Everyone @ Chortle

I am back from - for the first time ever - working at Butlins. I didn't have to wear a redcoat once, nor did I have to be pushed into the pool in a hilarious manner, nor was I woken by Ruth Madoc playing the glockenspiel. Although if I were her husband, I'd probably insist on it most mornings, just for the novelty value.

No, I was at Spring Harvest. If you're not of the Christian persuasion, you probably have an instant prejudicial impression of happy-clappiness. Actually even if you are of the Christian persuation, you probably have the same impression. Yes there was clapping, and yes there were happiness, but not a tambourine in sight, nor any sandals that I could see. The only guitars I saw were on stage in front several thousand people - none in chalets playing Kum-by-arr to six gathered-around teenagers sitting cross-legged.

Good, cliched expectations out the way, I can tell you it was an excellent week. I was doing a nightly resident's show there, which meant 5 hours of unique material, since people came back night after night. So it was a challenge, now working on my 4th Edinburgh hour, so I'd say I have at most 3 1/2 hours of jokes, and when you cut out the naughty stuff, it's embarrassingly little. But I'm delighted to say that, with much hard work, the time was filled with merry japes and tomfoolery, so it took more of a magazine show feel than a stand-up show. I hosted, introduced some silly videos from youtube, some bits of the past Edinburgh shows I've done (especially the one on Genesis, of course), and introduced some church-based spoof gameshows each night. As follows:-

- Tue: Darwin, Lose or Draw. Contestants compete to draw a biblical phrase, preferably one that Darwin wouldn't be happy about, to make it relevant to the title. Worked pretty well. But you try drawing Joseph & His Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat using only one colour.
- Wed: The Generations of Adam Game: Two teams of two watch an expert do something (the world record domino rally) and then try to recreate it (using Weetabix). Messy, but I loved it. Twas riotous. Oh, and then for the final conveyor belt round they had to memorise all the things I past from one Sainsburys bag to another. They walked away with a pack of raisins, a CD I wanted to get rid of, and a map of Butlins, among other (useless) things. A very fun night.
- Thu: Catchpharisee: Worked okay, but a few too many groans. But then I was posting pictures of, for example, Jesus with a broom in his hand ("Jesus swept"). I'll attach one at the bottom of this blog - see if you can guess it. Oh, and the final problem with this one was when a contestant called Mike fell off the stage quite nastily. Youch. We all thought he'd broken something. Thankfully he had not.
- Fri: Blind Curate: My favourite. A churchgoer without a church asks 3 vicars (behind a screen) questions to decide which church to go to. We had a Baptist minister, a Methodist minister and an Anglican vicar all vying for the attendance of Tasha. Such questions as "If your church worship were a holiday destination, where would it be?" gained such answers as "New Orleans. Cos we're culturally diverse, and if you come on the right week you might get immersed." The audience oooooohed at that one, I can tell you. I never wrote that one - that was the Baptist going off-script. She chose the Anglican, by the way.
- Sat: Church Family Fortunes: Another thoroughly enjoyable one. Two teams from two churches compete to guess what 100 churchgoers had answered to things like "Name something you're thankful for" (Facebook was no.1) or "Name a saint" (Bernard and Ivel were both there) or "Something you'd find in the Church News" (Top answer: Tony Maytum. No idea who he is, but I happened to ask a lot of people from St Paul's in Bournemouth, and this bloke Tony Maytum is always in their church news. No one guessed that one.)

That's more than enough about the show I was doing anyway. I hope to go back, and the feedback seemed to be good, so here's hoping I will be. I managed to make a few seminars and events, and the teaching was excellent. Jeff Lucas was a joy to listen to (his main message: too many Christians are looking to be offended, and we should have fun more often. Here here.), and I even bought a Limerick Bible (the Bible in limerick form). Throw in a couple of dips in the Splash water park, a walk on the beach, some excellent and lovely people that I met throughout the week, plus all the talks/worship/challenges you should have thrown at you at such an event, and it was great.

One of the big differences about going to an event like this, full of Christian types, is that people will help you without wanting anything in return, even recognition for it. So there are many unsung heroes. The kind and tactful steward who navigated a particularly eager audient away from me and the stage when I was setting up the show (thanks!), the bunch of guys from Bournemouth who bought me a Whopper when I didn't even ask for it, the couple from Bradford who come up and gave me a T-shirt on the last night for no real reason, the MD/conductor who came to the show every night and gave it his all, the Ipswichian steward who came over and shared lunch with me when I had nothing to do but read the paper... What good samaritans they all are.

Anyway, enough of the love-in. Now I'm back in the secular world, I'm sure some negativity will be waiting around the corner...

In the meantime, see if you can guess this biblical Catchphrase. Guesses welcome...

Last Tuesday it was the turn of Carl Donnelly and myself to be the guests on Sky Poker's live tournament show. Its a fairly laid back show that mainly requires on the guests providing some witty banter while playing against 650 members of the public in an online poker tournament. To many of you that may sound fun, and I have no problems with the witty banter part, being a self-proclaimed master of chat wit. I'm only self-proclaimed because no one else would proclaim me as such a thing, but that's not the point. Where I failed in the requirements on said show was that until one month ago I had played poker all of three times in my life and in all of those I had lost, drastically.

Not drastically to the extent that there is now some large stetsoned man sitting comfortably in what used to be my house, having just driven in what used to be my car and having pointless arguments whether or not to let the what used to be my kittens in or out with what used to be my girlfriend. No, nothing as bad as that. However I was really sad I lost all those chocolate biscuits and £7.50 which cut me real deep at the time.

When my agent rang me about the show his first question was 'Can you play poker?', and I said bluntly 'No. Not in anyway, shape or form' assuming of course that covered all possible poker bases. I've never heard of underwater poker being played with moose instead of cards but if such a thing existed, I wouldn't be able to play it. Hearing this conclusive response, he simply said 'well you're going to have to learn, you have a month'.

This meant it had become a challenge, albeit a slightly shit one, but nonetheless I couldn't back down. So for the last month I have been cramming poker knowledge down my throat. I say cramming, but actually all I've done is the odd bit of online poker with 'play' money, a concept so dangerous that you never really care whether you win or lose and make ridiculous bets, because it doesn't ever matter ever. Someone at a gig sent me the Harrington guide to poker by email which I gave all of two minutes of concentration before getting distracted by anything else that has even an ounce of interest about it. Its bizarre because a name like Harrington would normally make me want to read a book, because it sounds like he might be a detective or someone with worldly knowledge. The sad reality is is that he is probably just a fat, rich man who wears visors, smokes cigars and prays for actual friends. I had recently read a book called 'The Big Blind', which was a fiction all about poker. Sadly I hadn't paid much attention to the clever stuff and more just dribbled about the author who used to front Sleeper, and was well fit.

The last bit of training was Carl spending three hours in a pub teaching me some poker skills. This was most useful until we both had a shandy and became both sleepy and paranoid that people would see us gambling in a club and go all 'Joe Pesci' on our asses.

Despite lack of knowledge the show went well and not least because I got to use the phrase 'I've folded more times than an origami master'. Carl did better than me, winning a whole £30 for the NSPCC, which means maybe one child can get foam padded stairs or something. I however won nothing, but in consolation of letting people suffer due to my lack of aid, we were both told we did pretty well compared to other people on the show and we even lasted longer than a poker pro that was there two weeks before. Not that they named the poker pro, and therefore were probably lying. Either way, I discovered I actually enjoyed it, and am now intent on buying my own visor and gambling my life away big style. My girlfriend and cats had better keep their fingers/paws crossed.

In other Douieb news...Its Edinburgh mental time at the moment, pre-organisation and admin-wise. Its amazing how trying to put together a 40 word description can almost ruin friendships and mental states despite the fact that in reality, none of the festival punters give a toss and only focus on the shiniest poster, 5 star reviews and whether or not it has tits and violence in it.

providing the soundtrack to the yellow brick road of samples that was Saturday at Whole Foods, Bowery.

Slices of apple, chunks of grapefruit, popcorn, ginkgo and kombucha beverages, dried bananas, raisins, mango (papaya?) and pineapple, two kinds of sherbet, cookies, a pile of pomme frites accompanied an array of sauces, mango salad, some kind of bean salad, chimichurri london broil (I could've had a second piece if that old guy hadn't taken the last one for his wife) and more.

Happiness-inducing stuff. (Who needs Oz when the yellow brick road is so magical?)

to American ways left me frustrated when I got to the Trader Joe's wine store on (Easter) Sunday and found it was closed. I had missed Purim by a couple of days but it is celebrated later in Jerusalem -- this year simultaneous with Easter -- so I figured I had a chance to revel in the Jews triumph over the evil Haman (make loud noises here) by following the commandment which states that the normally temperate Jews must get so drunk that they can't tell the difference between Mordecai and Haman (good and evil).

I figured I'd drink a whole bottle of "Two-buck Chuck" and my Judaic duties would have been heroically carried out.

Of course, I didn't even remember this by the time I got to the wine store, but I still wanted to buy a bottle of wine.

This time,, as you know by now, the Jews (or this Jew anyway) were thwarted by the Hamans of the world and I could not.

In fact, I didn't get around to buying wine until yesterday. (Award-wining 2006 3-dollar white. Though I'm usually a red guy, I'd purchased salmon to cook in my new, cast-iron grill pan, so I figured what-the-hell.)

Which I'm drinking right now.

And feeling the effects -- and wanting to drink more than I should -- I remembered the lost opportunity to drink a bottle in one sitting and be a better Jew.

And I felt sad.

I mean, I can drink the whole bottle of wine tonight.

But there would be no higher purpose.

via Dreamland transportation, from New York (where, in reality, I was asleep in bed) to London, where I found myself inside a vast, all-night club.

The factory/warehouse space seemed unusually empty for that sort of venue, but I later learned, in the way one "learns" things in dreams, that it was already like 10, 11 in the morning there. (I hadn't taken into account the time difference between the US and the UK.)

Now, as I've mentioned before, I have sleep apnea, with means I periodically snore myself into a kind of asphyxiation throughout the night. And, still dreaming, a part of me began to recognize that my breathing was slowing or had stopped.

But rather than waking up, while feeling increasingly starved for oxygen, I kept myself in that dream, 'cause I saw Downstairs at the King's Head owner Peter Grahame and, well, I wanted to chat.

OH EM GEE!

Two words. The Apprentice.............. Two more words. Alex Wotherspoon. Damn, he's fine. And only 24. I love them when they're young. More grateful. Makes a change from the usual UGS they have on the show - like RUTH BADGER. Although when I texted that to my mate Steve, he wrote back "Badger not without her charm." Jesus Christ.

So Good news everyone, I'm going to be back ON AIR! SW1 Radio, as of April. And, they have an FM licence now so it won't just be available online. Exciting stuff. I love doing SW1radio and I love my listener. Only joking, I had 9 once. I'll keep you updated as and when this show will be. EXCITING! I love doing radio, playing music and talking are my favourite two things in the world. WOOH. Hey I really hate it when people put Wooh, like this "WOOP." Its stupid.

Oh and I got my mocha sony erriccson phone upgrade. Its like the size of nano so I'm bound to lose it.

There's an article in the Sun today about a pregnant man. Blee. But really its not a pregnant man. Its a man who was once a woman and who has a womb thing. Anyway, I don't believe its true. I can puff my stomach out to a 7 month stance and all thats in me is beer and chips. So, who wants to go out with me? Come on, form an orderly queue.

BYE.

I think the case can be made that it is not always darkest before the dawn. (In fact, a lighter shade of dark seems to prevail.)

It does, however, seem to be coldest before the dawn, making that last, precious part of night, when you need that last dollop of warmth and comfort, frustrating and unpleasant.

I sang what was probably the grittiest version ever of "Love Will Keep Us Together" last night (though there's probably not much competition for that distinction).

Also earned kudos for my "Ooh Child" and "(You Make Me Feel Like A) Natural Woman".

Unfortunately, I tainted "Tainted Love".

Livin' Large.

Happy Easter!

I went to see The Eagles on Sunday night. They were fantastic. A bunch of 60-somethings who were proper musicians - and what I didn't know about them was that there's no lead singer as such. They all take it in turns, so while it's Don Henley (drummer) singing Hotel California, it's Glenn Frey (guitar) singing Take It To The Limit. They did the perfect mix of old and new, and just when you think there are no more Eagles songs you know, out comes Take It Easy, or Peaceful Easy Feelings, or Desperado, or Lyin' Eyes.

The O2 Arena is great - the perfect 21st century music venue. No part of it too far from the stage, the video feed is as from a static CCTV camera as you could get, yet you still never once see a camera swooping in front of the band blocking your view. The bars and lavs are queue-free, cos there's lots of them, it's not too hot, and the audience are nice and gentle, but that could be because on this occasion they were mostly my dad's age (who, incidentally, was my excuse for going, and who, incidentally, said it was probably the best concert he's been to). It wasn't sold out, so we got to move down and have slightly better seats. Woo.

I am now off till Sunday to Butlins at Skegness. Rock 'n' roll. I'm entertaining at Spring Harvest festival for 5 nights - an hour a night, but here's the twist... It's the same audience each night. So yes, that means 5 hours of unique material. Youch. So I've been busy. No, not writing jokes, cos no amount of preparation can enable you to reel off 5 hours of gags, but coming up with diverting games, competitions, downloaded youtube vids, and generally anything else to distract them. My favourites are the church-based game shows we've got coming up: Darwin Lose or Draw, Catchpharisee, Church Family Fortunes, Blind Curate, and The Generations of Adam Game. Then if they go well, next year we'll do Dean or No Dean, Who Wants To Be A Millionaire - Well Not Me Cos Material Possessions Aren't As Important As Spiritual Wellbeing, and Vocation Vocation Vocation.

Oh, and I'm taking a guitar with me. Not just cos it seems the essential item to take to any Christian festival, but because I've been desperate to learn for ages to maybe add to my normal secular stage act. And a week away in a chalet at Butlins, with the inspiration of The Eagles still ringing in my ears, is the perfect time to pick one up. I've learned the chord of D. So that's a start. I hear you just need to learn 2 more and you can play basic songs. O2 Arena, here we come...

I've been to the Union Square pillow fight as many times as I've been to the Easter Parade -- twice, as of this weekend.

Last time I went to the parade, it was well into a rainy afternoon by the time I got there and the only people in front of St. Pat's were gay guys in campy hats, not the MGM musical-style assemblage of rich folk in attractive bonnets I had hoped for and perhaps expected. (I gotta say, this sort of evidence would cause some observers to assume gayness was less a matter of sexual orientation than public ostentation.)

This time, the sun-dappled street was filled with nice-looking, everyday people from 57th St down to Rockefeller Center, with colorful flowers, balloons and other hat-adjuncts occasionally visible above the mob.

Many of the more extreme head-coverings were better viewed in this fashion, 'cause when you got close enough to see who was wearing them, the frequently demented faces tended to put a crimp in one's joy. I did, however, love the face of one bird-covered chap, who had a Langdonesque look of sweetness and sadness that was even more poignant in real life than in a silent move. (Of course, I'm not sure that I've ever seen one of Harry Langdon's silent movies.)

I didn't have an Easter-style hat, only a black, cold-weather stocking cap, but what did it matter?

When people filed into St. Pat's, they made you take it off, whatever it was.

You know when you say a word to be silly like "DUDE." Cause you're taking the piss? Then suddenly you find yourself using it more out of habit and then almost seriously? Well I've started doing it with the acronym O.M.G. As in Oh My God. So I used to say Oh Em Gee as a laugh but now I say it seriously and I never meant for that to happen.

Like on Saturday night I was in O'Neils with my pal Lauren cause it was my mate's birthday and we were up the bar getting some drinks. All of a sudden I exclaimed to Lauren "OH EM GEE! There's someone tummying me in my back!" There was this big fat rugby player just sticking his tummy on me, proper tummying. I was like "Stop tummying me you NOB! Lauren he's proper tummying me!" etc etc. He didn't stop though despite my roaring "you NOB" in his face. What a perv. Felt quite nice though.

Later, on the bus home I saw some youngsters looking up to no good and one of the girls had a pram and she was jostling the pram about in an uncool fashion. So I was like "Oh Em Gee, I'm going to have to say something Lauren." She was like "No you don't..." And I was like "I do. That baby could be getting hurt in there" So I went over to the gang and said to the girl "Can I look at your baby please?" And she goes "Yeah. It ain't even real, social services gave me a doll to look after to prove I can be trusted." ERM! OH EM GEE. I said "How old are you?" "Fourteen" She replied. I was like "I'm DOUBLE your age! What are you doing out this late?" And this seemed to ruffle the gang's feathers but when I looked at them they looked at the floor. I must have seemed like a loony. Haa Haa thats the key to scare off a gang, act like you are bonkers. I was really outraged that she was only 14 and out at 1am on a saturday night and with a faux baby. This world is weird.

Yesterday Kerry came over for a roast (not that kind) and it was lush. I am the best roast potato maker in the world. I love cooking. I also just got the new Delia cheat book and its ace. Saying that, I've gone a bit off Delia cause her latest programme keeps focussing on her football love. I think its Norwich. And she seems WELL annoying when she's trying to have banter with the players - they seem like they might secretly hate her. I just thought of another annoying word/phrase. Its "I DIGRESS" Lauren Laverne absolutely raped this phrase on her old breakfast show on XFM. Anyway thats what I am doing, so back to cooking. I love it.

I'm a right little homemaker (Lads...so....) anyway. The roast was yummy and then we went to my local pub. I love that pub I really do. Its a proper pub. They had some live music last night which consisted of two guitar players, a vocalist and a mouth organ player. It was ace. We requested "I am sailing" and the man sounded identical to Rod Stewart. I said he should go on Stars in Their Eyes. I did loud clapping. I realise that this can sound sarcastic but I fully meant each clap.

I've got so much to do today. Like go to Wicks. I hate Wicks, it stinks of men. Not that men smell yucky. Just Wicks is so laddish. And I'm always the only girl in there. Bah.

found me not far from Union Square, where I seemed to see, from my vantage point, an array of flowing white things, probably being manipulated by one of those Chinese anti-oppression/relaxation dance/protest companies.

In reality, I had stumbled upon the massive, annual, multi-hour Union Square pillow fight.

Feathers floated more than 3 city blocks away, also inside the whole Foods Market across 14th Street, even upstairs in Whole Foods' massive eating area.

I passed people, pillows in hand, covered with feathers on their way from the happening as well as people carrying pillows toward the fracas.

If I'd known about it in advance (and if I had any friends who would do something like that with me), I'd have loved to have participated.

But I continued on my way.

Hours later, I passed the site again.

From the window of the M6 bus, as darkness descended, I saw a guy sweeping up feathers in the more or less empty square.

I've been making pasta. (Whole grain, sometimes with flax seeds.)

And London Broil. (A lean cut of beef, cooked fast over high heat. Yes, I know they don't have it in London.)

Occasionally drinking cheap, good wine.

And walking a little in cold, sunny New York

But I like to think that somehow this will get me to success ahead of people who are actually working.

Long time no blog, sorry about that. Needless to say I am now back, regardless of whether that is a blessing or irritation for you. Although presumably if it was an irritation you wouldn't read this. Unless you were a literary sado-masochist who punishes themselves by reading things they don't like until they feel free of sin, or something. If that is you, then you're a freak and I wish you wouldn't abuse my blog in such a way.

While I would love to regale about hilarious things that have happened since my last post, my memory genuinely seems to be deteriorating and I have little to no decent recollection of what I've been doing. I did however have a heckle war with a journalist from the Daily Mail last week in Brighton which resulted in him losing and being kicked out by security. I think that alone redeems anything less impressive that has happened and will happen for sometime. As he was being thrown out of the door by the wonderful security, he was shouting 'Don't you know who I am? I work for the Daily Mail and I will have you shut down!'. And how would you do that? By making sure all the racists and bigots don't come along? I doubt they arrive in their hordes to such a lovely club anyway, and any further reduction is only a good thing. Haha I win. Muchos satisfaction.

Part of the reason for the blurry mind is because since the beginning of this month I have been on a course for my diabetes that helps control and such other things that sound boring if you have no idea what I'm talking about. What it does mean though is that my entire day is taken up by a rigorous checking and diary system which involves me monitoring every morsel I eat and how much to inject with it. Basically its a pain in the arse, but ultimately it will stop me going blind, getting kidney failure, heart disease, and nerve damage. That is of course if a combination of beer, and general life mismanagement won't result in that anyway.

It does turn out through this monitoring system that being a comedian is possibly one of the worst careers for a diabetic due to the adrenaline and stress affecting blood sugars and blood pressure. I say one of the worst careers, but I can only think that cake taster must be higher up. I have taken the gigging into account and as I have no desire to stop my career, but at the same time do not want to end up a sugared wreck, I have been checking up on what I can do.

According to the news this week, having a cat lowers stress levels and can reduce blood pressure, so I have decided that whether they like it or not, I will take my cats to all my gigs with me in a small carry case. With holes for eyes. And maybe some for legs. I would feel much more at ease watching a meowing box with legs stomp around.
I'm sure there is actually a solution and its been a really great course, not least for giving me a multitude of ideas for an Edinburgh show next year. Aren't terrible auto-immune diseases wonderful for that sort of thing?

Also my cats are far too odd to take anywhere. This week they have been shunning the food the have always liked. Instead they have taken to hitting bees until they die, bringing them in the house and then tucking in. This bothers me for a couple of reasons. One is that I can't work out why they don't get stung. That's just odd isn't it? And slightly disturbing. I might start feeding them scorpions to see if they can survive that.

Secondly, I feel that by eating the bees in front of me, after disregarding the food I have paid for, they are being bloody rude. Its not dissimilar to going to a five star restaurant and taking a tin of spam out of your bag and tucking in. Well, its a bit dissimilar, because they are cats, cat food and bees and not Corden Bleu gourmet grub.

Right off to Chiswick through the hail and rain. On a tube. Not quite as dramatic at all is it?

I got notification of my 9th point on my licence in the post today. Not happy. One more flash and I'm potentially banned from driving. I wouldn't mind if it was me doing 90 on a motorway (alright, I would mind), but they've all been roadworks-in-the-middle-of-the-night-reducing-the-speed-limit-for-no-real-reason type moments.

This latest one (and this is a reason, not an excuse - I'm well aware I was speeding and therefore did wrong) - I'd driven 4 hours back from Preston on a Sunday night, all on the speed limit, then at the last leg, at 2:30am, the last bit of the M40 was shut so I was diverted off down a small road I didn't know. Within a minute from the motorway, the speed limit goes down, and I didn't decelerate in time - so I was flashed at 35 in a 30 limit. Past a school, fair enough, kids playing, fair enough, but at 2:30am, there was no one around, not even another car, and in my head I'm still on the motorway. Anyway, as I say, tis not an excuse, cos I'm well aware I broke the law, but that still doesn't mean I think the law is right.

The good news is, having checked my licence, I've got till the end of May till those first few points drop off. So if I can be a good boy for the next couple of months, I'm slightly out of the woods. Otherwise, one more silly mistake and I'll be begging you, dear reader, for lifts.

So it was a careful drive to Northampton tonight for a gig. Nice gig, in a nice theatre, though a couple of odd staff there - I asked at the stage door if I could park there, and she said, "We have spaces, but no disrespect, but you could be anyone." Right, I'm not. I'm on tonight. "Well, you say that. Anyone could come in here and say that." Fine, where else can I park? "St James's car park is best." Right. Where's that? "You don't know where St James's is?" Let me repeat it. I. Am. Visiting. The. Area. To put on a show for you people. Fine, I'll find my own bloody parking.

Second theatre underling, half an hour later. I've got there early, parked, entered the venue with heavy bags, and want to find somewhere to set up my laptop to get some work done. Is there anywhere I can do this? "There's the cafe bar." Okay. Do you have a room at all for us? "A room?" Yes, for the comedians. For the show. "No, not really." Okay. It's a big theatre. Is there not a dressing-room somewhere. "Of course we have dressing-rooms. This is big theatre. We've had a refurbishment, you know." Okay, can I set up in one of your dressing-rooms? "Our dressing-rooms are for performers only." I am a performer! "I thought you were a comedian." Comedians are performers! We don't just talk about the first thing in our head. We perform a show. "Well, you're best off in the cafe bar." Forget it. I'll go get some food. Is there anywhere that does food around here? "The cafe bar." Anywhere outside this god-and-customer-service-forsaken venue? "Do you know St James's?" Aaaargh. Okay, I'll go down that way. My bags are heavy. Can I leave them here? Perhaps in a room backstage? "Ooh, I don't think so - it's for performers only." Oh bog off the lot of you.

Praise the lord, cats and BT man Paul, for I now have internet at home. Life is good.

I just got the voiceover I did back from MTV all spruced up with music and animations and they've made my voice even deeper (if thats possible)

So today I've been doing chores. I Cilit-Banged my bathroom and it was tough. Thanks alot BARRY (Scott).

I got an email from an old pal of mine and they had used a word I hate. TAD. Here is a list of my most hated words. Please don't ever email me using them.

Titties
Panties
Tad
Touchy/feely
LOL!
Not!
CHILL!

If there are any words you hate please feel free to comment.

So I've finally got over my nobbish behaviour of the Wake on tuesday. Wake's are always dark drink-wise. Like I went to one when I was 21 cause my pal James Maynard had died. And I was so drunk my last memory was rolling around in the pub function room's garden with two greyhounds, feeling their noses to see if they were wet. When I discovered they were dry as a bone I launched myself on the unsuspecting revellers/mourners (cause lets face it, its mixed emotions at these things) in the function room demanding to know who the two dogs belonged to cause their noses were dry which meant they were ill. Leanne Diggins, crazy old psycho or animal do-gooder?

I'm currently listening to the show I presented on SW1 and I actually dedicate a song to dead Steve Irwin of Australia Zoo fame. I am so cool.

Tonight I was supposed to have a date but I've cancelled, I plan to do some more cillit banging instead. Tomorrow tiz Thames Clipper fun, Saturday partay, sunday drinks with a friend and Monday rolling around. OR maybe I'll go for a walk. Who knows.

Easter is well boring now ain't it. The only year I ever remember doing something was when I was a lovable rogue of around 14 and we went on an easter egg hunt. At this time I had a penchant for stealing mars bars from my local chemist. One day I stole a pair of sunglasses and felt really criminal-ly. I lost those glasses on the easter egg hunt. I knew that that was instant karma and never stole again. Except a protractor but I needed that for school so it don't count.

Much love to all of you. Even you.

I'm now working on two topical radio shows - The Now Show and the new Tilt for BBC7. So I'm reading the paper more than usual, in fact several papers, in fact every waking moment I seem to be reading a paper or an online version of a newspaper or trying to catch the radio news on-the-hour, or having BBC News 24 in the background. I will scour carriages on the train and tube to find a paper I haven't read. "Ooh, 4 random pages from The Guardian - haven't seen those yet... Yesterday's Metro? Lovely, get a different slant on the news... London Lite? If I must... The financial pages of the South Korean Chronicle? Well you can't be too informed..."

And I've learnt some things. I'm not going to report back actual news - you can do that yourself very easily. But here are some trivia nuggets that I thought I'd share...

- There are 13 wars going on right now in the world. 11 of them are civil wars. The only two that are between nations are the US-led invasions of Iraq and the US-led war in Afghanistan. So apart from America, everyone else is just about getting along.
- The M62 splits because of one single farmhouse, who refused to sell up his land when they were building the motorway. So it goes around him.
- You can't search for 'June 4th' on any Chinese internet search engine. Any other date is fine, but that one date will yield no results, because they don't want you to read about Tiannamen Square.
- There is a secretive PR company called Editorial Intelligence (or something like that), who specialise in creating PR for things without it looking like PR. For instance they'll be employed by the McCanns to cajole columnists to be sympathetic towards them, or get editors to focus on particular issues over other ones.
- Captain Birdseye actor John Hewer died yesterday, but he first had an obituary written next to his face in 1971. This was when Birds Eye decided to retire the Captain character (briefly), so The Times printed a fake obit. Captain Birdseye also came top in a poll of Most Recognised Captain. Second was Captain Cook.
- There are special retirement homes for actors and entertainers. Madge from Dame Edna, who died recently, was in one, as was Captain Birdseye.
- The average person has less than 2 legs.

I am once again reporting from deep within the bowels of the Tea Lounge in Park Slope. (Comedian Eugene Mirman is working with an not-too-slender, balding, gray-haired guy at a table not far from me.)

Two mothers with babies were near me a short while ago. Actually, they may have been the third mother/baby shift in that couch position since my arrival.

Verbatim (or very close) quotes:

Mother #1:
"I've lived here for ten years and I never realized it would be good for children."
(Those of you who know Park Slope understand why this is the height of obliviousness.)

Mother #2:
"I haven't eaten red meat in 15 years, so if I ate it, I would get sick."
(Of course! What could be more unnatural to a human body than red meat? It's one of those things you have to train yourself to tolerate, like tobacco smoke. Once your body returns to normal, it will be incapable of processing this deadly, alien matter.)

Hello from Australia.

Or G'day, as they say here. It's very hot at the moment, so I think that's why they say that.

Not many Australian people actually say that, but I've got a rule that I only talk to Australian people who start every sentance with 'G'day', and they have to have a hat with corks on. Otherwise what's the point of being Australian.

We flew here on an aeroplane. It takes nearly a whole day. You can watch Flubber starring Robin Williams nearly fifteen times in that time. There's a whole TV channel especially for watching Flubber nearly fifteen times. They turned it off before we landed, and the film was only half-way through, so I'll never know what happened at the end of the fifteenth time, which is a shame. If it's the same as the other fourteen, everything turned out okay, but I'll never know now. Unless I get the same seat on the way back.

We're doing the Melbourne International Comedy Festival here in Melbourne, which is in Australia. Big Howard is "Jet Lagged", which means he is allowed to be grumpy because he's got an excuse.

We've got a couple of days to recover, and do interviews on things, before we start doing our show. The festival runs from the 19th of March to the 13th of April. And after that we're going to be in Aukland, and after that we are going to be on holiday, and then we are going to be in Taupo.

Nothing much has happened so far, appart from Big Howard eating a lot of Sushi, and freshly-squeezed fruit juice. He says its very good for him. I'm sure that's why he eats so much of it.

Other Comedians that are here are David O'Doherty, who is a very funny Irish man, Josie Long, who isn't an Irish man, Des Bishop, who isn't Jon Bishop, but Big Howard keeps thinking he is. Pappy's Fun Club are here too. They went to the same university as Big Howard, which is nice, as they always have something boring to talk with him about. Reginal D Hunter is here too, and Christian Shaal. They are both American, but I don't think from the same bit of American. Nina Conti is here too, with her monkey Monk. We haven't seen them yet. Also Ross Noble and Daniel Kitson are here, but they're not here yet, if they are they're not right here, which is good, because it would be very rude typing this, as I haven't seen them for ages.

I've got to go now because I'm dictating this to my friend over the phone to my friend in England, and Big Howard's mobile phone is running out of batteries.

Little Howard

A couple of gigs away, in Bournemouth and Cardiff. I stayed over in Bournemouth, thinking well, they're both west. Must be close. Aren't. Plus it was a chance for a nice weekend away with MBH (my better half). Both gigs weren't exactly a walk in the park to be honest, due to faulty sound systems at each of them making it darned difficult to hear what you're saying, and even hearing if the audience were laughing, booing, talking amongst themselves or even still there.

At the first gig, a fella walked past the stage to go to the bar, asked to speak into the mic (I let him), and commented "I thought Rick Astley was dead." This is because I look a little like Rick Astley. We laughed and moved on. End of the night, I rushed off to another pub for a few drinks, cos I didn't want to hang around the gig which was ok but not a-rockin'. And in walking back to the taxi rank (near the gig), a gaggle of lads walked past, drunkenly singing some song. I'm thinking, "They've probably come from the venue where the gig was - hide in the shadows and they won't notice you." So I turn, pretend to look at a thing over there, and they walk past, singing louder and louder. "Just go!", I'm thinking, till I realise they're singing 'Never Gonna Give You Up' by... Rick Astley. So I turn, play along with their joke, and we all go our separate ways. But I'm feeling a little foolish that it looked like I just didn't get their joke (which I didn't), while in fact it was largely that I just wanted to hide away from drunken audients.

The next day was great - we went to Monkey World near Poole in Dorset. Go. It's great. There are chimps, orangutans, macawcques (sp? either way I thought that was a type of parrot), lemurs, gibbons... and all have their own name and plaque detailing their history (most are rescued from labs, or idiotic and ambitious pet-owners) and a little about their character. My favourite was Paul the gibbon, who was by far the loudest monkey in the park, who sounded like he was dipping his toe into a hot bath. He was hilarious, and I filmed him on my mobile. If I can work out how, I might post it up here. I'm also trying to work a way of getting this video clip into my Edinburgh show.

In the mean time, here (hopefully - don't fail me, technology) is a picture of my favourite orangutan from the day, called Joly. There are more pictures of Joly (and me looking through the window at him, or vice versa) on my Facebook photo album I have called Monkey World.

SIGH! Another weekend of being a naughty cat. I got SO drunk on Friday night and was a big cock. Still, for the most part it was great fun. I distinctly remember when the subject of sambucas came up saying, "NO WAY" but all of a sudden there was one slipping down my throat. And then I think another two. Combined with Lager. HOWEVER, I didn't succumb to Pork Scratchings, so every cloud eh?

I did that thing where you go up to someone and say "I used to hate you but now your alright." And then went swaggering off as if I'd just said something nice. Then I went up and told someone I fancied them and was quite full on. Luckily at the time he was quite drunk and seemed to like me back. But JEEZ. Have you no shame Miss Leanne? Lads like it when you are all shy and vulnerable not oafishly shouting for their attention.

Suddenly I was in Coco in Camden and was thinking "What the hell am I doing here?" This is a club. So I said to who I was with, "Simon, what the hell are we doing here?" to which he replied "My name's not Simon its ---------" and I was like "Yeah whatever. I wanna go home." Sooo slick.

The next day I had work and one of my special hangovers. (in case you don't realise, these are diavomalemma ones) so it was extra hard work. But an early night soon sorted that out.

Sunday was more of the same, chores, work and then bed. I watched White Noise and that was a bad move cause for the first time since moving I worried about ghosts. Even though its a new build I thought "what happens if it was built on an ancient burial ground?" and other such silly things. Didn't get to sleep till like 1:30am and thats way past my bedtime.

Its the funeral tomorrow for Colin so I shan't be posting. However I shall be back to normal-ness on Wednesday.

Sunday, 16 March 2008

HEY! Checkout this short clip from our 4 star edinburgh show, A Night In Sandy Hole. In this clip, Precious has some time alone with the audience. There are also other clips of our show attached so check em out.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HG_GGa_N5vg

Latest two blogs. Oldest at bottom. WOW.

I've got to re-do the MTV voice-over adding the line "Ruby thursday, for people who pimp their plan." What does that mean? How can you pimp a plan. "Yeah you plan..... You er....you better go shag that er...verb. For money. "

I'm feeling quite jolly at the moment. I really do feel that things are starting to look up - I think its the smell of sweet sweet spring. Ah its times like this that I wish I had a little bunny.

So what have I got planned for the rest of the week? Well, luckily for me its pay day tomorrow, I am so skint and this weeks' dragged. I will also obtain some overtime in this month's pay packet so this all helps.

Being that its pay day we're all going out to Quinn's which is probably one ofthe best pubs in Camden Town now that PAT decided to leave the Oxford Arms. WHY PAT WHY!!? I loved the days when I went into the Oxford and Pat used to just get my Stella ready when he saw me crossing the road. Now I have to ASK for my drink. Unbelievable.

Quinns is run by Mr and Mrs Quinn I think and they're about 93 and very very nice. Also there is music and Pork Scratchings. Uh oh. I 'm on a diet and Scratchings are there. I can't help it, they're so trotter-y. Might also be another Whoppa experience. I say this though "If ya gonna fuck your diet up proper, why not do it with a Whoppa." Very true big fat devil on my shoulder.

Saturday and Sunday I have to do working. BOO. But think of the money. OK. Mmmmm Its all nice.

I have a date next week and this is someone I met at a disco on Saturday so I don't feel I can say about the 2 drink rule. The 2 drink rule is you have 2 drinks MAX on the date whether you like each other or not and this avoids awkwardness or shagging. Or both. Also it means if you don't like the person you have a get out of date jail free card. Would it be wrong/uptight to enforce this rule? Think on.

A girl at the station today had a conversation on her mob and she did a loud kiss noise into the phone at the end of the call and didn't go red. Weirdo. Maybe she did it on purpose.

Ok bye.

Wednesday, 12 March 2008

I've got a hangover.

Yesterday we had a toast to Colin at work and then I decided to go to the Chandos Pub to join the farewell and good luck drinks for Pappy's Fun Club (they're off to Melbourne). They don't do Stella in the Chandos. Instead I had what looked to be a YARD of ale which was ok cause by then my taste buds had had it anyway. Saw Caroline and Roisin. Roisin was off on holiday in like four hours - hope she made the plane.

I think I must've been quite drunk cause I remember telling Matthew that I'm Grade 5 on the clarinet which is true but why would he want to know that? Also, we discussed erratic sleep patterns. I need stuff distracting me when I go to bed, like the TV, radio (LBC) and/or a book. I'm getting sick of waking up to the "HOOBS" though. They're mental puppety things that are way too loud.

I fucked up my diet yesterday as well. Incidently I lost 1.5 pounds at Weight Watchers on Monday. This meant I had to take three marbles out of the marble pot at the weigh-in desk and embarrassingly drop them into another glass jar in the middle of the meeting room floor. I ate a Whoppa last night and chips and a sprite. GOD. What a piggy. When I got my Tesco delievery this morning it was mainly veg and fruit & I felt a fraud knowing what i'd trough'd the night before.

Pappy's also gave me some food for thought last night. They really like Catface Cabaret and they were disappointed to learn that I had no other shows booked at present. Brendon reckons I should do a couple of "one off's" in Edinburgh.... they just love that dance eh! What says you Blog readers? I think I should too. So, I need a new theatre for a start. Any ideas? Answers on email or on this blog.

I have to go and do two voiceovers in a minute fro MTV Belgium. The text is all in English except for three Belgian words. I keep accidently putting a HACKY sound on the word "Huis". Ya know like ya trying to get some gob up. But apparently I don't need the hack. My voice keeps going all June Sarpong like too. How irritating.

And finally,please take 2 seconds to follow the below link and sign my friend's petition. And if you've still got any energy, please forward this link to all the people you know who would also like to keep music and street performance alive. Thank you very much in advance. http://www.PetitionOnline.com/cov2008/petition.html [/url]

Latest two blogs. Oldest at bottom. WOW.

I've got to re-do the MTV voice-over adding the line "Ruby thursday, for people who pimp their plan." What does that mean? How can you pimp a plan. "Yeah you plan..... You er....you better go shag that er...verb. For money. "

I'm feeling quite jolly at the moment. I really do feel that things are starting to look up - I think its the smell of sweet sweet spring. Ah its times like this that I wish I had a little bunny.

So what have I got planned for the rest of the week? Well, luckily for me its pay day tomorrow, I am so skint and this weeks' dragged. I will also obtain some overtime in this month's pay packet so this all helps.

Being that its pay day we're all going out to Quinn's which is probably one ofthe best pubs in Camden Town now that PAT decided to leave the Oxford Arms. WHY PAT WHY!!? I loved the days when I went into the Oxford and Pat used to just get my Stella ready when he saw me crossing the road. Now I have to ASK for my drink. Unbelievable.

Quinns is run by Mr and Mrs Quinn I think and they're about 93 and very very nice. Also there is music and Pork Scratchings. Uh oh. I 'm on a diet and Scratchings are there. I can't help it, they're so trotter-y. Might also be another Whoppa experience. I say this though "If ya gonna fuck your diet up proper, why not do it with a Whoppa." Very true big fat devil on my shoulder.

Saturday and Sunday I have to do working. BOO. But think of the money. OK. Mmmmm Its all nice.

I have a date next week and this is someone I met at a disco on Saturday so I don't feel I can say about the 2 drink rule. The 2 drink rule is you have 2 drinks MAX on the date whether you like each other or not and this avoids awkwardness or shagging. Or both. Also it means if you don't like the person you have a get out of date jail free card. Would it be wrong/uptight to enforce this rule? Think on.

A girl at the station today had a conversation today and she did a loud kiss noise into the phone at the end of the call and didn't go red. Weirdo. Maybe she did it on purpose.

Ok bye.

Wednesday, 12 March 2008

I've got a hangover.

Yesterday we had a toast to Colin at work and then I decided to go to the Chandos Pub to join the farewell and good luck drinks for Pappy's Fun Club (they're off to Melbourne). They don't do Stella in the Chandos. Instead I had what looked to be a YARD of ale which was ok cause by then my taste buds had had it anyway. Saw Caroline and Roisin. Roisin was off on holiday in like four hours - hope she made the plane.

I think I must've been quite drunk cause I remember telling Matthew that I'm Grade 5 on the clarinet which is true but why would he want to know that? Also, we discussed erratic sleep patterns. I need stuff distracting me when I go to bed, like the TV, radio (LBC) and/or a book. I'm getting sick of waking up to the "HOOBS" though. They're mental puppety things that are way too loud.

I fucked up my diet yesterday as well. Incidently I lost 1.5 pounds at Weight Watchers on Monday. This meant I had to take three marbles out of the marble pot at the weigh-in desk and embarrassingly drop them into another glass jar in the middle of the meeting room floor. I ate a Whoppa last night and chips and a sprite. GOD. What a piggy. When I got my Tesco delievery this morning it was mainly veg and fruit & I felt a fraud knowing what i'd trough'd the night before.

Pappy's also gave me some food for thought last night. They really like Catface Cabaret and they were disappointed to learn that I had no other shows booked at present. Brendon reckons I should do a couple of "one off's" in Edinburgh.... they just love that dance eh! What says you Blog readers? I think I should too. So, I need a new theatre for a start. Any ideas? Answers on email or on this blog.

I have to go and do two voiceovers in a minute fro MTV Belgium. The text is all in English except for three Belgian words. I keep accidently putting a HACKY sound on the word "Huis". Ya know like ya trying to get some gob up. But apparently I don't need the hack. My voice keeps going all June Sarpong like too. How irritating.

And finally,please take 2 seconds to follow the below link and sign my friend's petition. And if you've still got any energy, please forward this link to all the people you know who would also like to keep music and street performance alive. Thank you very much in advance. http://www.PetitionOnline.com/cov2008/petition.html [/url]

someone I spent a lot of time with over the last months doesn't really tell me anything anymore.

Admittedly, I am now geographically distant but I would still be interested in hearing about things I know are meaningful to her. I don't think that should stop just because I no longer need the information to figure out when we can get together.

Makes me think my primary appeal was merely being around. I'm away and so I don't matter.

I'm not there, so I don't, in some sense, exist.

This seems as good a way as any to spread word... My phone broke so I've lost all phone numbers that I've amassed over the last ten years. So if you think I should have your number (a fairly safe test is have you got my number?) then please email me with your number on paul@paulkerensa.com. Thanks.

Oh, and Vodafone are morons. My other half went in to the store to pick up my repaired phone, because it had been sent to the Oxford St branch and I wasn't in London for a few weeks, and apparently they can't send the phone between Vodafone stores for reasons of idiocy. I tried calling the Oxford St store but they never answered. Zoe asked them why they never answered the phone. Their reply? "Oh yeah. We lost our phone." With a smile. You lost your phone. You're a phone shop. There are a lot of them about. So how do you expect your customers to contact you? "Well they can't."

I'm moving to Orange.

So yes, please send me your phone number. Thanks.

It's 2:15am. I'm going to have to get up in a few hours and drive to Glasgow to do the third preview of my Edinburgh show. My girlfriend's coming with me and it'll be our first foreign holiday.

Trying to put together an Edinburgh show is a lot more difficult than I thought it'd be. And I thought it'd be the most difficult thing I've ever done. And I've done some difficult things in my life.

I've still got no internet access six months on from when I said I'd try and keep this thing up to date every day, but soon enough I will be able to.

So sorry to all the people who like reading what I get up to. But soon enough Bethany Black will be back.

I love you all

xXx

With a few days away on the road, I've caught up with a few filums and TV shows. Six episodes of Lost season 4 has whetted my appetite for more of that please. And I was intrigued by The Other Boleyn Girl - I quite enjoyed it (but I'm a sucker for a Tudor romp), but I did wonder about the casting. It's the tale of Henry VIII, Anne Boleyn and her sister Mary - all fine English characters from English history. And those parts are bestowed to an Australian (former Incredible Hulk, Eric Bana), and two Americans (Natalie Portman and Scarlett Johannson). I have several problems with this:

- I think they should have, if anything, swapped roles. Portman is too sweet to play conniving Anne, and Johannson would have been much better as Ann rather than the wretched Mary.)
- Could they be sisters? Has there ever been a greater difference in sisters' chest size?
- Now come on. Were there really no British actors who could fill the roles? The British cast (Mark Rylance, Kristin Scott Thomas, Tyres from Spaced...) were great. More of those please? Rather than The Hulk, Queen Amidala and the girl with the pearl earring?

Alright, they're actors. Actors can, mostly, do accents (except for the 'Irish' woman in Heroes 2, who is clearly basing her accent on the leprachaun from the Lucky Charms cereal commercials.) And it happens the other way too. Brit Lena Headey currently stars as Sarah Connor in the TV spin-off of Terminator. Ex-Eastender Michelle Ryan is the new Bionic Woman. So with Portman and Johannson coming over here, and Headey and Ryan going over there, that's quite a carbon footprint the entertainment industry is currently sporting. Save the environment - let Lena and Michelle be the Boleyn girls, put Natalie in the Terminator series and make Scarlett The Bionic Woman. Four return airline tickets spared.

Okay. The Boleyn Girls - I understand that American actors help sell the film to American audiences. Accepted. And Lena Headey does make quite a good Sarah Connor. Accepted. Zoe Slater as The Bionic Woman? That's the one I can't quite see. Which episode of Eastenders did the producers catch on BBC America and think, "Yes - that crying little girl-child with the mockney accent is the perfect mechanised action woman we're looking for..." What next? Jim Branning as The Six Million Dollar Man? Dot Cotton as Wonder Woman? The new version of The Dukes of Hazzard starring Phil Mitchell and Minty?

Hello! This has taken ages to do, but Big Howard has finally got the clip of me and him on This Morning onto YouTube.

Here it is. The first bit is a bit rubbish, because I'm not on it, but it picks up towards the end.

BIG HOWARD: If we told you how we did the technical side of this, we'd have to kill you

It was very nice to meet Fern and Philip. And obviously it was very good "PR" to go on a TV show this big, just before we leave the country for two months.

I'm typing this overdue blog with some difficulty and much squinting today. I had my annual diabetic eye check this morning and they put these drops into your eyes that enlarge your pupils for hours and hours. It basically means it hurts to look at anything bright so I am sitting in a dark house with sunglasses on being bored. After realising I cant watch TV, use the computer or just about do anything of any use, I am attempting to touch type this on a dark screen and see what happens either you'll get a great blog wit ha few spelling errors or all the blood vessels in my eyes will burst due to the strain. Cant resist a challenge me.

So what's been happening in the world of Douieb? the past couple of weeks have been madly gig heavy and I've done so much driving that while I sit on my sofa I'm moving my feet as though they are on the acceleration and brake pedals. I had a true moment of clarity when two of the acts I was with on one journey asked if we could stop somewhere. My prompt response was 'In 17 miles there's the Leigh Delaware Moto Services. Its got an M and S and is half decent, although not my favourite service stop.' They looked at me like I was the saddest man alive. There is no real need for me to know such things but I do feel that now bestowed with this extremely dull knowledge I am indeed truly qualified as a full time comic. I also think that officially part of the fun in my life has died. I look back on those days when I knew only of fun and nothing of bleak Little Chefs and sigh.

Most of the recent gigs have been good, but I realise its wonderfully unexciting reading about those ones so here's what happened at one particular gig that wasn't any fun at all. I had been looking forward to last Friday's gig for the whole week as its a truly lovely club and a place that I would recommend time and time again to punters. Before the gig I asked the organiser how it had all been going and her exact words were that it had 'been going very well with great audiences, although by saying that I've probably jinxed tonight'. Indeed she had, because as the night started it became glaringly obvious that there was a woman in the front row who's level of drunkeness meant that statistically there was a high chance that she would ruin the evening before ending up half naked in a gutter somewhere. She was truly obnoxious and as we had all guessed, as soon as the superb Ray Peacock took to the stage, she got rowdy. Ray dealt with her brilliantly, but when someone doesn't shut up after fifteen minutes, they never will. So the club had her forcibly removed leaving her to, no doubt, fall asleep in the aforementioned gutter. Problem dealt with. Or so I thought. There was now the new problem of tension in the room, and despite Ray re-warming them up nicely, being the first act on I was treated with a starey crowd who couldn't quite deal with anything that didn't directly engage them and so for twenty minutes i took the proverbial 'bullet for the team'. To be fair there was little that could be done. The situation had been dealt with perfectly and by the end of my set they had warmed enough to make the rest of the night great.

My main problem is understanding why people like that go to comedy clubs. If you are going to be that drunk and shitty then go to a nightclub where no one can hear or see you, rather than ruin a paying crowds enjoyment of quality entertainment. Only comedy encourages those sort of people though and its not fair. I'm not quite sure where the rumour that comedians like hecklers came from but I am going to avidly start to discourage it. I think my plan will start by spreading gossip that its increasingly trendy to shout out abuse at the opera and west end theatre. Hopefully this will spread and in three months time our gigs will be full of nice people while Andrew Lloyd Webber productions get the tirade of hate that they deserve. If I heard 'tell us a joke' or 'you're shit' at any point during 'We Will Rock You' I feel my life would be complete. To be fair I'd have to watch it first and that would take willpower I don't have.

My eyes are hurting. I'm off to do something that doesn't require seeing things. I give myself ten minutes before I get hurt.

There's no shortage of urine-scented people at Jack's 99 Cent Store.

(a gray, rainy day, which, nevertheless, did not remind me of England, being, in a meteorological sense, somehow, happier) with a girl I was frustrated by a few years back when she met my interest with an almost equal measure of elusiveness.

Later, her spirit was willing but my flesh was guarded.

She's leaving her job and heading off to India for God knows how long and our simultaneous vulnerability made for a rather fascinating hunk of interaction.

It was fun. And part of my program of tending to unfinished business now that I'm back in New York.

But while the woman in question was getting something, I texted Elise that I missed her.

Had a triumphant singing engagement last night.

Well, that's what I like to think it was. Actually, I went to "Joe McGinty's Keyboard Karaoke", but I didn't put any money in the jar and that made it into a real gig.

During the latter '80s, I think, Joe was a member of The Psychedelic Furs, so my musical accompaniment was at the high level an artist of my standing requires. (Yup, it's true -- I didn't sit for any of the songs.)

And the tumultuous cheers that erupted when I finished "I Touch Myself" were more than enough to make up for the sting of failure I experienced when undone by the midsection of The Temptations' "Just My Imagination".

But my most moving performances were of the Carpenters classics with which I began and ended the night -- "Rainy Days and Mondays" and "Superstar" (which I sang with the the clarity and perfection of a future anorexic).

The lead singer of the band "Moi?" even said that I was good. (Well, he said that it was good to see me.)

And a bearded guy said I really hit some high notes.

And a loud-voiced guy who knows Question Mark of Question Mark and the Mysterions and whose uncle or cousin or something composed the music for "Gypsy" and "Mr. Magoo's Christmas Carol" and who sells vintage vacuum tubes over the internet and is trying to get work as a cruise ship singer asked me if I wanted to get something to eat sometime 'cause he needs to stop spending so much time indoors.

So, the signs are I might be as good at this singing thing as I am at comedy.

Last night was the debut performance of the new musical Rubbish - it's the brain-child of a chap called Damian Reynolds, and I'm writing the book (which is musical theatre talk for 'the non-singy bits'). I hadn't been to any rehearsals, had only heard a few of the songs, and so I turned up at 3pm yesterday not knowing what to expect. And I was overwhelmed - a massive theatre, with a very impressive set, a band of saxs and trumpets and guitars and drums and keyboards, several of each, and impressively a cast of very talented singers and dancers, many of them West End veterans.

After a dress rehearsal, we did it for real in front of a paying audience. I haven't done the bulk of my part of the process yet, so I narrated/warmed-up, just to link between the songs, and I was well-received, which was a pleasant surprise, as I didn't know how an audience there for the musical would take to having a comedian there too.

The cast and crew were lovely people, and I only wish I'd been in on rehearsals too. It reminded me how much fun it can to be part of an ensemble. Stand-up can be a lonely job! Yes there's camaraderie, but that only goes so far. There's something about singing and dancing together that's fun, uplifting and unites you with the others. Lucky buggers. Well not lucky - talented. Well done them.

Anyway, Rubbish The Musical will debut properly in Edinburgh this August. Go see. And I don't just say that cos I'm involved in it. The songs are actually very good (it's quite tongue-in-cheek - more Little Shop of Horrors/Rocky Horror Show than Les Miserables...), and the production values are first-class. Makes you realise that when doing a solo show in Edinburgh, it's not really enough to just walk out in front of a black curtain and talk for an hour, to justify charging a tenner for it. The ante has been upped, folks. Edinburgh-bound people - put a bit of love into your show, and spend a bit of time making it a 'show' rather than a 'gig'.

For more info, song snippets, etc, check out the Rubbish website - http://www.rubbishthemusical.com/

Ah a weekend of fun, laughter and tears.

Saturday arvo I headed to Orpington and met my mate Steve in the White Hart - Leon showed up too. I was supposed to be heading to my mum and dad's for the family party next door were having. I drank 2 pints in the White Hart so was quite jolly by the time I got to the party. It was quite good fun - but I think my mum and dad were embarrassed of me. Oh well.

Sunday I did pretty much what I'd planned. Rolling around in my old single bed at my parent's house, remembering that I am 30 nearly and a BIG SPINSTER.
Father and I then went to Comet and we got me a new TV! Its flat screen with built in freeview. Its soooo cooool.

After this we went to visit my Nannie in the home. There's a really violent man there who's probably only about 60 so is quite tough. For some reason my face seems to aggravate mentally-violent people - and this case was no different. I heard a cufuffle and turned around and the man saw me and came storming towards me with a bitterly angry expression about his face. Luckily two nurses pounced on him and rugby tackled him away whilst I tried to keep my cool. I was thinking could I really punch an old man in the face? Well its me or you mate, and I choose me.

Reminded me of when there was a class at school, which was called The "Unit". One of the children (Steven) had Down's Syndrome and he used to beat us all up. He also spat on us randomly. I used to shit myself whenever I saw him. Another girl in the unit called Karen was also extremely violent. Anyway, one day Karen ran at me and my mate Rachel. We ran off to the toilets, and I went in one that locked and Rachel went into one with no lock, where you had to put the sanitary bin in the way. Karen kicked the door open and beat Rachel to within each of her life with her own Rainbow-Bright doll.

Anyway - enough regression to more violent days. This week I shall be going away for a bit. But I will try to keep up to date with the blog.

Hello!

This is my blog, which is like a diary, but it's spelt "B.L.O.G", not how Diary's spelt, which I don't know. How do you spell diary Big Howard?

BIG HOWARD: "Diary".

Big Howard is typing everything I say, which means there might be some spelling mistakes. It's better than me typing, because when I do it, it doesn't work. I tap the keys and concentrate really hard on the right words coming out. For ages I thought it was working, but I couldn't check, because I can't read. Here's a sample from my last blog:

LITTLE HOWARD'S SELF-TYPED BLOG: ALJFPOIE vkj eoipau lkdkl jakj;lfjepoiua;kjl d fjkai ekjdk aljk; f pekl;ja ipuodkj;l apiu ejfau vkaiopaou 38uq830 f u0iqipoj rl;kj asdkj fui akl;j euia kb kjadopi ureji alkj cjk adj djk aepoiu j ab knl;adl kwqiouqpjokd l;kaj b;j kaiupoeuipqp dkl;aj

BIG HOWARD: It's like that because he's six. He's not retarded.

That post was about when Big Howard wouldn't let me get a kitten. I was quite angry, as you can probably tell.

BIG HOWARD: the blog was very popular with fans of JRR Tolkien, someone translated it. Apparently it was a dialenct of Elvish. When translated Little Howard's Blog was just a diatribe saying that Tom Bomberdill was a bell-end, and he's glad he was cut out of the film version

What's a "Bell-end?"

BIG HOWARD: It's the end of a bell.

Like the knocker?

BIG HOWARD: Yes, but the bell's a boy... erm... tell them about that other blog that someone wrote without asking permission.

Yes. Someone did a blog of me once, without asking our permission and Big Howard said they spelt every single word wrong - how did they do it Big Howard?

BIG HOWARD: It was like "Helo, mi naem iss Litle Hawad. Wellcum too mi blooog" - it's actually really hard to type like that!

Yes, and Big Howard did a joke saying "He's six, he's not Chaucer", which I didn't get.

BIG HOWARD: Trust me, it was both very funny, and very clever

We've tried writing blogs before, but it's really hard working out how to do it, because I'm only six and I can't read or write propperly. This is how we've decided to do it. We'll probably get lots of posts saying how everyone hates us, which would be nice, because that hardly ever happens on Chortle.

We're not at home at the moment, so we can't put up any pictures or films.

The blog will mainly be about our trips to the Melbourne International Comedy Festival, and the New Zealand International Comedy Festival.

But the next post will be about when we went on This Morning with Fern and Phil this week.

BIG HOWARD: When I can find the right wires to copy a VHS onto YouTube on my mother-in-law's neolithic computer

Did you just do a mother-in-law joke?

BIG HOWARD: More of a "mother-in-law sentance."

Is that what you call it when you have to go and visit?

BIG HOWARD: Now THAT was a mother-in-law joke.

Good.

erm... bye!

Footage of Little Howard on This Morning...

I went to bed about 11:30.

Around 12, I woke up, tasting a mix of gastric juices and blood, my nose increasingly stuffed, unable to breathe without coughing.

The air smelled poisonous.

My roommate away, I'd closed the window he keeps open in the other room so it would feel like I was sleeping inside for a change. Had it been open for a reason?

Had I sleapt in a way that would court the breathlessness of apnea, which my father and I share?

Was it the massive quantities of coffee I'd drunk, along with that Cadbury's Dairy Milk Bar, pasta with crushed, dried peppers, crispy pretzels, and cream cheese-laced English muffin, not to mention the tuna with mayo and cold cuts and mustard?

I ate some more chocolate. Perhaps the creaminess would save me.

Couldn't lie down. Had to sit up.

Coughing.

Breathing still impeded.

Was I dying?

My torso, somehow, didn't feel emergency-room ready.

So, I opened the window, took Tums to thwart my gastric juices, tried hard to breathe, and sat 'til I was able to lie down.

Still tasting digestive fluids, with a soupcon of blood, I petitioned Morpheus for relief and eventually, he received me in his arms again.

A few hours later, I awoke, feeling great (though with irritation and a cough not far beneath the surface).

The air still smells wrong. What are they pumping into this place?

I turned up the air purifier.

Should I make some coffee? Breakfast?

All you people who said "Ooh, wisdom teeth - that's going to hurt... Your teeth will go mouldy... Your cheeks will go green... Your jaw will be dislocated... Your skin will be bruised... Your head will fall off..." - You're all wusses.

I'm well aware I'm not out of the woods yet. I had it done on Wednesday - it's now Friday night, and it could still inflame further yet. Plus I've only had my left ones out so far, with