Although I will never blog again ever, if I was the sort of person who still blogged I'd probably be blogging about Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle. It's fantastic. I don't really know about blogging, because I don't do it, but if I did I'm pretty sure that I'd want to only write about great comedy shows that are being produced here in the UK and completely avoid talking about the few weaker one that somehow get made too. I hate all these angry bloggers who only complain about the rare,occasional, not up to par comedy programmes yet somehow miss praising the many, many great ones that fill our telly schedules. Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle is one in a long line of great comedy shows, like The Peter Serafinowicz Show, to name but the other one.
It's like cunting Horne & Corden had been taken out and shot, that's how good it felt watching Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle. It actually, wait for it, made me laugh. Remember laughing? At comedy, I mean? No, it had slipped my mind completely too. Laughing is the new Spangles and, like a likeable version of Peter Kay, Stewart Lee has reminded us of this forgotten thing of the past. It's such an interesting idea for a show; a funny man says things that are funny. It beggars belief that no-one has thought of this before (except Dave Allen). Obviously, with a new idea like this, you want to be careful not to alienate, confuse or terrify your audience which would explain fully why the BBC barely showed any trailers for it and didn't plaster it all over every fucking bus in London. It's a great show but can you imagine if anyone actually saw it? People might start thinking and then that would be the end of everything. People might start seeing a few of the hair-line cracks in other recent comedy shows starring a plank of wood and a fat cunt. I shouldn't really complain about it because it actually is nothing less than a minor miracle that we have something this good on TV. It's actually given me a little bit of hope. Plus I think that I, personally, deserve Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle. His response to anyone who has ever asked "Have you read Harry Potter?" is beyond superb. Thank the Lord.
Yeah, supporting well-deserved, good comedy is definitely the way to go if I was ever to blog. Last night I supported another great new comedy. And a shit one. The great one, I meant to support. The shit one was an accident. Alex Lowe has written a sit-com called The Green which had a read-through at the Soho Theatre as part of The Comedy Project. It was excellent. Well written and superbly performed. The cast alone was worthy of a night of 100 stars. It featured the man from the bank adverts (he was the first person to get killed in new Dr. Who, too), the sexy man from I'm Alan Partridge and one of Titty Bang Bang. A lot of people came just to see Alex's show. I know this because during the second show the room had practically emptied. I have no idea what the second show was called or who was in it but I will never forget it. I didn't want to see it but was persuaded to, by Alex, and I certainly didn't want to be part of it. But I was. I walked in late and the woman on stage who was dressed as a man (she had a hat on) dragged me to the stage to, basically, write cunt on my head. It was horrible. It was a one-woman (if you don't count me) show showing off the actresses varied range of characters such as man with hat, posh woman and annoying European whore. Now I'm sort-of fine being on stage when I'm doing my, you know, thing but when it comes to taking part in someone else's I just want the ground to open up and kick their fucking head in. I don't know what to do. Do I help? If I help am I just scene stealing? Who would win in a fight, the batmobile or a volcano? These are the questions that ran through my mind during this painful and unbearable five minutes.
At one point she forced me to wear a surgical gown. I would rather go through actual surgery than sit through this excruciatingly embarrassing so-called sketch. She then, I think, removed a multi-coloured hanky from my arsehole. I was then told that I could go back to my seat. I felt belittled, embarrassed and used. Then I felt ashamed. Because that's what I do to countless poor saps who innocently sit in the front row of comedy clubs all the time. What goes around, comes around. The hunter becomes the hunted. The man that did the thing that he did has the thing that he did done to him once. Yeah, wise words.