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