Fringe 2011: Day 22

This is the first ‘still drunk’ blog of the fringe. It had to happen at some point and to be honest, I’m amazed its taken quite this long. I almost welcome this odd whisky taste in the mouth, that feeling of slight imbalance and dizziness, and a general concern as to when it might end. A very late night, quite a lot of drink and a inability to leave the bar at any point has all led to this as well as the need for dutch courage to get through singing at Karaoke Circus last night and the celebration that I didn’t completely fuck it up afterwards. It seemed to go well, apart from me kicking my own pint across the stage and the thrill of warbling at a packed room while a full band played behind me was all a bit awesome. I kind of get why those musician types do it now. I don’t want to worry anyone, but I might well have to do it again.

Anyway, this won’t be long on account of my fingers not entirely working yet and the thought of doing three shows today, two of which are to kids, is making me think I should probably proceed on the sobering path soon. What I wanted to type about was the inevitability of meanness at Edinburgh. It happens every year and again, much like my drunken morning, has taken quite a while to rear its ugly head this year and for that I am glad. Earlier in the fringe such things may have been annoying but now, when all is going quite well, it just creates a curiosity about why someone would do such a thing. Yesterday on my blog, Mark P posted this:

Self-absorbed little man. Here’s hoping this is your last trip to the Fringe – it’s fair to say that you’ve failed.

Which is lovely right? Fair play that someone is not a fan, but why go to the effort of sending petty, childish statements like that to make it well known? Especially as, so far, this fringe has been so good its almost making me change my mind about skipping a year in 2012. I try my very best as an act and human to not upset people – with the possible exception of politicians with this year’s show – and yet somehow doing this just seems to upset people. I’m fairly sure mentioning this in today’s blog with provoke further commentary and if it does then that’s ok. I’d just really love to know what I’ve done to deserve that and I really hope its a good reason and not just someone being a bellend. I have a feeling I’ll never find out. Either way I guess it is just part of doing what you do.

A small note finish today’s blog. Here’s a page where you can download the podcast I did with Tim (Fitzhigham) – who’s show I went to see yesterday and its absolutely brilliant and proves how nuts one man can be:

THREE WEEKS iDAILY – NUMBER 7

Right, I’m off to drink all of the coffee ever.

 

 

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Attire Misery

Yesterday I had the pleasure of spending an evening with two old friends in a quiet pub in London Bridge. I should point out that they are old merely in terms of how long I’ve known them and I’m not referring to their age in any derogatory fashion, not least because they are the same age as me and such doings would be self harming. There is nothing nicer than shooting the breeze with two people I very much enjoy the company of and whilst I’d love to place some of our discussion here, much with all good friends, they are really not suitable for public viewing. Especially our rather lengthy discussion about just how people get tickets for centre court at Wimbledon. Anyway, despite a rather joyous middle of the evening, it was marred by two events either side. ‘Marred’ is perhaps a strong word as I am not 100% sure that the first event was a bad thing to witness but it was definitely something I’ve never seen before.

Strolling towards myself and Mat as we walked down Borough High Street on the way to meet our good friend Mike, was a man who’s torso was dressed in a black jumper and black puffer jacket. His bald head showed several scrapes and cuts and a slurring mouth that suggested drunkeness. If I was to leave the description here your mind may wander between extremes of him being a top class skier at the end of a long days extreme sports or perhaps a milk tray man on a day off, or even just a drunk dude being a drunk dude who’s overly prepared for winter. But then you looked downwards and noticed that aside from a pair of black trainers this man was wearing nothing on his lower half except for his own yellow excrement down one leg, and his birthday suit, balls swinging in the wind. Amongst this chaotic scene of attire misery and clothing mishap he was loudly exclaiming ‘Oh fucking hell’ with the sort of miserable tone that seemed to say ‘not again’. I, under no circumstances, could imagine how this might happen to someone once. I have been in all sorts of terrible states due to toxic intakes and general mischief but never ever have I ever lost all the clothes from my lower half, shat myself and managed to do all this before 8pm. Not only that, but to have done it again seems less a terrible tragedy and almost a brilliant feat of human temperance. I watched as he stumbled past in awe of such a person and can only hope that should life on other planets exist, that they discover him first and judge humanity on his movements alone.

The other bookend was much less fun and a reflection on my lack of self control. I fell asleep on the tube managing to make it all the way to the end of the Northern Line in Morden and entirely missing the stop I was meant to get off at to stay at L’s. On shock awakening I was told it was the end of the line and standing on the platform waiting for a tube to go the other way it dawned on me it was the last tube of the night and I was at the very depths of London. Its not a nice feeling knowing that by being incompetent I had trapped myself at the depths of zone 6 with little way back. Its happened to me before, but not since last October when the night bus I fell asleep on dragged me to the depths of Tottenham where I spent some time at 7am standing next to man who looked like, at any point, he might just pummel me for existing. It was cold, and wet and I was generally miserable about the whole affair. The same with last night. While being just about flush enough to get a cab – a cab that was sitting there waiting, knowing at least one berk would fall asleep on the last tube – it still cuts deep knowing that it has cost me £20 to do a journey that I’d already spent £2.90 doing. Idiot. Total plum.

And yet, in perspective, at least I still had my trousers and hadn’t shat down my own leg. And oddly knowing that, it all became ok. I like perspective in life and while the half naked man may not know it, his existence in the world has very much helped me confirm my own. Mine is where the extreme is realising I’ve ended up miles away from home and can say ‘fucking hell’ knowing it is likely to happen again, but that I’m pretty lucky that is the worst that can happen.

Hirsuite You Sir

I am going to struggle through today’s blog. Last night was very much one of those that went on an awful lot longer than expected and if finding yourself drinking in a grotty casino at 5am on a Monday morning with a bunch of comics isn’t a horrifying moment of clarity, then I don’t know what is. I don’t feel as bad as I probably should, but I do feel bad. Not in an MJ way either. Just in a shit way that means my head is not quite working in any sort of sensible way. Cue much walking into rooms not realising why, sitting back down again and generally feeling sorry for myself. Its not a ‘oh god I feel so rough I expect sympathy’ feel sorry for myself either, its just a ‘oh god I was drinking in a grotty casino at 5am with other comics, surely my life shouldn’t be like this at 30?’

 

One thing that is good though, is my beard. Nine different people gave me compliments about my beard last night and all of them seemed genuine. Even Michael Legge who said my beard made me look like a junior Brian Blessed which was sort of a compliment in a shit way. Others said I looked like a sexy dad – also not good – then just ‘sexy’ and ‘like a man’. I liked both of these though it worries me that the simile ‘like a man’ is needed when I am, in fact, already a man. Boy. Man. Thing.

 

I have had this full beard thing for a few weeks now and I am bloody liking it. There is an oddly comforting feeling about having face protection and as well as the nice compliments it cheers me up on a daily basis rubbing it like I’m a wise man, knowing I don’t have to pay a lot for razors, and pretending my head is nearly the same upside down. I do think women miss out on the whole beard thing. I can totally get rid of it if I want, then grow it back. I can shave bits off. Then grow them back. I could get it all laser removed then grow it back. But I won’t. That’d be weird and expensive.

 

Beards mean you can pretend you’re wise. You can pretend you’re rugged. You can pretend you are poor. And smelly. And a wizard. And a smelly wizard. A smelly poor stupid delusional wizard. I’m just saying its fun. And on a day like today, where I look at my life and wonder what went horribly wrong I can at least look in my mirror and say that I have a beard that makes me look like I’m actually a man. A Brian Blessed sexy dad man.

 

Oh. God. My. Life.

Pair Of Pants – The Return

I shall keep this blog brief, like a pair of pants – REMEMBER THAT PHRASE LONG TIME BLOGEES? DO YOU? WELL ITS BLOODY WELL BACK! – due to my morning running so late it’s worse than that guy who did the London Marathon dressed as a snail, and the fact I still haven’t eaten anything to soak up the booze still coarsing through my veins. Last night was what I like to refer to as an alcoholic pancake day. In order to clean up some of the leftover booze kicking around the flat, I returned home with Nat after my cancelled gig and several consumed pints, and decided that not only should I have some of Nat’s red wine, but also clean off the third of a bottle of Jaeger I had kicking about. After that I thought I should probably finish the whisky that’s still in my decanter so I can put a new one in, not realising the amount left would equal a pint of the strong stuff, and grimaced my way through it. Consequently today my body feels like I’ve betrayed it. I don’t have a hangover as such but I have gained stupid actions such as managing to turn the shower on without realising my face was in direct line with its head and blasting cold water into my tired eyes. I’m a fool and I have a feeling today may be a toughie.

So let’s hit your minds with some quick info and get this blog done and dusted. Then polished so it looks all clean and shiny. Then we’ll put a vase on it. There. Now we can have guests round to my blog.

- Talking to two oral and cranial students last night, I found out there is a Sonic Hedgehog homolog. This is a protein in the mammalian signalling pathway. I have no idea what that means but its in your head and my head and everyone’s head, hugely controls how your face and head look and is a cruel professor’s joke so that when you have to inform someone something is wrong with their child’s one of these, it becomes increasingly awkward. I love the dark science humour. Surely if your sonic hedgehog is damaged you can just jump on a telly with a picture of it on and it’ll revive?

- Oooooh what’s this? What is it? Clicky clicky click away! http://bit.ly/j3YYC6

- I was on Radio 4 Extra this morning. Not live. That’d have been tough. If you iPlayer Rufus Hound’s ‘What’s So Funny?’ then you’ll hear me, Mel and several of the kids from the Comedy Club 4 Kids Academy talking about it all. So do that.

 

I have to go to Newport this afternoon. Its been nice knowing you all.

False Promises

I have just had to turn off the Obama and Cameron press talk after getting far too annoyed at hearing comments on how lives in Libya have been saved and that their talks this morning have been about keeping ‘our people safe’. Easy to say something like that from a beautiful barbeque with no expense spared while others watch from home or work worried about their increasing debt and possible unemployment. I’m feeling far too cynical this week to get sucked up into the schmaltz of hearing how the two leaders played ping pong with students in a South London school, avoiding all mention of those same students lack of university prospects in the future. Its just getting so repetetive how often we are promised that these people care from their high up thrones, yet the actual realisation of such promises never seems to deliver.

 

Ooh, a rather preachy beginning to the blog Douieb? Well yes. I feel I have every reason to today after an incident last night. After seeing Mark Thomas’s excellent and inspiring new show ‘Extreme Rambling’ about walking the wall between Israel and the West Bank, myself and L (new girlf’s initial. I feel for her sake privacy should be somewhat respected in these blogs incase, y’know, she gets mobbed by all my jealous female fans. All one of my jealous female fans. Not that imaginary people can hurt or mob anyone, but y’know….) had the pleasure of Mark’s company for the journey all the way home. He told us of various new ventures, and tales of his earlier days on the circuit all of which made me very much feel like I am indeed doing the right thing with my often silly life and it put a kick in my step for the rest of the night. There is something about watching stand-up that not only does the initial purpose of making you laugh, but also so so much more in educating and having a point of view. I’m still in awe of stand-ups that can leave me with an ache from laughing so hard, but a tear in my eye from the message given. Speaking to Mark very much affirmed this is how stand-up can be and often should be, and although it may not earn as much money as the stand-up that doesn’t, its the type that will ultimately mean more to people.

 

So anyway, gushing aside, when changing tubes halfway, we looked for seats to sit together on the new carriage. Opposite us was a black man of possibly Somalian descent, sitting legs wide apart with a can of special brew in his hands and very red eyes. I give you his description not to fulfill any prejudices but more to sadly highlight some of mine that I often think I don’t have and am occasionally shocked by my own behaviour, though I should point out my next decision was entirely based on the possibility of being sicked on. I took one look at him and decided that I wouldn’t sit next to him, opposite Mark, as I had originally intended. L, without saying anything, did a similar thing and we all just sat in a row ignoring this ‘drunkard’ and getting on with our chat. Then he started to be a bit sick. We all looked at him wondering if he was ok. Mark was first to ask him and while I’d like to tell you that I would have done it if he wouldn’t, as in past experiences I have, I’m not 100% I could say it would have been the my first reaction. The man sat up quite sharply and looked at us all. He asked what Mark had said, and Mark repeated his concerns to which the man replied ‘No, I am not. I am overqualified and unemployed.’ He was incredibly well spoken and either a lot less drunk than we had given credit for, or held himself together very well.

 

Mark engaged him in conversation and it appeared he had graduated from Oxford in 1991, alongside Ed Milliband and Louis Theroux, being one of the first black college heads at Oxford Uni ever. We never found out what he did for a living but it transpired that due to cuts and possible racial discrimination he was out of work and very depressed. He had tried to kill himself several times and had constantly failed. Myself and L looked at him feeling ashamed on our initial judgement. Here was someone who’s entire life is lower than mine has ever been, his red eyes most likely from crying rather than substance abuse, yet I has assumed him a possible nuisance and avoided at first sight. He got to his stop before we could talk more, thanked us for meeting us and told us that it is not all bad because he is still alive and that’s all that matters. As he stumbled off, shaking each of our hands in turn, I felt his final phrase twang at the heart strings and a further growing contempt for this country and the way in which it treats our people.

 

So when watching the President and Prime Minster say they are all about ‘keeping our people safe’ it just makes me wonder how bad things have got for those people and if they are going to ever live up to their word about fixing this or instead revel in their wealth while people like the man from the tube hold onto life with the sole purpose of living and very little else.

 

If you can see Mark Thomas’s show whilst its still touring, or at Latitude, Glastonbury or Edinburgh then do. Its real actual crafted stand up and storytelling that does far far more than it could ever say on the tin. I can only hope that one day I can even come close to doing such a show.