It's incredible what we do to waste time while we're on this ball of fury and fuck-ups called Earth waiting for the welcome, comforting hand of death to blissfully strangle us and end the tedious suffering we drag ourselves through every awful, bastard day (if you've never read my blog before, Greetings). Last night I found myself in a Jazz Club. I don't know why I was in a Jazz Club. I'm not a fan of aural torture or fucking, fucking, fucking arseholes who use the word "scat" when what they mean is "I've forgotten the words, there's a pube in my throat and I'm having a haemorrhage". But my American Friends wanted to visit one of London's many, many famous Jazz Clubs before going back to St. Louis, a place that you can't wank in without hitting a Jazz Club, I discovered. As I had absolutely no idea that London had any, any famous Jazz Clubs I discovered Jazz After Dark in Greek Street online and thought "Fuck it, that'll do". And "Fuck it, that'll do" was the overall vibe of the place itself. Now, I'm no jazz expert but I think we may have discovered the world's worst jazz singer in the business. Firstly, she couldn't sing. I know that's not the be all and end all of being a singer but I still think it's a good starting point. Also, she couldn't remember the words or the tune or how to sit on a stool without cupping her vagina. Not only that but she looked like what a blind, deaf, mute child's drawing of hell might look like. Her wig was the same size as her and her cocktail was twice the size of that. To make matters worse she had got it into her 128 year old head that talking about her sex-drive would make her more appealling to an audience, although why any of the men she claimed to have bedded during "the time the alarm goes off and the time to go to sleep again" would want to go anywhere near her broken, terracotta fanny is beyond me. The person I felt bad for, besides myself, was her pianist. He was called Thomas and he could play brilliantly. Sadly, he was working with a singer that was tired and an electric piano that was completley knackered. It kept breaking down, as did my will to live. Basically, last night I paid a fiver to watch a drag queen dry heave into a microphone while an embarrassed man who looked like Toby Hadoke said "Shall we get the other piano?" on a loop. When the new piano arrived Thomas did a solo instrumental version of "In The Wee Small Hours" (I requested that) and then my friend Heather sang a song with him. It kept Terracotta Nightmare away for at least 15 minutes. It says on Jazz After Dark's website that what we saw was "Not To Be Missed!!!". Jazz After Dark are mistaken. Thomas was great, though.
After things like the panto, empty bars in Brighton and now the fucking awful bloody Jazz Club it may look as if I may have lost my level of standing with my two visitors. When you lose a certain level of standing with people that you like and admire it can hurt. It guts you a little bit. Makes you feel less of a man. So, how do you get yourself back to your former Man of London status? Simple. By being a man and doing a manly thing. The top half of my house isn't as warm as the bottom half. I didn't know why but I thought I'd find out. The heating was on but the radiators were cold. Hmmmm....Looks like I'm going to have to change the water pressure and bleed the radiators. Guess fucking what???? I DID IT! I did it all by myself. I tried to fix something and somehow while trying to fix it I actually fixed it. Did I phone my brother for advice on how to do it? NO! I did it myself! Did I phone my Dad for some help? FUCK NO! He's as bad as me at these things. I felt great fixing the heating. Like a MAN. I even gave my penis a thumbs up and a cheeky wink. I'd have kissed it but I kept hurting myself. This will probably be the last time in my entire life that I do something manly or even something useful so, please, let me enjoy the moment.
Today in the park I overheard a little girl shout at a little boy "Come back here now or you'll never see cheddar again". Kids are definitely tougher these days. That is all.