Ed Shows

I beat my record!! Yes!! Victory is mine! They said it couldn't be done. All right, no one said that. Anyway here's the blog for this landmark occasion:

I have be entertaining myself with Edinburgh show names I will never do.

The first one is:

‘Take My Wife’s Cheese’

That is a show about cheese, and also a play on words from the old Bernard Manning style of joke-telling about taking someone’s wife literally away, instead of just taking her as an example of something. It works on almost two levels, and could vaguely be considered a satirical point about something. Depending on how much of the show was actually about cheese. I don’t have very strong feelings about cheese, so I don’t think I am the person to do such a show.

The second show name idea is:

‘Sisters Were Doing It For Themselves, But Have Now Gone Back To Just Getting Their Tits Out Again.’

That is a show about the rise and fall of feminism, and how today women almost seem to be being objectified more than they were in the 80’s and 90’s. It has a bit of a serious tone, and might just be me on stage crying for an hour because I don’t have a place in the world. Which some might say, further negates feminism.

Next we have:

‘Brave Fart’

This is a show about farting, seen through the eyes of a Scottish Warrior who was more middle class then he wanted to let on. (Kind of like when James Blunt uses incorrect grammar in his songs). Plus it’s about farting, which is one of the funniest things that could possibly happen so it can’t fail to attract punters. Also it’s a metaphor for my stand up career, because when I come off stage, sometimes strangers don’t tell me I am good, they tell me I am ‘brave.’

Then there’s:

‘The Services On the M1 Lied And Said They Had The Internet When They Didn’t’

This is a deeply personal show, about an incident that happened very recently, in fact it is still happening as I write this (into a word document) when I have literally a matter of hours to publish my final blog this month to beat my record. I mean, admittedly it’s no Eddy Izzard’s 43 Marathons in 51 days, but interestingly it does expose him to be a robot for managing to do that, in a surprise twist at the end of the show.

Then who could forget:

‘Neurotica’

This is a show about being neurotic but still liking sex, even if it means you sometimes say the wrong thing – with hilarious consequences. It’s kind of like Woody Allen meets Uma Thurman (who I definitely look like – not just to very drunk people). Conveniently I do actually have a few routines about making sex more awkward than it necessarily needs to be, but I don’t have the balls to actually call a show that in case it attracts a crowd that ultimately feel mislead and heckle with ‘get your tits out.’ To vent how they feel about the misinformation.

And then finally:

‘Don’t Believe The Hype’

This is a show which is a stunt in itself. I will do absolutely no PR, thus making the name of the show intrinsically hilarious. No one has done that…

guff

Well I didn't think I would beat my December 2009 record of 20 blogs in a month, but I believe this entry makes January 2010 neck and neck with it. And there are still 2 days left! There is everything to play for. Will I beat my own record, or will I fail at this last hurdle after getting so close?

It's as tense as Deal or no Deal. Or celebrity Big Brother. Or Avatar.

I really must stop going on about that film.

Basically, it's not very tense at all.

And blogging about blogging is like commenting about comments, or reacting about reactions, or writing about writing, or joking about joking, or wanking about wanking. Which can happen.

But I think one of the things I have learnt from this exercise is maybe don't blog just for sake of it. Especially when you are tired and or stressed. You just end up making unsettling references to wanking that don't really make sense.

Cheating

I have been cheating my blogging. What I mean by that is, I haven't been doing it everyday, but I found a way to kind of make it look like I have. If I start writing a new blog before midnight, but publish it the next day, it counts as the day I started it writing it. So actually, it is currently 1am on Thurs 28th but this blog will look like I time travelled and have the date before yesterday on it.

Now, there might actually be a way to do this anyway, and tamper with the date so that you have a blog for each day even if you write three on one day to cover the last few days (I know other daily bloggers do that) but I don't know what it is, and frankly I don't want to know.

As Marge Simpson once said, 'Music is none of my business' and that is how I feel about all technology (apart from the technology I am forced to learn in order to be able to operate in the 21st century)

This might seem like quite a turn around from my pro-technology stance of yesteryear or the other day (it is impossible to tell which day exactly - because I have been doing cheat time-travel blogs)

but I spouted off about how great my i phone was. It was all hot air. I know nothing about technology. I can barely use my i phone.

Plus the hidden message of Avatar has been secretly working it's way into my subconscious. The secret message of Avatar is kill all humans. So look out.

God I'm tired.

I haven't been blogging because I am too busy to even reply to my emails.

Good night

(this will look weird at whatever time this blog says it is)

i phone vs Avatar

I am totally in love with my new i phone.

I was able to sit in Costa at East Croydon train station, messaging someone on facebook about doing their gig, while replying to incoming texts from the person I was supposed to be meeting, while also liaising with someone I was supposed to meet the following day, via their incoming phone-call. None of these interruptions deleted my message on facebook.

I never thought I would live to see this day.

Technology is amazing. I don't care if robots take over the world and kill us all now. It will have been worth it.

Then the next day I went to see Avatar at the I max, and learnt all about how actually living at one with nature is better than having technology. The exact opposite sentiment of how I had just decided to live my life by.

Actually I am surprised that this film is so popular, especially in America, as it is a very thinly disguised allegorical tale about the pitfalls of stealing other peoples land. It's a bit like the war in Iraq, or what happened to the American Indians, or the Aboriginals; except with a wildly different ending. In the film, the 'Americans' don't win. And they especially love winning. Sometimes they even pretend they have, when they haven't because they love it so much.

Also in the film, there is nothing the native aliens want from the humans, so they can't be bargained with.

I would suggest an i phone. They didn't try an i phone in the film.

It's a great ecological messaged film. And it's popularity is fantastically ironic. I wonder why humans feel this need to pretend we could be good, when we clearly couldn't. If we could, surely we would have by now.

Once a day

I'm trying to get into the habit of writing this everyday. Even if I have nothing to say or comment on. Which probably makes this entry an example of why blogs get slagged off as a concept.

They're just full of a load of ill-thought-out guff from someone who should have better things to do, but instead harbors delusions of grandeur that they're opinion is worth hearing.

Though of course that could also describe most journalists as well.

Luckily I harbor no such illusions. I know this is a waste of everybody's time. I am still doing it anyway.

That's the advantage of having one of those up-bringing where you're told you're rubbish quite a lot.

In your face healthy people who were told you can achieve things.

Who is the winner now. The person who arrogantly thinks what they are doing is worthwhile, or the person who has been told they are so pointless that they pretty much feel they live in a consequence free environment anyway?

The end result is surprisingly similar.

pillows and time

My boyfriend has been away for two nights, and I have been having fun with the pillows in his absence. Not like that. Quite the opposite. I piled them all up in the middle of the bed and made a mega-pillow. Just because I could. Oh yeah, I was stretching out all over the place. Mainly in the bed, obviously.

I will be glad when he is back, but I will miss the mega-pillow.

You might think I should have more important concerns than this in the year that I turn 30, but I don't, so stop judging me.

Anyway, I think nothing disproves my fear of turning 30 more than the invention of the mega-pillow. Look how carefree I am. I'm clearly not bothered. Not at all.

And anyway 30's are the new 20's.

We have a stupid measurement system that just upsets people for no good reason. I blame the measurement system entirely. Maybe in a few years it will be able to be sued for causing stress and psychological damage. But the point is this: It doesn't matter how many times this arbitrary planet goes round the stupid sun.

I certainly wouldn't want to be the man who invented the measurement system right now.

Pandemic

I was in Hamleys today (because I'm young at heart) (not because I'm immature and miss the fun I had as a child) and anyway, I didn't even have that much fun as a child. I was one of those oddball types. Anway, getting off the point.

The point is this. I was in Hamleys, being irritated by the obnoxious, loud, exhibitionism-obsessed, out-of-work-actors that masquerade as helpers that don't let you shop in peace - and keep trying to get your attention by throwing loud toys at you - like children would.

Why is it that when you want help in a shop, no one helps you, but when you don't the opposite happens? Sounds like there could be an observational stand up routine in that. This is my new joke: have you ever noticed that sometimes when you want something to happen, the opposite of the thing you wanted to happen, happens?

Well. Observational comedy isn't as easy as it looks. And looks EASY.

Anyway anyway anyway.

The point is this:

I was in Hamleys, looking at the board games. And in amongst the Guess Who? and the Pictionary, I saw a game called 'Pandemic'

I am totally serious. Google it if you don't believe me. I'm not googling it and providing a link because I have already seen it and this blog has already taken longer than it was meant to (look how easily I can get off the point)

Anyway this is the blurb on the back of the box for the board game Pandemic:

(I sat down and copied it out while in the shop because I couldn't believe it)

It says:

"PANDEMIC

You and your companions are highly skilled members of a disease-fighting team waging a battle against four deadly diseases. Your team will travel across the globe, stemming the tide of infection and developing the resources you'll need to discover the cures. You must work together, using your individual strengths to destroy the diseases before they overtake the world. The clock is ticking as outbreaks and epidemics accelerate the spread of the plague.

Will you find the cures in time?

The fate of humanity is in your hands!"

There you go kids. Have fun!

I sort of feel this game has been developed so that children who favour science get to feel like heroes too. It's normally only the FBI and Bruce Willis that get to do such things. This game wants you to brew potions for cures to save the world, instead of punching out Alan Rickman. It's like this game is saying 'come on nerdy scientists - you can do it too - we've made a weird and slightly threatening game just for you!'

But I also feel that the creators of this game may have been quite influenced by the threats of the norovirus and swine flu. I think they definitely got the idea for it after that anyway.

I told my comedy associate Hannah George about it, and she said that after swine flu, maybe the government agencies that allowed the game to be made started recalling them, and saying 'Right, what have you got? What did you come up with?' to the budding scientists.

I like this idea a lot. I love the idea that our government is so inept that we would be turning to 10 year olds to help fix things.

And maybe that is what has happened.

Maybe.

Fuck off new Northern Line Tunnel at Kings Cross

What the fuck have they done to the Kings Cross Northern line? That's the question on everybody's lips. And if it's not, it should be. Seriously. WTF. Don't say I'm over reacting.

I go away for two weeks and the UK transport system collapses under snow and then builds this nonsense behind my back.

It took me one hour and 15 minutes to get from Shepherds Bush to Angel. What fresh hell is this? At least I have remembered why I never get the Hammersmith and City line. Normally if you just miss a tube, it is 3-7 minutes until the next one. An average of 5. Often you will be lucky and only wait 1 minute. But on the Hammersmith and City line it's like 20 minutes if you've just missed one.

I thought I'd brave it, and while I was sitting there freezing and thinking, 'this seems like an awfully long time between trains' an announcement said there were severe delays on the central line. This made me slightly smug, but then the quickest hubris ever kicked in.

After waiting 20 minutes and then getting on the slowest train in the world that stayed at each station for a good two minutes, I realised I would be late, despite having left plenty time for the journey.

'At least it's only one stop from Kings Cross' I thought as got there. Only to follow the most unbelievably, spurious, surely-put-there-for-comic-effect signs to the northern line. Who makes you go up some escalators, and then down some escalators, and then up some more escalators, and then along a different platform and then up and down some more escalators, through a new tunnel, then down another escalator, just to change lines? Who and more importantly why?

Why would anybody build that?

I finally arrived, where I was supposed to do writing, but by then all I wanted to do was get drunk and kick things.

Luckily I restrained myself.

I am a repressed British person after all.

Plane Films

I have decided I blame the plane for my continued jet lag. I couldn't sleep (although my NIT did go back the appropriate amount this time). So I had to stay awake the full 12 hours and I ended up watching 5 of the 8 films on offer. My boyfriend only watched 4. I rule at sleep deprivation torture.

And I don't mean to boast but one of the films has only just come out at UK cinemas ('All about Steve' with Sandra Bullock). Don't envy my life just because I am super cool and got to watch a dubiously scripted, Sandra Bullock chick-flick, a day early, while sitting in a slightly contorted position. That's just how I roll.

I also watched 'Julie and Julia' with Meryl Streep (which I liked, more or less); 'Post Grad' (which was a bit dubious but made me chuckle twice); 'Aliens in the Attic' (which was good wholesome fun, even if it did rely pretty heavily on stereotypes - I'd probably have loved when I was a kid, and it's intended audience - although of course, it didn't exist when I was a kid).

And I watched the most recent Harry Potter film again, with the ending still ruined.

At the beginning of each film on the plane it says 'this film has been re-mastered for the flight' and I half thought, 'maybe they've fixed the ending so that Dumbledores last act is still to protect Harry - like in the book' but they hadn't. It was still the same.

Then, (because I had not yet over-loaded on the notions of films and planes) I went to the cinema last night (on the ground, in England) and watched 'Up In The Air' with George Clooney. (Is that ironic? - I have never been able to tell since Alanis Morrisettes song misled me)

I wonder if watching that film whilst on a plane would be like googling the word google?

Anyway, if I was George Clooneys character in that film, I would become a film critic as a sideline (because of all the films I would get to see whilst on the planes). He's all about the speed of getting through customs - but is he utilising his time on the flights themselves?

They should have ended it like 'Julie and Julia' and had George Clooney write a book of his experiences flying around firing people, and then go 'This book is now a film - you have just watched it'

Still, that might have been a bit sickly. Like 'Julie and Julia'.

Plus the ending of 'Julie and Julia' was essentially a woman boasting that her stupid blog about cooking has been made into a film. No one likes a gloater. I'm surprised she didn't add, 'And Meryl Streep was in it! Did you see? Did you see my book was made into a film with Meryl Streep? I am successful now. No one wants your book do they Catie?'

That's what she said. It was quite personal really.

eff off jet lag

I can't believe how jet lagged I am. I am still jet lagged. What's with all the jet lag?

Admittedly I did get back in the wee hours of Friday (having been awake for 36 hours) had a nap for 3 hours and then went out to do a gig.

But then I slept for like 8 or 9 hours and got up to do stuff on Saturday. I have loads of stuff to do. Too much stuff. It's confusing and hard to know where to start. So what I have taken to doing is re-writing the lists of what I have to do. Instead of doing it. Kind of like when you are supposed to be revising for an exam but just keep re-making your revision time table. In fact maybe I should make a to-do time-table...

I did unpack at least yesterday. And I replied to at least 2 of my 80 emails...

And I wrote lots with my esteemed colleague Jane Bostock. That all counts as stuff. Unfortunately it's only 2 and a half things to tick off my list.

I just can't believe I am still so tired and finding it so hard to concentrate.

I am a chortle correspondent

Look, it's all here in black and white:

http://www.chortle.co.uk/correspondents/2010/01/13/10330/emails_from_the_edge

It is a slightly re-worked version of my blog from 3 days ago, but now it reads like this:

Hey Dave,

Good to meet you the other night. Fun gig! You said to drop you a line to get booked in to do a paid 20, so let me know what dates you have available.

Cheers,
P

---

Hi Dave,

I don’t know if you remember me, but I did an unpaid open spot at your gig the other week that went quite well. You said something about getting me back for a paid 20, so let me know!
P

---

Hi Dave,

I’m not sure if my emails are working at the moment) but I’ve been trying to get in touch with you about doing your night again.

I don’t know if you remember me, but my name is Pip and we met when I did the unpaid 10 spot at your gig 2 weeks ago. It was you who booked me. As I am sure you’ll recall – unless you were pissed (joke!) - I stormed it. Lots of your audience were coming up to me afterwards to tell me they thought I was really funny, and as I left, you shook my hand and said you would definitely get me back for a paid 20. Please can you let me know what dates would suit you.

Let me know if you get this, although of course if you didn’t get it then you won’t be able to tell me you didn’t get it. So if you don’t get it, just ignore that last bit.

That was another joke.

Hope you’re well,
P

---

Hi Dave,

Just to let you know, I’ve got some potential TV work coming up, and it would be good to get the dates off you, so I can plan around stuff. Let me know what suits you!

Cheers,
Pip

---

Hi Dave,

That TV thing isn’t happening now. It was a tiny production company that wanted me to audition, and they have since folded. This opens my calendar up for gigs, but it’s filling up fast, so let me know what dates you have for me. (Would it be easier if I sent you a list of my free Fridays and Saturdays?)

Let me know!
P

---

Hey Dave,

I’m still having some problems with my junk mail folder, so I’m not sure if you’ve been getting my emails. If you’re booked up or have changed your mind about me, it would be good to know either way.

Cheers,
Pip

---

Hi Dave,

(If I was paranoid, I’d say you were ignoring me!) Ha ha! No seriously though, I’m just chasing the gigs you offered me verbally.

I thought maybe I had copied down your email wrong. But I checked with Johnny Hand, you know, the comic you book all the time for headline spots, who incidentally saw me the other week and said I was brilliant and that he was surprised more clubs weren’t booking me, and it turns out it is the right address.

Do you think maybe your spam filter thinks I am spam?

Maybe you could use that as a convenient excuse to explain why you haven’t replied yet? Let me know.

Pip

---

Hello Dave

Are you not replying to me because I am emailing you too often? Could you just let me know if that’s it? Then I can email you less often.

Pip

---

Hey Dave,

This is getting a bit weird now isn’t it? I’m just emailing and emailing you, and you aren’t replying at all! It’s like we met at a bar and you said you really liked me and you gave me your number, but you didn’t really like me, so you’re hoping that if you ignore me I’ll go away, but instead I’ve ignored the subtext of your silence and now it’s like I’m stalking you like some crazy person! Except it’s not really like that because you did offer me a gig. And I’m not crazy. I’m sure I’m not crazy. I don’t want to go out with you Dave. And the restraining order keeps me away from your house – ha ha! That’s a joke. I seem to have to keep explaining my jokes. Even though I have no idea whether you’re getting them or not, because you’re not replying.

If only there was some audience laughing a lot to prove I was funny.

Like there was at that gig I did for you.

Where you said you’d give me another gig.

Could you just reply to let me know my email is working. It seems to be working with everyone else.

Thanks,

All the best,

Pip

---

Dear awesomely powerful messiah in charge of booking,

(as I’m sure you would prefer to be called)

I have been trying to get booked back to do your gig for what feels like years, but you are ignoring me.

Obviously being the head honcho at a mid-level club you are incredibly important and busy, but I notice you have still found time to go on twitter spouting utter garbage and your pointless opinions about the news, so you would think you might be able to find time in your hectic schedule to reply to someone about the small matter of running your night.

Now, the logical thing might be for me to assume that as you have declined to reply to all 15 of my emails, perhaps you are not interested in having me back at your night in the immediate future. But then answer me this: How come when I left, you shook my hand and said, ‘That was brilliant. Very nice. We’ll definitely get you back for a paid 20. Drop me an email and we’ll sort it.’ Your words Dave – not mine.

Was that hot air? Guff? Do you say it to all the new comics? Why did you say it you didn’t mean it? Is this a game to you? Do you have competitions with your booker friends about how many emails you can get new acts to send before another part of them dies and they tick off your gig forever and you are left alone? Because if you do that’s mean.

You sir, are an ungallant baboon, and I detest you and everything you stand for.

Good day.

Pip.

PS. I am still available - let me know

Sham Marriage

Everyone thinks we're married. They keep addressing me by my boyfriends surname. If I was one of those chicks who desperately wanted to get married this would be an insensitive and continuous slap in the face. But luckily I don't really believe in marriage as a concept. A bit like Father Christmas. Or ghosts. Or Jesus.

I think it is at best a baby indemnity contract and at worst an outdated institution designed to regulate sexual activity within a society. A bit like Father Christmas. Or ghosts. Or Jesus. In fact especially Father Christmas. He is particularly known for checking who is fornicating and who is sleeping. It's all in his 1984-Big-Brother-inspired stalking song.

If I have to sign for anything, I have to sign my boyfriends name, as if I am his wife. Once I tried to sign my name, and they told me the room was registered in his name, so could I please sign in his name. So I did (technically committing fraud in the process). (Is fraud OK if you do it upon request by the person you are frauding?)

But now if my boyfriend sees that receipt, he might think I'm a fantasist that likes to pretend we're married. Which I don't think makes me look too good to be honest.

But it's not my fault. I'll have to go, 'No, they made me! They made me!' as he runs away in commitment-phobic haste. (You know, like in all the best sitcoms).

Then he'll come back, but alas, I will be trying on a wedding (as part of some highly likely plot twist) but of course he'll see it and get the wrong end of the stick, and run away again - but this time for real.

And I'll be left stranded in a foreign country contemplating that real life is no way like sitcoms after all.

It could happen...

Death of a Dodo

The best thing about being on holiday here - that's right the BEST thing - (no hyperbole) is that for once being English doesn't make me from the cuntiest nation.

Normally every time you go on an excursion in a foreign land, the tour guide will at some point say, 'And this here is where the English killed everyone' or 'This is where the English tortured the slaves,' or 'And then the English colonialised this town, raped all the children, and then burnt all the houses to the ground,' but for once this hasn't happened. It's been very liberating. My pseudo-catholic up-bringing can't touch me on this one. No collective guilt whatsoever.

You know who the bad guys are in the history of Mauritius? The Dutch. Bloody Dutch. It was the Dutch who arrived here and exterminated the Dodo. They killed it for sport (and it never ran away because it had never had any natural predators - so there can't really have been much 'sport' to that surely?) And the Dutch ships brought rats, and the rats ate all the Dodo eggs (the Dodo's only laid one egg a year) and then they were wiped out. A terrible, terrible shame on many levels, including the planets.

But not (for once) the fault of the English. It was those un-ecological Dutch bastards this time.

Then (not content with that - oh no) the Dutch killed all the indigenous giant tortoises. Again for sport, and they were all wiped out too. (There are now some giant tortoises on Mauritius, but they have been brought in and are not indigenous).

Our tour guide explained all this on the brilliant trip round the Island we went on yesterday, and then we came to a type of palm tree. Our tour guide said this palm tree was called 'travelers palm tree' (or something) because the leaves could hold water, so the Dutch planted them all over the island so that they could have a drink whenever they wanted. 'Oh, so the Dutch did at least do something nice as well,' we thought. No. It turns out that the travelers palm tree is killing all the other vegetation on the island and needs to be stopped. Strike three for the Dutch.

'I wouldn't want to be Dutch right now' commented my boyfriend to me. A finnish bloke on our tour heard him and laughed as well. We were all united in our gladness of not being Dutch.

I thought it would be funny if there actually had been a Dutch person amongst us, and every time some new horror of their history had been exposed, they just had to go, 'sorry.' and 'Yep, my bad, sorry again.' and 'Again, sorry, that was me too. Sorry.' I suppose it might have been awkward though.

But I enjoyed not being the cuntiest nationality on an Island for once, and made the most of it. If I had met any Dutch I would have totally Lorded it up. (Like when my English born mother went through this faze being really into her Irish and celtic heritage - roughly when River Dance was at it's height - and when we watched Braveheart together, she turned to my Dad, my brother and me and said, 'You see what you bloody English did to us?')

But actually I think it's a bit weird, holding a countries history against them. (And not just because the English are accountable for an inordinate amount of crimes if they do). Blaming the Dutch for killing the Dodo is a bit like blaming the Jews for killing Jesus, or the Americans for killing John Lennon. At the end of the day it's just a few mental people ruining it for everyone.

Still, bloody Dutch.

The psyche of an insecure comic

(thank god I'm not like this anymore)

Hey Dave,

Good to meet you the other night. Fun gig! You said to drop you a line to get booked in to do a paid 20, so let me know what dates you have available.

Cheers,

P

Hi Dave,

I don’t know if you remember me, but I did an unpaid open spot at your gig the other week that went quite well. You said something about getting me back for a paid 20, so let me know!

P

Hi Dave,

(I’m not sure if my emails are working at the moment) but I’ve been trying to get in touch with you about doing your night again. Let me know if you get this.

Hope you’re well,

P

Hey Dave,

I’m not sure if you remember me, but my name is Pip and we met when I did the unpaid 10 spot at your gig 2 weeks ago. It was you who booked me. I don’t know if you remember the night, but I stormed it. Lot’s of your audience were coming up to me afterwards to tell me they thought I was really funny, and as I left, you shook my hand and said you would definitely get me back for a paid 20. Please can you let me know what dates would suit you.

Thanks,

All the best,

Pip

....

.........

Dear awesomely powerful messiah in charge of booking,

(as I’m sure you would prefer to be called)

I have been trying to get booked back to do your gig for what feels like years, but you are ignoring me.

Obviously being the head honcho at a mid-level club you are incredibly important and busy, but I notice you have still found time to go on twitter spouting utter garbage and your pointless opinions about the news, so you would think you might be able to find time in your hectic schedule to reply to someone about the small matter of running your night.

Now, the logical thing might be for me to assume that as you have declined to reply to all 15 of my emails, perhaps you are not interested in having me back at your night in the immediate future. But then answer me this: How come when I left, you shook my hand and said, ‘That was brilliant. Very nice. We’ll definitely get you back for a paid 20. Drop me an email and we’ll sort it.’ Your words Dave – not mine.

Was that hot air? Guff? Do you say it to all the new comics? Why did you say it you didn’t mean it? Is this a game to you? Do you have competitions with your booker friends about how many emails you can get new acts to send before another part of them dies and they tick off your gig forever and you are left alone? Because if you do that’s mean.

You sir, are an ungallant baboon, and I detest you and everything you stand for.

Good day.

Pip.

PS. I am still available - let me know

Sex hate

Well I finished that there book. It made me sad at the end. The writer seems to take unnecessary delight in the casual day to day suffering of women.

I know the battle of the sexes - such as it is - is a traditional comic staple, but I only seem to mainly find it funny when the person making the jokes, is themselves so emotionally swept up with the particular battle they are in that it's part of the joke, and makes it (to me) more funny. Anger is funny. Pain is funny. You know, in a kind of Basil Fawlty type way. Or (here's an example) in Spaced when Simon Peggs character is really angry at the world (in particular women) because his ex-girlfriend has written him a letter. And one of the other characters says they're not sure why one of the female characters is angry with them, and he says (in a very sarcastic, aggressive way) 'oh no, that's right, you've got to guess haven't you?'

I feel like this joke is partly so funny because he is compromised with his reactions to the world, due to his pain, he is generalising and angry, and it rings true, as lots of people feel like that in the throws of an argument, or when they have just been treated badly by the opposite sex.

But this detached, cold, acceptance of that idea as fact, when not in the throws of a passionate argument, leaves me feeling a little bit chilled. That shouldn't the 'norm' attitude. Why can't we all just get along? We're basically the same. What's with all the women bashing?

There's a callous merriment in women being the but of the jokes, like the writer slightly gets off on them being punished. There's one bit where he gloatingly says something like, 'I liked Jerry, he had the energy and sparkle of someone who had just left his wife for a much younger woman.'

Because old women, they're rubbish aren't they? Fucking bitches.

I can't help but feel, that if it was more of a social phenomenon of mid life women leaving their old husbands and going off with young men, and making mean jokes about old men, and saying 'yeah, I mean he'd really let himself go, at least my 23 year old can get it up! Wah ha ha ha!' and all the meanest jokes you can hit men with, there would actually be more sympathy for the old men in question.

But what this book has done, is given me the impression that women are just seen as wretched whores in society. That not only do they not get sympathy when this happens to them, but they are seen as to blame, and suitable topics to be laughing stocks. This makes me feel a little bit sick and depressed, and has given me the feeling that my own future is probably going to be unfair and bleak.

Still, I am about to start reading The Atheists Guide To Christmas, and I've heard from reliable sources that that's brilliant...

I judged lest I can be judged. Seems fair.

By night watching beautiful comedy, by day reading intellectually stimulating books. Kind of.

I finished the Nabokov and have started reading a celebrity biography.

The celebrity biography is more of a page turner than the Nabokov (although I still had look up the word apposite) but I am irked by the casual sexism and pick’n’mix Catholic views in the expressed in it.

It seems flippant and uncessary to me to reinforce such unhelpful stereotypes about women so lazily, for minimal comedic value. Yes, aren’t women rubbish at sport eh? What a terribly shrewd and worthwhile observation. Cuh, what are we like eh? Women eh? Cuh. What’s that? we don’t understand the rules of sport? Do we eh? Cuh, what are we like. How do the poor men cope eh? How do they put up with us? Oh, wait, we get to be sex receptacles, but only if we have big tits. Phew. For a minute there it looked like I had no place in this popular and dominant world view. Oh wait…

At least with Nabokov I only had to over come paedophilic incest to continue reading.

So. Mainly to reassure myself I’d like to make the following coutnter points:

- Women can and do make jokes about falling over. I’ve seen it.

- The Catholic faith is really not an oppressed minority in this country, who are treated worse than transvestites. Get over yourself. They run most of the globe dick head.

- Men also play the ‘guess why I’m upset game’. I’ve seen it.

- Being a happy Catholic is not the last taboo in comedy. (Though it might be a contradiction in terms).

I initially thought I might be feeling anger, but now I wonder if it's just that I’m more bored of feeling alienated.

What can you do. I guess it just slightly has reminded me of the pointless arguments I've had with religious people over the years (one Catholic sex education teacher at my school in particular). You know, back when I gave more of a shit about fairness. and I get frustated by the convenient blinkered-ness of some people.

Not that I'm an especially impassioned or militant atheist (even my contribution to The Atheists Guide To Christmas is quite friendly and happy) But I suppose it bothers me when I feel like someone has looked at Catholicism, at all the crazy rules, and gone:

‘Right, let's see, what have we got here? No, OK, I’ll reject the bit that goes on about not having sex out side of marriage. That doesn’t really suit me. It’s a bit inconvenient. I quite like having sex. I tell you what though, I will keep the bit about hating gays. That doesn’t effect me directly, so it can’t in any way be a crazy rule. Yep. Homophobia, nothing wrong with. Phew. That’s my religious views sorted then.’

Aaaaarrghh.

I love 30 Rock

I am utterly in love with the TV program 30 Rock. Like a lot of cool things from America, I didn't get in on the ground floor on this one. I think I thought it was about aliens, confusing it with 3rd Rock from the sun. I think I just assumed it was some kind of spin off and didn't investigate any further. But luckily that was rectified by my boyfriend buying the box set for Christmas.

I haven't laughed out loud that much at a sitcom for ages. And I absolutely love all the characters. I feel like I could watch it again and again and not get bored. Tina Fey is a genius.

It's one of those shows where nearly every time someone speaks I go 'that's a brilliant line. That is my favourite line ever.' And then the next person speaks and I go, 'No, wait, that line. That's such a brilliant line. That's the best line ever.' God I love it.

Having said that, my particular favourite line might be the one about Yoko Ono. A posh fraudulent jewelry seller is trying to marry Alec Baldwins character, and ends up in an arugument with the more perceptive Tina Fey character. The posh jewelry seller defends her actions by saying, 'You know how John Lennon was always better than the rest of Beatles, but didn't know, until Yoko Ono told him? Well I am happy to be Yoko Ono.' Confused, Tina Fey (Liz Lemon) goes, 'Wait, you want to be Yoko Ono?'

Loads of people slag of Yoko Ono all the time, so to find a new way to do it that's so funny is just brilliant.

I am upset we have have finished the box set though.

But I will probably just watch them all again.

Cajan style.

Cartoons are great

So I thought I was having a pretty fine old time on holiday. My nose has stopped running, my head has stopped bleeding. And on top of all that I am on a lovely holiday with sun and beaches and palm trees. And cocktails.

But guess what, it just got better.

My boyfriend and I went to a restaurant where when they give you a main course, they pull of the posh dome metallic lid type thing - like in a cartoon.

A metallic dome - on food - like in a cartoon.

I don't think I can quite describe how happy this makes me.

Plus it was one of the things I needed to do before I die, and it has been successfully ticked off, only 6 days into 2010. Who would have thought I would ever have a metallic dome thing on my food?

My life has reached it's ultimate peak. Reality has blurred with fantasy and I am literally living like I am in a cartoon. (The ten year old me that wanted to become a mermaid would be extremely exited about this).

(I was also excited by the idea that this was posh, and I was experiencing how the other half live) but mainly I was excited that I was potentially an extra in any of my childhood hero cartoons. I half expected Tom and Jerry to run in at any moment and cause comedic mayhem. It's amazing how loving and wanting to be in a cartoon all comes flooding back to you.

Now if I could just learn to float up and follow the smell of tasty smelling food...

missed connections for anger management

You know those personal ad type things where people post-flirt with each other after meeting on public transport. They say things like, 'You were the cute brunette in the blue T-shirt on the jubilee line. I was the the tall blond man in the Mickey Mouse jumper. I got off at Westminster and smiled at you. Did we share a moment? Call me.' That type of thing.

They didn't have the guts to say anything at the time, so are doing it later, when it's 'less awkward' (although publicly) but anonymously.

Well I was thinking they could be introduced to tell people off when you don't have the guts to at the time as well. For example, I would put out an ad that says:

'To the blonde woman at breakfast this morning. I was choosing a banana from the banana bowl, and you just shoved your hand in and stole the banana that I was about to take. For shame! That is rude and inconsiderate behavior, and upon reading this, I hope you are very regretful and embarrassed, and will think twice before you push in front in the banana queue again.'

Yeah exactly, kerpow blonde woman! In your mildly inconsiderate face! Not so much fun to take my banana now, is it?

Or, alternatively, I could put:

'To the group of spoiled students on the underground standing EXACTLY where the corridor meets the platform so that no one can get past you on or off the platform. Yes you you morons. That is a ridiculous place to stand! Ridiculous! You are blocking the entire system. Next time you go on public transport please let common sense pervade and don't stand in a place stops people moving on the already unpleasantly over crowded underground system.'

Yeah, how do you like them apples? eh eh?

And:

'To the woman who's 3 year old was running round the cafe screaming, while you looked fondly on. Don't let your child run round a cafe screaming. Make it stop. It wasn't cute or sweet or in any way amusing, and looking at me, rolling your eyes and shrugging in a kids-eh-what-can-you-do-but-aren't-they-sweet-at-that-age type way, does not count as a parenting technique.'

Yeah, that's right. Down with children.

And finally:

'You were the arrogant and intimidating group of lads I had to walk past to get to the tube on my way back from a gig. I was the woman attempting to walk anonymously by you that you shouted, 'Oi! Give us a smile then!' at, and then, 'Cheer up love it might never happen!' and then 'Cheer up you stuck up bitch!' and then 'I'll give you something to cheer you up!' and then you laughed, jeered, made sarcastic 'wolf-whistle' noises, and spat on the ground. NEVER do this again. It makes you sound pretty rapey to be honest. Even if you are just all 'nice' lads trying to out-hetero-sexualize each other, this is no way to behave. You should stick to wanking in front of each other while deriding gays. Plus if you really hated feminism that much, logically, surely you would want to stop giving them more ammunition. Also please don't spit.'

Yeah, yeah, kerpow rapey men. I've hit you where it hurts.

So wouldn't the world be nicer place, if there was an extra way we could snipe at each other?

Umm....

out of delirium tiny acorns will grow

I eventually got over that thing about the seats. What with being in a tropical paradise and all.

Something about a big picture, I dunno. Anyway.

I have drunk and ate and swam and read and got sunburnt and got a cold. In more or less that order.

I figured to get rid of the red sun burn and make it go brown, I would have to get back in the sun, showing myself no mercy. So spent about 6 hours yesterday lying in the sun.

Now I'm not saying I have sun stroke, but when I came in, my head was bleeding and I was really tired. Plus my cold had got worse. So I spent a lot of today lying in the shade to compensate. Which means, logically speaking there can be no possible repercussions of lying in the sun for another 6 hours tomorrow. It's only fair. I took today off. (Plus, I thought the sun was meant to give you vitamin D or K or H or something. Surely it should have vanquished my cold?)

Come on science, do your thing and fix me 'fingers crossed for science' (I think the idea of crossing your fingers and hoping something scientific will work is hilarious at the moment, so I may not yet be completely better).

Earlier today in my delirium of weird sleep I had a brilliant dream. I dreamt that the entire cast of the original Richard and Judy morning show had agreed to play themselves in a sitcom about them, written by Mark Watson.

They all lived in the same little town, and would meet up in the post office to exchange gossip (like in Coronation Street). In the episode I 'watched' in my dream, some one wasn't allowed to get married, and when Richard Madeley heard about this (in the post office) he was outraged, and flew off the handle, saying 'you might as well stop soap and paper from getting married,' (which in my dream was hilarious, and make me laugh out loud).

Then our hero Madeley got distracted by the fact that the soap and the paper was actually on sale in the post office - which as far as I was concerned at the time, was a hilarious 'topper' of a joke. And I remember thinking that getting Richard Madeley to play himself in a sitcom, and writing all his social faux pas into the script, was a stroke of genius, and to finally be using his talents for good instead of evil. (I didn't seem to think it was in any way linked to watching Curb Your Enthusiasm before I went on holiday)

Again, dreams are meant to be boring and never repeated to other people, but evidently that sun-tarnished filter in my head is not working because I am highly amused by this nonsense and thought it was worth sharing.

I really hope someone will pitch it. Maybe Mark Watson.

Also on my holiday I am reading a book by Nabokov that I am arguably not bright enough to be reading and I have to keep looking up words. I have learnt the word 'fatidic' though, which means 'Relating to or characterized by prophecy; prophetic' which I am glad to know.

So I have been laughing and learning and getting delirious. It's shaping up to be a fun holiday.

And maybe my Richard Madeley-post-office-sitcom dream was fatidic... you never can tell....

Well you can. And it's not.

NITS

Happy New Year! Bonne Annee! Good day to you 2010!

Right. That’s the chit chat done with. The rest of this blog is just essentially moaning.

I have just had the most uncomfortable plane journey of my life. (And not in the social faux pas sense). I hadn’t said to the person next to me, ‘God there are way too many screaming kids on this plane. I’m with Scrooge at the beginning of the Christmas Carol on this one. People need to stop breeding or hurry up and die and decrease the surplus population,’ – only to find that they themselves were a mother of 7. That didn’t happen. Not this time. (You don’t make that mistake twice).

No my grievance was physical discomfort. The chairs we had to sit in were the most ill designed, ill-conceived of instruments for the conveying of humans on long haul flights that I have ever seen. In fact, I am not even going to dignify them with the title ‘chairs’. I am instead only going to refer to them as Nonsensical Instruments of Torture (NITS) from now on.

(Yes, I know, spot the spoilt brat – I am on a lovely holiday and I am complaining about the chairs (NITS) on the plane). This is a bit like saying I have a gold pyramid made entirely of gold in my back garden, but I am angry because the gold isn’t shiny enough. (There. That’s the self-aware disclaimer out of the way).

So let me tell you about these seats…

Actually I have tried to recreate them with my artists impression of the situation. Then I took a picture of my rubbish picture and put it on this blog. Yes I bothered to do that. Imagine if I applied myself to something sensible.

Right. So. The NITS.

Obviously they were all very closely packed together and there wasn’t much legroom. But that wasn’t the problem. I travel on public transport all the time and I am used to that.

On a normal chair you have a back that’s vertical, and the seat part that’s horizontal. But on the NITS the back of the chair wasn’t vertical. Instead it sloped forwards, slightly crushing the sitter, forcing them to lean forward and hurting their back (no matter how much they wriggled – much to the patient and quiet annoyance of their boyfriend).

The second problem with the NITS was that they had a ‘head cushion’ compounding this first problem. You couldn’t lean your head back or to the side in anything that might resemble a ‘sleep’ position. Your head was forced to slump forward, so you instead had to rely on the possibility of giving yourself loads of double chins to buoy you up somehow. Why couldn’t we lean our heads back? Why oh why? It’s such a simple pleasure. For the love of god, why? (Though I will never again take for granted the simple act of freely choosing which position I put my head in). (And I did try and pull my head cushion off my NIT at one point, but my boyfriend stopped me).

You might think you could overlook these two problems, because of course, once the flight takes off, you can put your seat back can’t you? Um, no actually. Not with the unusual modern technology choices of the NIT. When I pressed the button and pushed back, my NIT moved about half an inch, leaving it still not even vertical. Not even VERTICAL. My ‘reclined’ NIT was still forcing me to lean forward. On a 12 hour ‘sleep’ flight. Why didn’t we just stand up the whole time? Why even go through this charade of pretending to have seats?

My boyfriends chair actually reclined the full inch (the lucky bastard) and he did offer to swap seats with me, but I declined. (I felt I’d already ruined enough of his journey by that point, with my constant sighs, tutting, attempted vandalism and wriggling).

Interestingly there was an announcement notice at one point, advising everyone to try and get comfy and telling us not to lie on the floor, which my boyfriend found amusing, but which I found a necessary instruction, as that would have been my next move. And it proves I can’t be the first person to have this problem. By making that announcement this company is basically admitting it knows it’s NITS are shit.

The final insult of the NIT was a weird little sticking out ridge at the edge of the seat part, underneath where your knees bend. Which basically meant if you let the weight of your legs fall on it, it stuck into you and hurt; and you got pins and needles really quickly. (Which of course led to even more wriggling). Genius.

Still, I have been inspired to write a film called ‘NITS on a plane’ where the central character will be a murder witness heading for a trial against a gangster who wants him dead, and secretly follows him onto the plane, but finds the seats so uncomfortable he gets distracted and loses interest in killing him. Samuel L Jackson will shout at one point “I am I've had it with these motherfucking NITS on this motherfucking plane!"

It will be quite a hit, I can see it now.