Saturday, 29 November 2008


Last night was the second of the Christmas shows in Leicester and it was fantastic. I can't remember the last time that I felt so relaxed and confident onstage, especially at this violently drunk time of year. I even patrickmonaghaned an extra five minutes over my time even though it felt like I'd only been onstage for ten minutes total. I realise that's pretty selfish of me and disrespectful of my fellow performers but fuck them, I was having a good time. I think everyone had a good gig last night. Jason Wood out-camped Christmas, Paul Chowdry proved that racism isn't funny with all his racist jokes and thank God that Brendan Riley was compering otherwise we wouldn't know were all the homosexuals in the building were. It turns out nearly every man sitting near the front was a "gay boy". His Gaydar certainly is second to none although strangely didn't go off at all when in the dressing room with Jason which can only lead me to believe that Jason is in complete denial about his heterosexuality. All in all, it's great to be doing nice gigs with nice people although I'm very aware that its early days as far as Christmas gigs go. I'll get mine soon no doubt. Especially if you believe in Karma as right after the gig Paul Chowdry and I spent five minutes laughing at and taking photos of a car accident. We're awful people.

I'm now sick of God. Two nights ago I was having a drink with the very bubbly Ron Vaudry who started talking about religion. I agreed with him that it's not only ridiculous but that it's also a very socially dangerous thing. I thought cheery Ron and I were on the same page but then he started to say things like "You see, Jesus was a philosopher", which made something in my mind scream it's head off. Its 2008, everyone. Don't you think that believing in this on any level has now gone well beyond the patience of rational, forward thinking people? Jesus wasn't a philosopher because Jesus never existed. Never. Ever. Just like Moses and Allah and Thor and Spock never existed. The very fact that in 2008 this STILL has to be pointed out to people is terrifying to me. We wait until unspeakable horror happens, like a bomb going off, before we arrest people who are doing things in the name of their god but why? Why wait. Anyone going into any church, synagogue, mosque or Games Workshop should immediately be arrested for living inside a daydream. At the very least put the fucking nutters in an asylum. What's the difference between people who go around wearing plastic bags and claiming that this is "their" train station and someone who goes around wearing a small dead man nailed to wood and worshipping a universe inventing ghost? I tell you what the difference is, if that first guy sorted himself out a bit then maybe he COULD own that train station and yet he's the one who'll be carted off to the funny farm first. And the funny farm isn't even a very funny farm. There's no cows slipping on banana skins or pigs calling other pigs "gay boy", it's a series of injections and electrotherapy mixed with brightly coloured pills and Melody FM. So, basically, my new year's resolution, which is starting today, is to argue with anyone who even so much as looks like they might be religious. They had the last several thousand years, they fucked it up because they can't grow up. Don't you think it's the turn of the people who don't believe in magic? And if you are religious just have a think for a minute. Think about it. How can what you believe really exist? Just think about it for a while and I'm convinced you'll come to the conclusion that it can't exist, I'm sure of it because you're a lot smarter than you think. Anyway, that was all Ron Vaudry's fault, the joyful bastard.

On the same day as my religious experience I travelled upon a National Express coach, surely all the proof we need that there is no God. It was cramped, it was smelly and everyone on it looked odd. It was like they hadn't quite formed yet. The worst one was the driver who had tattoos of skulls on fire and a woman with blood coming out of her tit on one arm and on the other just one that said I Miss You, Mum. What a tribute. She must have been lovely. Not only did he look bizarre but he sang the whole fucking way to Leicester constantly turning to a passenger near him and saying "Don't you know that one?" Of course she doesn't know that one. No one knows that one because the words and tunes coming out of your broken mouth have never been put in that spastic an order before. More annoying than him was the lady sitting in front of me who not only shouted while using her phone but put it on speaker-phone so we could all hear the other shouting prick she was talking to. Once again it was up to me to ask her to speak a little quieter but all she did was give me information that I already knew. She said "You don't even know me", which is true but irrelevant and after three times of asking her to be quiet and her saying that, I finally said "Yes, I do know you. You're that annoying fucker on the bus" which made some people near me laugh out loud. She hung up, put her phone on vibrate and never answered it again for the rest of the journey. I hate the bus but I hate the bus because people who go on buses are cunts. If they'd just stick them in the same asylum as religious people I might start to get a bit happier. Hey-Ho.

I have watched everything that I brought with me. I've watched all of series four of Doctor Who (which is fantastic but bookended with the two worst episodes ever made), Superbad and Doctor No. This means I have nothing to do, which means I will have to venture out into Leicester. Leicester, the city with nothing. Wish me luck. Again.

Johnny Candon says Hi.

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