Danske Bye Bye

After writing yesterday’s blog I did a rare thing and read it back. Usually I automatically assume that literary gold has seeped through my fingers and onto the keyboard like a Midas of language and so leave each post in the annuls of blogville to never been seen by my tiny eyes again. However, after reading back yesterday’s I realised that I am completely wrong and that apart from all the terrible word repetition, poor sentence structure and the general sense that I’ve read better ‘What I Did On My Holidays’ school reports from 8 year old children, it also seemed to just repeat everything I had said about 3 days ago. At first this concerned me, and it has only been today where I could easily churn out the same dross about being drunk again that its occurred to me that my week in Aarhus has been not entirely dissimilar to Groundhog Day. Only in Danish. And with no groundhogs. Or Bill Murray. So not really like Groundhog Day.

It’s been an amazing week and I’ve definitely learnt some things. Aside from the odd Danish words and the fact that I grinned everytime I saw a sign with an arrow pointing to a place called ‘Odder’, I’ve met some truly lovely and funny people that I doubt I would have bumped into on the UK circuit at all. We’ve all vowed to stay in touch and hopefully help each other get gigs in our own home towns. I have the odd feeling that I may benefit more from this than they do as I get to see beautiful Estonia or Finland and they get the Laughing Horse Camden. I’ll try my best to make sure that doesn’t happen. I’ve also learnt that I speak stupidly fast for a non-English speaking audience and have had to slow down my delivery rapidly here. I’m hoping I’m not conserving all the energy to do my first gig back next week at such top speeds various ear drums are broken and people’s heads pop with the pressure. Saying that, it’d definitely make for an interesting blog the next day. As well as speed of voice, I discovered while performing an hour last night, that only a certain part of my material is universal and despite being confident that I could nail an hour of material I found myself standing on stage really sweating about 25 minutes in as certain words like ‘emo’ fell on blank stares. All the other gigs I’ve played abroad have been to audiences who speak English as a first language and it was only clear by the end of the week that everyone I’ve been performing too has had to translate everything as well as react to it for its content. In a way they had a harder job than me. I managed the show with constant editing and had to delve deep into the recesses of my comedy brain, accessing mind folders far beyond my cerebral desktop, and pull out some really old crap. It seemed to work though and I finished the whole festival with a set at the gig I’d been hosting all week – that night hosted by the very funny Chris Brooker in my absence – where I decided to do material that they probably wouldn’t understand but that I wasn’t bored of hearing. Its these sorts of experiences and challenges you don’t get on the UK scene, even though I’ve definitely performed to some audiences who’ve taken as long to process a joke as someone who didn’t speak the language.

As I’m typing this the first few comics from the group are leaving and hugs, handshakes and nice words are being passed round. I’m going to miss the randomness of sitting on the beach with Dutch, Finnish and New Zealander discussing, oddly enough, Derren Brown, and the joys of meeting Danish people who’ve broken their arms running into walls while looking the other way. True story. And yes, I couldn’t work out whether to applaud the man or have him sectioned. My flight isn’t until 10.30pm tonight so I’m stuck with the sad job of watching everyone else leave while I stay in the city I’ve only enjoyed in their company until tomorrow when I wake up in my own bed, see the six trillion emails I’ve been ignoring and life resumes as normal. I’m looking forward to going home but goddamn I hate it too. Goodbye Aarhus, and for the last week, our home. Tee hee, sorry. I couldn’t resist one last pun….

Blog History

May 2012
M T W T F S S
« Apr    
 123456
78910111213
14151617181920
21222324252627
28293031  

Crystal Eyes Boos

The Aarhus Comedy Festival needs to end for my own health and safety. Tim Fitzhigham told me the other week that Richard Burton once had an operation on his back and they found his spine entirely coated in crystallised alcohol and I’m fairly sure that another week here and I’d have the same issue. Though I’d definitely spend some time having a biopsy to remove it so I could see what it tastes like. And its sentences like that that make me have to reassure myself I’m not becoming an alcoholic. The thing is I am a chump for matching drinks with people and through life its been my stubborn sense of competition and lack of willpower to refuse the offer of a further drink that has seen me do such things as try and fall asleep in a skip. I am usually able to go drink for drink with people from all over the world despite cliches, except for, it seems, the Scandinavians and in particular the Norwegians, who’s ability to gulp booze down seems to defy all physics. More goes in than a body should be able to actually contain without it being automatically pissed out. I’ve been told its due to all the months spent in the dark during the winter that allows a person to consume poison in such a way. After stumbling back to the hostel in the early hours determined to collapse and seeing the Norwegian comics sitting there with three boxes of 24 cans of beer and no intent of stopping, I’m beginning to conclude its a superhuman ability.

During this week, as well as all the shows, we have been taking part in a competition to write a short advert for radio and TV for the Aarhus municipality to promote the idea of free speech. After a lengthy speech in Danish by the vice mayor that sounded not dissimilar to the Muppet Show’s Swedish chef having a fit, that was then translated into English by someone who’s abilities to structure sentences in his second language would be trumped by google translate, it appeared I was part of one of the winning teams. This is all well and good, especially due to the cash prize, but I fear that when the picture for the press is printed the main comment will be on where on Earth my eyes are and how I appear to be glistening with the booze sweats.

Last night I performed Comedy In The Dark at a Danish speaking gig in English. So not only was I dealing with having a complete lack of sight and ability to see whether people were smiling inbetween laughs or about to hit me, but then the secondary concern that they will not have a clue what I’m talking about. The only gig that could be harder would be performing comedy to animals while standing in a sound proof booth. It was an amazing experience and despite constantly being concerned that if I put my beer down I’d never find it again, I had a great gig right up until being blinded by the lights coming up at the end, leaving the audience with an image of a cowering hobbit man permanently burned into their retina. I quipped several gags that I will never be able to use again, such as telling them I was debating whether of not to just say I was a mime artist and then run away. I feel like this week I’ve done the equivalent of Herculean comedy challenges. I’d love to say that I’ll return to the UK a better comic, but I worry that I’ll just be speaking patronisingly slow for everyone and distracted by actually seeing their faces. Damn you Aarhus, you have crippled me in so many ways.

Final shows tonight, including my solo show. So far ticket sales are zero which isnt great, but I may just hide in the room for an hour to avoid getting dragged into more beer drinking for at least 60 minutes anyway.

Kvajebajer

Today’s favourite Danish phrase comes from a conversation at a Danish nightclub last night somewhere in the early hours of the morning. Yes a nightclub. Yes I am 30. Yes I mostly felt like at any moment someone might notice and make me leave and yes it was too loud and I didn’t get to sit down much. Besides all this it was fun, mostly due to being drunk enough to dance to shit 90′s music with brilliant Danish people and also because of one of the most wonderfully offhand conversations with an awesome petite Aarhusian called Sandra who taught me the word ‘kvajebajer’. The closest translation in English I’ve been told would be ‘stupid beer’ and its used when you’ve made a mistake and you say ‘ah well, my fuck up, I’ll buy you a stupid beer.’ This in itself is a great phrase and had I learnt it many years ago would probably have summed up many events in my life. The conversation with Sandra went something like this. She told me she worked in a school for special needs children and explained how that day a child had thrown a chair at her back and another had tried to stab her with a knife. I enquired just how on Earth a child at a school could have got hold of a knife and her response was:

‘ From the kitchen. (Pause) Yes, a mistake. (Pause) Kvajebajer!’ This was followed by an expression of sheer nonchalance and another beer for me. I like the Danish more and more everyday.

Yesterday was an epic day of many proportions. Attempting to travel to the Moesgard museum with Rose (a dry witted and lovely Dutch student helping at the festival), a badly misjudged distance meant that a two and a half hour walk later we were still an hour away from seeing The Grauballe Man – a twisted body preserved in the bogs of Denmark and looking not dissimilar to many people I’ve seen lying outside Wetherspoons after 11pm in central London – and instead in the midst of the Danish woodlands with nothing but these odd Dutch cinnamon rock stick and water for provisions. Its safe to say my orienteering skills were never a strong point and I think that I have relied on googlemaps for far too long in my life. It was an excellent site seeing trip of the countryside and coast though, despite being hit in the eye by a stick, falling off a bike (I, like fellow comedian Mark Watson, also have bike issues. Mainly that I can’t ride them. I consistently have issues with balance. Even my bank one is a mess) and being attacked by the sea. Yes. Not in a tsunami way and no way as drastic but sitting on a rock on the sand with the tide so very far out, the Dane waves appeared to go against all principles of the moon’s gravitational pull on the world and come all the way in soaking both our feet entirely until we raced back onto the road. As soon as we escaped the beach the tide happily went back out again. Ægir the viking god of the sea spoke and he said ‘back the fuck up.’

Twelve miles and several tired hours later I managed to catch Hari Kondabolu’s show at what might be one of the nicest comedy rooms ever, the Archauz. Hari is a US comedian who’s just been in the UK for a week or so doing Russell Howard’s Good News and a few gigs, and will be back at the Edinburgh Festival. He’s a truly truly excellent comic and had myself, Rose and the small gang of lovely and very funny Norwegian comics that I’ve had the pleasure to meet, absolutely howling with laughter on the back row. Do check him out if you get a chance.

Then shouting my way through REM, House Of Pain and Nirvana till 6am, waking up today wondering where my eyes have gone as they are so far back in my head I may never get them back and a sore throat that may well make all my other gigs a tad tough. Ah well, Kvajebajer!

Doing a show called Comedy In The Dark tonight, which is pretty much what it says on the tin. The compere – ace Danish comic Mads Brynnum has told me he will be naked. I have told him I won’t be trying to shake his hand.

Last note of today’s blog and it be a long one. You remember those crazy fun times myself and my friend Jacqui had sending the people of Red Bull a pointless complaint email? Do ya? No? Oh. Well it’s here:

http://blog.tiernandouieb.co.uk/2011/03/29/no-wings/

Well the lovely people responded at 5pm yesterday after what I presume had been a very long day at work. They’ve clearly spent some time on it and for your enjoyment here is the response:

It is true that Red Bull does give you “wiiings” (as opposed to wings) but not in an obvious conventional manner but by vitalising your body and mind, as seen from our humorous self-ironic cartoons.

I dare say that in the history of evolution there has never been a case of a human being been naturally blessed with real wings in the sense that you mean and Red Bull would not try to fool the general population at large into thinking that it was possible to drink our product and change their genetic make up to grow extra parts of the body!

I assure you that the style of the advertisements and message that they give have been passed by the Advertising Standards Authority and are deemed suitable for broadcasting to the viewing public. I am sorry that you felt the message conveyed in our commercials misled you in anyway into believing that Red Bull would persuade your body to sprout bird-like feathery appendages.

Please accept out sincerest apologies if any confusion has been suffered.

Best regards,

CONSUMER RELATIONS

Awesome.

Smil Til Verden

I often visit other countries and see things that I wish we could have in the UK but know for a fact it would fail horribly due to our relentless British pessimism. My current favourite thing in Aarhus is a perfect example. Every bus in the city has a LED display that flashes between its destination and then two smiley faces and the words ‘Smil Til Verden’ which translated means simply ‘Smile To The World.’ Beautiful lovely sentiment expressed across town whenever you look up and see a vehicle of transport. I can never imagine the W7 bus from Finsbury Park station to Muswell Hill having a similar sentiment plastered across its miserable front without it being received as sarcastic and patronising. Aarhus is known as the city of smiles and although you could misconstrue this as a sort of Stepford Wives type plastic Hell, its actually really nice. Everyone seems happier because everyone seems happier. This is slightly thrown by the Danish customer service attitude which, despite being done with the best of intentions has a harsh almost didactic edge to it. Two days ago in ‘Joe’s Pitta’ I was pretty much told what to order by the women who barked at me from behind the counter. She asked what sauce I wanted, I asked what sauces were there and she told me I was having garlic sauce and that pretty much seemed that. Still it was all done with a smile so I mostly felt confused as to whether I’d been abused or looked after. I’m still not sure I’ll ever know.

Another example of a smile that perhaps wasn’t necessary was on yesterday’s trip to the Women’s Museum. Denmark is very forward thinking on equal opportunities and they have an absolutely fascinating museum held in a former institution for abused women. On entering I was greeted by a very pretty (most people in Denmark are pretty. I can’t wander the streets for more than a minute before feeling like everyone must think a small troll has invaded the town amongst all the tall blonde beauties) lady at the ticket office who asked if I wanted to know what exhibitions were where. She explained that downstairs would be boring for me as it wasn’t in English, the first floor was a children’s exhibit, the second about women through the ages. Then she told me ‘at the very top, there is rape.’ I looked at her with a quizzical face as she concluded that sentence by merely making her smile ever more broad. I should probably point out at this point I was originally looking for the viking museum, accidentally stumbling into the wrong one and found everything all the more baffling when the top floor of both places could easily have the same exhibit.

I’m learning a lot being here. This morning’s workshop was all about boundaries in art and that taught me that I should never go back to school as I spent a large part of it writing puns in my notepad, drawing a picture of the Pope being eaten by a bear and giggling to myself. One picture we were shown was known as ‘Piss Christ’ and was a photo of the crucification with the artist urinating on it. It is supposed to be provocative in some way or another but I spent the whole time questioning why they didn’t call it ‘Peesus’. I don’t think I’ll be invited back. I did smile while I said it though, so take that Aarhus.

I’m taking a night off gigging tonight to see other acts and while its a relief the shows here have been so excellent I have a feeling I might miss it. The Danes are damn good audience members. Really sharp on their humour, very up for banter and already smiling as you get to the stage. There’s very little more you could ask for. They know how to treat a small troll well.

Smoking Room

I’m in a slightly tricky situation. Having woken up three hours later than I should (not unintentionally by any means) I now find myself sitting in my hotel/prison room wondering whether to attend the last 20 minutes of a workshop I’ve missed three hours of, or to sack the whole day in and piss off the viking museum. Easy choice you might think, but I really probably should attend the workshop at some point as its part of the reason we’re at the Aarhus Comedy Festival and part of the way its gained its funding. At the same time part of the reason I do comedy is so that I don’t need to wake up at 8am ever in my life ever, and I feel if anything, my stoicism to the whole thing is probably making a valid point about comedy itself that perhaps everyone can discuss in my absence. Or they’ll all hate me. I’ll find out a bit later once I’ve been to the Viking Museum.

It would have been actually impossible to wake up earlier than I did due to my pathetic attempts last night to drink alongside the Danish. It appears that being descended from Vikings means they can gulp back a hefty tankard into their warrior like gullets and not feel the damage. Small Anglo-Franco-Celt Douieb however cannot. I did try though and I think I should gain some points for effort even if they have probably already done ten things by now today while I’ve had my face under a duvet wanting the world to disappear. The other thing I discovered about the Danish is that they make really great audience members at gigs. Last night was the first of the show’s I’m hosting in the hilariously named ‘Cockney Pub’. Its run by a man from Aarhus, a man from Cumbria and bloke from Bournemouth and sells mostly Danish beers. Not really all that cockney at all. They should have gone the whole hog and called it the ‘Rub-A-Dub’ or something and let the Danish be even more confused but at least not think the title is about a severe anatomy problem. It boasts at being the only pub in Aarhus where you can still smoke indoors, which is an odd thing to experience having not had that in the UK for many a moon. The law in Denmark appears to be that if a bar or pub is less than 50 square feet its allowed smoking. Any larger than that and it isn’t. This seems to go against all logic at having a place where the smoke might be able to dissipate and I wonder if its all part of that Scandinavian love for saunas and hot boxes that has caused such a rule.

The crowd consisted of 15 civil engineering students from The Netherlands who were all brilliant fun and spent much of the interval telling me about one of their party who has a name like someone coughing and hails from Friesland. Despite it being spelt as though its the home of chips, its main point of ridicule is that they have their own language of West Frieslan and according to the others are ‘trapped in the medieval times, yes’. Then there were Laura and Soren, two students from Aarhus University who were both gargantuan in height and informed me of the right wing horrors of the current government, and the wonders of studying Mandarin. To top this I got to watch all the comics from Norway, Sweden, Finland and Denmark which was both excellent and an interesting education. Opting for mostly dark material they showed that the circuits in their respective countries are a lot smaller than in ours. Not in a mean way, but it made me feel hugely grateful for having to slog it on the UK circuit five to six times a week to get where I am, rather than the one or two a month they would do. There were some great gags though and I’m looking forward to watching another bunch of acts do the same tonight at the Rub-A-Dub.

Now to awkwardly stroll into the workshop, hand a note over from my mum, mumble some excuses and sit at the back. I have a feeling the rest of the week may be fairly similar…..

There’s A Moose, Loose about Aarhus

I’m not sure I’ve worked the Danish out yet. This morning while topping up my third cup of much needed coffee two teenage girls who are helping at the festival told me I look like Steve-O from Jackass, then pointed at me, said things in Danish to each other and giggled till I left. I don’t look like Steve-O. Not remotely. Chris Brooker has been told he looks like Jeff Daniels. He doesn’t. I’m concerned that Danish TV has resolution problems. I blame that fact that most of their beer is at least 7-8%. This is something I laughed at last night, until realising that having three pints is akin to having 6 pints and then someone punching you in the face while you sleep. This sleep is rendered worse by arriving at your hotel room full of Danish beer only to find your card key doesn’t work, the reception downstairs is closed and you have to spend the night in Jim Smallman’s room using your powers of snoring to ensure he never sleeps again.

I say hotel. Its like a comfortable prison. Well saying that, we drove past a prison yesterday on the way into town and it seemed the most lovely twee prison I’ve ever seen. I assume every cell has a collection of doilies and a chaise long by each bed. That seems to be the theme of Aarhus. Everything looks nice, everyone is very lovely and hospitable and aside from almost having to sleep in a corridor I fear I quite like the place. This will be tested to its full mettle tonight when I finally do a gig here when hosting an open mic night for the international performers. I’m looking forward to both seeing just how luke warm I can make a room of Danes pre-gig before watching people tear up the place in languages I don’t understand. It will be nothing but a bag of joy town. If all else fails I’ll do a Jackass style stunt, smash my face up and let those two girls laugh for several days.

This morning we started the workshops that we are doing whilst here. Part of the festival deal is that we take part in daily workshops so that it can gain EU funding by pretending its semi-educational. This morning’s chat was all about the boundaries of comedy which spurred some militant conversation from certain members of the group who decided that laughter isn’t necessarily a barometer for a good gag which I whole heartedly argued against. Comedy is surely mainly about making people laugh above all else and whatever message you want to provide alongside that it doesn’t matter as long as its funny. Well that’s what I would’ve said but I was sleepy so just doodled a picture of a shark and a pirate instead while a Swedish comic next to me drew a man being fisted. The man doing the fisting was wearing a tie so it was all very classy. I feel the event was wholly successful.

I’m going to run out of hilarious ‘Aarhus’ puns for the title of this blog soon. Any suggestions are very much welcome.

Aarhus, In The Middle Of Our Street

So far my first trip to Denmark has involved an ungodly amount of sleep, a show and tell about a pornographic painting of the Danish Royal family, a free hoodie, some cheese and several people laughing at a man saying a word that sounded like ‘asskissing’. Its times like this that I can look at myself and think I am nothing if not cultured. Today’s blog hits you in the pupils from the office of the Aarhus Comedy Festival, situated in the heart of what I’ve been told is Denmark’s smallest big town. Or biggest small town. Its been described both ways to me and having only stepped from a minibus into the office and nowhere else, I am yet to work out which one it is. I would assume a big small town is like a large Lego landscape, where as a small big town is a not very large normal sized place. I am partly hoping that outside of this office I use several 16 peg grey blocks to create my own streets then construct a small car with flashing lights to drive me around while a man with perfect hair and a yellow face tells me facts. I have a feeling its going to be more like the former.

My flight this morning was at 7.25am which meant that I had to wake up at that sort of surreal time of 4am where it just feels like you’ve got up at night for a wee and someone’s tricked you into having to stay up. Its fine for a while, and the whole experience was made 100 times better by Nat very kindly giving me a lift to the airport as we had delirious early hour banter involving neither of us making much sense. Since then my body has been thrown into tired mode whereby my stomach doesn’t like anything I tempt it with, my eyes are like puffy bubble wrap with an iris, and its taking my brain at least 3 seconds to respond to everything. This hasn’t been helpful when talking to the Danish whose accents take a second to register words and the drive from the airport involved a lengthy 4 minute conversation revolving around me asking if we were staying in the centre of Aarhus, while the driver thought I asked if were we were – a large road by an empty field – was the centre of Aarhus. Cue hilarity/a huge waste of words and energy.

Luckily I am with nice people. Jim Smallman is here for one evening only and its been bloody nice catching up. All the other acts from around the globe seem great too. I am to be sharing a room with a Fin called Ali. He has no surname. I’m slightly concerned he will follow in the footsteps of other one named people such as Madonna or Jesus and be a tad difficult to deal with. I’ve been told he’s a lovely bloke though and so it seems I’ll be more concerned that my snoring will mean he won’t sleep for a week. I have been sneered at for wanting my own room, but no one seems to understand its for the other person’s benefit and not my own. When I pass out, my nasal cavity makes a noise like someone using a drill on a bulldozer in a dentists office. It penetrates walls. I’m often amazed I don’t wake up to find I’m surrounded by millions of snakes who’ve been lured by the tremors. I expect Ali will hate me by tomorrow.

We’re about to head off for a stroll round town now for which I will need to wake up in order to take in various things about the city for oh so hilarious purposes during my gigs this week. With any luck I’ll be able to do my entire riff on the new 3365 Space Moon Buggy set or Harry Potter building sets.*

* I have no material on this. I really should build on it. HA! HAHAHAHAHAAHHAHAHAHA! I’m so tired.