose that I hotfoot it to my nearest back garden (my mum and dad's) and simulate a cool camping scene. I shall then post these up on facebook (they'll never know the pics are faux as facebook's don't look on myspace anymore) and write a caption underneath like..."Me, baz, korky and Cazzza VERY wet, HAA HAA" (I'd need some extras for this simulation though, this could prove difficult.)

I've been doing shit-loads of overtime at MTV and its really helping me financially. I ordered new furniture for my bedroom like a proper lady on monday. The only problem being, it needs to be assembled by mere mortals such as myself... I'm not very good at DIY, and neither unfortunately is Gareth so will probably sit flat packed for a few months... BOO. Oh well at least I got it now.

So all's good in my world if a little busy. Catface Cabaret looms, this show takes lots of organisation but I'm limited on time owing to going to Munich for the EMA's, and fitting in rehearsals for other projects. I've started a new comedy club at the Bath House too, every second wednesday as of January, and for now the dates I have booked for this night are the 8th November and 5th December. The night is called "Catface Comedy @ the Bath House" and its a joint effort by myself and Gareth.

So, dates to remember are CATFACE CABARET on 4th Nov at the Hen and Chickens Theatre, and Catface Comedy at the Bath House on the 8th November. Get involved my friends, get involved.

Till next time...

reg hunter today.

seems promising; an idea he had the first time we met that i decided we should pursue.

good preliminary session, after which it was on to debenham's with my friend elise.

neither of us has money but we treated the place as if it were part of "normalland", a theme park replicating the environments in which normal people with homes to furnish and regular paychecks spend their time.

of course, we bought beverages as one would in any amusement park. then we looked at towels, beds and bric-a-brac as if they were things we might actually be able to buy and take home with us. (ah, sweet fantasy.)

who knows? maybe if the project with reg (or something) works out, i'll be able to buy a towel.

The title sounds like a public school prank, like when Wellington pupils smuggled in 2 sheep to their dorms, labelling them 1 and 3 (both were caught by teachers straight away, but they spent all night looking for the elusive sheep marked 2, which of course didn't exist...)

But no, the title describes my last two gigs, both slightly different from the norm. The first was just me on my own performing to several hundred teenagers; the second was me performing on a bill with what seemed like several hundred teenagers.

Stowe School is a public school near Buckingham. It's very fancy. Richard Branson went there, and so did Prince Harry's girlfriend. They've got an arts festival on all week, so their chaplain booked me to do the Edinburgh show about the book of Genesis, instead of Sunday morning chapel. So it was my first 10am gig, and my first gig to several hundred public school teenagers. Playing to an audience who aren't there through choice is always more of a challenge, but they enjoyed it, laughed in most of the right places, and I had a great time with it. The bits that didn't hit the mark were things I couldn't plan for - I had a joke about the phrase "She didn't know him from Adam" (you can imagine the joke) which has never not worked before, but got nothing - I had no idea that kids didn't know that phrase. Now I think of it, I've only ever heard people like my parents say that. Never have I heard, "Bitch not know him from Adam, dya naa what I mean, innit, nuff said." The only bits I cut out the show were bits on onanism and a touch of sodomy. Didn't quite feel right for it...

The second gig, last night, was a showcase of comedians at the Arts Theatre in London - about 40 of us on the bill, doing between 60 seconds and 6 minutes. Lots of industry there, and a great chance to meet the future of comedy. I felt old. I'm only 28, but there's all these teenagers up-and-coming. Lots of fine gagsmiths among them. The future of comedy is in safe hands. I feel a little bit threatened. Must put off a few of them.

In fact myself and comic Stuart Goldsmith have decided after last night to set up our own new act competition, because we enjoy judging people, and we'll reward the 2nd place, but 1st place will get nothing. This is to encourage new comedians to be good, but not be that good.

Right back to the blogging. I've been really busy, it's the first couple of weeks back at uni and I've had no internet access. I've also been trying to write my first one hour show "Beth Becomes Her" which is at Vanilla in Manchester on 29th October and which the www.vanillagirls.co.uk website describes thusly:

"Our infamous resident comedy night compere performs her own one-woman show, chronicling her amazing life story and the journey she undertook to become the star that is Bethany Black. You're guaranteed to laugh and cry, but a fantastic heart-warming evening is most definitely in store."

So there you have it, I'm a star! It says so on a website!

In the brochure for the festival though they have written in the picture who the picture is of and in mine they say that I'm "Mick Ferry" which does both of us a disservice though I must say, Mick's never looked better.

I'm hoping the show goes well I've written most of it and there's still some more to do but it's been quite stressful. I did nearly decide to pull it through my own fear, but as part of the show's about facing your fears and that they're usually the most difficult part of any life changing journey it would seem foolish, plus there was an article about me in Diva, the lesbian lifestyle magazine this month which advertised the show so I can't get out of it now. It's a lovely article which I'm considering using for my CV, and as a strange side note since it came out every woman I've ever given my phone number to, snogged, looked at funny or dated has been in touch to tell me that they've seen it and to ask if I'll go out for a drink with them as well as being introduced to people like this "This is Bethany Black, she's, like famous and shit." the and shit is a turn of phrase like "and stuff" only using swearing, it's not a critique of my act, at least I hope it's not.

I'll kind of explain what it's all about here as I promised you an explaination with the references in previous blogs to writing "Personal material" as this show is all about that, I talk about my life over the last six years and how it's changed, how I've gone from depression and aggoraphobia, a nervous breakdown and suicide attempts, getting drunk and changing in the dark because I hated my own body and self harming, through to a point where I could dance naked on stage and be totally comfortable with that whilst also getting over a broken heart and co-dependency issues.

Admittedly that doesn't sound like a laugh riot, but wait and watch whilst I weave my magic. Actually having written that down I can kind of see why people describe me as "Dark" I've never really seen it. When I first started out I thought I was "dark" and "Edgy" but in reality I was just trying to be shocking and cause offense, once I realised that and tried to move on to writing stuff about my actual experiences I thought I'd no longer be dark but as it happens I apparently still am.

Turns out the advice that Dolan gave me of "think of things that you'd never normally tell another human being, things that are difficult for you and talk about them." and he's absolutely right.

And though I'm not shy about talking about them and am fairly open about stuff sometimes not saying something comes back to bite you on the arse. It has done this week.

My mad landlady told me when I moved into my new house (in amongst her questions about whether I'd be ok sharing with a black student and a Polish student - I'm still not entirely sure why she thought I'd have a problem), that my two flatmates were "From a different culture and they're very naive, so don't you go... well... scaring them" I didn't know what she meant by this, I assumed it to be because she'd seen some of my P.V.C. trousers and a couple of dog collars lying round the house at my previous address, and the fact that she's more than likely been in my room and seen sex toys lying around. And the time that we had a centre-fold from 60+ in a frame in the lounge at the last house. And that I bought everyone glow in the dark anal beads for Christmas last year and some of those were left in the lounge when she came round.

But that's because we were all really close, and living in a house with two lesbians and a heterosexual guy and a girl who should have been a sex toys tester, and the house reflected that.

It was only when my flat mate Amber told my two new flat mates that I'm gay that I realised what the landlady had meant. Not that they were over the top about it or homophobic in any real way but it did freak them out. their homophobia comes from ignorance rather than anything else, and Ella was really intrigued asking questions like "So what's it like going out with a woman? I suppose it's like when I go out to meet up with my friends only with sexual tension." Which in my experience is totally accurate, though she did say that when she told her boyfriend that I was gay he told her to lock her door at night so I didn't try anything.

Anyway this all ties in with the show because of what happened yesterday as there's little things that you do when you're not out to people where you don't use gender specific terms, and I do that occasionally, though not frequently, usually when I know that it'll just make things more difficult, though I can't keep that up for ever so usually I slip and say girlfriend instead of "ex" or "Partner" and then don't really make any mention of it so that if they want to make something of it it's up to them. But in this case it's something else.

I woke up and had a shower and was getting ready for college when Amber knocked on my door and I said hi and she asked if I had any AAA batteries, which I don't I've only AA but thats not important. she then asked if Ella or Victoria were in and I said I didn't think so. and so she said "It's just I saw Ella this morning and she was freaked out, she'd had a bottle of wine last night and was in a really weird place because someone at work off your course told her that you're a transsexual, and she flipped."

See, now this is true and it's not something that I've got a problem with, and it's not something I've got a problem telling anyone about, well not these days though six years ago I'd have rather died than tell anyone, but as it turns out I was shit at attempting suicide and faced being sectioned, and whilst I'd have rather died, I'd rather tell someone and get help than spend time in a psychiatric unit. So that's what I did. It's just a medical condition, and just like I'd not tell casual aquaintances about my irritable bowel syndrome unless it cropped up in conversation I don't see why I should immediately tell anyone about this, though of course on stage, with a mic in my hand I'll tell people about my irritable bowel and that I'm male to female post-op transsexual, but that's because I've got funny things to say about both. Though the question does crop up how can I be gay and trans, which is easier to explain without comedy as gender and sexuality are different things from each other and from outward sexual characteristics. Essentially what makes us feel deep in the very core of us that we're either male or female comes down to a section of the brain called the hypothalamus which controls all sorts of things and there are differences between the sexes in a particular bit of this section of the brain called the central region of the bed nucleus of the stria terininalis or BTSc for short, it's a tiny thing but it's slightly larger in men than it is in women, and a Dutch scientist, Dr Dick Schwab (I kid you not) looked post-mortem at the brains of a number of transsexuals and discovered that in all cases this section of the brain matched that of the gender they claimed to be.

So if you look at it like that, and consider it as if there are three compass points, one which denotes outward sexual characteristics; male, female and all the variances in between (intersex conditions affect around 1 in 500 babies born), along side sexual orientation as the second compass, and gender or the brain sex, that state of feeling male or female as the third compass.

In most people these three match up as either male outwardly, attracted to female sexually and internally having male gender, or outwardly female, attracted to male and internally having female gender, but there are all sorts of ways in which they don't line up. In my case before I started on this crazy journey outwardly I looked male, was attracted to female but the gender was female, now I outwardly look female, sexually am attracted to women and inwardly have female gender.

I'm not sure if that's still confusing or if I've managed to explain that right, if you're still confused about how I can be both trans and a lesbian let's just say that I just really really hate cock.

I was going to talk about this in my blog from the start as it's just over a year ago when I did an interview for Paul Provenza that I took to the stage at Spank! in Edinburgh and talked about it for the first time in front of an audience. So I didn't really want to hide it. I remembered what it was like for me growing up and not knowing that there was anyone out there like me and feeling very very alone and so I thought that if I could talk about it, maybe it'd help people to understand a bit better and maybe make life easier for anyone who has to follow me.

Then earlier this year my local paper decided to out me, in spite of the fact I'd not spoken about it in the interview that I'd done with them, which I didn't want to happen as although my family are all totally cool with it, my brother's kids are still at school in the area and it may have made their life a little more difficult and I didn't want that. So I did an interview with them in order that they would hold off printing that and they asked me not to mention it on her until they'd printed it.

So now when I see my flat mate I've got to explain all this to her, and I think that more than anything the reason I didn't say anything is just because I get a bit bored of having to try and explain myself, when at the end of the day I'm just a girl who used to have a boys body who likes girls.

Anyway that's what the show's about, the last 6 years of my life, that's why it's called "Beth Becomes Her" and I've got a feeling it's going to be something a little bit different.

the next blog will be back to being silly and embarrassing and about some of the strange things that have happened recently, so expect rock'n'roll stories of drunken married couples asking me for a three-some and pissed audience members thinking that I'm married to Jonathan "the most obviously gay man I know" Mayor.

Oh, Add me to facebook and myspace.

until next time, I love you all

BB xXx

who almost never performs anymore. he loves live performance and wishes he had more opportunities but basically does nothing in that arena.

now, he's been called in to audition for a major stage musical.

and worries he could "go crazy" doing the same song "every night".

Back from my hols. Crete. Lovely. An apartment ten metres from the sea and ten metres from the pool. And that was as tricky as the decisions got - working out which to do each day.

It's missing home comforts, granted. You can't put toilet paper in the toilet, for example - you have to bin it. I wasn't sure if we were meant to poo in the bin as well, so just to be safe...

Meals out were nice - though Greek cuisine isn't exactly my thing. But the Greek salads were nice, and in the main the tavernas were lovely. Although some of the places in the nearby town of Chania were a little dodgy. We went to one taverna, with a lovely atmosphere, out on a street in an old-fashioned, high-walled, pedestrian square, with a couple of guitarists playing acoustic Greek music. Only whenever we walked past it (we did the rounds, trying to see who had the best menu), a different waiter would be out front collaring us to lure us in, and all of them followed this pattern...

WAITER: Hey! You want to come look at our menu?
US: Er...
WAITER: Where you from?
US: London.
WAITER: No way! I worked in London for 7 years, at Bella Pasta on Leicester Square.

Every waiter in Crete seems to have worked in Bella Pasta in Leicester Square. I don't even know if there is a Bella Pasta on Leicester Square. It's clearly a ruse they have. And it's not the only one. Next up, when seated, we're asked if we prefer fish or meat. We answer individually, and are told what the special is of each. We'll even be brought the very fish we'll have cooked for us to approve it. We eventually have to prise a menu off the waiter, but by this stage he's made his mind up that we're having the fish special and chicken special he's just pitched to us, so pays no attention to us trying to order anything else from the menu. Something fishy and something chickeny just appear on our tables ten minutes later. Oh, and the uncooked fish we're promised we get to approve never arrives, not that that fish would be the one you get cooked anyway.

And to cap it all, the 'good price I give you' for the fish, of 11 euros, is somehow forgotten about when the bill comes, and it has suddenly changed to 32 euros. Luckily Zoe checked the bill and queried it. We didn't tip. They be swizzlers.

That aside, I wholly recommend Crete. A fine place. Just don't look in that bin next to the toilet.

unattended bags. you're supposed to report them 'cause they could contain a bomb.

so, this afternoon, in the subway under edgware road between marble arch and bayswater road, there was -- an unattended bag.

it was one of those laundry carrying bags you see around here and it looked benign enough, but who knows what was under the stuff on top and anyway, i don't wanna be responsible for the deaths of innocent citizens, so i figured i oughta call the police.

but was it really an emergency?

i wasn't sure what with all those people walking by and also maybe saying something (though they probably didn't) and i didn't know a non-emergency number, so i decided i'd tell the first officer i saw on oxford street as i walked toward oxford circus.

unfortunately, i didn't notice a single officer along the way.

not one.

on the busiest shopping street in the center of one of the biggest cities in the world with people from pretty much every nation crowded together on the sidewalk, there was not even a token police presence to intimidate, for example, pickpockets or other "petty" thieves.

now, i don't know if i've mentioned it to you (except constantly over the last couple weeks), but i was recently a victim of "petty" crime and it seems clear to me that there is no will to stop it in this city. i had to make my crime report in ladbroke grove, near where i'm staying, because there's no police station in or near camden town -- a hotbed of criminal activity.

this is crazy.

it ain't the artful dodger out there folks -- no musical numbers, just a disrespect for others' rights and property.

they're not fuckin' "the man", they're fucking you. (well, me, anyway.)

in the sometimes crazy political point of view that prevails in this country, it probably seems less fascistic, less american to have cameras everywhere instead of having uniformed personnel roaming the streets.

but you know what? there were cameras in the pub where my computer was stolen and it didn't change a thing.

however, if a man had been watching the area, the robber might have thought twice. (consequence has a human face.)

all i'm saying is if a bunch of people get blown up near oxford street today, it wasn't my fault. it's because you guys can't get beyond your dickensian indulgence of criminals and your self-defeating reluctance to appropriately use authority.

did i tell you the officer on duty when i made my report told me he felt safer in new york than in some parts of london? (this was a london cop.)

be careful out there.

(i think that's what it was) offered me a giorgio armani jacket and another article of clothing in exchange for a full tank of gas from the shell station east of queensway on bayswater road.

now, i can use a nice jacket, but his story -- that he had to return to italy after a trade fair at (or near) harrod's, had two samples it wasn't worth taking back with him, had lost a lot of money at the casinos last night and therefore had to ask someone -- in this case, me -- for the money to fill his tank sounded too good to be true.

perhaps i would have been more trusting had i not recently suffered through the diversion trick that lost me my computer.

though it's not certain that's how it was stolen my newfound awareness of such trickery has rendered me extra-wary. it seems london has taken away the wide-eyed naivete that formerly defined me.

maybe that's why i feel so comfortable here.

my flight home is scheduled for next thursday but i really don't want to go. today, i was walking through bayswater when i got a call from lewis schaffer saying ava vidal had told him we were hanging at the comedy store tonight and he wanted to come along but couldn't 'cause he has his kids tonight.

we talked about his gig opening for reg hunter and other comedy-type thangs, then ava called to confirm our hang.

it's like i live here. i even (kinda, sorta) have friends.

i wonder if i can get the old pal i'm staying with to let me stay longer.

or if it's even advisable.

I've lost one of my blog readers! I KNOW THIS, but which one is it? I'm completely insulted. Re-subscribe immediately whoever you are and we'll say no more about it.

This week has been fun. We had Sandy Holey on Tuesday and it was good. We were trying to get lots of industry types in to say nice things about us and to make special things happen. But its really hard to know people of industry status! I mean, I'm an industry person. I'm a channel manager at MTV and a stand-up comedian by night (sometimes). I mean INDUSTRY people. Not the monkey's yeh? The organ grinders, thats right. Once when I worked at TV Travel Shop I picked up the phone and said

"Good afternoon, TV Travel Shop, how can I help you?"

and the bloke caller went

"Look, I don't wanna speak to anymore fucking monkeys, get me the fucking organ grinder!"

See I hadn't heard this monkey/organ grinder saying before so was thinking, wow he's calling me a monkey, dats sweet, monkeys rule. Not really, I cut him off.

Anyway back to my story... SO! Although we sold out, yeah thats right, sold out. We didn;t have many industry types in, and its so annoying cause we just need them to see it. If your reading this industry types, can you tell me how I make you come and see Sandy Hole please? Anyway, the show was good, except for my "friend" from Australia who was MASHED with his wife and heckled loads. Very embarrassing, I had to tell him to shut up lots. He's a good lad, but didn't 'alf make me feel a twat.

Regarding the title of this blog, which I never do, I have been being a bit of a naughty cat of late. BUT, I just went on an Emotional Fitness course and I feel all cured! I'm going to stop being angry and stop being shouty. I also did an UNLEASH MY CREATIVITY course, to help me with the block that seems to be blocking me from writing really good/funny new stuff.

Lets see if it works, shall we?

Till next time... x

the computer i wanted anymore so i scoured the tottenham court road area for a similar deal to no avail.

then, unexpectedly, i was handed a flyer outside the googe street tube station for a computer fair in bloomsbury.

fortunately, i ignorantly went the other way, ending up at a different computer fair in a ucl-related hospital where i found an astonishingly powerful laptop for the price my benefactor was willing to spend.

unfortunately, he had been mugged the night before by a gang of teenage, bicycle-riding hoodies and was in no mood to meet me at the fair. now i gotta wait 'til saturday rolls around again (only two more days!) or head out to the seller's storefront in an industrial park in acton. (i think i'll wait 'til saturday.)

meanwhile, i've been killing the time between computers by hanging our with a girl i like. (don't know how she feels about me.)

dancing the dance of interpersonal enthusiasm is somewhat draining and i might have run away from the dance had i the opportunity to lose myself in gigs.

but i haven't had any for a while, so i've had to lose myself in life, which would not necessarily be my preference.

the show i did is featured on the main page of the radio peckham website.

(today, peckham. tomorrow, stoke newington.)

on radio peckham yesterday.

radio peckham.

the supervisor-y guy said i was the funniest guest they'd had. (on radio peckham.)

i guess context is everything.

it was fun but it's strange trying to consider it in directional terms; in a career context.

did it indicate forward movement?

it's hard to know but i'll tell ya one thing that is moving forward -- it's my gut.

for the mathematically inclined, the relevant equations:

inappropriately hot laundry settings partially foisted upon me by circumstances = shrinking clothes

shrinking clothes = ill-fitting garments

time spent in cafes staying out of my friend's hair so that he continues to let me stay in his place = too much eating

tiredness due to staying awake 'til my friend goes to sleep + getting up early and leaving to stay out of his hair = weariness

weariness = not much exercise

not much exercise + too much eating = expanding belly

expanding belly + ill-fitting garments = a body made for radio.

and i was good enough on radio peckham to make listeners visualize me in a positive manner.

but the radio peckham people insisted on photographing me for their website.

forward movement?

I'm kind of back a little bit, it's busy, it's the first couple of weeks of my third year at uni and everything's kicked off, I've no internet connection at home and I'm trying to book as many gigs as I can after I realised I was about £500 worse off over the space between now and christmas.

I'll try and get a new blog written very soon. Like over the weekend. I'm just totally stressed at the minute.

Also if anyone has any paid gigs they'd like to offer me get in touch.

Love you all always

BB xXx

but, as regular readers know, i have resolved in this life to successfully battle my demons cold sober or die trying (at least when it counts), so the fact that i didn't consider changing my phraseology from the conclusion of the previous post 'til i was typing inside an invisible cloud of my friend's marijuana residue meant i could not change to more sensitive wording, as that would be sensitivity born of a second-hand (almost) high.

meanwhile, the same friend who so generously supplied the second-hand thc has offered to buy me a new laptop as payment for the outline of a movie we've been discussing. i found a place (with help) that had an amazing model for a sufficiently low price (nothing else in that price range even comes close) but the place only had two, including the floor model, as of yesterday and my friend doesn't have time to get it today.

that means i may have to get a crummier computer. (sigh.)

on the bright side, a trip to whole foods in kensington high street revealed an even better array of samples than you get in new york.

life, it seems, is an up and down thing. (more references to my enthusiasm for samples can be found here.)

by the way, i may be second-hand high -- which is not my alma mater -- even now.

It's 3am, and I need to be up at 6am to get to Gatwick Airport for my holiday. So I haven't got time to blog, which is a shame, because it was an unusual day. Alas though I have no time to mention my car breaking down because I ran out of petrol (I wondered only yesterday how big my reserve tank was - smaller than I thought, let me say that much). A nice RAC man got me going again. I say 'nice' - humourless is a better description. I even made a jolly mistake when I asked if I was okay to rejoin (the motorway), and I thought he meant rejoining the RAC, but not a smirk from him at that - just a scowl. It was cold I suppose. I found that out myself as I script-edited some sketches on my laptop in the woodland off the hard shoulder, in the pitch black, sat on a log waiting for him. It seemed frightfully middle class - using your laptop in a huddle of trees as cars raced past. Very odd.

I'm also not able to blog about the long long traffic jam I was in outside Northampton (on the way to Nottingham for a coupla gigs, including one at my old uni. Aw.), meaning that although I left at 2pm to get to Nottingham for 5pm and see a movie, catch up with some old friends, get some work done, and maybe watch a dvd on my laptop... instead of this course of events, I just sat in traffic for 7 painfully long hours. Painful not just in terms of boredom, but in terms of the fact that I was dying for a pee, and the services were just too far ahead to reach. My car was literally not moving, so I hate to say it... yes, blog-reader, I used a bottle. A 1 litre Tropicana orange juice bottle. I know it's wrong and technically I could have been done for exposure in a public place, but I was gasping for that pee-wee, so go I had to. No one noticed anyway. Although the guy behind seemed to be uncertain what I was doing when I seemed to pour a litre of perfectly good orange juice out of my car window. Oh, and that was a stupid idea. I did it cos I didn't want a car of stinky wee, but then forgot that I'd pour it out the window then sit immobile in traffic for 40 minutes, so instead I just had a smelly puddle outside of my car window for the best part of an hour. Charming.

Sorry to disgust. Anyway, as I say, I haven't got time to blog about this, or the fact that when the traffic was still for an hour I put a dvd on in my car. Well I wasn't moving. And I figured even if it did, I could just listen to it and plug it into my tape adaptor so the sound came through the speakers. Only the film I had was the Spanish film Volver, so subtitled. So you kinda have to pay attention to it - difficult when hurtling down the motorway and it's on your passenger seat. But as I say, I was motionless, and enjoying the fact that I had prepared for this traffic jam by bringing such a thing. It's an odd journey when you can say that you've watched a film and had a piss, and haven't left your car once.

On that bombshell, I'm off on my hols for a week, so no blogs till then. You're probably glad, given the foul content of the above...

btw, the last line of the previous post was not aimed at all comedy chicks nor meant to imply that all comedy chicks are judgmental. it was very narrowly targeted and really just a colorful way to end the post.

downstairs at the kings head last night and did great, perhaps the most effective in a line-up that included natalie haynes reading from her new book and owen o'neill presenting a short film he made in ireland.

in a bridge-mending frame of mind, i kept a respectful distance from natalie haynes, hoping to eliminate the stalkerish tinge generated by my decision to base my set on hers at the book club and by my follow-up e-mails featuring trivia about dick van dyke. (related posts at http://blogs.chortle.co.uk/andrewjlederer?s=natalie+haynes&sentence=AND.) to keep said distance, i stayed away from peter grahame's office, where natalie sat hangin' and chattin' before the show.

well, staying out of the office meant sitting in the showroom, so i was in a position of high visibility when susan murray, who recently accused me of creepily staring at her mouth and breasts (at a show where i was otherwise so triumphant, the audience practically carried me out on their shoulders) suddenly strode into the room.

now, it's true that i tend to stare but generally not at the things or for the reasons perceived by others, something i'd tried to point out to susan. still, when the attractive woman i was chatting up was asked by andrew clover if she was with me, her answer -- that she had come alone -- seemed to provoke some murray mutterings, no doubt about the unwanted advances i was foisting upon this unwary maiden.

well between a rock and a hard-place, personal image-wise, i nevertheless managed to be sympathetic in a story i told about (not) asking a girl to dance when i was a child. then, i accompanied the attractive, unattached audience-member part of the way home.

we had a great conversation and may get together on sunday.

take that, judgmental comedy chicks!

It seems a slight irony of blog / diary writing that when you have lots of time on your hands to write, you have very little to say, and then when you actually have lots going on that you could talk about, you're too busy to write anything.

Did the little Gulliver people live in Niniver?
I do like the word Niniver, in any case. It's like an old fashioned version of the word 'ninny'. Which is probably only a word that my mum uses
"Oh dear, I've blown up the oven, I'm such a ninny"

So yes, all of a sudden, it's all go.
I am moving house this weekend, so currently surrounded by bits of box and bag. It is usually when I have to move that I realise I have too many shoes.

I've also got a part in an episode of 'my family' (you know, the BBC1 thing with Robert Lindsay) which is jolly exciting. And in between that and moving I'm trying to find time to do some writing, go to the dentist for the 50 thousandth time, get more boxes (you can never have enough boxes, oh I love them so), go to castings, go dancing... and then the week after next I'll be working at Channel 4 for three months.

My great uncle died recently (that's great-uncle; my mum's uncle; not great(adjective) uncle. Although that's not to say he wasn't great. He was. He was called George). He was 87. I find the death of someone you don't see very much rather odd. It doesn't ever really sink in that they're not around any more. Because you only see them once a year or so, you can never quite get your head around the fact that they're not still there, ticking along, gardening and eating scones and doing crosswords. Strange. Sad. That people just slip away.

I got a new bike. One of the big black dutch ones (like Ruud Gullit in bike form, haha)
Did Ruud Gullit become a crack addict?
Can I get sued for asking that?
My boyfriend's dad's hair looks like Ruud Gullit's.
I love my new bike. It has a basket and I look mentally deranged riding it, wearing my silly BMX / skating helmet because I don't like cycling helmets but also don't want to die.

Ah boo, better go. More boxes to find and more things to put into the boxes.

Be excellent to eachother.

Ruth x

here's matt crosby's recent blog post about his relationship with camden, the area where my computer was stolen:
http://matthewcrosby.blogspot.com/2007/09/save-camden.html

(pay close attention to the nice things he says about "anthology", which i valiantly proceeded with right after the theft.)

Another atypical weekend...

Friday evening - Not Going Out recording at Teddington. A good ep I reckon - Dating. It'll be on in a fortnight. Ian Boldsworth does a fine job warming up the crowd, aided by the mad woman in front of me taking her bra off and passing it round the audience. I wouldn't mind, but he didn't even ask her to.

After the show, I whisk two chums back to the green room for a free bar and mingling with the actors, who are very warm and friendly to them - especial kudos to Lee Mack for coming over to say hello when I wasn't even with them, Tim Vine for still telling us jokes when it was just us at a table, and Miranda Hart for generally being a good egg. Still no word on series three, but fingers crossed.

Saturday afternoon - watch Charlie Brooker's Screenwipe and Flight of the Concords, recorded earlier in the week. Both excellent. Recommend everyone get freeview just for these shows.

Saturday evening - comedy gig at a speed-dating event in Liverpool St. Make several faux pases (faus pases? faux pas? faux pass? faux poxen?), including referring to the night by the name of one of their dating group rivals, calling it a speed-dating night (which I've now done again here - it's a singles group, not speed-dating), and saying to one of the singletons in the audience that she's probably got her babysitter at home waiting.

I stuck around for a drink after my slot, which was socially tricky because I hadn't mentioned that I'm attached during the set for the simple reason that I didn't want to rub it in to the 100 or so singletons. So then I had to (quite flatteringly) fend off some female attention afterwards, as they saw me as someone who was socially confident, so there was a little bit of polite mentioning of my girlfriend, normally followed by the respective girl making her excuses and leaving the conversation about 5 seconds later, ie. not wasting valuable date-event minutes talking to an attached man.

Karaoke followed my comedy set, so I did a quick Mack The Knife then buggered off home. That was the first time I've ever done karaoke after doing a stand-up set, which is slightly odd. It's like giving yourself your own encore.

Sunday daytime - sat on the panel for auditions for a new musical that I'm co-writing, called Rubbish! I saw myself as a kind of Louis Walsh figure. I'd even watched The x Factor the night before as research. We had maybe 20 or so singers come in and do their stuff, and I was very impressed. It was a five-person panel - me, the choreographer, the producer, the director and the singing tutor - and we all had a score sheet to make notes on voice, movement, stage presence, additional notes etc. But I'm no singing expert, or dance expert. So everyone else on the panel wrote down "Top A-flat, good belt" etc etc. I just put a tick under 'Dance' if they walked in using two legs.

Sunday evening - After You've Gone recording at BBC TV Centre. Last of the series - aw. Well, Christmas special, so a slightly longer recording, with a party after. Woo. Was given a lovely bottle of champagne (plus champagne cooler) by Rosemary the producer, and a bag of posh sweets by Celia Imrie. Take note, Not Going Out people. After You've Gone rewards their writers with presents at the end of the series. You've got till October 31st (the last recording of Not Going Out) to get me something nice.

Nicholas Lyndhurst offered his thanks for work on the series, and aired his grievance (and ours) about the new habit of the BBC of plugging the next show with a giant bar across the screen during the last minute of the previous show. As a result we lost a visual joke last week on After You've Gone cos the Beeb was plugging A Bucket of French of Saunders up next. None of us from writer to producer to director has the power to stop this, but Nick Lyndhurst is what we call a star. He's got oomph. So apparently he's made his feelings on this irritating promotional method known to the head of the channel, and is confident that by next week's show, it will have changed. I'll be tuning in if only to see just how much sway he really has...

So that's my weekend. Full, really, with a full week to follow now. But in a week's time I'm on my holidays in Crete, so I shall do weekend things like read the paper and sleep late and pretend to do some exercise then.