01/06/07
WSM -
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Better re-cap…
Last Thursday I did Barts Medical School and there’s little more to say about that.
I’d tell you they were drunken fucking idiots, lacking any moral conduct or basic manners, and displaying effortless sexism, racism and homophobia, but I fear by doing so they would consider me to have paid them a compliment. Suffice to say, they simply did not deserve any of the comedians on the bill that night. And you may accuse me of arrogance but if you had been there you would more than likely compliment my restraint…
Which brings us onto Weston Super-mare, and a weekend away at Jokers Comedy Club which is a brand new dedicated venue in the town centre.
First things first, it was a pleasure to be at a dedicated venue that really was just that – dedicated. So many dedicated venues appear to put the importance of food, drink, a raffle, fucking toilet breaks, anything, before the comedy, but that was not the case at Jokers. All the acts were looked after royally, and there was no pissing about with making us wait or be finished by certain times throughout the evening. So welcome and rare you will see the management of a venue be more interested in the show than the takings.
My Friday night gig was par for the course; I step onstage with the best intentions, some cunt in the audience thinks he’s funnier, I spend forty minutes (with a practical demonstration) proving that he’s not, don’t get to start act, mock another bloke for his slurry drunken speech (find out later he’d had a stroke – my bad), fight some more with the first bloke, leave the stage with a standing ovation etc etc.
Outside the gig I was chatting with a group of lady performing arts students who were doing a stand-up course, when the mouthy gent (not the stroke one) accosted me, haranguing me with accusations of not having an act and once again proclaiming, as his equally drunken friend looked on, that he was funnier than me.
Such a pain in the arse, it really is. It’s irritating enough onstage, but when you are finished and just having a moment, to have to carry on ‘defending’ yourself and humouring drunken fucking morons…
The drunken/altered state thing has niggled at me all week to be honest…I have quite the bee in my bonnet over it…
I looked at my nemesis as he continued his mutterings about how much funnier than me he was. I said, very calmly, that this may well be the case, but I was the one surrounded by girls hanging on my every word, whilst he was going to go home to catch the 10min freeview, indulge in a mutual masturbation session with his fat friend before retiring to bed, gazing at a photo of a lost love and falling asleep as the tears encrusted on his cheeks and the realisation dawns that he may never have lost her if he’d just kept his mouth shut and not been such a fucking dick.
He pushed for a reaction and got one.
I can be surprisingly eloquent in my ruthlessness sometimes.
After we left the gig, we were dragged out into the town by the lasses and taken around the finest hostelries that Weston has to offer, culminating in a fucking club for some reason.
Now, I may have given some indication in entries previous that clubs are not my happy place, made worse only by the clientele.
I so don’t want to come over as pompous, or as looking down my nose or any of that, but I can’t help assessing the evidence before me.
I simply do not get it.
I don’t know what is lacking in people’s lives that this can possibly fulfil. I’ve known very bright, lovely, intelligent people turn into obnoxious fucking pill-heads at the weekend, utterly self-absorbed and smashing any degree of life stability they have attained in the week previous and spending their Sundays zombified and mourning the amount of money they swallowed or snorted the night before, whilst all the time regretting actions they might have done if they could only recall what happened during their hours of oblivion. These people have only ever been brief visitors to my life, not least because for some inexplicable reason they will always put the importance of this infantile ritual above anything else.
So, given that I have set out my stall in the last paragraph, you may glean that the club we ended up in was not the place for me.
I’ve never met anyone who was drunk or high who I haven’t found utterly unattractive and objectionable. Literally not one.
Two fights in the club later and I’m trying my very best to figure out what these people get from it. The only plausible reason I could muster was that they go to pull. I know that on the few occasions I’ve found myself in this environment I have more often than not been patiently waiting for the noise to end so myself and whoever could go somewhere quieter and misbehave. That said, people as lovely as myself are rarely present, and looking around with intense judgement at the other chaps, I can’t begin to imagine what sort of girl would take any satisfaction from pulling the testosterone reeking Neanderthals that seem to exclusively frequent these environs.
Being put into a position where I had to physically push one of our female tour guides out of the way as two thugs pummelled into each other, trading punches to assert their masculinity with not a thought for the people stood around them, just wasn’t my best evening out. And you end up getting drawn in, finding myself putting both pugilists to the floor as they grappled each other, I realised how easy it is. In my defence I’m really quite strong me, but like Spider-Man I am aware of my responsibility with my strength, and would only use it when the honour and well-being of a pretty young lady is at stake…or if a heckler gets too mouthy...
However, despite the attention and column space I have afforded it here, this downside of the evening did not dominate. Overall, myself, Steve Hall and Ben Schofield had a very fun night out in Weston. I’ve over-laden this entry with arrogant damnation of club culture because I have made promises not to reveal the good stuff, but it did turn into an exceptionally surreal evening. Despite the fact that the gig itself hadn’t been particularly well attended, we were bizarrely recognised and complimented around every corner, and how certain members of our team took advantage of this would be the best blog in the world. But as I said – I promised I wouldn’t tell and I am a man of my word. If you are involved in the comedy community just keep your ear to the ground as these things have a habit of spreading like wildfire. After all, I only promised not to put it on the blog. And it’s worth hearing…I defy you not to laugh when you do…
Come the Saturday evening in Weston, and neither Steve Hall nor myself could handle the pace of such a kicking town so decided to head back home.
It's always an absolute pleasure to spend a car journey with Steve, we used to do the Comedy Network (uni gigs tour) together so have spent many an hour watching the street lights stream by. Since last years Fringe he has certainly grown as an act and in his own confidence. He truly deserves all the success he is enjoying with We Are Klang and the knock-on effect of this meaning he is no longer underrated as a stand-up will hopefully be imminent.
And the rest of the time I have been away has been spent putting together the podcast. It was meant to be out on 4th June, but I think that may now switch to late on the 5th as Mr Bennett from Chortle (who are hosting it) is away.
It’s really not worth getting overly excited by.
The quality is negligible in places, the language is choice and the content is from time-to-time factually incorrect…in fact, it is an uncannily accurate representation of my life.
The Ray Peacock Podcast Myspace Page
Tonight I am off to compere Bracknell (hooray) and then do a spot at Hatfield University's Ball at 1am...they won't be all drunk surely? I have every confidence it will be a dream gig...
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