Amazing how coughing fits literally stop you from sleeping...

I am poorly sick but have clawed my way to my laptop as it dawned on me that I really should pre-warn everybody of an impending change.

It's basically about the podcast I do, and the change is that the complete first series is available for less than 24 more hours before it disappears for ages only to return on iTunes in years to come at a ridiculous financial price (we got the idea from Disney). It is available for free right this second on iTunes and chortle.co.uk/raypeacock.

The next time we speak all that will be left from the critically acclaimed first series is the "best of" compilation, and brilliant as it is - it's really not the same as having them all.

Series Two starts on Monday though (same places as above) - so that's a bit of consolation for you, and bear in mind quite how difficult the recording was for me given that I am so ill and probably at deaths door.

Not that I would expect any fucking sympathy.

xx

First off - I'm not dead. An odd amount of messages have recently enquired about my pulse, to the point where I have been starting to believe that my demise has been reported somewhere. So, for the record, I'm alive - I have merely been making way for the North of the Border lot and felt including blogs over the past month or so may have seemed slightly, well, gloaty. Not because of what I have been doing, moreover what I have not been subjected to this year. Nothing worse than somebody banging on about how they're not losing money this year and all that bollocks - in the times I have been up to do shows at the fringe there has always been some cunt doing that and I am so not that person. I remain proud of all of those souls living the dream up there.

However, given that I was uncommitted, I decided that I was going to make an effort to do something with my August time this year, to warrant not making the journey North yet also giving myself the break that my head and body has been screaming out for. I think I pretty much managed to balance the leisure/work thing, despite suffering nervous irritability, anxiety dreams and an alarmingly regular propensity for heartburn over the last fortnight or so.

Today/Yesterday/Saturday I got to put to bed one of the frustrations of last August, by going over to Wembley to see St Helens play (and win) in the Rugby League Challenge Cup. You may recall from last year that it was a major annoyance for me that they were playing in a cup final which I could not attend, so this year that was put to rights, even if the new Wembley Stadium was a major disappointment - utterly without soul, and a massive metallic reminder that there are certain things in life money cannot buy. Sitting in that dome today, with nothing close to 'atmosphere' made me mourn the character and excitement of the old place, the twin towers (the Wembley ones not the terrorist ones) and despise the business people even more than I already did (which was a lot). Hard to believe it could have taken them so long to make something so shit. But Saints lifted the cup at 4.45, so it wasn't all bad.

I started the month by recording the last two episodes of my podcast, and I have really missed doing them over the past few weeks (the whole first series is still on iTunes for the time being, and of course at www.chortle.co.uk/raypeacock). I'd sort of got it into my head that doing them would distract me from the Fringe, but hadn't reckoned into account the fact that the series break was coming at Episode Ten which fell in the second week of August and so would leave me with nothing to do beyond the handfull of gigs I had booked in. So I did what any artistically minded person would do in such a situation and began writing a book.

Yeah you heard me - writing a book. A proper one and everything.

I wrote one a year or so ago (or rather I finished writing one then - took me fucking ages to do it), but the rejection/conditional letters from publishers and the complete disinterest in reading it from a large chunk of my friendship base sort of put me off writing the next one. The indifferent friends thing - that's a big deal for me incidentally, and I'm not entirely sure that it's fair on my part to feel it to be so, but that doesn't alter the fact. It's been the same with the podcast - I've got so many emails and MySpace messages from people (strangers) who listen to it religiously (perhaps sometimes TOO religiously), and then I'll speak to someone who's meant to be a mate or whatever and hear "Oh, I'm a bit behind with them" or "I've not got round to listening to them yet". It actually kind of offends me, especially when in the next breath they start talking to me about fucking Big Brother or something. Ever get that thing when you actually start thinking the universe is giving you clues about whether or not you need certain folk in your life? Is it really that big a drain on a friend of an "artist" to at least make an effort to be fucking supportive?

Anyhow, the book is coming along nicely - it is sort of writing itself but at a reeeeally slow pace, which I'm also kind of enjoying. For a good while I used to think I was an impatient kind of chap, but I've started to believe more and more that it was more a case of that I have moved in impatient circles - I'm actually extraordinarily patient, expecially where creativity is concerned. Big fan of doing stuff slow.

Not that I live at a snail-pace. For example, I went to Chessington World Of Adventures (and that name should be reported to the Advertising Standards people by the way) the other day, so that proves that I live fast sometimes. To save any wondering on your part, I'm gonna slag that off too. My theme park of choice will always be Blackpool Pleasure Beach (although I no longer go there), and basically, anything that isn't Blackpool Pleasure Beach gets the thumbs down from me. Especially when it is full of "those" sort of people (you'll know the ones if you've ever been) and seems to pride itself on queuing, shit food and an enormous wasp population. These things do not adventures make. The only good thing about the day was the fact that I managed to train Little Raji James' children to point at him in public a lot whilst listing various films and TV shows he's appeared in and looking total strangers in the eye for acknowledgement of recognition. A brilliant game.

Gigs wise, I've had a load of fun in the past month, in particular my weekend at the Leicester Summer Sundae festival thing, which is officially my favourite of all the summer festivals. I compered the comedy tent on the Saturday and Sunday, and the long old shows meant that I could cram such a varied amount of play into them that I thought I would literally run out of fun. Highlights included making children do really bad swearing, lots of breakdancing, a freak show and proclaiming a bloke called Jamie a God (he sat on a cow onstage whilst I banged a gong and three hundred audience members bowed, chanted his name and generally praised him - it may have been my finest onstage moment ever).

The downside of my weekend there was the fact that I was constantly mistook for the lead singer of the Magic Numbers as I walked around (they were playing the main stage) - I had members of The Divine Comedy, Echo & The Bunnymen and even fucking Sophie Ellis Bextor nodding at me backstage as though they knew me, until somebody pointed out that they all must have thought I was that bloke. I'm not actually very knowledgeable about the Magic Numbers, and to be fair, wouldn't have known him if I was pissing on him, so had literally no idea what he looked like or how accurate a doppleganger I had unwittingly become, but as I left on the Saturday night I did meet him. He had a beard and long hair and was a biggish bloke. That's about the extent of it. As a matter of fact he is twice the fucking size of me - his head is bigger than my body - and I shouted at him for making my life a misery that day. He gave me a massive cuddle and apologised - we got a photo took together and we really don't look alike (it's on the podcast myspace page in the pics section - www.myspace.com/theraypeacockpodcast) but I took to him given how well he took the random abuse hurled at him by a total stranger. I think his name is Romeo or something.

And that is kind of that - sorry for hijacking the blogs section at such an important time but I was whining here first, long before any of this lot. Am gonna start up writing on here proper again next week (apologies for this one - am clearly out of practise) as it might help me to carry on with my book (I'm really trying not to call it a novel - there's just something about saying that word I don't like).

Don't forget - full podcast series is on iTunes and www.chortle.co.uk/raypeacock - it really does have it's moments and it's so free it hurts. Maybe you could listen to it as you do cooking or masturbate or whatever it is you do? You know, kill two birds with one stone as it were.

See you on the beach x

I’ve been thinking about Edinburgh, which could be forgiven from a comedian at this time of year but for the fact that this here comedian isn’t actually going to Edinburgh for so much as five minutes of this years Fringe.

Making the decision not to go was actually relatively simple, in fact the decision pretty much made itself for me, and whilst I shall no doubt miss the tinsel this year, I certainly won’t miss the tree.

But I have found myself pondering the subject as I have watched my contemporaries thrash about within their shows, applying far more importance to comedy than should ever really be given (and I’m not sneering – I have been as guilty of that as any), and I really wish that before last years fringe I could have seen myself now. If you paid me all the money in the world I couldn’t give you the running order of topics from my 2006 show. Couldn’t get up on a stage and do it. The importance of them is so fleeting. It would have probably put it into perspective for me.

I got a call from my management the other day, asking me if I was interested in doing The Big Chill festival in August.

I very nearly hung up.

The last time I did The Big Chill festival I took to the stage at 3am, looking out over a haze of pot smoke, whilst four hundred people scowled at the fact I had awoken them. It was the most painful start to a gig I think I have ever experienced, made worse by token of the fact that for some godforsaken reason I had been booked to compere AND headline. By 5.45am I had three stoners racing each other around the inside of the marquee as a desperate last throw of the dice and by 6am I had managed to get back to my car in the morning sunlight. I seem to recall I was running.

Hearing the words Big Chill had sent just that through me, and I was halfway through rejecting it when I realised that I wasn’t being asked to do a comedy gig. My manager was speaking about authors doing readings. Now the last time I looked there had been no follow on letters declaring a terrible admin error amongst the pile of rejection slips that my first novel inspired from publishers, so I was unsure as to what exactly I was meant to be reading from whilst remaining vaguely uncomfortable at the fact that I was being passed of as an author, but all was to be revealed. At this year’s Big Chill festival, I have been asked to read from this.

This blog.

How fucking weird is that?

I’m dreading it and looking forward to it all at the same time – I have literally no idea how to do it, or why anybody will be in the slightest bit interested, but it does mean I shall be present at one festival come August – if only for an hour or so.

Gigs have been chugging along nicely. I had to go to Cardiff last week as part of the Welsh comedy festival, and took along my fellow speakers from The Ray Peacock Podcast, Little Raji James Who Used To Be On Eastenders But Ruined It and Ed “The Body” Gamble as emotional support. They would turn out to be physical support before the night was out, as I presently seem to be attracting violence almost as much as my office is attracting moths (I mean, seriously, the moths thing is getting fucking ridiculous in here – how do you get rid of moths? I suppose I could try working in the dark…).

So, as I was saying, after the gig a little man – and he was little, proper little and all weasely – confronted me. Now the gig had been okay, it had been a laugh and I had fucked about with the audience at the end as it had been a long night and headliner or not, I wasn’t going to inflict material on a flagging group. During this fucking about, I had fed crisps to this little weasel man, as he was sat behind a metal partition bit that made him look like he was in a petting zoo. He had appeared to play along at the time.

After I’d got Raji up on stage to humiliate him and fought a gentleman in the audience in a lightsaber battle (he had an umbrella and I think he genuinely thought he was going to win, but in order to win you really would have to keep your eyes on me at all times as I may appear to be chatting with the audience again and you may drop your defences momentarily and then suddenly realise I have the blade of the lightsaber at your throat in one swift movement declaring “that would have killed you – I win”) I wandered offstage and rejoined the other comics. The little weasel man came over.

At first, I genuinely thought he was joking. Then he pushed his forehead against mine and started to push me with it.

“Do you know who I am?” he drawled in a Glaswegian accent.

I admitted that I didn’t and asked him to put down his pint glass.

“You’ve got no idea who I am have you?”

I resisted the urge to churn out the old joke of shouting “there’s a bloke here doesn’t know who he is” in favour of further trying to disarm the pint glass.

“Taking the piss out of me will be the last thing you will do”.

Well that wasn’t true because two hours later I was driving down the M4 miming to “Deadringer for love” in Raji’s car whilst Ed screamed laughing and I flashed all of the interior lights to “make it like a proper concert”, but you get the idea.

It all spilled outside, and after the initial shock, I got a bit fighty with this scrawny little cunt. No blows were traded, but I firmly rejected his offer to shake my hand and that seemed to make things worse. Not going to pander to the sort of thug who believes they can act however threateningly and aggressively as they wish as long as they offer a handshake at the end of it.

All I’d done was feed him fucking crisps!

I might have called him a gypsy as well, but other than that…

Incidentally, I never did find out who he was.

To Ed’s credit, he was in there like a shot backing me up. Raji just took an unusual interest in a flyer for a Take That musical and missed the whole thing apparently. In fairness, I suppose his face is his fortune…

I left Wales seething, but as I mentioned earlier, my annoyance didn’t last too long. The road trip itself was possibly the most I have ever laughed in my life, certainly top five (and the other four would be times recording the podcast with the same company). A few folk from the gig emailed me and expressed the wish that I do not let this put me off coming back to Wales. Naturally it wouldn’t, and indeed I am doing the Theatre Clwyyd this Thursday coming with Silky. Me and Ed are both travelling over there.

Raji isn’t invited because he is no good in a fight.

And that’s me.

I shall leave you as usual with podcast details – Episode Six is up now, and I really can’t even begin to tell you how much fun we are having making these. If you listen to them it is probably pretty clear, and despite their juvenility at times, I am really really proud of them. Genuine thanks to everyone who has taken the time to listen to them.


You know the drill – this is where it’s at (Warning: This episode may contain nudity…well it does, there’s no ‘may’ about it):

CLICK THIS TO LISTEN TO EPISODE SIX

RIGHT CLICK THIS AND 'SAVE TARGET AS' TO DOWNLOAD EPISODE SIX

It’s on swanky iTunes as well:

The Ray Peacock Podcast on iTunes

You may as well…it’s free.

I know I’m not around so much these days but I do think of you all the time xx

I am sure that many of you shall be delighted to hear that I got my head kicked in last week.

Under normal circumstances this would be catalogued with eloquence, wit and a que sera attitude on here, however, I have got less fond of typing and more fond of recording my experiences audibly of late and so the only way to hear the full story (admittedly with interjections from a retard and an open spot) is to get your ears around the latest episode (Episode Five) of the critically acclaimed "Ray Peacock Podcast" - currently included in the "new and notable" section of iTunes because it is so well good.

In fact, it's got even better because I went and spent some of my hard-earned cash on new recording equipment last week, primarily because I was sick of hearing people moan about the slight hiss on Eps 1-4. It's in crystal clear digital sound now, but still full of childish giggling.

I can improve the technology but not the quality of content sadly.

Basically, all my news is on there. If that doesn't suit you - as we have reached the halfway point of the first series - you will only have to wait five (maybe six if I go on holidays) more weeks before reverting back to reading about my experiences on here when I shall return with a superiority complex far exceeding my present one, and gloat at all those souls up in Scotland who are stressing about their Edinburgh fringe shows whilst I sit bitterly in the South, reminiscing about last August and muttering how it "should have been me".

So the details, as if you didn't know, are as follows:

"The Ray Peacock Podcast" can be found at the following places:

CLICK THIS TO LISTEN TO EPISODE FIVE

RIGHT CLICK THIS AND 'SAVE TARGET AS' TO DOWNLOAD EPISODE FIVE

It’s on swanky iTunes as well:

The Ray Peacock Podcast on iTunes

Much love x

So…

I was informed by my management last week that they were pulling the Fopp gigs until they had received outstanding payments from them. By the end of the week Fopp had gone under.

I have decided to claim that I single-handedly brought down a corporate Empire (albeit a shit one) . Outstanding cash aside, I wont really be sad to see the back of the Fopp gigs.

Having seen first hand the inside dealings of said ‘organization’ it’s not really a surprise to me that they folded in on themselves - houses of cards and all that – but I do take issue with the manner in which it happened and their staff were informed.

On Friday for example I noticed a bulletin on MySpace for the attention of all Fopp employees which merely contained a link to the BBC online article declaring that Fopp had gone under, with the information that all stores were now closed and the now former employees would not be paid outstanding wages. The moral implications of this are abhorrent to say the least, hearing about your immediate unemployment on a fucking MySpace bulletin.

Every time something like this happens, the sound bite of “it’s just business” gets thrown about the place with alarming regularity, and some people for some fuck-knows-why reason are actually placated by it. “It’s just business” should not be accepted as a defence – labelling something as “business” should not exonerate ones actions as being less callous or reprehensible. People get treated like shit by business, whilst a few skim profit off the top as they no-doubt put their evil actions to the back of their minds, not allowing themselves to think about the knock on effect they have instigated for the sake of a few lousy quid, whilst their victims (and yes they are fucking victims) worry with increasing desperation about where their rent money is coming from.

The revolution is long overdue…I’m starting to think it perhaps wont come at all at this rate.

As for the actual Fopp gig itself, I can now go on the record as saying it really wasn’t much fun. The room had potential, but the company of Fopp seemed disinterested in meeting us half way (they were probably too busy searching down the back of the sofa for pound coins) and I had already decided that I wasn’t going to be indulging it much longer. The thing was, they were quick to throw stones our way when they weren’t happy with something like…erm…me, but tortoise-like when asked to do simple things like get some fucking lights that didn’t resemble the Mastercard logo (Steve Williams’ brilliant joke there - not like he can use it again) or put a poster up.

They were fucking useless…don’t know how they managed to run a successful busine…oh wait they didn’t.

Just wish I’d nicked more cds now.

So one of my resident compere jobs falls to the wayside, but as I am brilliant, I didn’t have to wait long for another, and had a tentative chat about a new one last night. As it was just a tentative chat, I shall hold fire on revealing the venue, but when I have performed there so far it has been an absolute pleasure and I would be happy to return there regular.

Unremarkable gigs aside (except for the one at EDComedy last week - where I arm-wrestled a lad who had cerebal palsy whilst the audience looked on in horror - I won of course - big cheer for me), most of my time has been taken up with the podcast, and in between the recordings and editing I have been busying myself reading the increasing amount of hate mail due to my treatment of Raji James on the programme. I would like to say a thankyou to all that have written to me on the subject, and please rest assured, every single one of your mails has filled me with delight and demonic glee and strengthened my resolve to continue to treat Little Random Comedian Mate Raji James Who Used To Be On EastEnders But Ruined It with ever-increasing disdain and borderline-torture.

I know it’s what you all secretly want.

Episode Four of “The Ray Peacock Podcast” is just up. I know that we always warn about explicit content and that, but I feel I should emphasise that this episode contains heightened mischief and childishness on a level previously unexplored. It could be considered both morally and ethically reprehensible, but in my defence – it is just business…

It can be found at the following places:

CLICK THIS TO LISTEN TO EPISODE FOUR

RIGHT CLICK THIS AND 'SAVE TARGET AS' TO DOWNLOAD EPISODE FOUR

It’s on swanky iTunes as well:

The Ray Peacock Podcast on iTunes

That is all for now – I'm off to watch Hostel 2 - you may return to your day carrying my love with you at all times.

xxx