Tent, packed. Sleeping bag, packed. Wellies, packed. Viking hat, packed. Arse to be partied off, packed. That’s right troops, its Bestival O’Clock again and I fully intend to enjoy this festival like a normal punter. Albeit one that can camp in the artists area and get beer from the comedy rider at the back of the tent. Ok, so like a very privileged normal punter. That has to do a set on the comedy stage. Ok, so not like a punter. Well, I still intend to mostly party. I see these four days as my mini post Edinburgh holiday. A holiday that will involve very little rest – due to my inability to sleep in a tent for too long and the inevitable late nights – or re-cooperation – due to my inability to avoid beer and the inevitable late nights. So not really a holiday. Essentially this weekend will not end up being in anyway what I need. Brilliant. I will try and dress up like a minimal effort viking though (i.e. beard and hat), so I’m sure that will balance it all out somewhat. That and the promise of no rain. I say ‘promise’ but no one has actually promised. I fear that were the BBC to actually promise any of its weather it would have been bankrupt many moons ago on account of being sued by angry people who purposefully went outside in winter in just shorts and aggro. So no promise, but it does look like the wellies are hopefully just a precaution and there won’t be a repeat of the floods of 2008 where I was up to my knees in mud and during my only gig got heckled by a man, dressed as a boat, rowing himself across the stage. He made me feel like a proper cox. Arf.
I had convinced myself that I needed this weekend after Edinburgh. That I had been so over-saturated with humour during the month of August that I needed to avoid it and dwell in a series of misery and film noir until I had regained my love for such things. I thought that a weekend of music would be good therapy to get me back on the circuit wagon and have spent most of last week using Bestival as a target point to stop me from snapping when someone asks me to tell them a joke. Then I returned to gigging last night in Coventry and it was much fun and I realised the whole time I’ve been moaning about pretty much nothing. I berated a carpenter, letting agents (I asked them what it is they let agents do. This confused them), a nurse and a group if IT recruitment people. Edinburgh has definitely changed me as I was a tad more aggressive than usual and had a go at the audience for not going with certain quips I felt deserved more. Essentially, the fringe has made me an onstage arsehole. It was amazing. Things I will never get to say again that I said last night:
– The letting agent had spent the day golfing. I asked him how it went and he said ‘badly, I hit a pigeon’. I asked him if that was a ‘birdie’. No one laughed. I got angry.
– A woman in the front row had named her baby Summer. Her baby was three months old. I told her that whilst it might have been fashionable at the time, it was now Autumn and the name was somewhat of an oversight.
– A couple had been all over each other at the back throughout the whole first section. During the interval the man approached me and told me I should have spoken to him as he had ‘an interesting job’. I’ve never had anyone willingly divulge their job to me, so I humoured him. He told me he was a first aid teacher. When I returned on stage, despite promising I wouldn’t, I brought it up. I explained that I was worried that was no good at first aid because ‘if you can’t, teach’, but then pointed out that he had been resuscitating that girl all night long and she looked pretty healthy, so he was obviously ace. He went red and I was worried he would need help himself.
See? Comedy is bloody fun! Turns out I just needed to do it again. So all joy. Then I drove all the way home by myself without even stopping to see my favourite Costa Coffee barista (he doesn’t know he’s my favourite) at Watford Gap, whilst singing along to everything Trevor Nelson played on his Radio 2 show despite not knowing any of the words. I’m very good at this. When I say good, I mean terrible.
Hooray for liking comedy again. If you are at Bestival and want to see me be all post Edinburgh angsty on stage then I will be on the comedy stage at the hugely inappropriate time of 14.40 on Sunday, when it will seem wrong but so right to shout swear words at kids. Before that I aim to be seen dancing like I have issues at all of these people:
Gil Scott Heron
Hip Hop Karaoke
Mumford and Sons
Skream and MC Dynamite
Chase and Status
Fat Freddy’s Drop
So if you want to stalk me for the whole weekend, you can. Hmm, this blog has ended up being lists and self boasting, and that’s all I’ll be leaving you with for four days. Sorry about that. Well once again, I advise that should you get bored, you can write your own blogs of what’s happening to me at Bestival. Post them on the FB fan page or on the comments section of the blogspot page. Best(ival) one will win a prize of some sort. This may well range from a carrot to something actually good. Carrots are actually good though, so it may just be three carrots. It won’t be three carrots. It might be four carrots.
See ya’ll on Monday for a blogstravaganza!