16/09/06
Kings Lynn -
Categories: Tonight my gig was housed by the Kings Lynn Corn Exchange which is in Kings Lynn which is in...erm...not sure.
Is it Norfolk?
I think it is actually.
I didn't pay much attention to the road signs, choosing instead to put myself in the capable hands of my GPS machine (I've learned my lesson after the M25/Chertsey fiasco the other night). I was also in a stinking mood after learning how high my blood pressure was at a visit to the doctors this afternoon. I had to have it taken twice because my doctor thought the first time it was a mistake - she frowned, made me lie down and ordered me not to talk whilst she took it again. I felt, perversely, vaguely smug after the second reading and it was all I could do not to smirk and say "told you" to her (I didn't though).
But anyway, tonight's gig. Events of interest are as follows (not neccesarily in chronological order mind).
1. Great compere Jo(h?)n Richardson asks the audience what there is to do in Kings Lynn. Audience member shouts "Spot the English bloke". Other comics hold their heads in their hands whilst an alarmingly large portion of the 300 strong audience cheer and applaud the statement. The tone is set.
2. A debate breaks out amongst a hen night of girls in their early twenties whilst I am onstage about whether I was the bloke out of Doctors. Even after I tell them I was, they still argue it. I allow it however because they were 'fit' (I think that's what the youngsters say). My lecherous ardour for them is dampened dramatically later on in the evening when fantastic headliner Duncan Oakley asks audience if anyone has kids and they all put their hands up. For fuck's sake - they must have all been 23 tops...
3. A man shouts at me whilst I am onstage "We're not interested" after I tell him and his big gang off for chatting loudly during the show. The majority of the audience boo him for his comment but it still strikes me as rather a universally cruel thing to say to somebody, no matter what they are doing. I take comfort in the fact that, whilst he's being a shouty dickhead, his wife is gazing up at me onstage with dreamy eyes, no doubt thinking "Why couldn't I have ended up with someone like that rather than this imbecilic cunt I married in madness?"
4. I refer to an audience member as a "Spastic" and there is a collective intake of breath. I apologise cheekily and get away with it purely on looks. But, I do feel very strongly that the word 'spastic' should be reclaimed for the purpose of insulting someone. It's hypocritical to call it offensive as the disabled have long since dropped any recognition of that as a descriptive term, 'spastic' no longer means 'disabled person' because it is not a recognised term - it just means...erm...spastic. That's my argument and I'm sticking with it.
That's pretty much what happened - I left before Duncan had finished closing the show (he was doing very well when I left) so don't know if anything else worth mentioning happened. From my point of view, I really should have died on my arse in that gig, but as I was brimming with a "fuck it" attitude when I arrived that by the time I left the stage I was rightly hailed by 80% - actually call it 85% - of the audience as a comedy god. Okay, the god thing might be pushing it but I got a big old cheer so they liked me.
I'll do my material there should I ever deem them worthy of a return visit from me.
I'm going to go now as I have a slightly messy head this evening so have decided to get hammered. Fuck the high blood presure for another night! It wont take too long as I'm not a natural boozer, but I have a bottle of vodka screaming at me to come and play and a headful of demonic thoughts and resentments to toy with.
Oh come on...admire my dark side...you wouldn't want me funny ALL the time surely?
Comments:
No Comments for this post yet...
This post has 86 feedbacks awaiting moderation...
RSS Feed