The corn on the cob I’ve stuck in the over is clearly burning. I decided to start this blog and the second I did I smelt burning. However I refuse to bow down to the demands of an inanimate cooking pulse and so I will leave it there until this blog is typed. If this blog is never published you will know my stubborness led to a fatal house fire. I think that would be fair punishment for ignoring the corn. Some of you are now concerned for my health and safety, while others are confused as to why I am cooking a corn on the cob rather than boiling it. In the words of that song I hate, thats the way I like it. Uh huh uh huh. I like corn in a way that may cause a potential risk on my well being. I’m also hoping that if I keep it in there long enough it’ll become a stick of popcorn. I know this isn’t how popcorn works, but we are allowed to dream.
I’ve already had a day as this morning was spent driving my brother to the airport. It was one of those gestures that I did because frankly, I’m a lovely human being. What I always forget when I agree to these things is that I then have to drive home again which ultimately means my entire morning is taken up with being a taxi driver. Still I showed my brother by charging him at the end and telling him racist jokes the entire way. I didn’t really do either of those things. I wish I had. At least he isn’t going on holiday. I still resent taking people to the airport and back from the airport when they are about to have a more relaxing time than me. Its worst when you pick them up and they complain they’re tired, despite having been on holiday. No, I’m tired, because I had to pick you up and get up to do it. I’m tired because I’ve been working while you’ve been sunning. You shush, I will drive, let us speak nothing of my bitterness. My brother though is going off to play gigs in Lebanon which is all pretty cool. Music gigs that is. I can’t imagine they have many comedy gigs around there, though I could be wrong.
My brother’s life means he gets to travel quite a bit, whereas most of my gigs tend to be limited to places in the UK. Whilst comedy gigs do exist abroad, I’ve only once done Northern Cyprus and then Ireland if you can really count that as abroad. Well yes, you can, as its technically another country, but I consider anywhere where the flight takes less time than it does for me to drive to the outskirts of London as still the same place. Yes, that includes France and Holland and anywhere I travel by superfast jet. Those experiences were both awesome and gigging in other places where people speak different and the sun appears every now and then is something I’d really like to do at some point. That was my general thought as I headed back into London today. Then I received a phone call saying I had a gig just outside London tomorrow and I cheered realising that all my gigs this week are within an hour’s drive. Once again, I am a fickle man who really doesn’t have a clue what he wants.
Today I am off to the amusingly named Tring, which is where they invented door and bicycle bells. Probably. Kids show in the afternoon then adults show in the eve. Mental note to self: don’t confuse the two.
I think the corn is completely annihilated now. Corn dust could be a new cuisine perhaps? Or maybe I should just open a window, let the smoke out and make a sandwich. Sigh.