Two gigs today, and the first one is Comedy 4 Kids which starts at 2pm meaning I have to leave at 11am. Rather than get up earlier to blog, this entry, in the Blue Peter sense, has been prepared earlier. About 9 hours earlier in fact, so in less eloquent terms, this verbal spew is pretty fresh. Its like hot off the press. Events occurring in this blog happened mere hours before the writing commenced. There is something exciting about this change of routine. Normally I would stay up now, being massively useless to everyone and then tomorrow whenever I wake up I would try and recall enough to write about it. But now, I feel a bit like I might be blogging for Reuters or someone who would need on the scene updates. Of course the world would have to be in a significantly dull place for Reuters to be interested in what I’m doing but its cheerier than the credit crunch so it can go in that nice bit at the end of the news where they stick items like the dog who called the police or the girl who raised money for charity by swimming around the world twice in her pajamas.
The gig I’ve just returned from really wasn’t worth me mentioning now. A pained little arts centre gig where the crowd didn’t seem to want to participate in the show at all. Well not with me anyway. They were nice with Stuart Goldsmith and then very nice for Ian Cognito who had a stormer, but they didn’t like talking to me one bit. The term ‘blood out of a stone’ is an understatement when talking about trying to banter with these people. A more correct term would be ‘like getting the bonuses back from Goodwin’ or something similarly impossible. Instead I will tell you the good bits, the highlights if you will. The first was that backstage they had a tupperware box that was the exact size to fit three, and only three chocolate digestive biscuits. Now it may seem that only three is a bit stingy on the venues behalf but I ignored this to be overjoyed that tupperware had become food specific. I knew there was one for bananas but I did not know they were expanding. I would like to see more of this. A tupperware for 12 crisps would be good, as would half a pot of yoghurt and seven noodles. I would never use that I as like eating real amounts, its just that the OCD part of me likes it when things have a place.
Another highlight was that Stuart taught me the phrase ‘Crate Slug’. This does not refer to a kind of slug, nor does it refer to a slow walk or crap dance. What it is, is a term for those massive wankers who dress up in gold or silver (usually) and stand very still on crates in places like Covent Garden expecting people to give them money because they don’t fidget, cough or do anything that requires any talent. Some might say standing still is a talent. Its not. I couldn’t do it, just because I’d get bored, but there are lots of people who could. People who suffer from paralysis for example. They’d be ace it, but they’ve got better things to do than lower themselves to being dressed like a silver Boudica. Stuart, as well as doing comedy, is also a street performer and does the warm up for Loose Women. Both of these are impressive things to be able to do. I’m not sure which I’d be worst at. I can’t juggle to save my life but at the same time I usually have to turn the TV off within 40 seconds of any of those vacuous women saying things that set the course of feminism back by 50 years. Today the really stupid blonde one who looks all thin but has a face like an unhappy witch said that she thought Margaret Thatcher was brilliant. Idiot.
It was nice to know that street performers have a dislike for ‘Crate Slugs’ too and Stuart told me the history of how they have evolved (or for creationists ‘how they have evolved’, now grow up) from mime, but taken the lazy option of not really miming. Or doing anything. Except looking like the Tin Man from the Wizard Of Oz if he’d run out of WD40. I like street performers and am constantly impressed by good ones. Covent Garden in particular used to be brilliantly filled with jugglers, musicians and unicyclists, but now it has become over-run with crate slugs. I say ‘over-run’ but it should be ‘over-stood’. One day if I get the chance I am going to go around putting itching powder in all their suits. Of course then people would probably give more money to watch funky dancing Boudica.
I had a whole load of podcasts lined up for the journey today which I was pleased with. One Adam and Joe, two Collins and Herring and four Mark Thomas. They were all very good and nearly perfectly timed so that I could also tune into Mark Lamarr’s Radio 2 show after I’d got through them. I like it when I unintentionally become a programmer for my evenings aural entertainment. I say it a lot, but Lamarr’s show God’s Jukebox really is one of the best radio shows on air. He plays such a variety of stuff and seems so enthusiastic about it all its a joy to listen to. Tonight there was an amazing steel drum band on. I have lots of respect for steel drum bands as I have tried hitting a wok and saucepan to a rhythm and its not easy. Its definitely not easy getting that many notes out of them, especially if you are cooking with them at the same time. It must be really hard for Lamarr to do such a good show when he has to follow Claudia Winkleman who presents her radio show as though she is a kid who’s been allowed to have a go on a dictaphone for a few hours. She’s way too over excited by all her guests and yet doesn’t seem to listen to anything they say. She then often blurts out whatever was in her brain without any sort of censor to stop her from sounding like a twat. The bit of the show I was unfortunate enough to catch had her interviewing Dame Joan Bakewell and included this bit of chat:
Dame Joan Bakewell – ‘What they mean was that comradeship, intensity and that closeness that thrill of surviving you know coming through a battle.’
Claudia idiot – ‘Yes and also that sort of intensity.’
SHE’S JUST SAID THAT YOU IDIOT! YOU CAN’T JUST REPEAT IT AGAIN, WHY DON’T YOU LISTEN? Luckily within 2 minutes the steel band were on and I could cope again.
We will return to your normal blog schedule on Sunday. Till then think of me getting screamed at 8 year olds followed by getting screamed at by drunk people in Dorset.
