My thanks to Sophie Johnson who suggested that I watch this years British Comedy Awards. I was going to avoid it because I knew it would upset me but that's the point of this blog. Me being all grumpy. So well done, Sophie, for making sure that I'll never have a single moment of happiness thanks to watching that fucking smug display of back-slapping wankery. Comedy doesn't need an award. It doesn't fucking deserve one. OK, Geoffrey Perkins deserved his award and huge round of applause but then he did produce Hitchhiker's Guide To the Galaxy, Father Ted and Big Train. No-one else involved in this parade of oblivious idiots deserved fuck not nothing. They did their job. Mainly, they did their job really fucking badly. They don't need a fucking award for that! That'll only encourage them. NEVER encourage these people. Do you want to see another series of Live At The Apollo? Of course you fucking don't, you're not a tool, so please stop encouraging comedians. Anything good about it? Oh, yes. Firstly there was the galaxy of stars at the event. Alec Baldwin, Eva Mendes, Stephen K. Amos. Yeah. Apparently he's famous now. But my favourite part of the night was the moment were the industry seemed to turn on Ricky Gervais. He won the bestest funny acting prize and during his acceptance video received nothing but jeers despite the fact that he was doing that joke about winning Golden Globes that he always does. I think he's funny but, my God, is he a prick. Also I enjoyed the fact that, due to decency and morals, they replaced the host, because he berated an old man over the phone, with someone who snorts coke off prostitutes. Although Angus Deayton was good, I thought. Frank Skinner was very funny. Kevin Bishop proved he's just as funny in real life, which must be murder for anyone who knows him. But I thought it was the writers who did a really great job. There were some very funny gags throughout. They should let those writers write a comedy instead of filling in the gaps when comedians aren't waving to the cameras and giving their inflated egos a "happy ending". Please don't let this show go on again. It just reminds us how awful the state of comedy is while it astounds with the amount of people in the industry who haven't a clue how awful the state of comedy is. When's that Peter Serafinowicz thing coming on?
I did two things yesterday that were both a little bit sad and brilliant at the same time. I spent two hours in a pub on my own watching Doctor Who on my iPod. It was The Curse of Peladon which features the second stupidest looking monster in Doctor Who's history (http://shillpages.com/dw/story/d3/st--3m13.jpg) but is utterly brilliant. I realised that an episode of Doctor Who takes up as much time as it takes to drink a pint of beer, so that makes any classic episode 2 units. Unless it's a UNIT episode, that makes it 3. So, it definitely wasn't a waste of time to find that out. The second thing I did which was a bit sad but brilliant was to play pool with some old men that I'd never met before. It was brilliant for numerous reasons, one being that one of the old men wore a Cud T-shirt. But the main thing I liked about it was the feeling of nostalgia. I used to be a member of the St. Patrick's Snooker Club in Newtownards when I was 16 and regularly got beaten at the game by very old men who stank of tobacco and time. I would go down there with my friend Dotes, who wasn't an old man, and he'd always give me an automatic 100 point lead anytime we played. He still won because Dotes was very good and I was hopeless despite the fact that I was a twat with my own Two-Piece cue with my name carved into it. I also had a guitar that I couldn't play. So, last night as I was playing pool I almost won a game! That's pretty good for me. I had only two balls to pot when I made the stupid mistake of being crap. The old man took advantage of my weakness, potted everything and shook my hand in triumph. It was the shaking of the hand that really took me back to my youth. I used to shake old men's hands a lot back then but I rarely do it these days, unless I'm compering and Steve Jameson is on. They were very nice men, by the way, and it was a pleasure to lose to them.
So, that's what I did in the pub. One thing I'm seriously thinking about not doing in a pub, or at least doing it a lot less, is drinking. I'm not as good at it as I used to be and I used to be shit at it. I got drunk on saturday night, that much I remember, but the next day I had to be reminded by Rob Heeney what I had done the night before. I hate that feeling. I got two messages from him yesterday. One was reminding me that a cab office hung up on me because I was speaking with a stupid voice (unbelievably, I thought that was funny at the time) and then he sent a second saying how much he loved my pixelated Brucie. I don't know what that means and I never want to know. I like mysteries so let's keep that one in as much of the dark as we can. Is getting older really going to do this to me? My feet hurt all the time, I have grey hair and now I can't drink properly. Is it really time to slow down? I'm only fucking 40.
One final thing that you really don't have to read. Mock The Week is a cunt. I hate the programme anyway but yesterday I saw an advert on the tube for a Mock The Fucking Week book that had the statement "Thing You Don't Want For Christmas: The Entire Sylvester McCoy Doctor Who Boxset. Thing You Do Want For Christmas: The Smug Mock The Cunting Week Book". You have got me very wrong indeed, poster. You don't know me at all. I'd rather watch all of Sylvester McCoy's Doctor Who episodes along with a film of me getting my own head kicked in than live in the same postcode as a copy of the Mock The Week book. The thing that makes me angriest is that the Entire Sylvester McCoy Boxset doesn't exist but that crappy, crappy book that I've never read or seen does. Don't buy it. Instead write to the BBC demanding a McCoy boxset and then buy that. Thank you.
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