Aarhusing Again

This week’s excuse for not blogging comes from the fact that at 5am tomorrow I leave for Denmark. Well I say I, but I mean Tiernan Douibe, the person who’s names on my boarding pass. I’d like to be able to change that but I didn’t book the flights and it would cost £110 to do so, so I’m praying Ryan Air don’t have me arrested by the terror police and I’ll happily spend my flight pretending to be someone slightly different. Sure me and Tiernan Douibe will have some similarities. We both totally have beards, we both like the Wu Tang Clan, things like that. But where we differ is that Tiernan Douibe may speak in an accent. I’m not sure what yet. He may also laugh if he farts on the plane. In a loud way that states he is in no way embarrassed. He’ll also prounounce ‘water’ slightly wrong so that when he asks for some on the plane, everyone around him thinks he’s exotic. And he might walk with a limp. We’ll have to wait and see. I haven’t met him yet. It could all go horribly wrong though. Firstly Ryan Air may just not let me on. That’d be bad. Worse would be if I get to Denmark and they are expecting Tiernan Douibe who is a completely different comedian and his one hour show ‘I Fire Penguins From My Asses’.

This would be mostly bad because a) I can’t fire penguins from my asses, not least because I don’t have a pet ass. Nor do I have more than one bodily ass. Either way, it’d be hard and 2) because I have spent a week learning Danish things. There is nothing like an abroad trip to make you realise just how culturally ignorant you are. I know the Danish watch a fair amount of British TV but my gags seem to be filled with far too many vague references on people and places that outside of the British Isles are fairly pointless comparisons. I could go full ‘British Tourist’ and just say them anyway, only loudly, hoping they’ll get it, but instead I’m actually trying to write jokes. Mostly, as I’m doing two one hour shows, I’m trying to write about their government so I can squeeze it in and around my Edinburgh show of last year. Turns out that its pretty hard working out how other countries work. Well it is if you’re me.

I spent ages learning how British politics work, and now to try and get my head around Danish politics, it feels like a whole whirlpool of boringness. Its not the most interesting aspects of Danish culture I’ll give you that. Sure, there are bits that are. Like the fact that their Queen smokes, their Nick Griffin equivalent is the only Danish MP that supports David Cameron, and recently they too suffered from Norway’s butter crisis. But ultimately things are so similar yet with such subtle differences, that cramming them all in my brain isn’t very helpful to anyone. I’ve been watching the Danish show Borgen to help me, and what that has told me is that most Danish politicians are quite pretty, anyone who looks like an evil Pacey from Dawson’s Creek is definitely evil and that calling someone ‘Bent’ as a first name will be funny for the rest of my life.

Thing is, comedy is totally universal. There are things that will make people laugh all over the world and last time I was in Aarhus I found it an absolute joy to play. But I wasn’t trying to comment on the state of the nation. Nor was I talking for an hour to a theatreful of people. Hopefully, I’ll just wing the whole thing, say Borgen a lot, occasionally say how funny it is that their PM is called Helle and then break down crying. Or if all else fails I’ll learn how to Fire Penguins From My Asses.

Blog History

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

The Annual Douieb Review

Here we are at the last day of 2011. As some people would say, its been a year of ups and downs. I agree with this. I’ve been up some hills, particularly over August in Edinburgh, and I’ve also been down the same hills in order to get back to where I lived. I’ve been up some escalators and again, down some later otherwise I’d have had to live upstairs in a shopping centre. There have been some good times, like 22.22 which I always find aesthetically pleasing and some bad times like 15 x 276, which is too difficult for me. Personally though I’ve found 2011 a difficult year to decide whether or not it can join my non-existent log of good years – the annums not favourite tyres or blimps. I should point out that I honestly don’t have one of these. Partly because I consider the end of the Edinburgh festival to be my end of year comedy & career wise, but also because I find that in my cynical old age I know full well that it’ll hit midnight and nothing all that dramatic is going to happen. Unless the Mayans were right and 2012 is going to be the end of the world, in which case I’m very glad I’ll embrace it sitting at home with L having a drink, finishing my drawing of a viking rather than being surrounded by mega twats moshing their skin off in an over priced underground ship’s container. And yes, I know the Mayan’s predicted the end of the world will happen in September so really, that’ll be after Edinburgh anyway and technically in my next year.

But let’s board this band wagon and look at why 2011 was indeed one of shits and giggles. In terms of the world, it was proper massive elephant sized dung shit. The economic crisis swept across the Western world allowing several governments including our own, to make horrible cuts and changes that all very much affected the lower classes and not at all the banking pricks and the rich that caused them in the first place. Several ‘evil’ dictators died or were killed while other people have been put in place that those who dictated why the original tyrants should be usurped can more easily sell weapons to. Horrible natural disasters have happened, thousands of people have died unnecessarily and overall we all felt very much more mortal and vulnerable. We became the first generation of people who think their children will have a worse future than they will and that is a truly horrible thought. Though at the same time it may save us having to read them really sickly bedtime stories with happy endings and instead go for Cormac McCarthy’s The Road or repeat viewings of Mad Max to prepare them. We’ve had more and more obnoxious people trawl the internet making nasty comments unnecessarily, generally being shit to each other and all the while instead of preventing or dissuading the public from doing this, the press have proved itself to be far more responsible for such ills than anyone else. Oh and Gil Scott Heron died which was a terrible loss for the world. Then again to balance all this, there was Frozen Planet and that was great.

Personally though, I’ve had a great year. Sad times mean comedy thrives and career wise I haven’t been busier. I’ve gigged in several different countries, to thousands of amazing people, done a bit of telly and more importantly than any of that, I’ve gigged at protests and events I’ve felt were important. I’ve written material and spoken about things I actually give a shit about and get passionate about rather than just harp on about bears. Which to be fair, I’ve also done. I’ve honestly never felt more pride standing up in front of a massive crowd on Westminster Bridge on a sunny afternoon talking to a massive crowd about why we need the NHS. Or way back in March on the big TUC demonstration, doing stand-up hundreds of people while police helicopters rattled over us. Edinburgh was a mixed bag but of all the things that I didn’t expect, the children’s show that was written in three hours and put together in such a ramshackle haste ended up being a 5 star hit and has lead to some very exciting things. Above all this, I’ve met someone who I completely adore, managed to get a car, went to three zoos, found Adventure Time, was a best man for my best friend, found out I can’t snowboard, and last night I pretended to be Guy Garvey and getting the entire room to sing the chorus of ‘One Day Like This’ so I could stop for a second and drink more beer. Music wise I saw James Blake silence a tent of thousands at Bestival, Elbow smash both the O2 and Glastonbury with an amazing reverse Mexican wave at the latter through the entire crowd at the Pyramid Stage. Me and L watched the National sing ‘Vanderlyle Cry Baby’ acapella while the crowd whispered along, sending a chill down everyone’s spines and we both witnessed DJ Shadow perform to incredible visuals from inside the Shadowsphere. I watched Radiohead from a rainy hill while the gorgeous people of the Pink Bus provided shelter and food, peeked into the tent at Lounge on the Farm where Goodnight Lenin played and then decided they would be the opening track to my Edinburgh show. I watched Sam Duckworth do an amazing solo gig at the Borderline club to an awestruck crowd, which, along with previous meetings, led to my Small Guy Garvey show last night. I’ve worked with a puppeteer who was involved with so many films and tv shows I’ve loved, I struggled to hold back tears, clutching L’s hand so tightly while watching Translunar Paradise at the Pleasance Dome and I won the Slammer. So y’know, it’s been pretty good. Oh yeah and I started drawing a viking.

2012 has a lot to live up to. Selfishly, I’m not looking forward to the Olympics and Euro 2012 destroying the comedy scene for several months making bill paying tough. I’m also not looking forward to the effects of the government’s cuts continuing to destroy UK society. I know it’ll be another year where I will be consistently baffled as to how some people can operate by being so horrible and inconsiderate to others. But there’s loads more I am looking forward to, because (and excuse the retchy seriousness) life is always what you make it, and right now I’m enjoying making it fun. I hope the rest of the world realises that we can make stuff happen if you put your minds to it and frankly, we don’t have to stand for the oppression we face. I’m not doing resolutions as such, but aside from cutting down on eating entire bags of Kettle Chips in one sitting (less of a resolution, and more of a ‘trying not to die’ plan) I aim to continue to do what I can to voice my opinion in an accessible way and hope to make a difference as minor as it may be. Oh and I’m totally going to finish the viking drawing.

May you have an excellent night tonight, whether you be brave enough to go against expectation and be out partying, or like me and L, stay in and eat curry. I hope you’ve all had a great 2011 and will have an even better 2012. I hope you make some decisions, chase some exciting dreams and stick to them all and make them all happen. And if you can’t think of any, why not start with a viking drawing?

Mouse Whisperer

It is usually as I sit on the East Coast train home struggling with the increasingly dire wifi connection that I like to reminisce over the last month. Year after year I’ve provided my Edinburgh statistics and figures about how much alcohol was consumed, how many flyerers I wounded, injuries gained, people’s names forgotten, cholesterol levels and bad Scottish accents attempted. However, not this year blogees. No. This year there is another tale, or infact tail, to tell in the aftermath of the Fringe. Not only that but I’ve paid £9.95 for internet so slow I’m sure a man is winding it up at the front of the train, pausing every now and then for a breather and some tea, letting the whole thing drop and my constant attempts at writing a blog disappear into the ether, the words hitting someone unknown web surfer in Korea. So yes, my love for typing today’s periodical is somewhat waning. But back to the first bit. What adventure could possibly outweigh Edinburgh numbers and figures? What could thwack it off its yearly appearance as regular and certain as the Queen’s speech at Christmas only far more interesting and done with emotion unlike her solid, blank face? Well, last night, I caught a mouse in a glass.

Yes. You can re-read that sentence again if you like and it won’t stop being true. I have previously mentioned in this blog the fat mouse Bernard that had been residing in our Edinburgh flat. Well during the last week Nat and L have heard more and more scuttles of tiny paws, and questions arose as to whether Bernard had got more adventurous having sensed our lack of care, or whether there was more than just one mouse. Then, last night we sat in the living room trying to finish all the food we had left in the flat and the remainder of the booze. I had created what may be now known as a Nero Salad (for it was even greater than a Caesar), containing all possible vegetable ingredients known to man and indeed woman, topped with croutons, mozzarella, and the Douieb dressing of all time. It fit in a bowl so large you could easily trap a badger in it, if that badger had contortion skills and a willingness to sit in bowls without scratching its captors eyes out. Consequently only a 5th of that bowl was eaten and I have escaped Edinburgh today leaving Nat with six tons of Pimp My Salad to contend with, having to face the guilt alone of throwing it away or the challenge of eating it all to the point of digestive horror.

The salad and wine combo was chomped down whilst watching ‘Bad Lieutenant’ with Harvey Keitel. He was in the film, not sitting with us, and between mouthfuls there would be occasional commentary about cleaning the flat or salad consumption as he indulged in crack pipes and prostitutes. This would have been more awkward if he was sitting with us but either way it felt an odd juxtaposition of themes. Then one of Nat’s normally (at this point in the evening) laconic comments with a half full gob became a louder and more high pitched one, replete with pointing as a mouse was spotted in the hallway. The tiny ball of fur hid behind our hallway mirror and I set it upon myself to catch the blighter. Yes, blighter. It felt right to call it that. L and Nat said there was no way I’d do such a thing on account of its speed and my lumbering stupidity, but using a glass and a DVD of the Godfather (which felt oddly appropriate), I squeezed the mirror so it was forced out of one side of the reflective adornment, and it raced into the glass, my ninja hands slamming the DVD down on top and catching myself a meeces.

What a small meeces it was too. Not a fat Bernard, but a minuscule cute ball of fluff who looked rather bewildered at three faces staring at him through a whisky glass, cooing over his tiny self. It was decided that while I’d like to take him as a pet (I later named him Billy. Or Billie if it was a girl) it would be best to remove him from the premises. Various debates raised about how far you take a mouse so it won’t return – 3 miles? A street? Should we buy him a plane ticket to a distant land like Fieval? – and eventually using a crust of quiche and a swift tipping motion, myself and Nat popped him out in the front garden with his overly middle class meal that would feed a single rodent for at least a week.

Just call me Francis of Assissi. I’m Dartagnion and the three Mouskateers. I’m Mousalini. I’m Doctor Dooloadsastuff. See? Much better than Edinburgh statistics, as after a day at the zoo, I too had saved an animal’s life. And where is Billy now? Well probably roaming the countryside with a tiny knapsack full of quiche and a skip in his step/crawl. Or he’s been killed by the neighbour’s cat as L pointed out this morning. Hmm. Oh well. It was a nice thought while it lasted.

Home in but two hours, where the real internet exists. I may blog tomorrow. I may also hibernate. You’ll have to sit tight and see. Like a mouse in a whisky glass.

Bamp Cestival

Sorry for the lack of blog yesterday, but I was in a field in Dorset. No I wasn’t taking part in my ‘Scarecrow Of The Year’ trials as you might expect. They aren’t until November. What I was doing was Camp Bestival and I did it large. Well I didn’t really. At least not in the ‘ havin’ it large’ sense, which I presume is about getting drunk, lairy and punching a milk maid or something. I assume that’s what ‘ havin’ it large’ means. I’ve never really said or thought about it. It could just mean you upgrade your meal size in a fast food restaurant. Anyway, no I didn’t drink or get messy as I had to drive there and back yesterday in my slick hire car that sadly gets returned this morning. Hmm. Now I wish I hadn’t written that sentence. Its already making me sad. Me and the car have become pretty good chums over the last two days and I’m trying to work out how to tell the car rental people that much like Excaliber needed to find Arthur, the lovely car needed to find me. I don’t think they’ll take it.

So back to the thread of what I was actually saying while I wipe away tears from my eyes at handing back the car of my dreams (its not, but if they let me keep it I’d be prepared to elaborate around the idea of a 1992 Alfa Romeo Spider in red), I did Camp Bestival large purely by running in, doing three shows then leaving again, like a whirlwind of comedy productivity. Through the gate, entertain 800 kids who told me I was a ‘Zilla’, then off to a chat show which we shall discuss – when I say discuss I mean I’ll type about it and you’ll read it and only my opinion will be noted – and finally a lovely set following Robin Ince in the comedy tent where more of the audience stayed than I expected. Inbetween all that I saw some bands, drank some tea, ate a pie and went on a helter skelter. I know, I know, its almost as though I did a festival in a nutshell. Champion. Well, champion except for the chat show bit. And on we go with the bit I created some suspense about earlier.

I’m not sure why they had a chat show in a field in the first place. Its an odd place to want to recreate a television format, within a tent at a festival, not least because many people have escaped there to be away from the normals of household regularity and thus TV things are usually the last thing on their mind. I’m not sure why I was asked to do this show, although I suspect it may be to do with the fact I was at the festival earlier than most for Comedy Club 4 Kids. I won’t mention names as I know how google works – well not entirely. I mean the actual clever maths etc of google baffle me. But I understand you know, how to search for things – so I will merely call the host person one and the other guest person two. The host, while very lovely, didn’t really seem to have a clue about much, and when questioning me, had done a level of research that meant all the questions asked where completely wrong. I am fully aware that the biog on my website is mostly made up, but I do this as idiot proofing, in the hope that people will actually research. Person One did not and genuinely thought I’d been in an Ewok film. Brilliant. Some awkward questions went back and forth, with her asking them and me giving as much of a funny answer as I could with such stilted chat until she just gave in and asked if I ‘got a lot of fanny for being funny’. I pointed out that L was in the tent and managed to avoid the question with stealth tactics. I do so much in my life with everything I do – this week I’ve been previewing my new Edinburgh show, gigging to the RAF then entertaining 800 children at a festival – that to resort to my personal and sex life so quickly and abruptly felt really cheap. I’m never a huge fan of chatting about such things as I do believe in having a public and a private life to an extent and so I gave very little back.

Things then stepped up a cringe level when I went up to do 10 minutes of stand-up and Person One went backstage, leaving her mic on and allowing everyone out the front to hear her over me. I played along with this, but luckily for her, she didn’t say anything untoward. It could have easily been disastrous though. Instead the disastrous was saved for when Person Two arrived, a rather well know rock/pop celebrity, known for his grimy wayward life and attitude and we then spent the next 40 minutes with Person One being ditzy and trying to talk about sex on my left, with Person Two being moody and difficult on my right. It was not far off what I imagine working with kids who have behavioural disorders is like. I won’t comment on any of the topics as it’ll give too much away but I threw in banter when I could, and kicked my feet and looked bored the rest of the time, especially while Person Two smoked on stage in a tent you aren’t meant to smoke in. I didn’t realise that being a ‘celebrity’ allows you to break basic laws. I look forward to hopefully one day becoming famous enough to embezzle money live on stage or something equally as torrid. Whilst not a fan of the Person Two and not at all knowledged on his life, he did actually seem nice and at first I harboured hilarious ideas of us being chums after such an event. Then after such an event I decided I’d prefer not to and realised that I’m still not a big fan of this whole fame thing. I think I much prefer being a ‘Zilla’.

I now have to go give my beautiful car back and then off to my cousin’s wedding. Tomorrow’s blog will be 90% Edinburgh panic, and 10% description of other people’s crap wedding dancing. I hope you are looking forward to it.

Fomo Mofo

All I’ve done these last few days is complain. Everyone that I’ve spoken to has asked how I am and rather than respond with the token ‘I’m fine’ repartee, I have proceeded to tell each and every one of them how tired I am, how busy I am and how much I’d really like some time off. They then ask me what I’m up to and I explain I’m off to Glastonbury tomorrow then gigging in Malta next week and immediately any sympathy they had for me disappears in seconds. Herein lies the problem: I cannot in anyway pretend that what I’m doing isn’t fun. Its uber fun. Its funtropolis. Its heavy bouts of funshine. But, its really tiring fun. And as I eke ever further towards older age, I sometimes get tired.

 

‘ Are you tired because of all the hard work you do Tiernan?’ Er….well….yeah. And that drinking till 6am on Monday. And all the fun I keep having because I am a hedonist who also suffers from what Tinie Tempah referred to on his ill judged appearance on This Week as FOMO. Fear of Missing Out. I could have very sensibly have not gone out on Monday and felt far more rested now. I could also have easily not stayed for an extra drink after FT last night. I could have decided not to go to Glastonbury this weekend. I could have had a day off on Friday and spent the weekend earning money and prepping for my Edinburgh show that needs a fuckton of work on it. But could I have sat resting in the knowledge that 175,000 people were having fun without me? No. Admittedly they wouldn’t have cared if I was there or not, but it would have bothered me a lot. It bothers me enough that I won’t be able to watch absolutely everything while I’m there due to not being completely omnipotent. This is my ideal nirvana to wake up one morning and wish I could do everything and be everywhere. Hmm that sounds a bit grim if you read it out of context.

 

I’ve always had this problem. I am forever jealous with other people for things they’ve seen and done that I haven’t. Rationally it is impossible that I will ever get half the stuff I want to do done in my life, but that doesn’t stop it from driving me insane at times. I’ve come to the conclusion that everyone else needs to stop doing everything and then I should be fine. Or get every single person I know to constantly hang around with me at all times, which may get difficult and expensive. Or y’know, become omnipotent and do everything. Then have a day off. Or two. Two in a row. That’d be great. God I really have no reason to moan do I?

Dinosaur Pants

There is a small pair of dinosaur pants sitting on the wall outside our flat today. After the jacket incident a few weeks ago and various other items of detritus having been left there since, I’m starting to get worried that when its dark a luminous message appears saying ‘dump site’ with a small print explaining that the more weird the items the more it will upset and confuse the residents. There are many reasons a pair of child’s dinosaur pants could be left on a wall and not a single one of them – bar perhaps the idea that a child, being a child decided to take them off, throw them and then run around shouting dinosaur noises – are very nice to think about. Aside from the oh so hilarious gag that they must have been left there by someone with a Sauras, I am trying to ignore their existance. However I know full well they won’t remove themselves and I don’t want our flat to be known as the flat with the child’s dinosaur pants outside. Its not the reputation myself, Nat or Tom, really want. I’m not sure what the reputation we do want is, but I’m fairly certain that even a pair of adult’s dinosaur pants would be a better one.

 

Other than that, I feel an odd sense of relief today. Last night was Edinburgh preview number one and even though it requires a fuckton of work, it felt so good just to say things out loud and already the structure has sort of clicked into place. I hate the term ‘organic’ when referring to something other than food produce, but writing an Edinburgh show really does feel like an ‘organic’ (bleurgh) process. I’ve been jotting down notes and writing little gags here and there for weeks on end, but only after standing infront of a very lovely crowd at Oppo in Bristol did I suddenly realise how the show needed to work and what needs to be done. Essentially it needs to work with making of the laughs and what needs to be done is that fuckton of work I referred to earlier. There’s no skirting around the edges, not least because I am no handyman and have no idea how to do skirting, but also because its now going to be a few solid weeks of really cramming in work on this.

There is something very exciting about writing an Edinburgh show and especially one that’s about something you feel you have to talk about. My first show was very much ‘what material do I have? How can I vaguely link it? Oh hooray for zombies.’ But after last year’s emotional tirade of comedy words, all of which was more personal than anything I’ve ever written, I’ve realised that’s the only way to do an Edinburgh show and so this year is focussing on much that I’ve been doing and consequently blogging about over the last 12 months. Let’s hope it works. Otherwise instead of being known for a political, honest comedy hour, I’ll just be called ‘the man with children’s dinosaur pants outside his house’ and I really don’t want that.

Tickets for my show are now available. If you go to the front page of www.tiernandouieb.co.uk then you get the ticket link plus a tiny preview of my new poster. Exciting huh? No? Oh. If you want to come and see the show please get your tickets asap, and tell other people to get tickets too. Even tell people you don’t like and then just make sure you don’t go on the same say as them so it’s not awkward. Thanks.

Too Hot To Handle

Its too hot to type things today. I am fully aware that some of you have to be indoors doing work today but I don’t and I feel I should use this hard earned work factor to avoid sitting in my hot room looking at my bright screen wondering how I can make myself cooler when I am only in my pants. Yes, I am typing this just in my pants. Calm down ladies and some men. I know it’ll be hard to keep reading this blog without collapsing into a horn based coma at the overwhelming thought of my overly hairy Muppet-fur tummy atop a pair of Primark boxers but I promise you it won’t be long so please persevere. It is a worrying moment when you know you are near nakedness and aside from dousing yourself in ice water there is little you can do to reduce body temperature. Lots of people like the heat but I think that while I often agree, more regularly I prefer just to be temperate. Too cold is horribly unpleasant and too hot similarly so. If I can control how happy I am by the addition or removal of clothes then I’m a happy chap. Once this goes beyond my abilities and I’m sweating like a sweaty person in their pants. I wanted a better analagy but its hot and my brain’s stopped working.

 

So now the conundrum is do I head outside to write but not write because I will just lie in the sun, or do I stay indoors to write but not write because I can see its lovely outside? Essentially this weather is just terrible for my job. It will in turn mean less people go to gigs because they can be outside drinking instead of inside hearing a man say things while they get hot. I too, will be on stage thinking ‘why am I saying things while people get hot when I could be outside drinking?’ and all in all I wonder why comics don’t just get some sort of grant to not work through June and July. I mean, I know the reason. Its because its really not considered a priority for the Arts Council to be helping with, nor does anyone want to know the taxpayers money is helping someone who wants to know what airport check in desks are ‘all about’ to swan around in their pants all day for two months.

 

During that last paragraph I decided I will head outside, I will embrace the sun, and my preview on Sunday will involve me apologising for 20 minutes before letting them watch Josh Widdicombe’s preview which he’s properly written. Ah Edinburgh, ah summer. How you both mistreat my lethargy so.

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.