Monday, January 3, 2011

Guess Who's Back?

Ah London, how I'd missed wait, that's a lie. Bear with me while I just go and check the mirror for an extended nose. No wait, I don't believe in fairy tales. I just want to.

What an excellent beginning to this blog. Agree? Well fuck you buddy. If your opinion was that great you'd be writing a blog and helping to make the internet a forum for opining pricks without the good sense to leave their rooms and go and see the world they're hell bent on criticising.

I've made it safely back to London, thanks for the whoopie flags - they were greatly appreciated.

What the hell are whoopie flags?

Is whoopie sex? Because when I was about 9 the last song in my learn-to-play-piano book was 'Making Whoopie'. Nobody wants a 9 year old with painfully big knuckles murdering all 5 notes of a vaguely melodic starter-piece when they're trying to get their end away.

Also - want end is going away? That's a terrifying thought for any naive young man or woman that when the deed is done, half a knob is going to go flying off. Someone's going to be distraught and someone's likely to end up with an internal nubbin.

Perhaps it started out as a scary story - don't have sex or the end of your penis will fall off.
Don't have sex or a dirty man will fling half a cock into your personal glee quarters.

In which case, what do you threaten circumcised people with?

You're going to take more of it away?! What the hell's wrong with you people? Why bother giving me one in the first place??

I always thought whoopie flags were probably bunting, that seems the safest option and one that leaves no one with half a cock or an orbiting knob-end in their uterus.

Since I got back to London I've done an awful lot of housework and I've watched my shiny new Tim Minchin DVD that was waiting for me on the kitchen table. Exciting, huh? Of course, it's mostly the same songs I already have on his other DVD or on my mp3 player, but sometimes he uses different intonation. Exciting, huh?

I've got a few weeks between me and my next gig and so I'm working on some new material. I feel in my bones that 2011 is going to be my year. 2010 was a complete grind. I'm not saying it wasn't good (parts of it really were) but everything was really hard work. For a year. A whole year.

Human beings, young human beings, are just not built for that kind of exhaustion. We are brought up on education that spans 3 month max periods - we can only concentrate for that long without a week off at some point to run around and forget things. All of a sudden you hit your early 20s and someone tells you that you will be permanently doing work now - except for your 22 days of holiday.

22 days?? That is not long enough to plan to run away from home, pack a sandwich, slam all the doors as you leave home, eat the sandwich in the field and then go home before anyone noticed. As a child you wouldn't have even got through the "I can wear pyjamas until 1pm" by 22 days in to a holiday. Now, all of a sudden, you've got 22 days to span the WHOLE year.

Including Christmas.

Suddenly, Christmas isn't a right any more - it's a choice, do you want to use up some of your 22 days on the most precious of all precious family times?

If you're stupid, like me, you'll spend your 22 days in Edinburgh flyering, gigging and generally exhausting yourself beyond a reasonable level in the name of your 'dream'. It's not even like you've got a Martin Luther King style dream that's worth using up 22 days of paid leave for. You just want to make people laugh a bit.

I probably had a point when I started this rant. Hopefully you got it, if you didn't then we're in the same boat. If my de-cluttered bed is a boat and you are small enough to be here without me noticing.

No comments:

Post a Comment