John Lydon has made a butter advert. Well, that's just fucking it. That's the final sign. We're all fucked on this planet now. How could he do it? He's had about four very successful tours with the Sex Pistols over the last few years, there's no way he needs the money. The stupid, greedy sack of awful. Even when he was on I'm A Celebrity, Well I Was Once, For About Five Minutes it was at least somehow strangely subversive but this is just greed. What a truly awful man. I mean, I could have done that advert. I need the fucking money not him. Ever get the feeling you've been had?
The rest of my time in Liverpool was great. I spent the day on saturday with Chris and his girlfriend Edda just roaming around Lark Lane going to nice cafes and pubs. I even got the chance to do more star-spotting. I saw Lee Mavers from The La's and, fellow Liverpudlian musician, Heidi from off of the Sugababes. She was drinking in a very cool bar called Negresso that's decorated like it's one big masked ball. It looks incredible. Heidi was out with her seemingly nice family and her loud, talentless boyfriend, the presenter Dave Berry. For those who don't know Dave Berry,he used to present some OK stuff on MTV but obviously fucked up by doing barrel-scraping game shows on E4 called things like Would You Fuck Him? It was genuinely great seeing Lee Mavers though because he was with friends, having a laugh and a drink. He seemed very relaxed and happy and not at all the skip full of mental the music press would have you believe. Maybe, just maybe, the reason he didn't want The La's album to be released is not because he sleeps upside down wearing a dress made of screaming every night and actually it's just because he didn't like it.
The gig at Comedy Central was easily the best of the three that weekend. Well, it was for me. The audience were fun but didn't have much attention span so as compere I probably got them at their best. Everyone did good though and it was a fine night. Afterwards I had a quick drink with the show runner, Ros (well, I had a drink standing near her while she paid everyone), and jumped in to a cab. It's one of the great things about being a famous comedian; even though you live in London you're still wealthy enough to get a cab all the way home from Liverpool and you'll still have enough left over for booze, drugs and slags. Sadly, I'm not a famous comedian so I got the cab to take me to the National Express station instead.
I don't really know why I thought that this would be a good idea because it's such a shit idea that it could never be a good idea because it's shit. It was a long, depressing journey and not just because I sat next to Des Clark, but mainly due to the fact that this cramped bus full of the thickest people on the planet wound it's way through some of Britain's most crappy crap towns. Chester, Stoke-On-Trent, Birmingham and Farumthia to name just a few and a made up one. And it took FOREVER. I don't have an iPod anymore (don't know if I've mentioned that) and my phone had pretty much no battery left so I had no choice but to either stare blankly out the window or not listen to Des Clark. I decided on the latter and the former. It was too dark to read on the bus so my only real option was to look around to see what other people were doing. Someone three seats in front of me got their laptop out and watched Cheaper By The Dozen twice! They must really hate themselves. The bus had one stop off for people to stretch their legs and kill themselves so Des and I decided to look for a snack. Des is a very successful comedian who headlines clubs all round the country and has his own Five Live radio show therefore the snack machine worked for him. I'm a fat compere so the machine didn't even try for me. I picked a snickers and watched the little swirly thing in the machine push the snickers as far as it could go without letting it drop thus reminding me of my place. It did me a favour really because I didn't really want it, I certainly didn't need it and maybe the next person who buys a snickers there will end up with two and get very excited about it and, in a way, that makes me happy. Then again, they might get two snickers and eat them both really quickly and make themselves sick and, in a way, that makes me laugh.
The bus (let's not dignify it with the word 'coach') finally got in about six, I got home at seven and found myself wide awake again. This really didn't help my jet-lag. I lay on the sofa, put a Colin Baker Doctor Who on and was out like a light. The rest of the day was all a blur and I still feel out of it right now. Went to sleep at midnight last night, woke up at three, watched more Colin Baker then went back to bed at seven. It's really all a bit odd. I actually feel a bit numb. Mind you, I came back all cylinders firing when Britain's Got The Pop Factor came on TV. I watched about 25 minutes of this shit. It's such a cuntload of embarrassment that even the fat sack of scrapped Victoria Wood sketches himself isn't in it much. In fact, he wasn't in any of it that I saw which was only a small mercy. Basically, what this prick is saying is "Hey, don't y'think that them programmes are right daft, mam, and folk in them are a right bunch of knobs and, eeeeeh, d'yer remember Spangles?", which is a bit like saying "Don't you think grass is green?" It's a fully pointless comedy that says nothing that we don't already know and don't give a shit about. In fact, X-Factor is much funnier than Britain's Got The Pop Factor and X-Factor is not funny at all in any way. This is what this rich wanker has the nerve to come back with? He's done fuck all in 5 years except that song that he had absolutely nothing to do with whatsoever and this is how he says "People, I am back"? The person who sends out Channel 4's rejection letters to writers (mainly me) must be the most embarrassed person in the country or, in reality, a fucking moron without taste or shame. The cunt.