Cooling Down.

I'm not too sure why I didn't write more about the Comeidans Annual Christmas Piss-Up but I think it's got more to do with my paranoia than anything else. Not that I'm paranoid of people slagging me off if I slag them off, I think that's a lot of fun. And I'm not scared to point out the foibles of others. Let's face it; Adrian Poynton's new hair-do is weird. It's like it doesn't fit his head or something and I'm not afraid to let that be known. But it's not really worth writing about (or deleting, apparently). I'm much more paranoid, and this is utterly stupid, that people might think I'm copying Richard Herring's Warming Up blog.

I don't read too many blogs, just Richard's, Andrew Collins' and Robin Ince's. They're all very good. Way better than mine, that goes without saying. But it seems like everytime I write something it turns out that Richard Herring has already written something similar (but WAAAAAY better). I write about my pointless addiction to Monopoly, he's addicted to Scrabble. I write about the stupidity of the public when voting for the Top Ten Best Comedians in the UK, he did that the day before. I make a song and dance out of "celebrating" my 100th blog, turns out he celebrated 6 years of daily blogging the day before. That doesn't even count the amount of things I felt I couldn't write because I KNEW he had written about it before. The fucking cunt. And I really wanted a Podcastudio (Chris Martin recommended it to me. You know, the un-famous one) but I can't fucking do that now because Lightnin' Herring got there first. In a way I should feel very happy that myself and Richard think slightly in the same way. Yeah, we have a lot in common, me and Richard. If you put aside success, fame and talent and you'll have to if you want the previous sentence to work. But it's just annoying that the little paranoid man in my head (something Richard Herring has written about a lot) keeps reminding me that "Richard's done that". Well, fuck off, little paranoid man in my head (that I like to think looks like Stewart Lee). I'm going to write this anyway....

I was lucky enough to do one of Nobby Kash's gigs recently in Aldershot. It's a lovely gig with a very supportive and comedy savvy audience. On the bill was an act I've never met before. His name is Paul T. Eyres and after a quick Hello his follow-up sentence to me was "Do you know my friend Kevin Eldon?" Now, I didn't know if I knew his FRIEND Kevin Eldon but I definitely had heard of the famous actor/comedian Kevin Eldon but surely Paul couldn't have meant him? I mean, he clearly said "My friend Kevin Eldon" and not "Kevin Eldon from out of Big Train". Obviously, Paul, a wide-eyed innocent newbie to comedy, wanted to know if we had any friends in common and plucked a name from his address book at random not realising that it was the same name as a famous actor. Either that, or Paul was being a full-on egotistical ballsack whose feeling of self-worth was so minute that he had to prove his credentials by claiming to be friends with the man from that Twix advert years ago. I was very wary of Paul from that moment, even though he knew a fair bit about Peter Davison era Doctor Who. Then on tuesday at the Comeidans Annual Christmas Piss-Up who should walk in the door but Paul T. Eyres. He come to me and said Hello. I introduced him to a few people who he, quite fairly, assumed were all comedians. Charlotte Jo Hanbury pointed out that she was actually an actress. "Oh", said Paul. "Do you know my friend Kevin Eldon?" I howled with laughter. Then did a bit of screaming at him. Then laughed again. To be fair, I really warmed to Paul after that. He went bright red and, thankfully, started to laugh himself. I like him. Paul, you don't need this Kevin Eldon to prove yourself. Fuck him. It's not like Kevin Eldon goes around saying "Do you know my friend Paul T. Eyres?".

What came first? My cack-handed inability to do the simplest thing right or the theme tune to Curb Your Enthusiasm? I must hear that tune 10 times a day in my head thanks to me being an idiot. Yesterday I took Jerk for a walk in the park. If there's one thing that I hate (there's not, there's millions) it's dog owners who don't clean-up their dog's shit. It's disgusting. I mean, you wouldn't let your baby soil it's nappy and then go out and run over a prostitute, would you? I know that's got nothing to do with what I've just written but it's still a very valid point. What I'm saying is that part of loving your dog is being a responsible dog owner at all times. Jerk did a poo yesterday and I cleaned it up. Then she hurt her paw on a stick so I rubbed it, said little goo-goo things to make her feel better and gave her a treat. Then I noticed she was getting too close to a couple of dogs I hadn't seen before so called her away from them (there could be trouble). I called her away because I love her and don't want her getting hurt or her hurting another dog. She ignored me so I called again, this time in my gruff manly get-over-here voice. She heard it and came running. As she came running I had a MASSIVE phlegm attack. An ocean of gob filled my throat and mouth. I hate spitting but felt I had no choice. Jerk came to my right so I gobbed to my left. I gobbed to my left. I gobbed to my left just in time for Jerk to twist round to my left and get a face full of the biggest gob any human has ever produced. Just then a man, who up to now had been invisible, appeared and said "Next time, why don't you just hit it?" Had he seen me picking up shit and nursing her paw? No. He only came along when I spat on it. The fucking wanker. And then the Curb theme starts as he walks away. Was I always like this or did Curb Your Enthusiasm make me like this? Yeah, maybe I'm not only just like Richard Herring I'm also just like Larry David. God, I'm brilliant.

I'm writing this in my pants, listening to Script For A Jester's Tear while a dog continually licks my leg. Yeah, just like Richard Herring and Larry David.