I’m gigging tonight. I haven’t gigged properly since last Saturday and feel all a bit rusty. I have no clue about what’s been happening with the world and feel as thought I can’t walk on stage just discussing my taxes. I mean, I could, but I can’t imagine that the crowd would enjoy it. I cant imagine I would enjoy it. Basically there would be a whole bunch of people there for a comedy evening subjected to at least 30 minutes of me giving them no comedy whatsoever. Some might argue that that’s what happens everytime I do a gig. The people that argue that are cocks. I mean that in the offensive term, not that cockerels do not appreciate my humour. Although they might not, I’ve never performed to any. Its a gig at one of my favourite clubs, Downstairs At The Kings Head in Crouch End, which is a perfect comedy venue. I love it there. On account of it being a Bank Holiday, it should be packed tonight. Although its also sunny, which means it might not be. I sometimes wonder if comics are the only people who hope for the rain and the cold sometimes. Oh, and goths.
I had a small break from tax dull yesterday when I went to my friend Lauren’s house to do further work on kids sketches. It was a fairly productive afternoon. By that I mean I wrote a song about bums and Helen and Lauren wrote some stuff that wasn’t as puerile. I was very pleased with my song about bums. When I next see you I will sing it to you. Bums will never stop being funny. Unless you are American in which case they are a socio-economic problem. Which if you consider parts of New York being covered in bums, they suddenly become funny again. But only from a UK perspective. Hee hee, covered in bums. We spent the afternoon working on Lauren’s roof terrace which was all a bit lovely and provided us with some excellent viewing entertainment. It overlooked the neighbouring gardens, Hampstead Heath and a railway line. If the railway line wasn’t there then her house would be very easy to burgle but thanks to Network Rail’s regular train service thieves would have to plot their break-in very carefully. Or during a strike. Or the hours of 00.30-5.30. So ultimately her flat is easy to burgle. Dont say I told you. I hope eager burglars don’t read this. But if you are, my flat is super secure so don’t even try.
At one point we spotted a big black cat traveling from three gardens away on the left to the garden to our right. Then it disappeared behind a shed and next thing we knew there was a flash of black tail halfway up a tree and several magpies flying out. You would assume that the magpies would just fly off as far away as possible, but they kept darting back in and squawking. We assumed there might be a nest there. Every so often they would dart back in, we would see a flash of paw and tail and then they would shoot back out again. Two crows then sat above the railway cables cawing at the whole goings on, like the two old men from the Muppets. It was like a nature program in the back garden. There was some sympathy towards the baby magpies that may or may not have been there, until Lauren said they were carnivores and they eat other birds. That along with the thieving peoples shiny stuff, meant I started to cheer the cat on. I can only assume thats what the crows were doing too. Each caw would probably translate as ‘Kill the theiving baby eat shits, go cat go!’
That event and insisting we waved to all the people on every train that went by, made me day, and hopefully some of the train passengers days too. I made sure I was smiling everytime and we got some waves back from people that were either smiling or holding an expression that said ‘humour the mentally ill out of pity’. Better than either of those events though was a gift from an unknown neighbour. As I arrived, my iPhone searched for available wi-fi it could latch onto and steal from like a cyber magpie. Sure enough three entries appeared. One called TalkTalk21, one called BT something or other, and then right at the bottom was a small mark of genius. Someone had named their wi-fi ‘Surprise Cockface!’ with that very well placed exclamation mark. I was surprised. I probably am a cockface. They were very very good. I assume by cockface they didn’t mean a face full of cockerals. That would be odd and less funny. No wait, possibly more funny. Either way they had anticipated the wi-fi stealing locality and pre-thought to stop them in their tracks with some childish offensiveness. Whoever you are, I applaud you, and I am going to change the name of our wi-fi service as soon as possible to ‘ Boo you prick!’ Not as good, but I didn’t want to plagiarise.
Maybe thats how I’ll start my gig. Let the lights go on stage to reveal a giant box. Out of which I will leap and shout ‘Surprise cockface!’. On second thoughts maybe I should watch the news or really work out how to make my receipts funny.