Monday, 9 March 2009


Well, it was good. Not perfect, far from it. But it was definitely good. Last night’s King of Everything was certainly a lot better than I thought it ever was going to be. Yeah, yeah, yeah, we forgot lines, cues and entire sketches but we more than made up for that with tons of puerile childishness and cock jokes. Plus we had an audience! Albeit one practically made up of people we know. I’m very, very happy about King of Everything now and have learned three very important things from last night; it works, we need to do a lot of work on it and sometimes shitting your pants before a gig is a good thing. A bit of adrenaline helps a lot.

I’ve had an odd week of gigs. Thursdays was totally shit and great. While I was on stage, it was fun and the audience were nice though a little quiet. The big problem was that I was only on stage for 10 minutes. I was told to be at Stand & Deliver (I know, for fuck’s sake) in Worthing (I know, for fuck’s sake) at 8pm for an 8.30pm start. I’ve been doing stand-up for over 1000 years and yet I’m still often very naïve about things. When they said the gig started at 8.30 I ridiculously thought that the gig would start at 8.30. Fucking idiot I am. At 8.15 not only was there no audience but there were no acts either. I pointed this out to the manager who laughed and said “Yeah, we never start on time. We’ll probably kick off after 9”. I decided then and there that that wasn’t good. I had planned on going on first and getting the 9.30 train, that way I could be home before 6 in the fucking morning. I was sticking to my plan no matter what. That’s what I was told, that’s what I had planned, that’s what’s happening.

The gig was held in a place called Light Bar. It has pictures of semi-naked women and massive foam tits on the walls. These pieces of art fully compliment the shiny silver pole right in the middle of the room. Basically, it was less of a purpose built comedy club and more of a wank factory. Anyway, 8.30 came and went and still the compere, Paddy Lennox, hadn’t turned up. By now I was getting quite antsy about it. Not to worry, he turned up at 9.05 with a fantastic excuse; “Oh, I thought it started at 9.” Yep. Makes perfect sense. We’ll start right now, I was told. Right now means something different in Worthing. Right now means nothing is going to happen for another 10 minutes. The worst thing about the staff at this place was there infuriating friendliness. This just made their lack of giving a shit worse. They were constantly warm, welcoming and cheery throughout every bit of bad news they gave me or every thing that they didn’t do right. The fucking cunts. I finally got on stage at 9.15, got off at 9.25 and was driven to the train station with seconds to spare. They even gave me £5 more than I expected to get. Fucking idiots couldn’t even pay me right, thankfully.

Then the weekend’s gigs were compering at Up The Creek. The gigs were good but noisy and drunk. Not me, the audience. The two great things about Up The Creek were walking to the gig from my house (that was BRILLIANT) and watching Phil Kay. Phil Kay is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to get and you end up feeling a bit sick. This is the third time I’ve seen Phil and each time he has pretty much died. I know from other people that he can be an absolute genius on stage, and there were small flashes of that on Saturday, but I’ve yet to see the man at his best. The first time I saw him the entire audience walked out. I mean EVERYONE. The second time I saw him he just wanted to show photos of a trip to Australia while the room booed. I’d love to see him at his best because going on stage with no prepared material and your act working must be an incredible feeling and an incredible show. People I know have described Phil Kay’s shows as maverick and a true alternative. Anyway, on Saturday he went on stage and in the first five minutes made fun of a hen party, dropped his pants and sang a song about Ryanair. Very nice (and mad) man though. Plus he really, really smells. It’s a treat to walk through his cloud after he leaves a stage.

By the way, you know how you think James Corden is a fat fucking cunt? Well, that’s because you’re jealous. Look at this piece of “news” about the ego-driven fat fucking cunt:

I’m going to Margate with Jerk for two days. Jongleurs Camden is alone in my house for those two days. If he invites you to a party do not attend. Thank you.


B said...

Don't worry, once you see any clips of their upcoming film or sketch show, you'll realise he's gonna die a quick death soon enough.

Insults said...

You think James Corden is a fat fucking cunt. Up The Creek is where drunken hen parties go. They love it. Great place for comedy though. Topest Bloggest.