Party Pooper

Layla has just told me that she has been using my deodorant for the last few weeks as hers had run out. Now, while I mostly am not too bothered about this, aside from perhaps that I will have to go buy more deodorant sooner than I should because she couldn’t be arsed to by her deodorant, I am concerned at how unfair this is. She can fully get away with my ‘man’s deodorant’ but should worst come to the worst and I run out of similar toiletry components, I am unable to turn towards Layla’s supplies for fear of smelling like a girl all day long. People would point, stare, say things like ‘where’s your blouse you big girl?’, ‘why aren’t you wearing a dress?’ and ‘ooh you big girly girl girl girly girl face!’. Probably. Its not worth the risk. Whereas the worst that can happen if Layla wears my deodorant is that it runs out sooner than it should. Or some sort of Lynx effect happens and she gets down with a lady. Layla has already veto’d that one, no matter how many times I’ve suggested it. It also doesn’t help that I don’t use Lynx. This is mostly because I am no longer 15 years old. I also am not entirely sure how someone can just smell of ‘Africa’. How can a scent entirely surmise a whole continent? And if it did, would it really smell nice? I mean a fragrance called ‘Europe’ would have some lovely bits of smell of French Lavender or something like that, but then would also have Venetian canals in the summer when they all smell of sewage. No one wants that. I am also aware that no one probably wants to smell of French Lavender unless they are over 80 years old. I haven’t really thought this through have I?

I often don’t think things through, but only when it has a self consequence. I like to think that if others may be involved in my actions, I’m a fairly thoughtful person. For example, I’d be more than happy to attempt to rewire the mains of my house wearing metal gloves and with no clue, but if you were wrapped in tinfoil and dancing around nearby, I’d hold back. Unlike the woman who was at my gig last night who pretty much was only concerned with her own wellbeing and would have thought nothing of zapping you with 40000 volts, unless of course it meant her electricity bill rose. It was, to all intents and purposes, a lovely lovely gig at first. The audience were a tad barmy, with a man called Duncan supposedly being the king of the party, but actually having no entertaining qualities whatsoever and a man called Rob who assured us he was a professional bummer. I kid you not. I decided his job title was ‘Rear Admiral’. The first two acts, Ginger and Black and Philberto had great gigs, with the small but much fun crowd being very up for it. Then Alistair Barrie went on last, and immediately the audience very much enjoyed him. He did loads of new stuff I hadn’t heard and it was all ace, until….A small amount of talking from a group at the back. Al noticed this and when he enquired what was up, some loudmouthed idiot shouted ‘Are you going to tell any jokes?’ Oof. The meanest heckle of them all. It had been clear to everyone that Al was and had been telling many jokes, however, this woman had laid down the bitch gauntlet by proclaiming the opposite. The audience became fairly tense at this point. In a room of 200-300+ this sort of thing is easier to deal with than in a room of 40-50+ as in the latter, they are all very aware of the size of the room, the proximity of the irritation, and how, were fists, glasses and chairs to fly, they would be in the firing line. Al dealt with it very well, but no one returned back to full comfortability and the last 5 minutes of the night were harder than they should be. All because of Captain Idiot.

What bothers me most about this is her need to vocally vent her upset at the evening. I’m fully aware that comedy is a game of bias, you might like some acts, you might not like some acts. I have, even as an act, sometimes sat through shows where I’ve wanted to do nothing more than escape as quickly as possible. But in those situations I’m completely aware there are more audience around me who are enjoying it, so I either sneak out like an uber ninja, or sit there and bear it. That means I growl a lot, eat salmon and maul the odd human. Arf. What I don’t understand is this woman’s brain saying ‘hey you know what? I know you’re hearing everyone else laughing, but I bet they’re not really enjoying the night. Why not set them free like a mouthy superhero of the night?’ I’m reckoning its partly booze, partly her being a moron, and partly that whenever I get a little voice using the term ‘superhero of the night’ its very hard to resist. Mine usually involves me trying to climb buildings and hurting myself though. All I’m saying, is that while I am a big advocate of freedom of speech, I also think that tact and consideration are pretty wonderful things. As are tacks and condensation. But not tax or constipation. FACT.

I’m about to go rambling now with Helen Arney plus ramble gang. Should be much fun and its a bit of a perfect day for walking somewhere. I am driving to the place we are going to start walking but I feel that’s only fair. Unfair. Sorry, I meant unfair. Ramble reports tomorrow. Oh and its a shame I didn’t get most bestest comedian ever on Ch4 ‘100 Greatest Comedian’s Ever’ poll last night again. I blame you. You all should have voted. All one of you. Next time, fingers crossed eh?