My Sneakers Kept Squeaking

I’m not too easily embarrassed by such tiny irks that may upset others. If a bit of my hair is sticking up unnecessarily I will still brave the big bad world without sorting it out. Despite having the option to change a t-shirt when it has a stain on it, I have refrained from doing so, uncaring that the public may see me for the slob I am. However, in the last two weeks something has been causing me to wince shamefully with literally every step I take. One of my trainers is really squeaky. Not just a little bit squeaky. Not the tiny noise a timid mouse would make when trying to chat up another mouse without enough cheese booze to fuel them. No, this squeak is mega. More like a thousand of those timid mice, being stamped on by a big boot, or a child’s squeaky toy under a train. In fact, what it actually sounds like is a tiny fart. Everytime my right foot hits the floor, it makes a tiny fart noise. I’m really not sure what I can do about it. I put my trainers in the washing machine a few weeks back and now it makes that noise. I like to think its squeaky clean, but apparently according to the wise words of people on various trainer based forums (oh yes they exist), I have got water trapped inside them. I’ve tried to get rid of this water by using Layla’s hairdryer on them, shaking them vigorously and even singing ‘Rain, rain go away’ at them. None of these has worked. And now I am cursed with a farty shoe forever. I wouldn’t mind except for these reasons:

– They are not that old. I am a die hard ‘wear trainers till they are falling off my foot’ type man. I will buy new ones when they are broken beyond repair and not before then. I will not replace them because they appear flatulent.

– Most stages have a specific flooring that makes them even louder than normal. This means in the place it is most important not to have noisey footwear, my right foot becomes an amplified bringer of tragic sounds. This is at its worst during the filming at We Need Answers when they ask for quiet on set, and all that is heard is the comedy noise of me seemingly having a small trumpet attached to my soles. Everyone has clearly noticed, but as they are polite, it has not been brought up yet, in the same way they wouldn’t bring up an embarrassing birth mark or halitosis. I’m sure after tonight, when I have done my last warm-up, that I’ll be known as ‘stupid squeaky shoed warm up idiot’ round the Stephen Street Studios.

I’m honestly not sure what to do about it and I’ve considered many options. Firstly, giving in and buying new trainers which seems ridiculous. Secondly, sticking masking tape or other things to the bottom of the shoe to hopefully supress the noise. Lastly, getting a job entertaining cats as they think there are rodents in the room. If you have any solution to such things, please let me know.

It is my last warm-up at We Need Answers tonight, which is a shame. I’ve enjoyed it thoroughly and last night was one of the best ones I’ve worked on. Not because of me, but more so because Mark, Tim and Alex were on top form and more importantly the guests were great once again. Although Jake Arnott did shout at me as I said he wrote ‘in cockney’ as a lead up to a rather terrible joke. He did apologise afterwards, so it was fine, but I’ve never known a writer to get upset by such things. Saying that, I’ve never known a writer. Actually I know one, my friend Louise, who is a brilliant writer, but I’ve never assumed she writes in any specific dialect. I will though, and see if she gets mad. Also at last night’s show, there was a man with an evil moustache, a woman whose job was to upgrade helicopters and a man call Martian. Top fun. I did also find out, thanks to Alex’s computer skills, that I’m the same height that Houdini was. I was also born in the year of the Monkey, as was he. Essentially what I’m saying is I must be Houdini reborn. Except that I can’t even escape having one stupid shoe.

After tonight I must return however to the sad world of normal gigs. If you are in the Coventry area, do come to this on Saturday. The line-up is a bit bloody awesome:

What I particularly like about that website blurb is that they’ve left in the bit of the email saying that I’m the driver. It does however help anyone who may wonder why on earth I’m on such a good bill.

Extra points to anyone who knows where today’s blog title is from. I’m going now. Don’t pretend you can’t hear me walking away.