The human race. They're a let down, aren't they? I went into the middle of town on Saturday to have a quick birthday drink with Miriam Miller and that meant passing some of the exciting theatres in the heart of London's glittering West End. There was a queue on for Dirty Dancing at the Aldwych Theatre. Not just a queue but a huge queue. One that snaked down the road and in front of the Waldorf Hilton hotel. It was depressing. Surely there's something better on in the West End than Dirty Dancing? Hasn't Hamlet got a play on or something?
The queue of people were terrifying. I know as a stand-up comedian that as soon as I see a hen night I get a bit vomitty but surely that must be even worse if you're an actor/singer/dancer. At least we can tell them to shut up but I'm sure that would ruin most searing love ballads if you had to shout SHUT THE FUCK UP, THIS ISN'T TELLY, I CAN HEAR YOU at some giggling, drunk, fuck-cattle. Sadly, this is maybe what some shows in the West End has come to.There is a lot here now that caters for the idiot. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong about wanting to go out for a sing song but it seems like pretty much every show does that now. And Dirty Dancing? For fuck's sake. It was a TERRIBLE film. I mean really, really awful. If anyone actually liked it they should be cared for my experts or shot, not given the live experience. But, I have to admit, there were a lot of people waiting eagerly to get into the theatre to watch it so what do I know? Well, I know that Dirty Dancing fans like to really dress up for their night on the town. They wear garish gold shoes, enough make-up to hide all human features and brightly coloured dresses that show off just enough of their tattoo tributes to their children. What mum could do more? Still, it was funny to see so many bored looking men outside too.
After the drink with Miriam I was off to my gigs. I kept thinking about the queue outside Dirty Dancing and realised I was being stupid. I've lived in London for 20 years and don't go to the theatre enough. I should change that. There are lots of good shows out there. Aren't there? Then I passed by a poster while on the escalator in Holborn. It was advertising La Cage Aux Folles and featured a picture of John Barrowman in drag looking surprised. For fuck's sake.
My bad luck is still running on a high this week. Not only is my telly broken (and don't think I wasn't thinking of those Dirty Dancing cunts leaving all their tellies behind so they could go out and pay £60 to see a big fat musical turd. No doubt all Sky+ing The Kevin Bishop Show so they could all go back and have a great laugh before bed) but now my phone is broken too. It doesn't ring, vibrate or display a name when someone calls. If I answer when you ring me then that is an utter coincidence. Now my iPod is on the blink. It seems to be skipping songs it doesn't like. It played all of the latest Cyndi Lauper album but refuses to acknowledge Marillion. It would probably LOVE Dirty Dancing. Then on Saturday night, the inevitable happened: I broke.
I've been pretty happy with my stand-up lately, something I obviously shouldn't be. I've had a"new" piece of material for about 6 weeks and I'm really enjoying it. I've performed it maybe 12 times now and each time it has gone down well. Sometimes it can last 3 minutes, other times it goes on for about 15. Then at my first gig on Saturday it utterly died. The whole audience just stared at me and I felt a total idiot carrying on with it. Crap. Still, that's just a one-off. I'm still pretty confident with the piece. Well, I was until my second gig. The audience there just stared again while I pretended that what I was doing was a suitable thing for a 41 year old man. I'm an idiot and I felt dirty. Dancing about on stage and clawing at dignity doesn't suit me. Where is that audience who wanted a load of old crap when I need them? They're at the Aldwych Theatre, aren't they?