Accidental Consort

I had themes for today’s blog. They’d been swimming around in my head most of yesterday and I held onto them tightly in the brain storage facility for further use today. Today, I had thought, was going to be one of those blogs people will talk about for centuries to come. Or at least a few minutes after they’ve read it. ‘Less a blog, more a literary explosion of incredulous amazement’ they would say. Others would say ‘I’m not sure why I still read Tiernan’s blog. It does nothing but make me feel empty inside and as though the minutes of my life it took to read it have been wasted unnecessarily.’ Many will just not read it to begin with. Sadly none of this will happen – except for the last two – as returning from gigging in Newport during the day, I decided last night, as it was sans gig, that I needed beer. I would normally not have been able to justify such activities but I had already performed at two shows at part of the ComedyPort festival including a kids show where a child heckled Tom Webb with the line ‘kill yourself’ proving that children need no kid gloves when it comes to doing dark material.


On my way to drinking something happened to me that seems to happen to me a lot. Due to TFL being run by the forces of evil who spend every waking moment ensuring that my life is made more difficult by their exploits (paranoid? Me?) the tube was closed on the only line I needed to use, and so a series of bus adventures took place. The final of these travels was courtesy of a driver who was doing his last route of the day and therefore cared not for the fact he was playing the human equivalent of ‘how many elephants in a mini?’ by cramming people into his bus as though he was padding himself with others flesh to survive an oncoming explosion. I was squished right by his driver’s booth and he spent some time telling me about it being his last journey before winking at me when my oyster card failed to work. This man disregarded rules like someone who doesn’t believe in stationary. Whilst sardining my life away (is that a term? It is now) I found myself befriended by a Latino journalist who took it upon herself to decide that I could get her to Old Street. I’m not sure when she decided this, and this is something that seems to just occur to my beardy face.


Only two weeks ago a lady from Los Angeles saw me get on the same tube as her and from that moment on I became her guide to traverse the underground. I agreed to do this as far as I could and hopefully she’s now no longer trapped in a tunnel somewhere under the streets of London wondering why the Brits live like Morlocks. It happened in Edinburgh too when a lorry driver stopped me and L to direct him somewhere, asking if we would hop in the lorry and go with him. He didnt seem like a mass murderer but my active imagination took over and we declined. That and the place was only 2 minutes away and I feel it would have taken me longer to climb into the front seat than it would for him to drive there. It might be my face, it might be some sort of smell I emit, but apparently I am someone people can trust to get them places. This leaves me in an odd situation where I feel compelled to help them even if I haven’t got a clue and sometimes I end up wondering miles out of the way and get us both lost to no one’s benefit.


Luckily iPhones now exist and I found myself escorting Claudia to her music gig, listening to her well thought out small talk about how long it had been she’d been to Old Street and why she didn’t know where she was. I darted through the Saturday night of Shoreditch twats with her and dropped her off at her venue before wishing her a lovely night and heading off to drink silly amounts. What does this mean? I don’t know dearest reader, but I like to believe that right now my karma levels are higher than the CN Tower and I could probably spend today kicking puppies off bridges without feeling any consequence. Not that I’d do that. And even if I did I’d probably meet someone on the way to the bridge who needed escorting somewhere. Anyway this can’t be true as all karma has given me is an unjust hangover for the amount I drank. Silly life. Silly silly life.