Not In Their League

There are very few people in the world who make me feel a bit like a nervous idiot fan. Most of them are music based, generally because if you put me near an instrument, I’ll spend 5 minutes trying to work out how I’d hit someone with it, 5 minutes trying to blow into it, even if its a string instrument, then eventually give up and lean it against something that will cause it 3 minutes later to fall over and break. Even if its a grand piano. I am very bad with instruments, reaching only being able to play the ’12 Bar Blues’ in guitar at school before realising I could shout and make people just as blue, so gave up. As a result this leaves me to see most people that can play instruments or make amazing music as some sort of being that has been bestowed with powers by the gods. But there are also a few people who’ve done certain things in the comedy or acting world that make them just amazing to me. It’s become less and less over the years because – and yes, I realise how arrogant this sounds – as I get better at what I do (the current scale ranges from being abhorrently terrible at the start to now being mediocre at best) I can see and understand how they do what they do and so it all becomes a bit less impressive.

Last night I accidentally sat opposite someone who I still hold in my ‘slightly in awe of books’ on the tube. It wasn’t intentional, but he was sitting in the quietest bit on the carriage and as I had just got back from four days of shows in rural Wales and then gigged in central London I was slightly less used to people than normal and as usual, very wary of Saturday night drunken ones in town. Rural Wales doesn’t allow you to encounter too many people at once. There are far too many hills, trees and rivers to get in the way of people and so, instead, you start to remember what space, peace and quiet feels like and then get the shocking discovery that you like it. I have noticed this before, having only recently been to Scandinavia where they have so few people they spend far too much of their lives being happy. It takes a while to figure out that that’s what it is. There general joyful disposition, their constant politeness and hospitality when they do meet people, their constant lack of need to be in a rush anywhere. Its because there isn’t anyone to get in their way and slow them down and they are far less likely to encounter a total bellend at any point in their day to make them realise that being nice to people is utterly futile. Whenever I am somewhere like this, such as in Wales this weekend, I immediately remember that having less people is a bloody brilliant thing, then I return to London and within days just return to grunting at idiots who stop walking right in front of me, and find it difficult to sleep unless there’s sufficient car noise outside or the sound of someone shouting about how they need to vomit after ‘that jagerbomb’. But after this Welsh excursion – which included a visit to Big Pit (an underground coal mine) just days after watching The Descent for the fifth time. Not wise – I was still a bit uneasy around idiots and so sat right at the end carriage.

Taking my seat, I noticed the man opposite was Reece Shearsmith, a man who, ever since seeing him say ‘Oh yeah I hadn’t thought of that!’ in a stupid accent in Spaced, was a hero of mine. League of Gentleman was nothing less than a masterpiece and many things he’s done since have been brilliant. But far worse than me being in awe of him, I once performed one of the worst Comedy Club 4 Kids gigs I’ve ever done in front of him about three years ago. He was there to see the son of a friend perform, and after I very briefly met him beforehand, I went on to host to complete silence, fluster all my words and generally wish I was dead. I didn’t get to speak to him again and that was that. So I hid my head in my book wondering if he remembered me at all and whether it would be a plus or minus point. I should have just said hello but I get funny about these things. If I was introduced in a professional capacity it would be fine, but out in the real world its just not. Case in point was Simon Amstell several years ago, who I saw walking along in the West End with Miquita Oliver from T4. I was with my brother and friend Mat and despite having gigged with Simon a few times, I assumed he wouldn’t say hello as I was just an open spot. So instead I chose to keep my head low and just make it all easier for everyone. Then as we passed he said hello and I looked like a rude twat. I have had a very similar experience with a few ‘named’ people in the past and generally have decided that outside of the comedy scene I like to be as inconspicuous as possible, so I’m sure they do too.

So I spent 25 minutes trying to read my book, occasionally looking at Reece Sheersmith while he spent 25 minutes looking at his iPod, trying not to notice the weird beardy idiot that he probably vaguely recognised from somewhere but was generally just fed up with. If I’d just said hello I could right now be working on some amazing horror comedy with him. Or be being invited to be in the next League Of Psychoville as a new character. Or, shuddering as he shook my hand saying ‘oh yeah, you were that really shit host at Comedy Club 4 Kids that time weren’t you?’ Probably best I kept reading my book then. Sigh.

Blog History

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

Black Mirror

I’ve been to see my tiny nan today. I usually come away with some sort of brilliant tale or insight after seeing my nan, who is still oh so very sharp in her old age. Today’s was a brilliant story of a neighbour of hers who rather sadly suffers from severe dementia. This lady suddenly went missing and no one, including her family, had any idea of her whereabouts and understandably, they were all highly concerned for her safety. Then after five days of this she was found, of all places, having a lovely holiday in Israel. How on Earth she’d made it out of the country with her condition, no one has any idea, including her, but I just think that’s wonderful. Other than that story there was much fun banter, a sufficient amount of her force feeding me and L everything she had in her fridge and a long conversation about how she has, despite her eye site, started reading lots of books again because TV is so rubbish. Here you have someone who has read trazillions of books, but has slowed her reading intake in recent years due to the strain on her peepers, returning to the format because the quality of television is so shoddy she’d prefer the pain for better entertainment, than have an easy time watching utter shit. I think that says an awful lot about how rubbish telly is.

Well, not all telly. I thought last night’s (and in fact last week’s) Black Mirror was amazing. Many on Twitter seemed to be upset with its futuristic view, complaining that the idea behind Charlie Brooker’s three dramas was their dark reflective view (hence the name) on today’s society. I disagree and I felt, for the first time in a very very long time, that I was watching something that was both gripping in terms of plot, and very poignant in terms of message. A world where everything around you is a screen where you are forced to watch content, costing you money to ignore it, and all content being a distorted controlled view in the first place? Sounds like an easy extension of everything that’s been happening in our newspapers of late, the constant change in technology so that we are always glued to TV’s, iPhones and computers and finally the fact that programs such as X-Factor (the show so wonderfully parodied in the program) now dominate the music charts to the extent that many are dissuaded from hearing original songs or talent.

I tweeted last night that the winner of X-Factor was the ‘ Destruction of Originality, Talent, Taste & Creativity, who apparently got all the votes.’ For those of you that manage to avoid the onslaught of shit that is that program, no, that isn’t the name of one of the bands on there. Sadly. It was a comment on how all that program does is allow us to think that churning out rehashes of the same song are what we should be lapping up around this time of year. That the Christmas chart is now dead – long gone are those fun memories of seeing what Xmas no.1 will be – and that we can easily hack out a group a year to earn Cowell even more money before melting back into the obscurity from whence they came or embrace the hideous nature of Celebrity Reality TV shows and survive by being famous for being on reality TV. After tweeting that I received one response from someone that simply said ‘sad sad reaction from a performer.’ I’m not sure in what context they thought it was sad. If it was bitterness, then no. That’s not my field of entertainment so I don’t envy those on there. I’m sure it must rile up all those people who work hard at writing and playing a song or a piece of music they care about and has come from their hearts, watching some young pretty upstarts get given instant status for resigning one of Gary Barlow’s songs in front of Gary Barlow so his ego can expand even quicker. Its not bitterness, but perhaps just dismay. I’m a big music lover and nothing anyone from any of these programs can ever do will move me in the way, say, Nick Drake’s River Man will. Or Jackson C.Frank’s Blues Run The Game. Or get me as excited and hyper as my favourite hip hop tunes or loud anthems or make me want to walk across the vast planes of the Arctic in the way that Sigur Ros does. It’s all just noise that doesn’t ever portray how the people signing it feel when they’re doing it. Probably because they overwhelmed at their quick escape from the usual run of life, yet trapped in the system that they can’t leave for fear of going back to it.

This aspect of Black Mirror, amongst others, was spot on. With more and more power being given to corporations whilst others suffer on a slave wage, what’s to say that Brooker’s dystopian outlook couldn’t become a reality? I asked my Nan today about her views on the Europe Veto, as she has been political since she was a little girl, brought up by her communist parents and having to look after her sister while they fought in the Cable Street riots against Mosely’s thugs. Her view was that had we not veto’d the result we’d be in trouble, not because of the Euro, but because it is one step closer to globalisation, and nearer to us being dictated by one overpowering government. I was surprised at this as I’d had the opinion that Cameron cutting us off was a bad idea. Then again at the same time, she hates Cameron and thinks isolating ourselves is also dangerous, especially as his motives were to aid not us, the people, but the banks and the corporations. Either way, its not a nice outlook. So either way, the future doesn’t look all too shiny. So was Black Mirror a sci-fi drama or an apt satirical commentary? I say C4 keep those tapes somewhere very safe and we’ll watch them again in 40 years and see.

Momedy Cats

It has dawned on me that this is the 1005th blog that I’ve written since the end of 2008. Quite a number, and more impressive when I realise just how much shit I’ve typed away meaninglessly for free on the inter webs. I doubt any of you have read all 1005, but if you have, well done and I’m sorry for informing you you probably should have had something better to do. For any who’ve consistently read them for many a month or year then well done to you too. I have no idea what I should do to commemorate such a number of entries that all seem to amount to nothing but if any of you have any ideas then please let me know. Maybe I’ll make a special entry combining all my favourite words over the last 3 years. Or not. Anyway continuing the theme that started way back when, here’s two things I need to get off my chest. They aren’t literally on my chest or I’d find it hard to breathe somewhat and probably wouldn’t be able to type this up. Should any of you want me to celebrate my 1k of blogs by putting things on my chest and typing then again, let me know. Gooooo Blog!

 

MOMEDY / CUSIC

You know why people are allowed a choice between seeing a comedy night or a music night on a night out? Why venues seem to specify which type of cultural artistic venture they will be holding on their stage? Its because the two don’t mix. Sure you get musical comedians. Sure you get funny musicians. But ultimately, unless its a televised event where people are forced to be quiet for some poor ITV attempt at reviving the days of musical hall, then the two go together like chalk and someone who hates chalk and wants to smash it with a hammer. Its not that people can’t be fans of both, but more that different things are required from audiences depending on what they’re watching. Those watching comedy are needed to be seated, quiet and generally (though not at always the case) up for listening and laughing. Those watching music however, due to the volume and nature of the show, often like standing up and talking to each other throughout. Outside noise isn’t usually a problem unless its a particularly quiet gig, and there is far less than can make a music gig go wrong outside of shit sound equipment. I’m sure musicians would argue the oppose and there is half a ton of stuff I don’t know about but I am merely a stand-up who harbours dreams of rock stardom and thusly has no real clue.

Last night however did very prove the theory that comedy and music do not momedy make. My job was to host an event that featured first a quiz, then an hour of comedy from myself and Phil Nichol, followed by two bands then some DJs. An excellent sounding idea, but when it came to it, post quiz, the audience was very much in a music state of mind. Most of them were not sitting in the few chairs provided, eyes were not focussed on the stage and the chatter was loud enough to deafen a monitor lizard (they don’t have ears fact fans). It took a 5 minute warning from myself, and the two promoters just to get some of them to pay attention before I could go onstage. It wasn’t terrible and I seemed to entertain the 30 people that were watching, but the 100+ that weren’t overshadowed it and I felt like I’d lose my voice if I shouted any louder. Phil then went on and did great despite the odds, but he is a brilliant loud man with more energy than a monitor lizard (I don’t know if they have much energy or not, but I bet Phil has more).

Its nobody’s fault but the audiences. Why people aren’t versatile to sit up and down all evening adapting to the performance I don’t know. I can’t believe they don’t want to cut chat short or stop dancing to listen to someone tell gags, having to pause drinking while the bar is closed when they have planned to go out, and get battered to loud music. How dare they hey? Or you know, maybe, more likely we should stick to telling funnies in the right environment and let the rock stars kick over drum kits without us getting in the way. Momedy is dead. Love live momedy.

 

CATS

Today is Black Cat Awareness Day. I know. I thought it was someone having me on on Twitter, but no, its really true. Have a look:

BLACK CAT AWARENESS DAY

It seems people are lessing willing to adopt black cats than any other type, as though its some sort of terrible feline racial segregation. I honestly can’t believe its to do with superstition, is it? I mean, does anyone worry about that sort of thing anymore? Even if they do, they haven’t researched properly as in the UK and Ireland, black cats are meant to be good luck and in fact in Japan its believed that any woman who owns one is meant to get many suitors. So any of you lovely ladies out there, grab yourself a black cat and get ready I say. Pretty much every folklore about black cats is good with only pirates saying that if one walks towards you, its bad luck. But if they walk away from you, it was good luck. I suggest you still get a black cat if these things worry you and just constantly keep it on a travelator facing away from you. You’ll be rich in days.

I had a black Persian cat as a kid. Her name was Claws and she was one year older than me living to the grand old age of 19 human years. A beautiful cat she also very much played the part of being tolerant to kids. I would walk her round by her tail, I’d sit on her as a sofa cushion, use her as a ‘living island’ for my He-Man toys to play on and cover her in playing cards. She would lie there all content, purring away while such abuse continued. Every time we returned from holiday she would have about 18 rats lying side by side in the garden, their severed heads lying next to them as she stood proud as if to say ‘present for you!’ My dad would then sigh as all his relaxed post holiday demeanour disappeared as he had to bury another load of rat skeletons in the garden.

So yeah. Get a black cat. If nothing else every time someone you don’t like goes to your door you can throw catnip at them and watch as your cat walks towards them instantly giving them bad luck. Win.

 

In addendum, here’s some silly things I’ve done:

SOUNDS OF THE 70s – 3 (Radio 2 voice by @GirlCalledLeila)

and

NON-STOP OLDIES

 

Accidental Consort

I had themes for today’s blog. They’d been swimming around in my head most of yesterday and I held onto them tightly in the brain storage facility for further use today. Today, I had thought, was going to be one of those blogs people will talk about for centuries to come. Or at least a few minutes after they’ve read it. ‘Less a blog, more a literary explosion of incredulous amazement’ they would say. Others would say ‘I’m not sure why I still read Tiernan’s blog. It does nothing but make me feel empty inside and as though the minutes of my life it took to read it have been wasted unnecessarily.’ Many will just not read it to begin with. Sadly none of this will happen – except for the last two – as returning from gigging in Newport during the day, I decided last night, as it was sans gig, that I needed beer. I would normally not have been able to justify such activities but I had already performed at two shows at part of the ComedyPort festival including a kids show where a child heckled Tom Webb with the line ‘kill yourself’ proving that children need no kid gloves when it comes to doing dark material.

 

On my way to drinking something happened to me that seems to happen to me a lot. Due to TFL being run by the forces of evil who spend every waking moment ensuring that my life is made more difficult by their exploits (paranoid? Me?) the tube was closed on the only line I needed to use, and so a series of bus adventures took place. The final of these travels was courtesy of a driver who was doing his last route of the day and therefore cared not for the fact he was playing the human equivalent of ‘how many elephants in a mini?’ by cramming people into his bus as though he was padding himself with others flesh to survive an oncoming explosion. I was squished right by his driver’s booth and he spent some time telling me about it being his last journey before winking at me when my oyster card failed to work. This man disregarded rules like someone who doesn’t believe in stationary. Whilst sardining my life away (is that a term? It is now) I found myself befriended by a Latino journalist who took it upon herself to decide that I could get her to Old Street. I’m not sure when she decided this, and this is something that seems to just occur to my beardy face.

 

Only two weeks ago a lady from Los Angeles saw me get on the same tube as her and from that moment on I became her guide to traverse the underground. I agreed to do this as far as I could and hopefully she’s now no longer trapped in a tunnel somewhere under the streets of London wondering why the Brits live like Morlocks. It happened in Edinburgh too when a lorry driver stopped me and L to direct him somewhere, asking if we would hop in the lorry and go with him. He didnt seem like a mass murderer but my active imagination took over and we declined. That and the place was only 2 minutes away and I feel it would have taken me longer to climb into the front seat than it would for him to drive there. It might be my face, it might be some sort of smell I emit, but apparently I am someone people can trust to get them places. This leaves me in an odd situation where I feel compelled to help them even if I haven’t got a clue and sometimes I end up wondering miles out of the way and get us both lost to no one’s benefit.

 

Luckily iPhones now exist and I found myself escorting Claudia to her music gig, listening to her well thought out small talk about how long it had been she’d been to Old Street and why she didn’t know where she was. I darted through the Saturday night of Shoreditch twats with her and dropped her off at her venue before wishing her a lovely night and heading off to drink silly amounts. What does this mean? I don’t know dearest reader, but I like to believe that right now my karma levels are higher than the CN Tower and I could probably spend today kicking puppies off bridges without feeling any consequence. Not that I’d do that. And even if I did I’d probably meet someone on the way to the bridge who needed escorting somewhere. Anyway this can’t be true as all karma has given me is an unjust hangover for the amount I drank. Silly life. Silly silly life.

Summerburnin’

Its about this time of year I like to hugely cheat with a blog and just tell you what I’ve put on my annual Summerburn playlist. For those of you that know not about the Summerburn, its a brilliant brilliant idea invented by the lovely people at funjunkie.co.uk whereby you get sent two random people’s addresses and they get sent yours and you all send each other a compilation CD of your favourite summer music. Lovely huh? What’s the catch? Well aside from what happened to Helen Arney where she received an entire CD of German Techno one year, there really isn’t one. All that happens is you share something you love with other people around the world and they share it with you. Its one big audio long distance orgy and every year I get stuck in.

I currently have two Edinburgh shows to write and a shedload of other work I should be doing, but instead I’ve been carefully crafting a playlist to represent the listening I may undergo on a balmy Summer’s eve in London and working out what to decorate the covers and tracklisting with to make it proper fancy. You don’t get all the fun bits, but here’s the tracklisting and for a short time you can download my mix from the link below. Enjoy!

1. D’Angelo – Everybody Loves The Sunshine – I defy anyone to ever make a more soulful summer tune than this ever. As soon as I hit play I immediately imagine dozing on the grass on a hot sunny day. Such a shame D’Angelo got into that heroin. That man had more soul than a shoe shop in the largest city in South Korea.

2. Keb Mo – Every Morning – I’m not sure how this is classed as Blues when it’s so frikkin’ happy and lovely but it is. Great name, great voice, bloody lovely tune that does everything except give you the blues.

3. Nick Drake – Saturday Sun – Nick Drake is one of the small list of artists I have who I wish I’d got to see before he died. It would’ve been impossible as I wasn’t anywhere near born when he did and I only hope time travel is invented so I can see him live one day in the past. That and so I can visit the vikings.

4. Elbow – Lippy Kids – I really wish I could stop playing this song incase I overdo it for myself, but its so beautiful its been on repeat ever since I bough the ‘Build A Rocket Boys!’ album back in March. I heart Guy Garvey.

5. Fleet Foxes – Montezuma – I have sadly only seen Fleet Foxes once and it was at Bestival the one year the sound on the main stage was shit. I then missed them at Glastonbury this year and being such a fan of their modern day Crosby, Still and Nash harmonies I was pretty gutted. They sing lazy summer as far as I’m concerned.

6. Home Life – Fair-Weather View – When I saw Home Life live several years ago they played, as well as the usual instruments, a toy laser gun and a small plastic waving cat. They’ve won me over ever since. This track has a lovely South American feel to it and seems as though it’d be wrong to hear it any other way but with a mojito and a warm night.

7. Michael Kiwanuka – Tell Me A Tale – Michael Kiwanka is in his 20′s yet sounds like he has the soul gravelled voice of a man in his 50′s. I’m not sure how. He might well be possessed. Either way this is one of my fave tunes of 2011 so far.

8. Gil Scott Heron – The Summer Of ’42 – I don’t need to go on about how much I miss this dude. Legend. Utter legend. Even though there was the midst of World War 2 in 1942 I still want to go back to that summer and enjoy it on the basis of this track.

9. Aloe Blacc – You Make Me Smile – There are so few good soul artists around at the mo, and Aloe Blacc is one of the best. ‘Dollar’ was such an awesome track but this is my choice for Summerburn due to its heart felt lovely sentiment that makes me melt a tad.

10. Yesterday’s New Quintet – Sun Goddess – Jazz wonderousness

11. Air – Le Soleil Est Pres De Moi (Dan the Automator Remix) – Air don’t ever really need remixing, but this is one of those brilliant remixes where Dan The Automator adds just a few extra sounds to make it that teensy bit more thumping as a tune.

12. DJ Shadow – You Can’t Go Home Again (Album Version) – I was a huge Shadow fan to the extent I went to several secret gigs and would harp on about him to anyone I knew. The he made The Outsider and I felt betrayed. Then this year I saw him at Glasto and all his new stuff is awesome and he’s now forgiven. This, sampling Simon and Garfunkel, is amazing.

13. Five Deez – Omni – One of the most chilled hip-hop tracks ever. I barely  listen to any other track on the album, even though they’re all great. This however, will always get played at least three times in a row.

14. Minnie Riperton – I Am The Black Gold Of The Sun – There are so many amazing versions of this song – the first I ever heard was Roni Size Reprezent play it live at the Shepherd’s Bush Empire ages ago – but Riperton pulls it off with a gravitas unbeknowst to none.

15. The Bees – Sky Holds The Sun – One line in the whole song and its one of the most touching, lovely lines in any song ever.

16. Cinematic Orchestra – Arrival Of The Birds – I also heart Cinematic Orchestra. I thought I had all their tracks and then my friend Katy sent me this a while ago and I pretty much went into a calm trance as it played. A perfect end track.

 

Download that summer funk wagon for your ears right here:

T’S SUMMERBURN 2011

What A Guy

I don’t want to pretend that I’m a hella cool hard man or anything but there are very few things that make me ever weep a tear. Besides hayfever or unnecessary wind blown grit, its hard to lure a drop of salt water from these peepers without it being something fairly drastic. I’m not made of stone by any means, which is lucky as it’d be hard to move anywhere and I’d find it difficult using paper of scissors. I mean normal sad things will work such as bereavements, spilling a plate of food when I’m starving, and the first ten minutes of Up, but past that my visual receptacles are drier than Steve Wright’s wit. Except for, and this is a fairly recent development, when watching certain music concerts. Its happened a few times lately that when watching a band I really love suddenly leap into that track you’ve been dying to hear they just well up a tad. I’m not quite sure why or whether in older age I’ve become some sort of big Softy Softerson, but during the Elbow concert last night I came close to erupting like an anti-volcano (ie water instead of fire) about umpteen million times as Guy Garvey bellowed those gravelly tones and beautiful lyrics to some of my very favourite songs.

I became an Elbow fan slightly later than a lot of people. I’ve had a habit of doing this in my life. Having been brought up through school on a strict diet of hip-hop, garage and drum n bass, I found the Brit Pop scene several years after everyone else, and it was only at uni I got into Radiohead, Tom Waits and Jeff Buckley long after he’d died. Later still, as much as I did like Blur when I was 15-16 years old, its only many moons later that I’ve become a big Albarn fan and shelled out to see them at Hyde Park last year. I feel a bit like those people who decide to support a football team once they’ve already won things rather than loyalty. Elbow I just missed at Bestival two years ago. The sound system was rubbish that year and I’d already had the Fleet Foxes ruined by being unable to hear anything they played unless I was standing in the comedy tent on the other side of the field. So knowing I needed to head home on the Sunday night, realising I wouldn’t be able to hear them well anyway and feeling like I desperately needed a shower, I escaped while everyone else was watching them play as the sun set. I still very much regret this. A month or two later I heard Mirrorball on Mark Radcliffe’s show on Radio 2 and found myself sitting in complete silence as I listened to the words and raced home to eagerly get everything they’d ever made. Their current album has been on repeat constantly since I bought it two weeks ago and I’m worried there’ll be a point where I have to have it constantly playing on earphones wherever I go.

Finally seeing them at the O2 last night I found yet another reason to be a fan. Live, Elbow are amazing. I’m not sure how exactly they made a crowd of 15000 seem intimate, but Guy managed to reach even us at the very back and make it feel like it was our own special gig. He said at the top of the show that there would be audience participation of the cheesiest level all the way through and he kept his word. Getting us all to pronounce ‘love’ as though we were Northern, demanding a standing ovation for row z, block 108 as they were the furthest away from the stage and making sure that every track had an introduction or banter to check we were ok. Guy Garvey’s voice is amazing too. Several shivers were sent down my spine during ‘The Night Will Always Win’ and ‘Great Expectations’. Every track caused myself and Tom to lean over and say ‘This one’s brilliant!’ to the point where we just gave up as we’d become repetitive. After an hour and 45 minutes the gig finished and I found myself still wanting more. Truly one of the best gigs I’ve seen in a long time and if I can manage to stop playing one of their CDs at any point today I’ll be surprised.

That was a very gushy blog but much deserved. If you haven’t listened to them before or aren’t fussed, sorry for putting you through that, but its your fault for having no taste or being too slow. I heart Elbow.

PS Its also very worth mentioning that Villagers who supported them were just brilliant too and they have also gained a new fan. They haven’t made me well up yet though so they don’t get a whole blog to themselves just yet. And no readers, you can’t just try and find ways to make me weep just to get a blog mention. That’s not how it works, so no poking me in the eye next time I see you. Thanks.