Friday night was the launch pad into Saturday... I found myself gigging in Ramsgate in Kent to a crazy bunch of people who were fairly keen on inflicting pain on their compere (me). In the front row sat an angry ginger man with eyes that looked like they could freeze blood in the veins... unfortunately, this only got worse once I'd pointed out that he looked like an angry ginger man. In fact, he offered to remove a few of my limbs. I mean, come on... why sit in the front row if you're going to be angry and ginger and not find it funny? His friends found it very funny and I think this is when he started insisting on hospitalising people. Not the best start to an evening. I made it markedly worse when I suggested that if he didn't want to be angry and ginger then he stop drinking pink drinks. He suggested smashing his snakebite into my face. In hindsight, taking away his deck shoes as punishment was not the best thing I could have done next but what's done is done and I just about survived. I've made a note in my diary not to get into an aggressive bantering session with people who look like they eat tongues.
Saturday morning saw us (me and a friend, not me and the angry ginger man) jetting down to Hastings to collect some stuff for Ink. What with stuff collected and a few hours to spare we decided to enjoy the sea front delights... this included the chocolatiest ice cream in the land, fish and chips with curry sauce and a ride on the whirliest ride since whirling was invented! Thankfully the ice cream came after the whirling so sickness was no induced. The ride was whirlingly brilliant... the only trouble was that when they brought the bars down to keep me in my seat, I'd forgotten I had the car keys in my pocket. All of a sudden a small bundle of sharp metal was being scrambled into my leg, threatening to cut off the blood circulation to my stumpy little limb.
As much fun as the ride was, most of the exhilaration came from wondering whether my leg would just fall off and go and knock out a Hastingsite. As dizzy as my head got it was quite difficult to ignore the purpling of my leg as the blood tried frantically to get through this bizarre new immigration.
Last night was a gig and a boozing session at The Canal Cafe theatre... as much as I adore that place, living there would just mean I spent an eternity singing bad Duffy and wondering why no one wanted to hang out with me. Bad State of Affairs. And now we're on to today - a gig in Colchester this evening and finally addressing my inbox which needs some attention. How exciting. Anyone got a whirler I can borrow for a few hours?