Mission Updates, Sore Throats and Compliments

Lets reveal all on Tuesday’s mission right now. Firstly this is what we were up to: 

I took lots of pictures too, but Jess is a proper photographer and so its best you just look at hers instead of mine which look a bit like they’ve been taken by someone with big thumbs and Parkinson’s. That would be a terrible affliction having such great grip but the shakes. I feel a bit sad thinking about it. 
Anyway, so you know, the reason I was frozen and hated blu-tack was because I spent the afternoon sticking up those cards in phoneboxes around Westminster with my friend Louis. Its all part of a bigger project that Mark has spoken about in a Guardian podcast that will be out this week (will send the link when I get it), and will soon be on this website here: 
I still have a sore throat. This is surely not at all normal. How rubbish must my throat be to not have got better in a week? Now I suppose I could argue that because I’ve been gigging everyday and talking far too much during the day times that I am not resting it. Despite the absolute logic of that, I am still determined to treat it like a sprained ankle and keep using it till it gets better or I develop a sexy Sean Connery type voice. That sort of voice probably wouldn’t be great for comedy, but it wouldn’t matter as it would have the power to melt ladies and sing jazz. Once you have those powers there is very little that can stop you. I mean look at Louis Armstrong. He was only stopped by a heart attack, and I bet it was a jazzy one. 
The gig at the Comedy Bunker probably didn’t help yesterday. Not because it wasn’t lovely but because I did a 35 minute set which by the end had me rasping on the mic like a beardy version of Macy Gray. Normally I think my voice (which I hate listening too) sounds a bit like Shawn of the Dead director Edgar Wright, but with added rasp, Joel (who runs the lovely Comedy Bunker) said I sounded like Nick Hancock. Somehow, even though it should add sexiness and jazziness, it has in fact demoted my comedy voice-a-like status. If my throat was to get any worse I would suspect I would sound a bit like Paul O’Grady and then with no voice at all Jim Davidson. I will start eating packs of Soothers asap to avoid that horrible conclusion. 
I’ve had some compliments at my gigs lately which is very nice. However I have never ever understood what you are meant to say when someone gives you one. Its not as if I’ve grown up in a family of neglect but I just get all a bit embarrassed and mutter ‘thanks’ hoping they will go away and be replaced by someone who calls me a ‘fuckwit’ which I can handle. It’s a very odd disposition. There is a small part of me that everytime I get a compliment would like to see their reaction if I said ‘YES! AREN’T I BLOODY WONDERFUL AREN’T I!’ or just bursting into tears and giving a thank you speech like Winslet where I forget one of the acts who has been on that night and generally make myself look like a massive idiot who no-one will ever respect again. I think that sort of behavior will stop these people from saying nice things to anyone ever again. I will never do that though and instead will just get a bit shy and rubbish. If you see this happening to me, please come over and insult my family or something along those lines to help me out. 
I’m going to Leicester today. Not for gigging but to interview some people for the ace comedydemon.com. We are chatting to Tim Minchin, Rhod Gilbert, Mark Thomas, Milton Jones and Jason Cook among others which should be fun. I have written some questions myself which I hope to slip into the chat to make it more interesting. Either that or I will look like Richard Bacon in his annoying Big Breakfast days when people where disappointed to see him on their doorsteps at 8am. It used to put me right off my breakfast. Its a risk I’m willing to take for the sake of comedy so fingers crossed. Will post the vids when they happen. Now to get chomping on those Soothers before I sound like neither Richard Bacon or a great interviewer and instead like Paul Ross.