Thursday, 19 November 2009

Los Quattros Cvnts!

What a lot of fun the last couple of days have been. Los Quattros Cvnts made their debut at The Phoenix on Tuesday and Wednesday and I'm pretty content to consider it a flawed victory. On both nights we were lucky enough to attract really lovely, supportive audiences (although some of them found Paul's drool disgusting) who made it a much less stressful time for all four of us. Thanks for that. Every sketch got laughs (not every joke, obviously), it was enjoyably all over the place and our guests were superb. Very big thanks to Andrew Collins and Jason Manford and a little bit more thanks to Rich Fulcher who did the show on his birthday when he could have easily gone out and done something better. Except he couldn't have because it was brilliant. Hopefully we should be back from January to start our monthly residency.

More thanks goes to everyone who came to watch. We had a very respectable audience on Tuesday and it was a few from Sold Out last night. Particular cheers to a few Precious Little podophiles and others who made it to both nights. I particularly liked how big a laugh the punchiline "Robin Ince" got on the second night. He would be so happy to know that, although we were taking the piss out of him, so many people recognise him as an angry, Godless household name.

I meant to write about this in my last blog. I have a problem with sport fans. I may have mentioned that a few million times before but I think it demands repeating. Apparently telling a sport fan that you don't like sport isn't enough. They will continue to spout sport tedium at you despite your claim that you have no interest, the look of boredom on your face and your mumbles of "shutupshutupshutupshutup". On Sunday night, in between a LQC rehearsal and shouting at Doctor Who, we decided to go to the pub. Jeremy lives in an area of London where shit pubs are the order of the day. There's two of them. One is really shit while the other is merely shit. Although it's further away we decided to make the effort to go to the shit one. We got our seats and I went to the bar to get the drinks. The barman took my order and asked if I'd watched the match. I told him, very politely and in a friendly way, that I'm not a sport fan. "Really?", he said. "It was close though, wasn't it?"

Oh, for fuck's sake.

"The thing is that means we still have another to go through before qualify", he bored.

"Right", I coma'd.

"France....blah blah blah....very strong first half...blah blah blah...we should have won...blah blah blah...they came from nowhere in the second half...blah blah blah....Know what I mean?"


"If we'd have had the original squad...blah blah blah...the game was ours...blah blah cousin was there...blah blah blah...couldn't touch the ball"

He had only poured one pint so far. This was taking ages and he couldn't shut up. I looked at my phone about five times. I folded my arms and sighed. I looked away. I repeated "I don't watch it" over and over again yet NOTHING could stop this boring wanker from killing me with words I don't know.

At one point, He asked me if I knew who should have played in the team and I could kick myself for not saying "Ray Reardon" just to see what he would say. He finally poured the last pint and when he handed me the change he cheerily said "Still, the next one should be interesting if they sort themselves out". Because I hadn't been listening I allowed myself to imagine that he was talking about Sex And The City: The Movie and that nearly cheered me up. But only nearly.

I sat down with Dan, Paul and Jeremy and screamed about how frustrating the last five minutes had been. They looked at me like I was a pathetic mess. I was asked if I ever have an uneventful day where I don't want to kill. That really made me laugh. For a second.

It is a treat working with these fine gentlemen and I look forward to starting up again in January. The feedback for the shows has been great (despite people leaving during Paul's drool bit). Twitter was full of LQC fun when I looked this morning. I was particularly happy that Peter Serafinowicz had responded positively to being mentioned in our Twitter Play sketch last night. Someone had gone on Twitter and tweeted about it while it was happening. We heard about his reply during the interval. That's how quick this big fast modern world works these-a-days. So, thanks for that Twitter people. I'm even happy to say that I have annoyed someone on Twitter. Someone felt that they needed to write "enough with the C-word. Jesus, some of us got over that at 15". His name is Rumpio. Yeah, that's how mature he is. His Twitter welcome message is "I wear my sunglasses at night, so i can, so i can watch you weave then breathe your story lines". I mean, why wouldn't I take his advice? The cunt.


BLaCKouT said...

You have my sympathy with the bar-tale, sir. Can't be arsed with any sport either.

Apparently, it's okay to shout at a television in a pub, when a bunch of men you don't know are (or aren't) doing their overpaid jobs properly. But because I have a Star Wars tattoo, "I'VE" got no life.

The cunts.

Anonymous said...

"Boohooo, someone said I swear too much, booohooo. I'll use whatever flimsy information I can glean and take the piss. Yeah, I win! For I am Michael Legge and I call everyone a cunt! Hahahaha, bow to my superior wit. Come and see me perform on stage, I might not be as funny as that though, it takes a lot of effort to be this funny."

Sodhats said...

Fuck off Rumpio