07/05/07
Not working on a bank holiday weekend -
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So, yet another bank holiday weekend comes and goes. This time, I decided not to work over the holiday, just to see what it would be like.
I fucking hate bank holiday weekends, it makes my idle life seem so much less special when everybody gets the same plus points for a few days. In fact, I'm glad it rained today and ruined it for you all - I bet it's gorgeous weather again tomorrow when you all have to go back to work and I can sit in the garden and enjoy it (if I manage to get out of bed that is - I don't have to you see...). My dark side has been woefully underused of late and I think I feel a demon phase coming on...
Well, as soon as I've worked out how to use my new dishwasher my demon phase will come on...I moved into this house four months ago and only got it yesterday, but now that I have all possible domestic appliances in place I can now look for a wife and get on with being naughty again.
So, what do we need to discuss? I see that Chortle have got a new search engine thing on the site which can pinpoint specific comics by a narrowed down search. Was dismayed to see that I am not considered to be a 'conversational' comedian, but am firmly attributed to being a 'character' comedian despite not being such for over a fucking year. On top of the annoyance this caused, I was further rubbed up the wrong way when pointed in the direction of some comments in the 'comedians' section on the Chortle forums about me, which said something along the lines of "I've only just realised that Ray Peacock is a joke name - Rapey Cock"...
Right.
Let's get this sorted out once and for fucking all. "Ray Peacock" was the name of a character I used to do (my real name being, as we all know, Ian). When I stopped doing the character I retained the name "Ray Peacock" as a stage name. It is no longer a character act. I repeat - it is no longer a character act. And nor is it a joke name. I do not profess to be a comedy genius (but I am one), however I would be able to come up with a better 'joke' name than Ray Peacock. It is just a name. A random name.
And while we are on the subject - can somebody explain to me what the fuck a 'Rapey Cock' is? Why would it be a joke? It doesn't actually mean anything. Whenever anybody has said it to me and laughed I have always stared back at them blankly, because I really don't see what the joke name is. "Rapey Cock" is just nonsense. Only Tittybangbang would try and pass that off as a joke.
And I apologise for the bad language - I am perhaps from an unstable family eh Peter Kay?
I swear to god, I am coming so close to wandering around muttering to myself about not being 'understood' - if you look up 'tortured artist' in the dictionary you'll get a link to this blog soon. And people wonder why I turn to the dark side from time to time...
Anyhow, as I told you, on Friday (well, Thursday really because I stayed over) I went back to Bristol to do a full day as warm up on Deal or no deal. If you don't believe me then you can follow this link and see a picture of me telling the banker to fuck right off under the wing of resident warm-up Mark Olver. I had good reason to tell the banker to fuck off too, because he made my job considerably more difficult on Friday. Again, can't really give away details, but suffice to say, it is not easy keeping a crowd of people 'warmed up' after they have watched three consecutive massacres unfold in front of their very eyes. It was more like riot control. If you think the tension is bad when you watch the programme at home, you want to try being slap bang in the middle of it in real life...
I did manage to do an impression of Mr Edmonds though, with my jeans pulled up high and my t-shirt tucked into them, on the actual Deal or no deal stage during my warm up which was great fun and not a little surreal - particularly as the real Mr Edmonds then ran onto the floor and physically ejected me. As you have read on this here blog, I have had some weird heckles and attacks on stage, but nothing will ever beat being pushed off stage by Noel Edmonds whilst he proclaimed I looked nothing like him. I countered that I was trying more for look from the SwapShop years and that was the icing on the cake of the experience. Couldn't quite work out whether the man actually liked me or not, but can't come away with anything but respect for him after witnessing him at work over the full day - he's fucking exceptional. No autocue either by the way - his entire presenting is off the cuff. Very impressive.
Then Saturday was over to Cardiff for the rugby league.
If you haven't been to Cardiff town centre recently then you would be in for a bit of a shock as most of it has been knocked down. I was planning to park opposite the Big Sleep hotel in the multi-storey as I knew how to get there, but once I did get there I was met with sky where the buildings used to be. Really weird to see the land so altered (The Big Sleep hasn't been knocked down like, but if it was they might get an extra star).
As I said last time, I'm a big fan of the Millenium Stadium, but I did witness an unbelievably ridiculous bit of red tape there. The Huddersield Giants team were coming through the gates (they were playing on Sunday but had come to watch the Saturday match) and one of the players (Ryan Hudson) had lost his ticket. The rest of the squad left him to it as he stood on his own searching his pockets for the missing ticket and trying to persuade the people manning the gates that he was a player. I quickly scanned through my programme to see if there was a picture of him in it and there was, so I went over to try to help. Even the fact that he had arrived amongst the Huddersfield team, and even with a programme of the actual event with his fucking picture in it, they wouldn't let him in. He thanked me for trying, but they didn't budge. How childish is that? Bethany Black told me she got to a gig recently and they didn't let her in until the audience were allowed in - and she was in the fucking show! Tell you, if I turned up at a gig and they didn't let me in, I'd be straight back home without looking back. See how they fucking got on without me.
The game was good on Saturday, and an easy win for Saints against major rivals Wigan which is always welcome (despite being par for the course over the last few years). Because there were three matches on that day, you had six different sets of supporters in the stadium. No segregation, all sat side by side and amongst each other, no bother, everyone in good spirits and being primarily supportive of the actual game of rugby league above and beyond club loyalties. I once again must express my pride in being associated with by far the greatest sport in the world...
As always, after the elation of the game I had the steep emotional comedown on the way home, and my mood has swung like Spider-Man all weekend since, but I have plenty of books to read, and I am restarting my writing with a vengeance tomorrow which should serve as some sort of distraction short-term. Getting on top of my moods is a constant battle, but we shall dwell on that some other time.
The dishwasher should restore some sort of balance too.
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