Feel a bit shaken by a rather disturbing dream about an imminent zombie attack where I, along with 15 or so others, were holed up in a studio flat trying to survive the vast hordes of the undead that were coming to infect us with zombie germs. It all finished when J.D.Williams who played ‘Bodie’ in The Wire, decided to unlock the door to see if they were still there and they were and they eat his face then everyone’s faces. I swear if I ever meet J.D.Williams I will punch him in the arm for that. What an idiot. Then I will tell him how great he was in the Wire. Then I will punch him again. I think I have been watching and reading too much zombie propaganda lately. I will counter act that by watching this instead:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fa7ck5mcd1o
I expect tonight’s dreams to be underwater and shark/squid based which will make a nice change. As long as neither the shark or squid die and come back to get me, or worse, J.D. Williams lets one of them in through the front door to check if they are still there then it should be ok.
So Norway won in the end. I think that’s definitely a good thing. Had the UK won there would have been no way we could’ve afforded to host it without another G20 emergency fund. Either that or the whole show would have had to take place in a scouts’ hut in Surbiton hosted by Timmy Mallet. Although I have a feeling the rest of Europe might enjoy that due the combination of costumes. I didn’t get a chance to watch any of Euroderision, but I was very pleased I caught some of Ken Bruce’s commentary on Radio 2. Especially the bit where he said ‘Just imagine how much this has all cost, must be millions. And to think of all the better things it could have been spent on.’ Well done Ken. You are filling the drunk pessimistic shoes Wogan has left behind. 5th was pretty good I suppose. I guess it was because Webber wrote something that was so massively droll and tiresome that Europe liked it. That and everyone was afraid he’d hide under your bed when it gets dark and eat your children if he didn’t get votes, like a giant evil toad man.
None of the people at last night’s gig gave a toss, which was very reassuring. It did mean that I felt even worse about getting to the gig late because I had driven all the way from Leamington Spa (for Layla’s mum’s birthday do) to the wrong venue. Yes a two hour drive filled with sleepiness from lovely grub and a single lunchtime pint was rewarded by turning up somewhere two and half miles away from where I was meant to be. Idiot. It was only after doing two laps of the venue did I ask someone as to where the comedy was, only to be told it was somewhere else entirely. This isn’t the first time its ever happened to me. Once, when I was just starting out, I had a gig at a bar in Bethnal Green called ‘The Leisure Lounge’. I went to Bethnal Green and found the said place and asked the bouncer if they had any comedy on. The big stupid lug of a man put his arm round me and said ‘Comedy? I’ll show you comedy son.’ I was still oblivious as to what was about to happen, but as we strolled in I realised that all the gyrating naked women meant I was probably in the wrong place. The bouncer just pointed at the women and said ‘look at those tits son, that’s comedy.’ It wasn’t comedy, it was a free entry to a strip club, but after I had stopped staring I asked him if this was the Leisure Lounge, only to find it was the Leisure Palace. I should’ve known as palaces often have naked gyrating women in them, look at Buckingham and Crystal for examples of this, whereas Lounge’s just have coffee tables, magazines and sofas. In the end the gig I was meant to be at was shit and I should’ve stayed watching the sexy ladies.
Last night’s gig was the opposite of shit though, and so once I finally arrived I very much enjoyed it. A lovely but oh so posh crowd from Dulwich Village, which is one of those odd places that calls itself a village to try and separate itself from the rest of London. By being part of London, this is actually impossible. Unless they do the Vatican City thing and get their own pope in. I say more places should have their own popes and own city status. I might get my own pope. All I need is a batty old man in a white robe. He can sit on our porch saying vaguely religious things and I will declare our flat Tiernanican City. We will have our own currency and everything. And lots of unnecessary laws such as ‘no fishing without full bear suits on’. We don’t have a pond, river or other water based landmark in our flat so this law would be easy to uphold.
I’m doing a storytelling gig in Stoke Newington tonight. I have no idea what yarns I will be spinning but I will choose between the time I was a boy made of wood who had a nose that grew everytime I lied, or that time I ate that poisoned apple and seven dwarfs saved me. The stories have to be true so those two should suffice. Either way it’ll be fun so do come along:
http://www.timeout.com/london/comedy/event/143249/anthology-comedians-tell-stories-from-life.html
