Yo dudes

This is to test that the youtube embedding works ok. It's a little tour of the flat I'm in with a cameo appearance from Barry Dodds (herein referred to as B. Diddly)

Here goes...

hooray!

jx

The phrase ‘false economy’ is one I all too often begin to use when it’s too late. A prime example is saving £9 on a return flight to Edinburgh by coming up two days early, then spending £120 in the space of those two days. I don’t think getting first pick of the rooms in my flat is quite worth £111 pounds and only seeing my girlfriend for 12 hours in between her getting back from a trip to Europe and my leaving for Edinburgh. Though I did manage to arrange the best surprise present for her. She’d always wanted a human skeleton, yes, a human skeleton. I read ‘The Curious Incident of the Dog…’ last night for the first time. She bought it for me and I can see why; my girlfriend is very similar to Christopher. She’s not got Asbergers, but has all the charming qualities of Christopher (Love of Maths, order, space, logic) without the downsides (screaming when touched, no sense of humour, bedwetting). So a skeleton was not an unusual dream for her. I bought one, after three months of scouring Ebay for one that wasn’t hundreds of pounds. While she was away I got the keys to her flat, erected the skeleton in her bedroom, and left a letter written by the skeleton in his hand, asking for a place to stay and saying a handsome man had told him she might need company during August. Genius. Though my first idea was better (placing the skeleton in her bed in my clothes with a note saying 'I came to check your flat wasn't flooded, i locked myself in, called for help but no-one came, if i die before you get back i love you. john'. That would have been the prank of the century if it'd worked.

Anyway, It was awesome to finally see some comedians arrive in Edinburgh yesterday. I went for a few drinks with a very tanned Dan Atkinson and erstwhile flatmate Jon Richardson. Both in fine form but stressed about their debut shows which will both, no doubt, be excellent. The difference between my carefree excitement and their fear, self doubt and secret high hopes was tangible, but I ‘spose that’s all part of doing your first hour. Jon’s living a way out on his own and Dan on Broughton Street, he claims it’s the “bohemian” area but having been there for burgers I discovered this estate agents code for “gay district”. Great place, and excellent Enchiladas in a place called ‘Blue Moon’.

Most importantly I bought a new pair of Converse shoes (connies). They’re black but with black labels and I replaced the white laces with black ones. The one downside of new connies is that they’re so clean when you first get them that you look like a total jerk-face for five days so I had to scuff them up a bit.

When I got home I realised the locked door incident (see previous blog) had made me more paranoid than I thought. I slept with a massive carving knife in my bed, which, if honest, is a stupid idea. If I was a bad-ass hitman it’d be fine, but chances are if I was woken by an intruder I’d scream like a girl and then stab myself in the arm, which if anything would make his job easier. I also erected a rudimentary alarm system by placing my swivelling chair against the door with one of my new connies balanced between the two. Anyone attempting to break in would now have the threefold problem of dealing with a man screaming because of a sudden noise, then screaming because of an intruder and then stabbing himself in the arm, I hoped he might make his escape during the confusion.

Today I’m going to begin searching for gigs in Edinburgh other than the Zone, which I don’t enjoy doing. I’d rather people saw me and chat to them afterwards as opposed to finding a way of saying “you don’t know me but I’m good and not a dick” in a text message. Despair.

The following takes place between 8pm and 9.48am.

If last night is anything to go by this Edinburgh is going to be very weird. My plan not to drink for the festival lasted exactly 13 hours. I was at a gathering for the Avalon production team and, feeling not a little nervous and awkward (sober), I hit the Guinness and within literally seconds was suggesting we get shit-faced and find a ‘titty-bar’. I’ve never been to one, and am sure I never will, but there’s nothing better than misogynist bravado to endear you to a group of twentysomethings, eh?! Olver left at about 10pm leaving me with the advice “don’t be a prick”, to which I think I may have replied “I’m not a prick, I’m a brilliant”. The words of a bona fide prick if ever I heard one.

We went on to a late bar called ‘Fingers’. For me there’s very little in life that’s funnier than that – ‘where you at Robins?’ ‘down fingers mate, doing skits and dishing out monkey shines’ – The barman was very cool and refused to serve someone who was wasted, I think that happens all to rarely and hugely increases my liking for a place. After faux breakdancing to the Billy Joel and Van Morrison I’d requested from the resident pianist I decided enough was enough and wandered home at about 1.30.

After listening to Lord of The Rings for approximately 120 seconds I fell asleep. I awoke at 5.38am needing a wee in the way which you only can after sleep. Martin Amis called it the feeling of ‘having a white-hot bowling ball in the pit of your stomach’. Well imagine reaching that stage while asleep and then waking up two hours later. It was hell. No problem though, we’ve been here before, I’ll pop to the old toilet, real easy like. The laws of physics were against me though as my bedroom door is locked, from the outside. The only key that can perform this task is on the table next to my bed yet there is no way of unlocking the door from my side. Immediately another 100ml of burning wee seems to add itself to my now overfull and panicking bladder. What to do? ‘Call Avalon’…It’s 5.30 am, ‘Call the landlord’…I don’t know the number…and it’s 5.30am, ‘kill yourself’…maybe, but think, what would Jack Bauer do? He’d probably go undercover in a Mexican drug cartel, only to find it was his mother in charge of the gang and then have to kill her only to find a rival agent was disguised as her and was carrying his child. There’s no time for any of this, so I piss in the bin. There’s no cool way of saying that sentence, I pissed in the motherfucking bin. It’s not a mesh bin, nor wicker, I am saved by a beautiful plastic, watertight bin. The final twist in the tale was that for about 10 seconds I COULDN’T FUCKING GO! What a time to get stage-fright! Luckily, just as my insides are to start haemorrhaging it’s all good again and I go back to bed.

9.48am. I call Avalon and they send round the letting agent, (I am still stuck in my room, though now in relative comfort). Only over yesterday’s roast Olver and I were discussing the horniness of the Scottish accent. I, personally, don’t see it, I know many do, but for me the accent of a Scottish woman is that of old dears buying shortbread and bemoaning the downfall of the bingo industry. However, I will say this, there is no more comforting sound to hear than that of a Scottish woman saying “help is on it’s way”. It’s the climax of Mrs Doubtfire all over again. There’s very little a 65yr old Scottish woman can’t make alright. Unlocking my door was a piece of cake, which she probably had in her handbag anyway. I had to slip the key under the door so that she can unlock it.

So all is well now in the world of John. I’m drinking tea and listening to Dire Straits like a middle-aged divorcee – That’ll win her back, exactly the right mixture of ‘Calling Elvis’ and working on the Triumph Stag, no, that’s why she left dickhead, it’s a recipe for crying into gin every night for the rest of your forties.

Still have no idea how my door got locked. The only explaination is that someone broke in to play a prank, or like in that excellent joke of Cogs’ “I keep four big Chubb locks on my door, but I only lock two of them, that way any cunt that tries to pick the locks is always locking the other two”.

jx

Ahoy! I got into Edinburgh today at about 10am in the company of the lovely Mark Olver. The flat I'm in rocks, i was hoping to embed videos but as of yet can't fathom it out; the blogging software Chortle uses doesn't allow direct embedding from YouTube for some reason. So if anyone knows how to get round this on an intel Mac then do let me know (the blog site used is b2evolution). Might have to revert to posting links to the vids.

Went for a Sunday Roast with Olver. It's not really a thing i do a lot, the old roast, but i think for him it's like heroin. I'd give it a 6/10 but for a more detailed 'roast review' go to www.markolver.com as he's reviewing little things each day. Cool.

Selected my walk on music etc today, which is all very minor yet exciting. I'm increasingly aware that my preparation for Edinburgh this year has been more financial than artistic. Unfortunately due to the nature of gigs in July it was easier to make nice money than play nice gigs. June/July is a hard time if you're A. unsigned and B. not doing a solo show, as there are no uni gigs, a lot of places just do previews for hour shows and you've no lovely agent to sort you out weekends at nice clubs. But such is life. At least i can eat like a king if i perform like a cockend.

Not much to do until the tech on Tuesday, so if i know you and you're up do let me know and we can swan around like Prick The Bishop. If i don't know you feel free to do the same... (unless you're a total ass-hat)

Piece out

jx

Hey Dudes

Welcome to my blog, here it begins. I'm doing The Comedy Zone this year and it's my first full run in Edinburgh. It's nice to have a proper excuse/reason to be there.

I'll be updating a lot and also (and i'm quite excited about this) putting in video diaries of my travels and perhaps some interviews with the great and the good of this year's festival.

Firstly, a bit of background:

My previous experience of Edinburgh was SYTYF in 2005, which was just awesome. I was like a child in a sweetshop, expecting nothing and finding everything. A highlight was getting knocked out of the competition and then going to the Library Bar and getting totally rendered with the other loosees. We were naive enough to think that quoting Father Ted lines at the top of our voices was appropriate. What pricks we were. Though there is part of me that smiles when i remember Dara O'Briain looking distastefully at us about the third time we'd shouted 'SO I HEAR YOU'RE A RACIST FATHER' Never such innocence.

Last year was utterly depressing. If you're not doing anything at the festival then going up for two weeks is a bad idea. I'm not well known at all so getting gigs up there wasn't that easy and you can't help but think you're a wannabe hanging onto the coat-tails of other peoples joy. The only gig i did a few times i got banned from, which is bizarre as I'm the least edgy or difficult person you could hope to meet. It was truly weird. Maybe 'the man' just couldn't deal with the cut of my whimsy y'all!

So, 2007, I'm doing a package show, which is awesome. Its a great way to begin in Edinburgh because

A. It's cheap
B. No Pressure
C. It's much more like the circuit gigs you're used to

I'm on with Barry Dodds, Carl Donnelly and Joe Wilkinson who are all excellent. No dead wood. I'm compering about two thirds of the shows and am hoping to make it as much like a late-night gig as a showcase. Do come along, it'll be a blast. Speak soon

jx