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.

Firstly I have to apologise as I have been asked to write a blog for trendy local magazines Angel and North, and they are trendy. What this means is that I am not creatively intelligent enough to do two completely different blogs a week and so the first paragraph of this week's blog will be stolen from that one. And don't bother complaining as this is a free blog and to be honest, I don't care. So have that. Although at the same time I do care a bit as I noticed my blog reading hit rate has dropped as of late, and by double blogging I may be merely cutting this figure in half. Or perhaps, doubling it? Only time will tell.

Speaking of time (seamless link into copied bit) how is it November already? It used to take ages to get to this time of year, and now it feels like I’ve sat down for two minutes after the Edinburgh Festival and the year is nearly over. Apparently it’s an age thing. My Nan says that time flies by for her and it just goes quicker the older you get. I find this incredibly unfair. Surely it should fly by for kids when all they’re doing is using play-doh to make incorrectly coloured animals (I don’t care how old a child is, a lion is not purple) and then slow down when you could actually be doing useful things with your time.

I say useful, but the scrabble still reigns in the flat. I did attempt some new gags last night though at the ever lovely Outside the Box in Kingston. What was disturbing was that all the comics there were trying new stuff too. Lloyd Langford did a whole 15 minutes of solid new gags, with some truly top lines in there, and Greg McHugh had some great new stuff too. My attempt was some stuff I'd written on the journey to the gig and hadn't really worked out how to say any of it, resulting in a large amount falling on its face. I did a new gag about the California forest fires though which went down well. Sadly, it wont be topical after a week or two. We can only hope for more US arson based destruction for the sake of my set.

Dara O'Brien was also at the gig last night trying new stuff (along with Omid Dijili, Dave Fulton and Paul Tonkinson. Quite a line-up!) and it was amazing how even though all his stuff was very new, it had a 100% hit rate. Part of me was in awe and part of me hates his guts for being so funny so quickly. It must come with experience I suppose. Maybe time going so quickly isn't that bad.

Long run of gigs ahead for the month of November, no doubt much of these in the next few days will be quiet due to idiots ooohing and aaahing at the same fireworks we see every year. Yawn. I'm not just being a misery guts, but let me know when they can make fireworks that look like the ones Gandalf uses in Lord of the Rings, then I'll put my gloves and hat on, and ooh and aah with a baked tatty like everyone else.

Lastly, I have finally got an adjective before my name in Time Out. Apparently I am cheeky. Is this finally fame?

Fat Tuesday tonight! Adam Bloom, Andrew O Neill, Joe Wilkinson, Luke Roberts and Dylan Bray! Should be a stonker.

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...)

Dear blog readers

It has been a whole week since I last wrote and in this time I have had two very nice gigs run by other people, one very nice gig run by me, one nice but very awkward gig because of the rugby, one parking ticket (not tax deductible, sadly) due to rushing to see Dave Chappelle at the Comedy Store (who wasn't great, sadly), several late nights, one pirate film viewing (that's an illegal film, not a film about pirates, sadly), a lot of mashed potato and an ear infection.

I realise that that sounds like my week has been mega cool and I bet all of you are jealous. Not least because of the ear infection. Ok, you may be jealous of that. However you will be jealous of the bravado which surrounded the discovery of the ear infection. During an appointment with my doctor for a regular diabetes check up (during which, unbeknownst to him, I would be testing the doctor's levels of patronising banter and constant leaning towards prescribing me everything he can for NHS bonus dosh) I happened to mention I had a cold and a blocked ear. Merely a cold I stated, and no, it did not hurt. Then he checked my ear and said it was infected. I felt super tough as I had demeaned the infection's status of illness. Point to me.

Most of my time in the last few days has been taken up by or my thought processes at least occupied by the Scrabulous application on Facebook. I have always enjoyed scrabble in a kind of ' wahey, its Christmas, I'm a bit drunk, lets play games that will cause competitiveness and arguments among family/friends', but combined with the addictivity of the Internet social networking site, the classic board game is as moreish as those bags of poppadom crisps from the supermarket (they are very moreish. Trust me. Tiny tiny poppadoms. Just amazing.) Facebook itself has sucked me in, like most people who are Internet capable and have friends or wish to pretend they have. It is the entire definition of doing something whilst actually doing nothing and the main reason I haven't written as much stuff lately as I want to. I wish Facebook would collapse and yet also I'm not sure how I would cope without the ability to carry out such banal activities as 'wall-posting', 'poking', and kicking the shit out of people's zombies.

But all these activities are nothing compared to the addictiveness of writing words with pre-given letters on a digital scrabble board while goading friends on the scrabble chat wall. Until this point I had not realised I enjoyed words quite as much. So far current faves (and high scorers) have been ' rewrought', 'quasi', and 'cordite'. Despite these however I have mainly lost all of the games I have played due to being beaten by tiny but powerful words such as 'zap', and 'qi'. This is a travesty that such small combinations can be more powerful than big words. It completely disproves the theory that big words make you clever. In fact it proves that less is more, small is beautiful and other things like that that I wish applied to more areas of life. Sigh.

What I need to do is stop playing it. Not only is it distracting me from writing, but also when I do write I am wrought with concern over which words in my writing would score more points and where I could place them within the joke. By this time next week, my gags will be dwindling, but you can count on the fact that they will all contain words with 'z' and 'q' in and be placed on triple word scores.

Small final thingy. We had decided that the kittens, Rosie and Bella, are now allowed all over the flat at night, leaving our doors open. Last Thursday as a result of this, I was woken at 5.30am by Bella licking my head and trying to eat my hair. Despite literally throwing her at the floor, this continued until I was almost in tears, desperate for more sleep. My girlfriend says that its a sign of affection, but I believe a sign of affection would be leaving me the fuck alone at that time in the morning. People say that getting kittens is just a step away from having a baby. If babies wake you up at 5.30am by licking your head and then chew your i-pod headphones in half while you sleep, then I already dread fatherhood.

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

After now being on the circuit for a reasonable amount of time I feel I can judge most comedy situations accordingly. I like to feel I've learnt from my mistakes and can do ok to good in a rooms where before I would screw stuff up.

However, tonight proved a itself a massive example of me still being able to ruin the easiest of gigs. Background excuse lined up: I am still ill (see last blog. I am aware that by blogging so close to my last blog, that blog may be neglected. Don't be poo, read them both!). Illness can account for poor judgement but not really enough. Unless you are mentally ill, then that can actually count. Or dying ill, which also counts. I am neither of those though.

Tonight was the 'Best Of' Amused Moose Hot Starlets, a heading for a collection of comics that I MC'd last year at the fringe. It was a great line-up of newer to more experienced acts doing a range of sets from 6mins to 90 seconds to allow more acts stage time than on a normal comedy eve. When offered a 90 second slot, I quickly agreed while slightly scoffing at the idea. I am by no means a quick gag comic and find it tough to do even a 5 minute set now that I regularly enjoy being able to pace my gigs and chat to the audience. So I had stressed about this minute amount of comedy time and spent ages working out exactly what I should do.

Despite this, 3 minutes before I was due on stage, I decided to change my material having no idea whether it would fit to time, walked on stage, needed to cough a lot, and raced through my gags at 100 miles an hour, while still managing to bumble through the material. Truly poor effort, especially considering there were many a comedy promoter in the crowd, as well as a large amount of very nice actual audience members.

I have somehow developed a wonderful ability to screw up when important people are at a gig, even if, like tonight, I don't know they're there. I can trace back countless competitions and 'talent spotting evenings' where I have chosen the set badly or gaged the crowd wrong, and yet on any other evening I'll be fine. The past week has been a lovely mix of stonking 20 sets, and great MC gigs, until tonight where a mere 90 seconds became tough. I am starting to believe I may have some sort of ancient curse due to the ancient mosaic I once drove a catering trolley into at the V&A Museum 11 years ago. As the manager said just before he fired me 'you've fucked that right up, now you will be cursed forever by the sun god Ra'. Well he didn't really say that, but it was something along those lines. Well not even along those lines. And he didn't fire me. I quit before he could, because I'm sharp like that.

On the plus side, I chatted to lots of nice comics/comedy related peoples that I know and like and I also did speak to a comedy related fellow diabetic and got some handy tips about things I didn't know, which was thanks to me doing the diabetic material I shouldn't have done. So perhaps, despite the poor set, my health may improve. Swings and roundabouts as they say...when designing a playground.

Other quick notes. Gig last night in Leicester Uni. Thought it would be horrible, but turned out bloody nice if disorganised. Not all students are bad at all. Although there was one who got upset at an acts 'suicide' gags and how insensitive they were and complained to me about it in a whiney way during the interval. I was tempted to tell him to go jump off a bridge, but instead explained about comedy and that he was an idiot in a nice way. He then left crying and I couldn't help but feel I may have accidentally played a small part in his own life attempts. I do hope not.

Fat Tuesday tomorrow/today! Al Pitcher, Marek Larwood, Chris Martin and James Kettle, all of whom are ace. Should be a stonker!

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.

Is it odd that despite being ill, I'm happy about it? I'm not happy that I'm full of a chest infection or the horrible stuff I'm coughing up, but I am happy because I have a gag that I can only use when I'm ill. How wrong is it that comedy rules my life so much that I have reason to be pleased that I'm feeling pretty crap. Very odd. I do like that gag though, and it feels cheaty if I say it when I'm not ill. People can see through lies. Much like dogs.

Admittedly my illness is partly self-inflicted. After the Loughborough Incident I started to suffer thanks to alcohol consumption and journeying home with Matt Green who said he was ill. Damn you Matt, you plague carrier! While there were gigs following this, I did not drink for the next couple of days knowing that I don't really like being ill. I have discovered this after being ill before and rating it on a list of things I do like. It doesn't come anywhere near banoffee pie.

However, on Tuesday I had to travel to Belfast to perform at the brilliant gig at the Empire. While the gig was excellent and the crowd lovely - despite the MC's anti-English banter just before I walked onstage - afterwards the promoters and other acts refused to let me not drink. Apparently my excuses were rubbish and they gave my pint after pint until somehow it was the early hours in a Belfast music bar and I found myself staggering back to the hotel. This extra bit of boozing knocked my illness up from what women like to commonly call 'man-flu' to what is actually known as 'chest infection'. I have been craving attention from my girlfriend since and generally acting pathetic.

Also did another great gig in Leeds at Original Oak. I've heard loads of people say its a lovely room and they weren't lying. After four hours of driving with illness, I was worried that it would be a bad gig and I would just give up all hope on life. Four hours drive by yourself is a long time alone. I often mutter a bit to myself, play music very loud and criticise my own driving. Its all very strange behaviour and I am often so desperate for conversation with someone that isn't me, that by the time I get to the gig I'm actually far too enthusiastic about talking to the audience. This lonely eccentricity must be why most lorry drivers are arseholes.

Since then I have permitted myself two days of no gigs. I say permitted but in all honesty I just didn't have any bookings but it sounds cooler to say I chose it that way. Still its given me time to catch up with an old friend on Friday and see my girlfriend Saturday, two things that were overdue. Watched Atonement last night. Well done Keira Knightly for not being shit for the first time ever! I did however spend far too long sniggering because they used the word 'c*nt' in the film. I am far too childish like that. A recent example is a few weeks ago when I went to see the amazing Joanna Newson at the Royal Albert Hall. She was incredible, but before her was a support act called Roy Harper. He is a folk legend and he sang the whole of his most influential album from 1969. Now the songs were beautiful and his voice was amazing, but the name of the album ruined everything. It was called 'Stormcock', and that meant giggling all the way through his set with my friend. Constant wonderings as to whether the album cover just had a big dick with lightning shooting from it, meant that we laughed so loud that other people told us to shush.

49 hits on the last blog. Woohoo! I feel this is probably because I called it 'I hate students' rather than any of the content. My girlfriend pointed out that at the moment she is a student and so is my mum (doing a PHD) and my brother has just stopped being one, so therefore I cant really hate students. I don't hate students really at all, just the ones that were at the gig last week. All of them.
I also love the comment from Debbie on the last post. If you haven't read it, please do. Its great when people get all bitter and nasty for no real reason. Well done Debbie, you provided me with much enjoyment when wondering how to respond. More comments like that please!

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.)

When I was a student I could never work out exactly why people hated us. As far as I knew, I was studying hard(ish) in the hope of contributing to the world much like anyone else whilst drinking lots of booze.

Since leaving University however and doing student gigs I've realised that most students are naive, arrogant, rude bastards who, thanks to lack of life experience make performing to them complete hell. I'll admit that this is not by any means always true, but after this weekend I have discovered a new loathing for them, not least because they made me feel very old.

Saturday night I MC'd at a University Freshers Ball. I wont say which Uni, but its notorious for being full of sports a*seholes and little all else. From the second I and the other comics were asked to do the gig we were wary. This wariness was dispensed with the added offer of not just pay, but free booze and a hotel room too. There were 9 comics booked in and it was to last from 10.30pm until 2am. That's one hell of a long time, but when you also think that the students had been drinking since 6pm and watching crap such as McFly hype them all up, we all knew the last thing they would want to do is sit and listen to 3 hours of comedy.

And goddamn we were right. Walking into the Union bar, we saw the tiny stage in the middle of mayhem that we were to perform on. TV's were on all over the room keeping them occupied with the boxing and when they were turned off for the gig, that was step one in making the crowd very annoyed. Luckily myself and Carl Donnelly had agreed to co-MC, Spank style, which gave us an easy way out and back up against the vicious hordes. Attempting to get their attention and begin the show, we shouted a lot, got some cheering going but generally failed miserably because no-one cared. All acts were meant to do 20mins, with only one person achieving this (well done Pat Gallagher!) and Matt Green getting close. Poor James Nokise who was on first suffered horribly due to being a Kiwi and the days Rugby events. He still held out for 11 mins, which was damn good. Highlights included Tom Bell pretending to be American, Chris Martin getting people on stage to see who could bench press him the most times, and my favourite, Hal Cruttenden shouting at the audience ' I've got to perform to Army troops in Cyprus this week, and they've been to Afganistan and Iraq and they are still a much nicer audience than you c*nts!'

Thank god for the free booze as we drank our way to stupidity as the only way to survive and ended up staggering back after I managed to accidentally steal the sound man's car keys and then drive back to London with them and a mega hangover on Sunday morning.

All the acts that were on on Saturday were great acts and yet the vile students didn't give a single one of them a chance. I don't fully blame them. I remember my Freshers Ball and all I wanted to do was drink and chat to girls. Watching comedy would have a been a far stretch of concentration too. No, I blame the uni event organisers. Who would ever think it was a good idea? Its not fair on the comics to deal with something like that and it gives any audience who did care a bad view of live stand-up. I have since made a very quick note to myself to ask very carefully about agreeing to any of those gigs again.

Had a great gig at the Kings Head last night which made up for it. Very small audience but truly lovely. One man at the back was wearing a Japanese silken scarf so I started some banter. I discovered he was part of a band and thus automatically allowed to wear crazy things. Naturally asking what their band played, he said 'pop', at which point I proceeded to insult modern pop music with venom. Then, thinking I should, I asked what band he was in, only to discover it was Hot Chip, a band who I currently love listening to. Never have I had to backtrack my comments so quickly! Damn Crouch End and its genuinely trendy residents!

My kittens are still entertaining too. So far their destruction count in our flat equals: three vases, two plates, one set of headphones, a funny owl made of shells my uncle got me and I loved but my girlfriend hated and several kitchen rolls. It baffles me how something so small can be so dangerous. I'm only 5'5" and I'm relatively harmless in comparison.

Off to Belfast tomorrow! Truly love that city and looking forward to some mirthing in Northern Ireland.

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 inv