My throat hates me. If it had the ability to think and speak all by itself, then it would give a slanderous interview to a tabloid where it would say I have subjected it to varying degrees of abuse. Then it would get a big front page spread and lots of stupid racist right wing members of the public would campaign to have me arrested and throw things at my house. I have learnt to a degree and since my throat rebelled against me yesterday morning, then I have done nothing but treat it right. Lots of honey and Sandersons’s Throat Specific pastels, which are obviously better than the non-throat specific ones?!? I’m guessing they sell a whole range that can be pushed into your eye or cure athelete’s foot as well as help your throat. I’ve just received a nice call from Sam Get Cape who told me the three tricks he does when he has a sore throat and needs to sing. I feel like as he’s a professional at it, they are probably worthy tips and I’m going to out and buy some umf manuka honey and ginger. There is also an odd noise I have to make that stretches the vocals, but does also make me sound like a mentalist. I’m fairly sure he gave me the tips as a nice gesture but there is also part of me that worries that he’s done it so I will just sound like a mentalist. Its a difficult noise to describe but it coulhoned also be used to give a sarcastic ‘handbags’ type noise, so I may just get punched. As long as I don’t get punched in the throat it should be ok. I’ve decided that if my throat really ceases to work then I do sound a bit like Tom Waits and will just bust out a piano and try to do the whole Nighthawks at the Diner album. I have a feeling some punters may actually prefer this to my show.
Layla’s now here which means I’ve been looked after a bit. I’ve had vegetables and fruit and sleep and everything. Its amazing how she’s such a good influence on me not going out and getting wrecked. When I’m buy myself I think ‘Hmm probably shouldn’t go out and get wrecked’. But then the idiot part of me says ‘no, you’re an idiot, go out and get wrecked’. And I do. However when Layla’s here she says ‘Hmm probably shouldn’t go out and get wrecked’, and as I ignore her and gravitate towards the bar she says it again and then we leave. I am very pleased with this. There shall be a few more sensible days until Sunday when Monday’s my day off so we are both going out and getting battered. That’s with booze, not batter. I know that because I’m in Scotland you may just assume I’m going to be a deep-fried Tiernan, but that is not my intent. Well it wasn’t originally, but now I’ve said it, it could be nuts.
Yesterday was relatively tame. An alright show, with an audience who liked staring a lot. They were staring so hard I was worried my head might explode at one point. There was one woman in the audience who insisted on laughing like she was being hugely sarcastic about everything. Her facial expression said she wasn’t but I couldn’t help but believe the laugh. Then however I looked at her husband who seemed both angry at her stupid laugh and starey at me. It wasn’t the most fun of shows. Still I survived with my stonking hangover so felt good about that. Then I did an interview with Fresh Air Radio, a student station. The presenter insisted on pronouncing my name wrong lots and then asking me the same questions again and again. I responded by not letting her talk much. I hope this comes out ok. If you listen to it and think I don’t let her get a word in edgeways, then please understand that all her words were rubbish and it was for the best. I then met Layla and we watched Jason Byrne storm Comedy 4 Kids in the most brilliant way before going to Pizza Express for the slowest grub ever. Don’t call a place Express if you then mock all that word’s intent with the service pace of a crippled snail. Other parts of the pizza conglomerate don’t have this issue. Ask Pizza is fairly correct. Whenever I visit, I constantly ask, ‘Where’s my pizza?’. And Zizzis, all the food is served by aged rockers with big, white beards. Maybe. The night was finished by a man at Old Rope telling me to hold the rope because I’d mentioned I was going to do the newest bit of material in my show. He was mean, but correct. Still managed to get two new gags out of it which was handy, before stomping home for an early night.
Today’s nice and easy. My show, and Comedy 4 Kids, then tonight its Kitson’s stand-up show. What that means is I will watch probably the best two hours in the festival before wondering why I even bother when people like Kitson exist. Its both brilliantly enjoyable and at the same time confidence killing. I shall be skipping half the way home then moping the rest.
