Friday, 12 June 2009

Not Going Underground.

It's all gone wrong. But where to start? Let's start with the tube drivers. I HATE TUBE DRIVERS. I haven't looked into why the tube drivers have decided to go on strike but I am still perfectly willing to scream an irrational knee-jerk insane response to it all.

They don't get paid enough. OK, that's a good reason to go on strike. Their starting pay is £40,000 (apparently). Hmmm...not sure that that's such a low wage. I mean it must be a dull job and you should get paid more if you're going slightly insane all day but I think £40,000 is quite good. Like I say, I haven't looked into it and have no intention of looking into it so these are the only "facts" I have at my lazy, lazy disposal. Either way, the drivers are still cunts. I was in Paris a few years ago and the Metro drivers were on strike but, instead of being pricks about it, they all went to work as normal and just didn't charge people for using the system. That got the public on their side. But this is Britain and we do things differently. Let's annoy the fuck out of everyone, hold them at ransom and demand more stuff. It took me an hour and a half to get from Shepherds Bush to Waterloo last night. Which meant I couldn't get to Kings Cross in time to do The Book Club and see Alexei Sayle and sickeningly fawn all over him. This strike totally ruined mine and I'm sure a few other people's chances to watch Robin Ince flap about on stage but could they fuck up the England football match? Of course not. The stupid cunts couldn't even do that. The tube drivers do not have my support (even if they do genuinely deserve a pay rise, like I say I've done no research whatsoever, I'm just blindly furious) and they never will. They made me late for a gig which meant I missed the gig which meant I couldn't hang out and drink at the gig which meant I had to hang out and drink in central London which meant by the time I got there pubs were closing which meant that there was nowhere else open except....THE FUCKING PLAYERS CLUB.

I went there a couple of weeks ago and got into a case of mistaken identity with an idiot. I met Johnny Candon and we went down for a quiet pint. I forgot, of course, that it's impossible to have a quiet pint at The Players Club. It's normally full of drama students circling a piano and screaming out show tunes. This time the drama students were joined by every drunken twat that works in the City. Nothing was more hilarious to them than singing Somewhere Over The Rainbow because it's gay and gay is stupid and fictional. Apparently.

Still, at least Johnny and I could talk, well we could shout, about our upcoming preview at The Funny Side of Covent Garden this Sunday. It was why Johnny is currently staying with me. It was why Johnny and I are meeting every day to work on it, re-write it and get direction from Dan Mersh. Then I got a text message from David Bourn, my ex-friend who runs Funny Side... Apparently we got the date wrong. The preview isn't until 5th July. God, I HATE the tube drivers.

No comments: