Sunglasses and Swans


I need new sunglasses. Thing is everytime I get new sunglasses, its only a very short amount of time until I need new sunglasses again. Of my last six pairs of sunglasses three were sat on by me, one was stolen when my car got broken into, one was sat on by someone else and one I mangled by slamming a car door on it. It seems I am not allowed to have sunglasses. At the moment I am wearing the mangled pair. From a distance it looks ok, but on closer inspection they are heavily wonky and it appears as though my head is lopsided. To counter this I have to slightly lean my head in the other direction which ultimately gives me a stiff neck and will eventually result in me having a lopsided head whereby the glasses will once again look out of sync. I think I just need to buy some new ones. Do they sell sunglasses that are impervious to damage?

Those huge bug eyed ones seems pretty invincible, but they also make me look like the fly or Elton John’s sad younger brother. I do not want to appear to be either of those things. Though maybe if I was the fly there’d be more buzz about me. Eh? Eh? Sigh. I can’t do the little round sunglasses either or I look like a weird evil German professor. I can’t do Raybans because of the size of my tiny head. It means I appear to have been teleported from the midst of a European techno disco into the sunshine unawares. No I need the smallish square type ones. Ones that make me look a) a bit hella cool and b) a bit like I’ve been hired to kill you. That’s definitely the sort of impression I want to give people when I put shades on. Unfortunately this cannot be done when you can only look at your targets from a left sided angle. Maybe I will just get sheer black contacts and wear them at all times.


Last night Pete Firman drove us both to a rather lovely gig at the Wycombe Swan. Organised by Tom Price and in aid of the Epilepsy Society and with Russell Howard headlining, there were 1000 lovely audience people very much wanting comedy and as a gig it was up there with the bestest. The show was brilliant fun, as was hanging around with all the acts, but more important than any of that: they had tiny quiches. Oh yes. There was a lovely spread of jelly beans, chocolates, cheesecakes, mini pizzas, sandwiches and tiny quiches. My friend Mat (as I have said before on this blog) says that real men don’t eat quiche. However they do eat tiny quiches because you can pretend you are a huge man giant eating a normal size quiche and therefore that is very tough. Inbetween the jokes I made a point of eating a lot of little quiches and putting lots of bags of jelly beans into my bag to take home. I made it home with six bags and now I plan to plant them all and grow a giant jelly beanstalk from which I will harvest enough sugar to make sure my next 30 gigs are all a bit mental with energy.

Couple of other things discovered from the big gig:

– Pete Firman’s car does not fly. I feel cheated by this.

– Simon Callow was on the radio and used the phrase ‘like a big fat foot in your face.’ I don’t know if I ever need to hear anyone else say anything ever again ever.

– Myself and Tom Price have started the following rumours about the following comics. Please spread them to make sure everyone thinks they are true:

Adrian Poynton smells of gouda
Pete Firman has run out of magic
Ray Peacock touches boy cats

– I had a look at the 3D edition of Nuts. As Nuts has never been more than one dimensional, it doesn’t really achieve its aim.

– Russell Howard thinks I should incorporate a bit into my act where I throw my pubes at people. I think he just wants a funny headline for his telly show: ‘Hobbit Boy Showers Crowd In Rain of Pubes’ or something. Well I shan’t pander to it. I shan’t.

– Playing to 1000 people is not that different to playing to 100 people except you have to speak a bit slower. Although this could just be that the people of Wycombe are idiots. Ha. They weren’t though. Although they could have been. But they weren’t. Maybe.

– I tried to dare other acts to open with the line ‘ The Wycombe Swan eh? Last time I performed inside I swan I got arrested. Arf.’ But no one would. Chickens. Or swans.


I watched the last episodes of Lost last night. I feel like the writers owe me six years of my life back.


I’m doing this. I have to do a singsong. You should come and hear wailing that sounds like whaling: