I have now seen the very best and the very worst of Southampton and I saw them both in the same hour yesterday. I’d only packed for a three day visit because Paul Sinha had promised me a lift to and from the gig every night and then he crashed his car on purpose because he’s a spiteful bastard, therefore I had to go to the laundrette. I actually like laundrettes but that’s probably because I never have to go to them. This laundrette was really nice. It was very big and extremely clean and had four assistants who actually did their jobs and helped. While waiting for my dirty, dirty underwear to wash I sat reading and sort of eavesdropping on a conversation between a woman in her early twenties and a much older, white-haired lady. They had obviously just met for the first time and were very friendly towards each other. I didn’t listen too much because I really got into the book I was reading but the bit I did catch was as the older lady was leaving with her washing done. She turned to her new friend and said “Well, it was very nice to meet you and you’ve certainly brought a ray of sunshine to Southampton”. Isn’t that just lovely? I was just lifted as I heard it. People never talk to each other in this country, probably for good reason, let alone compliment each other. It’s such an incredibly powerful force, being nice. People don’t expect it and when it happens it feels great. It can honestly just make you feel so much happier than you were. I certainly was a lot happier. I thought, you know what? Southampton’s really not such a bad place.
Then 45 minutes later I saw a couple give a pint of lager to a Rottweiller.
I can’t wait to leave here. It’s the last day today and it really couldn’t come quick enough. One of my main problems about being outside of London gigging is the lack of food. There is pretty much next to nowhere to eat outside of London and I really don’t know how non-Londoners actually survive (actually, Brighton’s pretty good). It’s basically chips, sandwiches or fuck all. Or a Wagamama’s if you’re very lucky. I’m in Southampton. I am not very lucky. The first day here I woke up and fancied a Burger King breakfast. Horrible, I know, but I never really eat them and I fancied something greasy. I walked into Burger King just as it opened. I was the first customer of the day! Or at least I would have been if I hadn’t walked in just as a member of staff was lifting a huge bag of, what looked like, liposuctioned fat out of a machine. It was like that bit in Fight Club. You know that bit in Fight Club? Yeah? That bit were I walk into Burger King, see a massive bag of, what looks like, liposuctioned fat out of a machine and then leave? It was a bit like that.
Paul Sinha, apart from ruining my week by FORCING me to stay in Southampton, recommended that I watch The Royal Variety Performance on BBC iPlayer. I did. I’m glad I did because Rhod Gilbert was utterly fantastic in it. I can’t say I’m a fan of the royals and I think entertaining them would leave an ulcer the size of Tony Gerrard in my stomach. But, if you’re going to do it then know your audience and definitely have some great gags aimed at Prince Charles himself. Rhod did all that and it was great to watch. The rest of the show was mostly crap because it was all singing and ballet and shit. The main piece of shit came from, surprisingly, Peter Kay. Is this what he does for a living now? Drags up, does karaoke and avoids jokes like they’ve got European Flu? Fine if the prick wants to steal the limelight with some of the most high profile spots on TV but at least tell a fucking joke or two while you’re there or, and I’m only throwing this out there, fuck off.
Just thinking about that smug ballbag just fills me with full-fat fury. I’m going back to the laundrette. I like the laundrette. It’s beautiful. And it’s mine.