Everyone @ Chortle

They drain, distract and undermine us, but they’re a part of our personal worlds

When and how do we separate ourselves from them? Is it right to do so or even to want to?

And what if we are difficult as well? Does that mitigate our grievances or invalidate our distress?

Yes, this Friday's "Anthology" is recommended in the current issue. (Show features Scott Capurro, Terry Saunders, Deborah Frances-White and more.)

Here's what they have to say:
"Top comedians tell stories from their lives, straight, without the artifice and stylization of conventional stand-up. Curated and hosted by the quite superb Andrew J Lederer tonight's line-up includes the brilliant Terry Saunders, Deborah Frances-White and Elise Harris." (Source -- http://www.timeout.com/london/comedy/events/540862/anthology.html)

Hope some of you can make it to the event, which, in case you don't recall, is at The Ship, 68 Borough Road, SE1 1DX (nearest tubes -- Borough, Elephant & Castle and London Bridge), Friday at 8:30 PM.

Admittance is a measly 5 pounds.

Opened windows to air place out.

Watched downloaded episodes of House.

Lost shape of day; slept and rose whenever.

Played music aloud at will.

Chain still on door, in locked position, from Sunday night.

It is 5:03AM, Tuesday morning.

for the better part of a week. Without any implication of negativity, I can admit i was looking forward to the freedom of what the enlightened men call "alone time"

My friend is still here.

Scott Capurro's gonna be doing my next "Anthology" storytelling show, Nov. 30 at 8:30 pm. Capurro joins a line-up that includes Terry Saunders and Deborah Frances-White.

Show's upstairs at The Ship, 68 Borough Road, SE1 1DX. Hope you can make it.

Nice meal last night to celebrate the end of a series of a sitcom that - huzzah - is coming back for series 3. I'm not sure if it's public knowledge yet, so I'm not saying what sitcom it is, but regular readers will probably guess. There were various titbits of info and the like, so I thought it best to report it in the style of those Wicked Whispers things you get in tabloids...

- Got one of my favourite big-name comedians keen on coming to the new gig I'm running at my local in Guildford. Yay. So hopefully that'll be for the first night, which will hopefully be in January. He's a fine, vine, fine comedian.
- A leading music journo and radio broadcaster thinks my Edinburgh idea for next year is a winner. Nice to know. Just need to write it now.
- Sat next to the MD of the production company and heard all about a new hidden camera show starring one of their acts. Sounds very funny indeed, pumping much-needed life and originality into a comedy genre that's been done quite shoddily since Beadle retired. Coming soon to Saturday nights. Highlights include estate agents, satnavs and dog poo.
- My agent, it turns out, is very nice to deal with according to the business affairs person. Firm but fair. Unlike my previous agent, who by all accounts was an unt with a capital c.
- In other news, some sketches I gagged-up and script-edited have been read and approved by a leading comedy guru - let's call him Ian Ucci. Anyway, Ian likes them, which is nice, cos our paths haven't crossed before in the world of work, and he's a man I'd like to impress.
- The only downer on events was that I found out I CAN get a space on the table for the British Comedy Awards BUT I copied down the date wrong a few weeks ago so I've booked myself a holiday starting that very day, thinking the awards were the previous night. Bollocks. I may try and change the flight. Or I won't, and will just have to work doubly hard next series to make sure we get nominated again next year...

"Charmingly original."

So said an older gent in the crowd gathered outside the house -- on Elgin Crescent, I think -- where a woman well-known and well-loved in Notting Hill during her 89 years on the planet -- Mary Rose may have been her name -- was about to make a final journey past the stalls of Portobello Market. (The guy might have said "wicker casket," since he was talking about a coffin, but I'm reporting what I heard.)

A participant explained that "market funerals" have been going on for probably hundreds of years but are rarely awarded to civilians. Two beautiful horses pulled a hearse past the sellers of Portobello, who had known this woman so well, as a large crowd of admirers.followed behind. Some crossed themselves as they witnessed this very English version of a jazz funeral.

Suddenly, there was some kind of fracas toward the rear. It looked like a truck had tried to pass through the mourners and the mourners were trying to thwart it, pounding upon the vehicle and verbally expressing their disgust.

The truck finally got through, though, and I thought I saw the name, "Dr. Eggs" on its side, meaning the disrespectful enterprise was self-identified as the dregs.

And was there a message in the fact that the procession turned onto "All Saints" on its way to the church?

Then, outside the church, the stately horses stood alongside a sign that read "Clydesdale Road". (Hmm . . . )

At the entrance to the church, a steel drum player provided music, another "charmingly original" neighborhood touch.

It was lovely but, you know, life goes on.

For instance, I wish I had credit on my mobile so i could let my friend know I'd be happy to join him for bangers. (But I don't.)

I can't believe we're almost into December. Well, I can believe it, but not immediately. When my snot comes out and I'm not aware of my lovely candle stick nose, then I believe it. (It happened this morning.)

So, the last week has been quite jolly. I did a gig on tuesday night in Reigate at an ASK restaurant and to be honest I wasn't looking forward to it. Eating and laughing? Imagine the mess. But this wasn't the case. They ate then laughed.... I had a nice one (not pizza).

I've mentioned before I'm getting very bored of my general stand-up material but not bored enough to write some more (cause they're still laughing I spose). Most of my paid work is for MCing (which is my favourite), and I spose I've added lines here and there to my stand-up act which have seemed sufficient up to now.

So when I get a paid stand-up gig like tuesday I feel a bit like I'm swizzing the audience somehow by spewing out the same stuff. I really care about the audience, like probably more than I need to.... I'm also really aware that I'm doing a "set" not MCing so I have to try really hard not to speak too long to them. On tuesday I think the medium I struck was happy and I had a jolly old time.

I know I must still have some creativity in me cause Caroline and I are always nipping and tucking Sandy Hole and its still lots of fun to do, also with Catface Cabaret I have to devise new comedy stuff throughout each show, be it in dance, song, stand-up or sketchy type stuff and I fully enjoy this, it consumes my thoughts and in a good way.

I just can't muster up the effort to include stuff thats in my mind in my stand-up set. I know thats lazy, but the yearning isn't there right now and I'm just being honest. Like, I don't find the prospect of driving to far away gigs with stand-up's I don't know, only to have conversations that aren't real, to then do a set I'm bored of, to then come all the way back. It's just not floating my boat at present.

I know people that are reading this will think I'm being well moany, but please dear reader, my frame of mind at present is positive. It's just freaking me out a bit that my normal stand-up Vs Mcing seem to be performed by two different people. They both get laughs and the job gets done, but my frame of mind on each seems to be at polar extremes. Hmmmm think on.....

So this week I went to weigh myself at Boots and they have a super duper deluxe scale that also tells you your height. So apparently I've shrunk. Measuring in at a mere 5ft 4.5! Whats that about I thought I was 5ft 6 inches. Oh well. This of course upped my BMI by another point. Bah so I'm even more over weight than I thought. Thanks alot Boots.

So this weekend sees me mainly doing over-time at MTV and then sunday night we have "A Night in Sandy Hole" on at the South London Theatre, this is the SECOND to last performance of this show. The final one is on Monday 26th at the Bath House in Soho. I would LOVE it if you could come along if you've never been and if you say CHORTLE AND THE WHEELIES you will get in for a mere £3.00. The show starts at 7:30pm and its literally 50 mins long so you can still get to bed at a reasonanble hour. Deal? Steal more like.

I haven't really been thinking about it or feeling I'll be missing something but if there's an American here that I'm friendly with who's having Thanksgiving dinner while I'm not, I'll be upset.

Maybe I'll watch some of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade online.

Ooh. The scent coming up from the "English Breakfast"-style cafe downstairs suddenly started smelling like turkey. (Must be my imagination.)

10/10 if you got the reference in the title. When defrosting a freezer (my new fridge-freezer arrives tomorrow - the first one I've ever bought from a shop - I feel all growed-up), particularly a severely frozen-over freezer, it's lots of fun to stab at the ice, making it break off like mini-polar icecaps. Don't get carried away though, like I did, and stab so hard at the back that you burst the compacted gas contained therein. It's dangerous. It contains ammonia, which is very painful when you get it in your eyes* - oh it burns and burns and burns. It can cause blindness. It's really bad. A sharp burst of this pent-up gas, in the face and possibly lungs, all because the Zanussi's being replaced by a Prestige 325. Hardly seems worth the risk to human life just to have cold beers.

*Luckily I had my glasses on. It pays to be a nerd.

a "Comedy Cuts" party last night that at least one person who was at "Old Rope" went to. (Probably more.)

Maybe if I hadn't rushed out after the show to avoid looking like an outsider hanging around without actually being anybody's friend, I would've found out about it and been able to tag along with people who were going. I bet everybody -- pretty much all the acts who did "Comedy Cuts" at the very least -- was there.

I wanna go but it's over now.

My life is empty.

Came in, not sure my jacket wasn’t hanging unflatteringly on me beneath my backpack.

I’d put it back on when leaving the bus to brave the wet, windy walk to the venue, after which I, well -- agonized is probably an overstatement – but I vacillated between the notion of stopping to fix myself up and entering as I was. The result tended toward the latter and, well – maybe I am agonizing a little over the fact that I rushed to a hidden spot upon entry, wanting not to be seen until I knew I was visually credible.

Damn.

Phil Nichol saw me before I was ready to be seen and I waved to him uncomfortably. That’s all I need – to be perceived by him as a socially uncomfortable, misfit weirdo.

Of course, he probably already sees me that way. I hung out with him the first night in Montreal this summer and then, the next night, I gave him the “are we friends now or should I still keep the distance of a mere acquaintance” look, a look guaranteed to make him flash a “keep your distance look” in return

Since then, I’ve been able to face him only with a needy, uncertain, “Do you like me? Please like me. If you don’t like me, why don’t you like me?” expression. Maybe if I’m funny tonight, we’ll find a new basis of understanding, rooted in his perception of my greatness.

Actually, he came over to here after I started to write this and was straightforward and nice. But I’m still pretty sure I was right about the dynamic, such as it is (since we barely know each other) between us.

What, I wonder, will this night bring?


(show begins)


More insecurity as Brett Vincent enters and acknowledges me. Paul Byrne, entered and, directorial ear cocked and ready, gets upset about an (unfixable says Phil) buzz in the sound system.

Richard Herring smiled a greeting. I attempted to respond in kind instead of withering.

Jeff Green -- funny guy.

I think Tiff said she meant to put me on before Jeff Green but screwed up somehow. Anyway, I’m now scheduled to be second in the second segment.


(interval)


Paul Byrne fixed the sound during the interval, after which, a guy he seemed to be working with – an alliteratively named Canadian (two m-names, I think) was exceptionally funny.

I went up third and I think the audience liked me – no real brilliance, though. (Guess I’ll have to be insecure around Phil Nichol a while longer.)

Coming up next: Richard Herring has the third segment to himself.



Related Earlier Posts:
http://blogs.chortle.co.uk/andrewjlederer/2006/10/17/ups_and_downs
http://blogs.chortle.co.uk/andrewjlederer/2007/07/20/met_frank_skinner
http://blogs.chortle.co.uk/andrewjlederer/2007/07/24/just_for_laughs_professional_interaction
http://blogs.chortle.co.uk/andrewjlederer/2007/08/19/what_was_i_asking_yesterday
http://blogs.chortle.co.uk/andrewjlederer/2007/08/20/3_good_shows_today
http://blogs.chortle.co.uk/andrewjlederer/2007/08/21/south_bridge_new_york
http://blogs.chortle.co.uk/andrewjlederer/2007/10/22/i_m_at_old_rope
http://blogs.chortle.co.uk/andrewjlederer/2007/10/23/couldn_t_wait
http://blogs.chortle.co.uk/andrewjlederer/2007/11/12/i_thought_tonight_i_d_be_a_clear_headed_
http://blogs.chortle.co.uk/andrewjlederer/2007/11/19/i_m_wet_and_cold

and I don’t have the money to get the proper clothes for this weather (or even an umbrella).

It’s cold inside this internet café. At “home”, it’s warm but filled with smoke.

Yesterday, my friend recommended me to a guy seeking acts for a (reasonably high-quality) no-pay gig. “Can we get him?” the guy apparently asked. “Isn’t he too big for this?”

Sure, I am.

I’m far too big.

For God’s sake, tonight I’m performing on a bill with Phil Nichol and Richard Herring. (For no money.)

I’m wet and cold.

Yes the title is my favourite quote from 'Withnail and I', which quite aptly describes my current state of play. This blog arrives a couple of days late as I spent yesterday suffering from a hangover of such high proportions that looking at the computer screen was like undergoing Nazi torture. Hangovers used to be alright. I used to be able to wake up, down some concoction of painkillers and some water, go back to bed and wake up strolling through my day as per usual. Nowadays however a hangover renders me completely useless in every way like some sort of victim of a serious accident. I often worry that I will be burgled whilst hungover, or worse still the UK will be attacked on New Years Day when no one is capable of defending themselves remotely, merely groaning for the enemies to perhaps use quieter weapons as we have a steaming migraine.

The hangover is still evident today, and in a moment of sheer stupidity I thought I would head to my recently joined gym to 'sweat it out', which is what meat headed fools tell you to do. Consequently, I now feel both sick and achey, doubling the badness. I hate people who swear that exercise cures all. If this was true, people would head to fitness first instead of Lourdes and collect bottles of fat men's sweat from the steam room in hope of ridding themselves of diseases. I have yet to witness any of this.

This was all the result of a good night out so I cant complain too much. This was my first weekend without gigs since before Edinburgh. While many comics would be in fear of a Saturday without earnings, I am lazy and relished the fact that I might actually be able to socialise with real people for once. Part one of Saturday evening was spent at a school re-union. The sound of such an event sent the fear of god into me, worrying that I would get stuck speaking to all those people I have been trying to lose contact with for 10 years. It is with the creation of facebook that these very individuals are able to find you and continue to harass you pretending that you are still their 'friend'. However, despite these worries, it was a really nice night. Just about everyone there was someone who I had wanted to see and catch up with and many of them are now doing interesting things, which meant I could avoid the subject of comedy for a good amount of time. I was hoping there would be some people who had truly failed at everything just so on my own personal 'life status' graph I could give myself a few extra points, but this didn't happen. Instead there were several speech therapists, social workers, teachers and generally things that help other people in life. This meant that in fact I had to deduct points as the only people I ever really help are those drunk tw*ts to realise it is ok to shout at someone on a stage, and to make the occasional person feel that its OK to laugh at a cancer gag. This is definitely not in the same league as helping someone to talk again. However, at the same time, I get extra points as I can sleep in every day and they cant. Ha ha, gutted.

We all met in the pub we used to drink in underage whilst at school, probably for the first time since we have been legally allowed. They have now renovated it and turned it into one of these gastro pubs that plague London, promising trendy food and classy spirits while all many of us really want is a ploughmans, pies and pint. Still this did not dampen the proceedings and if anything the fact it had changed made us feel slightly less weird for being there. Weirder still was that there were no underage people in the pub now, which means we wouldn't have got away with all our boozing were we kids now. Good timing on our behalf I think, but at the same time, its probably all key to the early stages of ruining my liver eventually resulting in my weekend of pain. Once again, swings and roundabouts.

On Thursday I went for lunch with my Dad, settling for an OK sandwich and chips after searching for a pub with real food for 45 minutes. Damn those Gastro pubs once again. No one wants an 'Aubergine Tagine' with a pint! Don't you understand? Anyway, on our walk home, we witnessed a small road accident involving a lady in a brand new mini and a cyclist. The mini had pulled out of a road as the cyclist was going past, causing the cyclist to fly of his bike, and land chin first onto the pavement. At first we were worried and ran over to check if he was OK, at which point we both rewound what we'd seen in our heads to realise that the cyclist and car had never made contact and instead the cyclist took a purposeful dive before the mini was anywhere nearby. The woman got out of the car to check and the man, with his profusely bleeding chin called her a 'F*cking b*tch' over and over before kicking in her wing mirrors and cycling off refusing help. Everyone was left rather baffled and I feel that that man deserves the 'Arsehole of The Week award'. Hurting yourself then damaging someone else's vehicle because of it is quite impressively stupid. For the first time in my life I wish I'd had the sense of a 15 year old and videoed it on my phone. That'd be at least a few thousand Youtube hits I'm sure.

Some new material at Old Rope tonight. I've actually written some so I'm excited to see if it rocks or fails. I've money on the latter.

So Friday night was our inaugural You Must Be Stoking (name copyright Paul Kerensa 2007 - the 3rd comedy club I've named, with increasing punniness...) comedy night at my local - The Stoke pub in Guildford. And I think we did a grand job. Stephen Anderson organised excellently and has spent weeks nay months planning it and most importantly flogging tickets, so we had a good 140 people in. And on the night we had meself, Andy King and Tony Vino, plus a non-comedian guest, yoyoist and juggler Arron Sparks, who was fab - and if any comedy promoter is reading this, he's a great act to book if you want something a bit different and non-comedy at your gig...

Crucially, Tim the bar manager loved it (I think he loved the bums on seats more than the show itself, but that's fine. And when I say bums on seats, I don't mean we dragged in homeless people). So we're going to be regular - probably monthly - from after January. I shall purvery the British comedy circuit for the finest acts and persuade them to toddle down the A3 to Guildford. Already got a few great acts interested. And I'm open to ideas on this, so please do blog-comment with suggestions - but the way I thought we'd do it is thus:

I compere (this is not open to negotiation, so don't blog-comment saying someone else should do it. Be loyal.)
Opening act - a warm and friendly affable act from the world of stand-up
Middle act - someone a bit different, not a straight stand-up but potentially a magician, poet, music act or drag queen. Alright, I may draw the line at drag queen. Cos, again, I can do that.
Closing act - a world-class reliable Comedy Store type headliner

I think that should work.

Friday's gig differed slightly from the norm in that it was co-sponsored by 3 local churches, so the audience were resultantly half-full of lovely Christians. Which was fine - and I think it says something that although all the acts tailored material to be appropriate and clean and inoffensive, it was still a fab night and the non-Christian audients enjoyed it as much as the theists did. A triumph for the clean joke.

I hear we had one complaint. I won't name, but apparently someone thought it was unchristian to make jokes about 'masticating' while inferring its soundalike meaning. Fair enough - I don't agree, but I can see where this person was coming from, in that it was a slightly bawdy joke if you're expecting 100% blessed you'd-be-comfortable-telling-it-to-Jesus humour. This person also had a problem with a routine about ghosts, cos that's unchristian too - oh now come on, that's hardly off-colour. And thirdly they had a problem with a routine about gambling. But there was no joke about gambling, was there? Well one act talked about Deal Or No Deal, which apparently counts as sinful gambling. Yeah, I can see that evil glint in Edmonds' eye. So no, much as was going to give the complainant the benefit of doubt on the masticating issue, the ghosts/gambling part of the complaint nulls and voids it in my book...

Oh and incidentally, for masturbation mentioned in the Bible see Genesis 38:6-10; for ghosts see Matthew 17:1-8; for gambling see Proverbs 16:33. So ha. If the Bible mentions them, then I reckon we can too...

Hugging is good.

But having a guy turn the sound off on your microphone while you're on the radio is not so wonderful.

I was right about the winding down of this chapter of borrowed accommodations.

But not due to the poorly-timed opening of a window or any conflict or explosion. Just two guys on top of each other for 2 1/2 months whose friendship would probably benefit from some time apart.

Only problem is, with the loss of that 400 bucks from my account a couple weeks ago, I no longer have the money for a ticket home.

Should within the next couple of weeks, though (In the meantime, anybody got a gig?)

Its hard trying to pretend you're not hungover. I'm at work and my boss is here from Holland. My mantra is "I am spritely. I am spritely." But I'm not. My head hurts, I'm floppy. So far he doesn't appear to suspect. I'm hoping I didn't sweat too much on the way to work in case wine seeps from my pores and then the jig will be up.

On the way home from the gig I went to see last night I bumped into a stand-up comic I knew also on the way home from a gig he'd just performed at. He was completely sober, and I was quite drunk. BAH.

The thing is, our eyes met just at the crucial moment that I was ramming a whoppa burger with cheese into my salivating gob. I whipped it from my mouth and stuffed it back in the bag but it was too late, he'd seen me at my weakest and there was nothing I could do to erase that image.

I think I rambled on about crap for ages, even forfeiting getting off at Bank to continue my monologue. 'He smiled sweetly and said don't worry.' (he didn't do that, its a line from a song) but yeah I'm a silly, and I just get excited.

I've just discovered a complaints form in my handbag which I requested at Euston Burger King last night because (wait for it...) they didn't have any cheese burgers or normal burgers available for sale last night. WHAT A COCK. Haa haa.

Thats it for now.

BYE.

So I'm re-qualified now as a first aider. Thats right people I can re-save your life, because I remember what to do again. Good ole' St john's Ambulance. I always feel fully equipt when I do this course, but would probably shit my pants if the unfortunate situation arose where-in I had to perform CPR on an unlucky soul. The course was in Sidcup in a little hut with no-one around. I would hate to work around that area (Footscray) cause its awfully depressing. With nothing but a lone gingey tom cat wondering around with a thoroughly bored expression on his face.

The examiner said to all the women when reading the badges with our names on, "The badges are always on the women's chest so is hard to look at your name, without appearing like I'm staring." But you are staring aren't you. Or you'd never have said that. And when I got only ticks on my paper he said, "No Kisses this time.." I looked at him confused for a moment before realising he meant no crosses. I took this as a semi-good sign and then realised I had passed. Hurrah.

Last week we had the first night of Catface Comedy at the Bath House in Soho. We only ended up with a small audience, (but a lovely one) & I'm pleased to announce that the twelve strong audience we got were made up of COMPLETE RANDOMS which is always lots of fun. Line up included, Janice Phayre, Gareth BErliner, Evie Anderson and David Hadingham, all of whom did very well. I MC'd and I completely enjoyed it too. Next one is on on the 5th December with Josie Long headlining.

The plan BTW with this night, is to have strong openers and closers, two solid mid spots and a new open spot. The open spot is the only spot we will book having not seen the act before or having had a recommendation. I think its important to have a spot reserved for someone who we haven't seen or the whole thing gets too cliquey, and we could all do with some fresh blood. There's some great new acts out there who just need a few chances so this is what we intend to do.

At the weekend I went to see my parents in Orpington and then to visit my Nan in the home. As some of you may be aware, my lovely old Nannie has senile dementia and no longer remembers who I am. We were very close before she got ill but I've now come to accept that the part of her who I once knew is gone. Unfortunately since I last visited, she's regressed further and mainly only speaks German now. I hate that I didn't learn deutch at school or get taught by her. (BTW my nan is german, she doesn't just randomly speak the language). So it was tough at times having to repeat "Nicht spreckon ze deutch" to her. Despite this, it was a pleasant visit. I sang her old songs like "Down at the old bull and bush" and "My old man" etc etc. This always makes her smile. We also played catch, but she kept trying to unwrap the ball when she got it.

I stayed at my parent's the night and then the next day went to Bromley to good old Primark. I only arrived at 12 (the shop opens at 11) and already it was carnage in there. Bromley branch seems particularly unruly especially for "clothes-dropping" on the floor. I couldn't find any trousers/jeans that would suit, as most were the "skinny" kind. How about inventing some "fat jeans" eh? Or how about some "chubber jeans". No. Skinny all the way. My legs are ok its just when it gets to the middle bit on me. I'm not apple shape, nor pear shape, nor boy shaped. I'm aubergine shape. How about catering for me?

Tonight I'm off to see the Real Daniel O Donnell show at the Albany. Is anyone else on here going to this? I think I might be going on my own you see.... I promised Muki for ages I'd come so I want to honour my claims and have heard its an ace night.

Right thats me. Bye!

unraveled my UK living situation by opening a window at an inopportune time. I realize now it was a dumb thing to have done but -- in the moment -- I thought it would be okay.

i am now in exile at the local coffee house.

'cause I've been in the flat alone for most of the day and for several hours had windows open on every floor, removing residual intoxicants from the environment and flooding the room with real outside air tainted by nothing more than, perhaps, the massive London fire that today took down a probably-toxic former bus garage and was all over the news.

Feeling the strength of my own pure thoughts once again rising within me, I closed one of the windows, in the process breathing in an unhealthy dollop of ashtray smell, perhaps even the ash itself.

Now, I wonder -- is all the THC gone from discarded marijuana ash?

Are we left with carbon alone?

Because, if not, I may have, surging through my system, a long-lasting, impactful dose of brain-altering chemicals more like what you get from pot brownies than from the second-hand inhaling of a spliff.

Thank goodness I'm not doing Old Rope tonight as I expected to. My every spontaneous, non-noose-holding utterance would be of uncertain origin and legitimacy, potentially informed or even generated by cannabis.

Of course, I was looking forward to O.R. as Phil will be back tonight and it's always fun but I guess the date was never officially confirmed. Tiffany had said it was open and I texted back that it was good for me but there was never any, "then it's set," and I didn't seek final confirmation 'til today, through Facebook.

I can see she read my note, but I ain't heard nothin', so I'm under the covers, beginning a night I expect will be composed of pot ash-tainted quasi-solitude, (There actually is something called potash, isn't there? I wonder what it is.)

I'm doing Fat Tuesday tomorrow, though. Hopefully, the psychoactive ash will have completely passed through my system by that time.

Maybe I should employ the purifying diet they use to make snails suitable for eating.

the friend I've been staying with was gonna be in a good mood this morning and I still haven't found out 'cause he left the flat so early, but I'm definitely in a good mood -- sort of as a result of his departure -- because, rather than listening to Radio 2, which my absent friend usually puts on in the morning, I listened, via laptop, to "Rodney on the Roq", Rodney Bingenheimer's long-running enterprise from KROQ in Los Angeles.

During the '90s, it's possible the happiest hours of my week were on Sunday nights, switching between Rodney's new music hours and a guy on another station who played stuff from 1915. Now, here I am, long out of L.A. and back in New York, but currently in London, listening to an L.A. DJ playing music largely from Britain.

Geo-musically -- in terms of my own adventures -- it's more perfect than ever.

for writing under the influence of naught but my own character. Though I knew I wanted to spend time in a THC-free zone before freelance joke-writing and blogging today, I’ve been unable to resist the social allure of rum and diet colas and cheap French wine.

Therefore, under-the-influence (sort of), I blog ahead, legitimacy be damned:


Met up with a classmate from elementary school the other night. I hate those annoying ghosts from the past who pop up via the internet and forcibly insinuate “remember when?” into your life while you’re trying to take care of bidness. But this guy was great and he was in town to play guitar with a wild band that did a two hours show with four encores at the Shepherd’s Bush Empire.

I gotta admit, I enjoyed the unique connection you have with someone who was in your class when you were small. I felt related to things; to my own past in a way that’s not part of my normal sense of me.

By the way, my friend’s band drew the oldest crowd I’ve ever seen at a rock’n’roll show and they were singin’ and dancin’ and throwin’ em back like they were 16. I’m talking about a sea of bald heads, white hair and bagged out faces and these craggy codgers were rockin’.

It impressed me.

Made me love the English.

For a minute.

But then people once again wouldn’t get out of my way in the street. And I refused to move, walking smack into an obstructive woman.

Tried to teach these people that they gotta get out of the way or be rammed but after making contact, I didn’t feel like a teacher. Once again, I felt like an animal.

But it was nothing that a can of Welch’s Grape Soda from CyberCandy couldn’t cure.

After last week's heinous example of a gig, I'm pleased to say this week has, on the whole been pretty good gig wise. Starting with an audience of people who stared more than laughed in Cheltenham which wasn't immense amounts of fun, then a truly lovely gig at Reading University, and lastly a succession of nice gigs back in the capital.

A large part of being a comic is travelling. Considering that often on stage you are only doing 20-30 minutes most of the time, or if you are MCing it may stretch to a tad more, then the comedy part of your day is very small. In comparison, on Monday for example, it took 2 and half hours to get to my gig then 2 and a half to get back (bloody windy A roads!), that's a whole 5 hours of travelling with no actual comedy involved. I often quite enjoying all the travelling. Driving through places you've never heard of before, sniggering at ridiculous town names (Bungay, hee hee hee, Gaydon, ha ha ha, Bapchild, ho ho ho) and having time to just listen to music and think up gags. But for every good journey there are 10 'stuck in traffic' journeys or excessively long ones of sheer tedium like driving to anywhere near Torquay.

The plus side of all this travelling I suppose is that I reckon I'm now a relatively good driver. Not that I wasn't before, but now I'm pretty much a road master. In fact, what is worrying, is that I might well be better at driving than I am at comedy due to the hours I've put in. If the comedy dries up, expect to see my small face behind the wheel of a white van in 10 years time, grey faced and listening to Queen and Capital Radio while cutting everyone up and generally being a shit.

I travel so much now that in fact I've gone to such lengths as deciding I have a favourite motorway, and favourite service station. While this may be useful at 2am on the journey home, I also know that its inherently sad and that the only other people who would appreciate that are other comics, or the sort of people that corner you at social do's and talk to you about how exciting accountancy really is.

So to gig in London for a few days is a lovely relief. Extra time appears in the day and I have used this extra time to be cultured this week. Apart from Tuesday and Wednesday which were spent doing some filming work, and Thursday which was spent on the sofa. But whilst on the sofa I did watch various comedy DVD's, which is, to an extent more cultured than someone at home watching Jeremy Kyle. Friday was much better as I went to see a truly brilliant play reading at the Trafalgar Studios. It was an amazing script about a couple whose teenage daughter had died and their inability to cope with their loss. Very well acted too, and on the whole a great change to my usual viewing of humorous things. The only bad thing was that it was a very quiet moving play, in a very small studio space. I have a knack in situations like these to accidentally make a loud noise and instantly become the most hated person in the room. The noise in question was a coughing fit brought on by downing a glass of diet coke that went down the wrong way, just as the characters were discussing in depth their happy last memories of their child. Needless to say, I slightly ruined the moment. I always do it though, but not intentionally. Its like a superhero power, just not a very good one. Captain Inappropriate Noise or something.

Yesterday I went to see Ratatouille which is a brilliant film. It was only mildy tarred by the fact that I was accompanied by an entire party of 7 year olds that my girlfriend had agreed to help with. Never have I seen more split popcorn and balloon violence in my life. The film is brilliant though, and its scary exactly how much they can do with animation nowadays. I fear that they wont need actors at all in the near future and that the reality of the Matrix may all happen over Equity rates for artificial intelligence performers.

The week culminated with last night gigging at the Red Rose, which is literally 3 minutes walking distance from my house. The gig was great, and a lovely crowd, but it was even nicer knowing that I would stroll home in a matter of minutes afterwards. Why cant more gigs be that close? I say scrap the travelling and build a Las Vegas like strip of comedy clubs in London. North London. By my house. Well we can all dream...

Been exercising my satirical muscle this week (oo er... oh no, that's the innuendo muscle (oo er)) with a coupla days writing for The News Quiz, and shall be again next week. If you're particularly keen to hear it, it's on the Radio 4 website's Listen Again till next Friday. My job was to write about 12 jokes each based around a racist Tory candidate, a Labour peer who's leaving the government to be a racing driver, research that sunbathing makes you live longer, and the decline of hot puddings. Mmm, taste the satire. I'm sticking it to the pudding industry.

They say satire is dead. Well look at what we're given. There's not much to rebel against. Labour are nicking ideas from the Tories, so everyone's in agreement. The modern hey-day of satire was back when Spitting Image was rife, Have I Got News For You was a baby, and the king of impressionists was Rory Bremner and not a voiceover artist most happy doing Tom Baker. Back then comedians would rant at Thatcherism or boring Major. Love or hate Thatcher, she changed the country a great deal, benefitting a lot of people but also pissing off a lot of people. Lots for satirists to get their teeth into.

Then there was a slight revival with the invention of New Labour. Spin. Yeah. Exposed. Telling it like it is. Comedy writers sticking it to the government. Eat my jokes, Tony. And then The War That No One Wanted. Ooh. They shouldn't have done that. No WMDs? Hanx Blix, etc etc. George Bush is invading countries on a whim, and you know what else, he's stupid. No, really stupid. So much so that for years comedians just had to repeat things he'd said or done ("the French have no word for entrepreneur", etc... For the best part of a year you'd get a laugh at a comedy night just by saying, "He choked on a pretzel"). So now Blair's gone and Bush is going, the war jokes are tired (although I think they were probably born tired). So what now?

Well none of us quite know what Brown is yet. I haven't seen anyone nail him yet with a killer joke or impression or angle. Too early days. And yes the War on Terror carries on (does it? the problem with a war on a tangible thing is that you can't tell if/when it has/might ever end - there'll be no "On the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month, terror has surrended."), but it's all got a bit embarrassing with no real sign of much progress in the Middle East. We can't really have a go at Brown for Blair's mistake (although I'm sure many have anyway). So only the true satirists - Mark Thomas, Rob Newman, John Oliver, etc - are managing to carry on their trade, and that's only because they are walking wikipediae of knowledge on politics and political history. I have to go on Wikipedia to remind myself who's Chancellor of the Exchequer.

So instead, for now, comedians stick to jokes about ex-girlfriends and drugs and insulting nicknames they were called in school (and that was just the teachers!! The teachers!!! Get it?!? Not the kids! The teachers!!!!). Some pretend to be satirists by occasionally doing a joke about a Muslim with a rucksack on a tube train, but normally it's somewhere between racist and lazy. That's not to say I haven't done it myself. Desperate times call for desperate jokes. Otherwise the casual satirist is left with changing the world by mocking the decline of hot puddings (which as I say, you can catch on Radio 4's Listen Again).

I've got a sore throat.

I only just started to get over the last cold, one of a succession that has kind of faded but never gone only to be replaced by another one tracing back to the beginning of August, So it's really irritating. Echinatia doesn't seem to even touch this, so it's time to quit smoking and start eating right.

I should be working right now on an essay for my course, that's why I'm sat in front of a computer in the library. Suddenly over the last few weeks I've had enough gigs, paying me enough to live off, and as a result I've not been keeping up to date with my studies. I've not been in to uni for a few weeks now, though the last two were as a reslt of an error on my part, I thought that Reading week was last week. I found out my error on Tuesday morning when I turned up to go to a seminar only to find out that reading week was this week.

I've had an odd start to the day, I woke up crying due to a nightmare. I thought I'd stopped having them in January, ever since I was about 6 or 7 I've had frequent nightmares and difficulty sleeping. It'#s only really been since doing comedy and being able to get up when I want that the not sleeping thing has ceased to be a problem. Turns out no matter how hard I try to re set it my natural pattern is to get up around noon and go to sleep around 4 or 5 in the morning.

Anyway just after Christmas I finally felt totally secure as a person, it was the turning point in not only getting over a broken relationship I'd not wanted to end, but also a turning point in my general life, work became easier and I stopped having nightmares.

In the last week though I've had two. One involved myself and my old flatmate Hollie recreating a fight between two 16th century Shaolin monks (both of us could levitate) and she bullied me into doing it as I didn't want to, but she threw a sword to me and told me to pick it up, it was kind of like Jack Palance in the movie Shane. Which is odd considering she's a 5 fot nothing chinese girl. We then fought and I got quite badly cut up but I still slashed her across the stomach and then stabbed her in the face as she wouldn't stop.

This upset me.

Last nights was even weirder, insofar as it was incredibly mundane. I was back at the house my parents used to own, the house I'd grown up in. They'd both died and I had to go there to sort it out. I'd got Sarah to come and help me as my health was failing and I'd just been told I'd got terminal cancer and would die within six months. But I was trying to stay positive. at one point I went to get something from the room she was staying in, and Liv; her ex, was in there. She didn't see me as her back was towards me and she was changing her clothes so I left and went to find Sarah and we got into an argumetn about Liv being there when all this stuff had happened with my parents dying and me being about to die. She said she wouldn't make Liv go, I said I'd throw her out. And Sarah said they'd both go. She went to get her stuff and I trie dto stop her because I didn't want to be trapped alone in the big old house slowly dying with only my memories to comfort me, but she went to go, getting Liv, who I started crying at and yelling abuse at as she went to go, as I saw her face to face for the first time in ages I realised she was about 6 months pregnant. Sarah said it was hers and I tried to explain how biologically this was impossible, but they explained some science to me that made sense and then they left me.

It was at that point I woke up.

I lay in bed for about 2 hours after this happened just feeling really uneasy.

I don't really know what either of these mean, so if anyone wants to message me with explanations I'll take them into consideration.

I reckon it's just stress at having to get a load of things done on a limited time scale and me being totally unable to organise myself.

Anyway I'm looking forward to the weekend. It's Rosanne's Birthday tomorrow, and then Jason and Claire's wedding on Sunday, and I'm back at the Iguana in Chorlton on Monday, a gig which many comics hate but I always love doing.

I really should get back on to doing some reading. The title of my essay is: "There is no document of civilization that is not at the same time a document of barbarism."

Wish me luck

until next time, I love you all

BB xXx

Spent money.

Had to replace toilet paper and paper towels.

The day is ruined.

Need to bring my daily spending average down, so have to figure out a way to spend no money today.

And the best way not to spend is by staying in.

But staying in means I'll have to breathe in clouds of ambient pot smoke.

And research has taught me that passive exposure not only has real impact but can be detected in the urine for quite some time. So, believing my creativity must come from my native state, I've decided I should not write until 8 hours after significant exposure to THC. That means in order to save money by staying in, I cannot write today.

However, a comedy friend has offered me cash for jokes and that means I should write today.

But in order to get the 8 clean hours required by my exacting standards of creative legitimacy, I must leave the house and would likely be spending money -- at an internet cafe, for instance -- in order to make money.

I guess it's a wash.

(By the way, I don't have 8 hours clean, so ignore this post.)

That comedian, Simon-something, was talking about his appreciation of American "humorist" Dave Barry, the Erma Bombeck (Google her) of suburban boomer dads. I saw fit to point out that I did not appreciate Barry's oeuvre.

Unfortunately, that was something like telling Simon-something he was an idiot.

I didn't mean it that way.

(I think I recouped.)

Its been a really busy two weeks, so this blog may be quite long. First of all, I went to Munich last week to talent escort at the MTV European Music Awards.

Each escort is assigned an act or entourage and they'e in charge of making sure that their talent is always where they should be at all times. So, for example, if the talent has a slot on the red carpet, you must take them there, greet them at the other end and then make sure they're in the right position for the show and also take them to press for interview and in general never lose your talent. Sound easy right? Turns out that these "Talent Types" are something called "human" and thus the above job is intense.

On the day before the show each escort is assigned their talent. I got Dynamo the magician and I was so happy cause he seems to down to earth and he really is. For those of you who don't know who he is, please check his website here www.dynamoworld.com

Dynamo's main position would be in the Foo Fighters bar (the glamour pit) doing magic in live links on the likes of Nelly Furtado, The Foo Fighters, Avril Lavigne and Joss Stone during the show.

During the day there would be a dress rehearsal where in each act is required to wear what he/she would be wearing on camera that evening so this could be filmed previously to make sure colours were right etc.

As we were heading to Dynamo's first position (dress rehearsal) I realised we didn't have his red T-Shirt; 'not to worry' I said, 'if we need it, I shall hot foot it back to your dressing room'. A few minutes later, Dan, his manager told me they needed it now as they were gonna run through his bit. 'No problem' I said, and went to head back down the tunnel which leads to the dressing rooms. At this point, I was met with Snoop Dog's car, his massive Security, Bitches, Bath tub babes, Horn blower and the very man himself. (All of the description above is exactley how they were known on the day) This intimidating sight was something I couldn't slide pass un-noticed, so I decided to take a different exit out of the stadium to get back to the dressing room. All the time on my walkie talkie being very aware that we needed that T-Shirt NOW.

All of a sudden I was completely lost, the olympic stadium is like a maze, but somehow I couldn't find my way back to the dressing rooms. Tears nearly came out of my eyes as I hoofed it around the stadium manically, the panic inside of me increasing by the minute. I had my cold lunch in one hand, thirty million passes round my neck, a clip board and pen in the other hand and heavy bag on my back. It was horrid.

EVENTUALLY I got back, retrieved the damn T-shirt and brought it to its rightful owner.
Here is my sweaty/red face.

The red carpet was mental with the most amount of reporters, papparazzi, industry types and disco balls I have ever seen. I had to tell Dynamo not to do any tricks on the carpet, (this was an instruction from above) but he did them anyway and I'm glad. Bless him, he actually said 'sorry bout that Leanne'. I was like ' Fuck it, I'd have done the same!' Why wouldn't he? Magic's what he does.

In our row of dressing rooms, it went, Dynamo, Lewis Hamilton, Pete Doherty (plus Baby Shambles) and Amy Winehouse. All of which seemed to behave. Well, Lewis Hamilton would behave anyway, but ya know what I mean. I like Amy Winehouse more than I did beforenow as well. Pete Doherty spilt a pint of beer outside Dynamo's dressing room and was seen walking down a whole flight of stairs with his eyes closed. His performance was cool though and his band and the few entourage there were, were laid back and settled.

A couple of the female performers were diva-ish, but I didn't see it as diva-ish, more like dilluded, childish behaviour. Some really have lost their way, but what can you expect if ya surrounded by a group of people always saying how great you are. You start to believe it and thats where the trouble begins.

So that was Munich. Dynamo was ace, as was his manager. Here they are at the end of the night.

Next up, Catface Cabaret. As most of you should be aware, this has now moved to the Hen and Chickens theatre in Islington, so I was pretty nervous about using the new space. It went very well indeed, although didn't QUITE sell out, but still had a plentiful fantastic audience and everyone appeared to have much fun. Thanks to the whole cast, Pappy's Fun Club, Evie Anderson, Brian and Krysstal, Anthony Davis, Amphlett and Candy, The dancers, Sophie Ward and Lauren Nathan, Louisa Ciacciarelli, and Tim of course in the Tech box. Fucking ace!

Monday night, it was Gareth's fantastic charity event at the Comedy Store in aid of St Mark's Hospital ( who saved his life). The line up was crazy. Glenn Wool, Brendon Burns, Rich Herring, Mickey D, Dave Hadingham, Adam Bloom, Tanya Lee Davies, and Ed Byrne. Gareth hosted/MC'd it and he did a fantastic job. FULLY holding his own and raising nearly six grand for the hospital. It pretty much sold out and the feedback's been amazing. Well done, you funny little 'fing.

Also check out the documentary he was in on the Community Channel website, I'm in it too!

Tonight sees the launch of Catface Comedy at the Bath House in Soho. This is a night purely dedicated to Stand-up (cause I only use one or two stand-up's for catface cabaret) and tonight's line up is, Janice Phayre, Evie Anderson, Gareth Berliner and Dave Hadingham. Me is MC. Me is. If you wanna come, I'll do you a special deal of £3 PP instead of £6, cause its the launch. Just say Myspace or Chortle on entry. 8pm

Let's terraform Canada!

Went to the King's Head in Crouch End to help Peter Grahame, who's captaining a comedians' team for the "University Challenge" show. They were shooting promos or something and they needed people to be audience.

At 10:45 in the morning.

Turned out the only people kind enough to help were me and Elise. So, the fuzzy audience shots also featured the comedians on the team -- in effect watching themselves -- Paul Sinha, Natalie Haynes and Simon-something (very funny and very nice).

I was quite personable during the session and perhaps created a bit of a new and better me in the mind of Ms. Haynes. (Feel free to search this blog for other references to La Haynes.) Elise mostly clammed up, although she said it was just that she couldn't get a word in edgewise. (Well, I was there.)

Naturally, everyone loved Elise and merely tolerated the new, better, personable me. The men (including Elise -- Natalie Haynes had theatre tickets, I think) all went out for eats and it was genuinely fun, except for when I gor offended 'cause I was pegged by Simon as a (proud) Brooklynite rather than a high-rise-dwelling Manhattan swell.

Boy, that Paul Sinha is smart. He's a veritable fact-accumulator and has the wit to interpret those facts as well (In a non-interpretive vein, he quizzed us on 20 or 30 years of Best Picture Oscar-winners -- he knows them going back to 1948.) All London can apparently breathe a sigh of relief as Mr. Sinha will be leaving medicine in a week or so to commit himself full-time to the healing art of comedy.

The £4.95 I spent on soup while with the gang was a source of inner agony in light of the $400 hit I took last week when that part-forgotten gym seemingly pulled all the plums from my financial pie. But the expense was part of what I call "living like a civilized person".

What am i gonna do, hide? When the rest of the money's gone, it's gone. (It's almost gone.)

Regardless, I shelled out for a full day's transit pass (service today was dreadful), went to a movie and generally lived like a human being.

I walked through charity shops with Elise. (Told a guy in one that I collected "old lady ash". You know -- from after a cremation.)

I lived (and now I'm having tea!.)

Could be worse.

I could be killing the night traveling back and forth on a New York City subway train. (Guess I'm homesick.)

I WANT MONEY!!!

Among the incidents of that past couple of weeks include the most highbrow heckle I've ever received: 'Do you know what solipsism means?'
I hadn't mentioned it, so it wasn't relevant and I can only assume that the heckler was pretty much ignorant of everything going on around them and blissfully unaware of pretty much everything except their own existence.
That would have been a canny put-down in a corporate gig for epistemologists, but as it was a student gig I plumped for a decidedly less sophisticated allusion to their questionable sexuality. Horses for courses...

And a word of advice to someone else: To the lady with the terribly unfortuanate birth mark on her face that looks like a Hitler moustache - please could you never again sit at the front of a comedy gig. It's an awful shame. So are many other amusing things.

I'm a big fan of bad buskers. 'Bad Buskers' sounds like a shit B-movie.
The oddest buskers I came across this week were two kids who couldn't have been more than 9/10 years old, seemingly unaccompanied.
They had stands and all sorts, and I sauntered up as they were just setting up. I got a photo, but it's not a very good one because I'm not sure what the law is about taking photos of minors. Presumably you can take photos of your own kids because they are your property. It would make for a fairly dystopian photo album where it begins at 16 years old.
But I'm hazy about ones that aren't your own. Anyway it's a shit photo because I was trying to be subtle about it, the irony being if you try to do that kind of thing covertly you look even more like a shifty paedo.

All well and good. I imagined it to be the product of pushy parenting. I waited for them to start playing, just on the off-chance that it was brilliantly cack.

They were, in truth, musically accomplished. But for reasons only known to themselves, they chose to play Leonard Cohen's 'Hallelujah'. The 1988 version that is frankly sexually explicit. VERY WRONG.

My friends in York have just popped out a kiddy. I think they'll make good parents. I was shown an array of photos of the child, and then onto the gifts that had been showered thereupon. The most unusual of which was...

No, I had no idea either. Luckily there was a label on the bottom of the piece (which was made of pottery and had a slot in the top) informing us that it was a 'mouse radish bank'.

I wasn't aware, but apparently Piggy Banks are terribly passé these days. No, what you really want for your newborn is something that looks like a horrific genetic mistake.
I'm not sure if there's a range of vegetable/animal hybrid depositories - there must be, surely.
You don't go straight from 'Pig' to 'Mouse-Radish'.

Sick.

Well, I seem to have well and truly disappeared, don't I.

I've been busy. Not doing anything interesting, mind, but busy nonetheless.
Turns out that earning money is tricky and time-consuming. Bum.

I'm planning to start my video diaries soon. They will feature a range of delights.
It seems like a great idea but it never comes to fruition.
Like a disappointing fruit tree.
FRUIT TREE FRUIT TREE

Is there anyone in the world called Leviathan Sprat?

Going to New York in a couple of weeks. I can't actually wait.
I actually can't wait.

I belong in New York. It has just the balance of neuroticism and cool.
I SHALL BUY BAGELS!
Oh yes I shall.
Delicious pumpernickel and raisin bagels that you can't buy over here from 'Ess a bagel' where the funny angry fat man yells a terrible impression of the queen at you and they look at you funny if you ask for the pumpernickel and raisin bagel toasted with jam.

Pumpernickel bagel and delicious jam
Is what I will eat in old Amsterdam.

AND I SHALL BUY TASTY D-LITE!
Whenever I go to New York I live almost entirely on this INCREDIBLE icecream substitute that comes in a range of improbable flavours

Tasty Delite
Tasty Delite
Eat it eat it day and night

God damn I'm excited.

I hope I don't die of boredom before I get there.

R x

So, the possibly-won't-be-screened British Comedy Awards nominees list is out...

http://www.chortle.co.uk/news/2007/11/07/6009/british_comedy_awards_nominations

...and Not Going Out gets two mentions - Best New Comedy and Best Male Actor for Lee Mack. We won't win, but it's lovely to be thought of. Why won't we win? Cos Gavin & Stacey is great. Did you see it? Of course you didn't - it was on BBC3. But you should. It's on DVD now. So's Not Going Out, and you should buy that too.

Normally I slag off nominees lists to high heaven cos they're normally rubbish, but there is some good stuff on the list this year. Some bad of course (The Graham Norton Show for Best New Entertainment Show? It's not new - he did it on Channel 4 as long ago as last millenium). But Matt Berry is a deserved brilliant comic actor. And Joanna Page was very sweet in Gavin & Stacey. And of course it's good to see Not Going Out get a mention. And... alright, that's about it. In fact, yeah, the rest of the list I'm not so sure about. I didn't really get Fonejacker. And it's lots of same olds filling out the rest of the list - Stephen Fry for QI, Catherine Tate for Catherine Tate, Al Murray, Harry Hill, The Friday Night Project, Buzzcocks, The Simpsons... Not much new stuff to ignite the comedy soul, is there?

Having said that, all the main channels have of late been making and showing a great number of pilot comedies - Channel 4 recently ran a series of Comedy Lab and a new run of one-off Comedy Showcases in parallel, and BBC3 have had a pilot season this year, with another one early next year. ITV are busy beavering away trying to prove that they can make people laugh without Ant or Dec, and Five are showing and even making the occasional sitcom now too. So lots of new stuff being fired out there... perhaps next years British Comedy Award shortlist will have more freshness then? If there is one - ITV still haven't committed to broadcasting this year's one yet, so for all we know, comedy's foray into awards ceremonies may be confined to some Trevor McDonald-hosted National British Tellybox Awards nonsense where we just get a moment between soapstars with a brief presentation of Best Funny Fing As Voted For By Readers Of TV Quick Or FHM Or Somefink.

Had a Passover meal tonight - our church put it on as a little taster of Jewish tradition. Twas the first time I'd ever had a Passover meal. Twas interesting. Twas long. I don't know how they do it. Also there's a lot of wine to drink. Four times, you have to fill your glass and down it. AND there's a rule that if you fall asleep during the preparations and rituals, you're not allowed to stay for the food. Well after necking most of a bottle of wine, and waiting an hour and a half for dinner at the end of a long day, I'm amazed more don't have a quick kip.

We were there for about 3 hours, and we were told that we'd left out another couple of hours of songs, psalms, prayers, readings and preparations. It made me appreciate Jewish culture afresh, and also appreciate how little tradition my own religion has. It's quite handy that the modern Christian church has dropped most of these rituals. I'm sure it's not the right reason to drop 'em, but it's quite convenient, time-management wise...

i'm at some bad art opening i stumbled across. good wine though for this sort of thing.

(actually what i sent was "good wind though for this post of thing" but that's texting for you. hopefully, she got what i meant.)

frankie/dino standards on the sound system here at the kitchen and pantry, perhaps sung, slightly off-pitch, by others.

or maybe they're just inferior performances.

or we hear flaws due to remastering

or there's a badly-calibrated sound system

or something

but the music has jolted me into moments of at least partial clarity, though that even now may be fading. (the ambient music has suddenly changed, which may have something to do with it.) still, i remember what -- moments ago -- i thought, if not what i felt.

where are the friends with whom i went to see frank sinatra jr?

where are my cartoon historian cronies?

where are my bubblegum music-loving pals; my vintage clothes-collecting companions?

where are the people with whom i shared enthusiasms just a short time ago?


(the weirdly-pitched crooning is back on.)

Ok back to my write up of the comedy festival. I missed out Sunday night, which was one of the best gigs I've ever been to. Brendon Burns, watching him work it's just again heartening, the previous night watching Scott Capurro doing what he does and not giving a shit what'll please a crowd, and then the next night watching Brendon finally vindicated after 10 consecutive Edinburgh shows and 17 years in the business.

When I've been going that long I really hope I've managed to get somewhere near that level of energy and ability to get what I want to say across with such use of language. Maybe I will maybe I won't but talking With DUg whilst watching this it was clear that we had the same ideas, though Brendon's Thought processes are closer to Dug's, with a wry smile and that level of total arrogance that I love from Dug's total unwavering self confidence his reply to my sugestion that "I can't wait until we've been going 17 years and can put a show together like that." Dug said "I reckon I'll be able to in under 10."

He probably will.

After the show we all went for a meal, it was good to sit and chat with Brendon, it's the first time I'd seen him since he won the if.comeddie award and things were going really well for him.as we left him to head back to his hotel and we crossed piccadilly gardens, it was now exactly a week until my show, and aside from one run through I'd still not got it together.

The Monday at my gig was great, as detailed int he previous Blog. though I don't think I mentioned that my sister came to the gig, she was over at The Frog first watching Dug, who, she told me, had had a bad one, I later found out it was a combination of Fiona Abernethy going on immediately before him and doing a whole bunch of drug based material and seeing this sites own Steve Bennett sat there reviewing it. So he choked, had a bad gig, it happens to all of us, I just think it hits him more because for him it happens so rarely. in nearly a hundred gigs he's died twice and stormed it far too many times.

Anyway that's not what I was talking about. My sister came to my gig and I didn't die. Actually that story's not that interesting really is it? I believe I'm on record a number of times talking about dying on my arse at Mitrth Control West Hampstead about 4 years ago. I'd done about 10 gigs and this (along with a whole bunch of other stuff from "comics" and comics, and "promoters" and general internet trolls) was enough to make me quit comedy entirely. It took a year to get over this and get back to gigging, the date I got back to gigging is the date that I consider I started from. Again, unnecessary exposition, there's no need for that.

So anywaylast time my sister came to see me I got drunk before going on stage, and 14 pints the worse for guiness I died and over ran horribly. That was the only time any of my family came to see me so not dying suddenly put into the past all the bad feelings.

Tuesday was Dave longley and Jason Cook. Dave did a load of new stuff and talked about the "incident" in Liverpool involving him and a Rhys Thomas/Madeline McCann joke, and Jason was Jason. Every time I see him he just gets better, he's just fantastic and once again I was crying like a knocked-up schoolgirl at the end of the show.

You might have noticed that sone of the details of what have happened seem to have gone from my mind. I knew I'd left it too late to do a full catch up. so here's a quick run down of the rest of the festival:

Wednesday: Richard Herring, and the Late night Asylum. Richard's show was brilliant and again another example fo someone not pandering to whata stag and hen based audience want whilst still being able to entertain them should the need arise. Late night Asylum, Barry Dodds getting electrocuted, (watch the video on youtube, it's fantastic http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GJ-VXRx5rGA ) Me getting down to my bra and pants to publicise my show:

and then a journey home again afterwards.

Thursday, this is where things get weird. It's the day before a mammoth weekend; Friday the Comedy Store, Saturday watching TIm Minchin, Sunday Shrewsbury, Monday my Show, and Tuesday Cheeky Monkey in Birmingham. For tonight though I've got a night off. My friend Alex is free this evening as well so we agree to meet up and go off to see Glenn Wool. I meet her in the Old Pint Pot in Salford where she's sat chatting with Jen, the new Vanilla dancer and some time fashion student, we have a laugh and a chat and then head off to central Manchester for the gig.

I park up the car on Tib Street, and we go off to TV21 to see Glenn's show, it's fantastic, and the 30 minute encore at the end is fantastic. we head off up to the bar and hang out there for a while, other acts from next door come in and soon along with Alex and Glenn and Rob Rilley; Barry Dodds, Wayne Williams, Vladimir McTavish, Kev Rook, Leanne and Ros turn up as well as Mike Newell. So we're all laughing and chatting and getting on well, and it's getting late so we head on over to Cruz for some late night shenannigans. I head to Vanilla to pick up some posters and some flyers and agree to meet up with the guys in the club. WHilst there I get a phone call telling me that they can't get in so they've gone to Charlies Karaoke bar. I call Alex who's walking down there with Barry to let her know, and I meet them in there.

Shortly after this Alex gets a call saying that one of her friends in Cruz has been punched in the face, so we head off down there, and inside I get chatting to some girls I know from Vanilla but who I've not really spoken to before. It soon turns out that the girl was fine and just over reacting (there is no over reacting to getting punche dint he face I know, but I strongly suspect she wasn't) anyway shortly after we've poured her into a taxi we head back to my car. It's 4am by the time we get to Tib Street.

Where my car was there's nothing.

Well, not "nothing" exactly, there's a small pile of broken glass. Alex tells me I'm forgetting where I parked my car. I tell her that's not the case. I phone the police and report it stolen. Alex looks at me and says "are you alright? give me a hug." I do and start to cry a little bit. we walk over to the CCTV camera and call the number on the bottom of it and leave a message. Whoever took my car was fairly daring, on a well lit street just up from a Jazz Club with lots of people milling about and with a CCTV camera trained on it.

As we walk back to the village to get a cab back to Alex's house I tell her the only thing that I'm upset about losing is my Photo Album. My past is very important to me, and on my 21st Birthday my mum gave me a photo album with all the pictures of me growing up that they had, along with the negatives. I ususally keep this safe at home, but Alex had asked to see a photo of me from before I transitioned, so I'd brought it with me, also there's a really cute picture of me as a 3 year-old that I wanted to get blown-up for my show.

By the time we get to the cab office I've rationalised it to "Well, on the upside I don't need to clean it any