Lovely gig, lovely night.

It was our weekly long live comedy gig last night (dog and parrot, 8:30 every tuesday, only £2, tell your friends), which was great. The room was packed, the acts were of the highest quality, and the general banter was of brilliant.

I performed the 'my reality tv experience' blogs, and realised the difference between performing and writing. The stage version needs to be a lot shorter, snappier, and with more gags. That said, I was talking to John Scott afterwards, and he was saying about how he has stopped chasing the laughs. If you are confident in the material, the laughs will come, just be interesting. That worked to a certain extent, the funnies were in the story, it was just a case of being patient, and remaining interesting.

The rest of the night went very well. The competition was the funniest one we have had since we did twisted sayings:

Don't judge a man until you've walked a mile in his shoes. If you still don't like him, you're a mile away, and you've got his shoes.

This week was new ideas for reality TV shows. I can't remember which was the winner, but my favourites were:

Who wants to be a Milliner
Charver Safari - South African hunters drive through Benwell shooting anyone in a tracksuit.

Highlight of the night for me again was Donnachda. That boy is so good. He performs with real style, and crafts material in a way that Woody Allen would be proud of. Maybe even a little jealous.

After the show, I was talking to a lovely lady who I haven't seen for a while, and I wanted to be really forward, and kiss her goodbye. Sadly the room was boiling hot, and I had a dead sweaty face. This was not the image I wanted to portray, so we did a funny little wave goodbye. I should have had faith and dived in anyway.

I was wearing an England rugby shirt, and got accosted later in town by various celts wishing my team no luck at all. This was all very friendly and very much reciprocal - can't wait for the 6 nations to start on Saturday, even though I will have to listen on the radio because I will be en-route to Edinburgh.

When we dropped some stuff off at Callum's house, he decided to show off his new shelves. The shelves to end all shelves. It filled the wall of his front room, and was like a load of pigeon holes. I put my shoes in one of the gaps and asked him for some size 12 bowling shoes.

Pete said it was time to quit being a postman if he has got to the point where he is installing his own sorting office at home. You're addicted to it!

Todays words of wisdom. If you are really proud of something, don't show it to a comedian, their response is always to take the mickey. We are bad people.

Latent anger and fun in ed.

I think I love Edinburgh. Not just is it a beautiful city, with surprisingly placid bouncers (one day I will tell the tale of my stag night), but the Stand comedy club is the nicest club I have ever been to.

The audience last night was almost like canned laughter - every time I reached a punchline, they responded with warmth. Everytime I tried to extend a joke with a daft facial expression, they responded with warmth. I did a 30 second mime on the spur of the moment, they responded with warmth.

Its not all about them though, I was quite pleased with my performance as well. This was the first time I have ever worked with no notes written on the back of my hand. This was the first time that the nerves have been so bad that my stomach hurt.

Carl Hutchinson taught me that. When we went to Manchester, I was arrogant, didn't prepare, and got what I deserved. He barely slept all weekend because he was practising. I got lazy. That must change.

I spend a lot of time doing small gigs in pub rooms that are just hard work. It is a joy to get the chance to do great clubs from time to time. This was my first proper gig of the year, and long may this level of fun continue.

And it has gone some way to relaxing the latent anger I have had in me since Thursday. I have tried to laugh it off. I have tried to ignore it. I have tried to confront it. I don't know what it is, to be honest. I have this overwhelming feeling that people are taking advantage of me.

I have no evidence or reason to think this, but it is really getting to me. Simply because I have no idea what's causing it. Its like a brain version of stomach cramps. I think I need to get back into rugby to vent some latent aggression.

There are only so many hobbies you can fit in.

My reality TV experience. Pt 3.

So we have stolen wine from the gaoler. We are kings in the eyes of the pretty girl, and in our own minds too. We have broken all the bottle opening devices obtaining the wine, in an act of sheer irony. But we we've all been students, so it was a simple matter of pushing the cork into the bottle using a wooden spoon. On top of the world.

"this is big brother, could alan please come to the diary room"

I wandered in, flushed with pride and good humour. We had named the various voices of big brother. I think this one was Karen, but it was a while ago, and I struggle to remember. They didn't seem to like being named, but also didn't order us not to do it. There was a fluffy mic above the jacuzzi called Colin.

Big brother demanded that I bring the bottles to the diary room. I very sadly, dejectedly, went out into the house, and apologised to my cellmates, and explained that the bottles had to go. So we decanted the contents into glasses, and I took the bottles to the diary room.

Big brother, now in somewhat impatient tones, explained, that wasn't exactly what she meant. There was a short discussion on semantics that big brother did not seem impressed with, and my tone at this stage had drifted into condascension.

I was sent to retrieve the contents of the bottles. Very little of it remained, but I did take some wine and a beer, and drank them. I then returned to the diary room and explained that I had what remained of the booze, but if big brother wanted it, big brother may have to wait for a while. It'll come back, just in a slightly different form.

I'll be honest, my memory fails at this point. More due to my final trick of the night than the fact that it was a couple of years ago.

We had an unpleasant last day, Maxwell was dutifully binned out of the house in a mock eviction. We all promised to stay in touch, and then left, comfortable in the knowledge that we wouldn't. I did talk to Tom a couple of times after the show. Most notably that summer, when we exchanged 'you'll never guess which arsehole got in the house' texts.

I didn't find out about the newspaper article until I got back to work after christmas. My boss was one of the few people I was allowed to tell about where I was going. He saved the Sun for me. I was the last paragraph in their big brother preview.

Given that I did get naked, I did nearly have a fight, and I did break the bracket on the fridge lock, I did pour water all over the seat which didn't smell the same again, I suppose I could have expected comment. But for those small things to be reported as a 'drunken naked rampage', I consider over-egging the pudding somewhat.

And that, dear reader, was my reality TV experience.

My reality TV experience..pt 2.

So I'm essentially locked in a cell, with 7 strangers. One of them is a cockney bully who I can't stand, but everyone else likes. The cell is designed to make you uncomfortable. It smells a bit funny. The sauna doesn't work. There is a locked fridge, with a clear front, full of booze.

Sorry? Say that again.

There is a fridge. In full view. Under the counter. Full of booze. Its locked. We've been staring at this damn thing for 3 days. Its our last night in there. About 2am. We ran out of booze an hour ago. Its too much to take.

Most of my cellmates are in bed. The only ones still awake are me, Tom the young lad I got on well with, and Jody (sorry, Jode) the hot 'marketing' girl. Tom and I set to on the fridge. The lock consisted of a clasp with a padlock on it. We decided its not too hard to crack.

About 5 spoons fell to the mighty padlock and clasp. We wrecked the bottle opener too. A sharp knife was shattered. Not one of the rudimentary tools (or cutlery) that were available was doing the trick. We began to bemoan our increasingly desperate lack of basic metal working tools.

I think most of the Big Brother scary manager types were in bed, because it was a good hour before the announcements started. Eventually, the chastising began.

'Housemates are reminded not to intentionally damage anything in the house'
'Housemates are reminded that they are liable for any damage they cause on purpose'

Eventually it got a little pathetic.

'Would housemates please stop damaging the fridge.'

To be honest, we were still a little drunk from the booze we had been drinking prior to this, and the announcements were ignored. Jode became dismissive about our mission. Other housemates woke, wandered in, and criticised our feeble efforts to wring the last drop of booze out of the house. "Ignore them, they are idiots" I heard one say. Tom and I continued in our task unabated.

Then, a moment of clarity. Sod the padlock and its clasp, just pull the bracket off. Brilliant. We would have unscrewed it, but all of the knives had been abused in our desperation, and none of them could be used as a servicable screwdriver. Brute force and ignorance took over. Using what cutlery was still reasonably un-mangled, I pulled the bracket off the side of the fridge. It took me about 15 minutes. The door had the padlock and clasp still on, but they were unattached to anything. I AM A GENIUS. It only took us 2 hours to get in.

Suddenly, Tom and I are no longer idiots. Suddenly we are Very Nice People with Lots Of Initiative. Suddenly Jode thinks we are cool again.

Not being the types to bear grudges, especially (if I'm honest) with beautiful ladies, we allowed her to have some of our dirty booty. By which I mean the stolen booze, not the American slang 'booty'. That would have been a little forward.

A nice glass of wine? Excellent. Where's the cork screw? I think you destroyed it.

Bugger.

My reality TV experience..pt 1.

Apologies, this could be long.

A few years ago, I applied to go on Big Brother. It appealed to the idiot in me, spend a summer sat in a house, becoming famous in a way that will render me forgotten by Christmas. Fame, but fame light. I liked the idea, so i went for it. I am quite entertaining really, so I thought I had a chance.

I didn't get in.

A few months before christmas that year, I got a call from a girl called Hannah, from Endemol. She asked if I wanted to go into the house for 3 days, so they could do a dress rehersal prior to Celebrity Big Brother. Apparently it was for the crew - to make sure all the cameras were working, try out challenges, that kind of thing. I snapped her proverbial hand off.

I actually thought it was some kind of elaborate hoax up until the moment I stepped into the house, but it was real. One other guy was there, I was second in. People began to arrive, and to my eternal discredit, I now struggle to remember their names. I did see some of them pop up elsewhere though. Some I remember.

There was a big boobed girl from Leeds who appeared on 'Beauty and the Geek'. Her dream in life was to be in Heat magazine.

There was an absolute imbecile from Scotland called Cheryl, who later appeared in a show where they convinced people they were being trained to go into space.

There was a girl called Jody who told me she worked in marketing. When pressed for details she told me that she goes to shows for 'Max Power' magazine and things like that, and stands near the cars wearing a bikini.

And, there was a boy called Maxwell. The following summer he was in the normal Big Brother show.

It is fair to say that Maxwell and I did not get on. I remember watching him go around the group, and pick at them, take the piss, to see which of us were easy to bully and which weren't. I knew exactly what he was, but he was distinctly unsure about me. In that kind of situation, I can become very passive. Loud and excitable, but I don't take charge unless I am comfortable in a situation. He took this as a weakness, and tried to pick on me. It didn't last long.

To be fair to him, he was a very quick witted guy, and very funny. Sadly he was completely unable to be funny unless it was at someone else's expense. Using the give-them-enough-rope principle, I made him look a bit daft on a couple of occasions, and he eased off on me. The other reason he let up on me was that Cheryl was rapidly becoming the oddball of the group.

He picked on her relentlessly. He made her life hell, and made himself look great in the eyes of the pretty but dim girls that were there. I didn't like Cheryl, she was selfish and boring, but she didn't deserve that kind of treatment. I would give back to Maxwell what he was dishing out to her, as retaliation. What I couldn't handle, was the amount to which the other housemates were lapping his bullying up as if he was some kind of comedy genius.

I got angrier, and angrier, and angrier.

When you are in that house, you start to realise little things. At a certain time of night, or if there was alcohol involved, angled halogen spotlights would come on. You wouldn't really notice them, but there was always a strong light in the corner of your eye. Just enough to niggle you. Also none of the angles were regular, so your perception of the room is slightly skewed. There are probably many more of these little tricks that play with the mind. This was all putting me on edge.

One night, a lot of booze was taken. For some reason, Maxwell threw a glass of water in my face. Funny eh? Being me, I waited an hour, then filled a bucket, and drenched him. He made wild claims about ludicrously expensive shoes being ruined. He took offence to my reaction to his burberry coat (my god he's a walking cliche I shouted). He began a face off. Thrusting his chest at me, walking into me, acutely aware of cameras everywhere, and wanting to instigate a fight without throwing the first punch.

I pushed him. He was dragged away by someone. I was very angry, and felt I had to defuse somehow. I removed all my clothes, hid a change of clothes in the sauna, and sat in the jacuzzi breathing deeply. I calmed down. I watched him take my suitcase and put it in the shower, and switched the shower on. I remained calm.

Now, why it occurred to me that nakedness was the answer to this problem, I do not know. It did work though. You can't argue with results.

I later went, naked, and talked to Maxwell, that we should shake hands and forget the incident. He was frightened by the 21 stone naked man suggesting truce. In my effort to remain calm, I was talking like a complete idiot. If I ever do see the footage, that particular sequence will make me cringe uncontrollably.

The events described above are not what was reported in the newspapers as a 'rampage'. That comes tomorrow.

What do I miss?

My thoughts have been with my ex-wife a lot this week, and I don't know why. I lost my keys the other day, and I had been keeping my wedding ring on the keyring. Probably a stupid thing to do, but I wasn't ready to lose it just yet. That may well have triggered a thought process.

So I didn't feel ready, but bad luck, it happened anyway. Deal with it.

Its not that I am feeling the sense of loss that I did. I certainly don't miss the drain on my bank account, the controlling of my personality, the constant complaints of how rude I am all the time.*

I do miss the little things still. I don't think I miss Nicola, I think I miss having a wife. I'll not lie, I miss the sex, as infrequent as it was at the end. I miss a lot more though, the warm body in the morning, the smell of someone cooking when you walk in the house. A quick snog on the way to the study. Being able to snake an arm around the waist of your loved one as you stand chatting to a friend.

But, this is all balanced against the fact that I can see my radiators - they don't have an array of wrinkled little pants all over them. And I can eat takeaway food if I want. Which strangely enough means I don't very much. And I can talk to That Girl With The Big Boobs, and it doesn't become an international incident (and what is it about you and blondes anyway? I thought you said you liked brunettes?). I don't have to explain where I have been. I can eat out of date food. That has been in the fridge for a week. And has mould on it. And I can say to Cheryl that she's wearing rather a lot of mascara. And I can raise my voice. And I can get home late - or not at all. And I can take up new hobbies without having to talk about money.

I don't miss a lot of what it was to be married. It is often just hassle, and it is hassle you are prepared to go through for that one person because you think they are special. And the little moments make up for all the rubbish. I think I miss those little moments. It's just not the same with girls you don't know so well. Not as frequent either.


*That last one is apparently one of my endearing traits! No one is upset at me putting my foot in my mouth, because I do it with such regularity, to everyone.

As Geordies say, sick as a chip

I never understood how sick a chip can get, but that's regional slang for you really.

I thought I had worked out the women thing, but it continues to cause me confusion, I have no car again, I have to work all weekend, and I am skint.

I am considering watching more reality television, but I'm afraid my brain will leak out of my ears.
I really want to like the reality telly, because everyone always bitches about it so much, and I don't like riding on the wave of public opinion, I prefer to be sucked into the rip tide of controversy. So at the moment I am...um...treading water in a bowl of soup. Metaphor THAT Joyce.

I watched a bit of "celebrities do dancing, but on ice" the other day, but it was all a bit too camp for me. I may try watching "Celebrities who can't sing, do singing with someone who can" but it might have finished. And there is always "Celebrity prison - the racial slur over-reaction edition". I am hoping that is still watchable.

I was in "celebrity prison" once (as a dress rehearsal thing, not on the telly), I got naked, and was reported in a newspaper as having gone 'on a rampage'. Sadly I lost my clipping from the sun newspaper, because I was rather proud of that. The sight of a rampaging naked hairy 21 stone (it was a few years ago) man must have been pretty special. I hope one day the DVD they promised me makes an appearance.

Skills we don't know we have. Weds 24th Jan

It is early, and I am at work. I got a call from the security company that looks after the factory I work in. Long story short, massive steam leak, fire alarms, I live nearest.

Hi-ho, hi-ho, to work at 5 I go.

So I will whine and moan for the rest of the day, and leave early, having done no more than I normally do, just on a slightly earlier shift. I don't mind really, it just could have been some other day - I was out until 1:30am last night discussing comedy and stuff. Thank god I didn't meet anyone this week, it could have been disastrous.

Last night at long live comedy, we had a performance from a young lad. His nerve just went, some of his material fell to pieces, and he felt a familiar pain to me. Being southern, he felt hostility from the northern crowd, and he exacerbated it by drawing attention to it. He began to die on stage, which is a common thing amongst comedians, so he'd better get used to it.

It was - if such a thing is possible - the funniest death I have ever seen. He realised he was getting nowhere, and just launched on a tirade about just how crap everything is. As Pete later commented, he turned around his performance through the gift of spectacular self-loathing.
He had absolutely no idea how good he was. He was upset, and some very raw emotion bubbled to the surface. As we are all increasingly finding, the more natural and personal the material, the funnier you will come across. We humans want to know about the person talking to us.

I hope Sean looks back on it as a learning experience. I hope we saw the birth of something. I hope I can learn myself from this young lad performing only his second gig, and inadvertantly finding something special.

We all have it in us, that little spark of magic. We are all latent magicians. I am hoping to pull that particular rabbit out of the hat this year. I will find my little spark, and I look forwards to putting on a show with it.

Finlay Samuel Major

...is the name of my nephew.

At some point I will get some pictures, and put them on here. Knowing people in general, the girls will mostly say aaah, and the boys will mostly say 'um, looks healthy enough.'

I for one am over the moon. It is a new departure for me. I remember holding my newborn brother at the age of 9 and thinking it was kind of cool. I held my ex-niece and ex-nephew a couple of years ago and felt mildly protective, but this was different.

This was my sister's child, and the feelings it stirred in me were new. It wasn't just a need to defend, and it wasn't just a happiness for my sister's joy. This was new.

It must be one of the myriad facets of love. The greeks had all manner of words for love, to describe the different types. Well done them. Sadly I am left lacking.

I sat for 7 hours on Sunday, with my nephew sleeping, sitting, shitting, spitting and sipping on my knee, chest, shoulder and anywhere else he fancied being. It was joyous. I make no apologies for just how happy he made me feel.

I will visit home much more than twice a year from now on.

The great outdoors - Thurs 18th Jan

Next weeks Long Live Comedy has the theme of 'The Great Outdoors'. We started putting themes on the night so that we had a spur to make us write new material. It is entirely optional, but one of my recent objectives (insomuch as I don't like using terms like 'New Year's resolution') is to write at least something funny related to the weekly theme.

The problem with this theme, is that it has made me feel all thoughtful, but not exactly funny.
I love the outdoors, but it occurred to me that I'm not such a fan of the 'Great' outdoors. Standing on top of the world staring/ down on creation, is not really my bag.

I used to walk the dog a lot when I was living with my parents (though not as much as I should, yadda-yadda-yadda), and I used to really enjoy the peace. There was a field near my house which was quite hard to get to, you had to pick your way down an overgrown path, and cross a stream on a plank of wood, and there was this small field. The grass was not short, because even the sheep had trouble finding it, and it was hemmed in on all sides by trees. And it was so quiet. I used to take a notebook, and the dog, and just lie in the field writing. I loved it. At the time, for me, it was perfection.

There was another spot, in the other direction from my house, where the field was on a bit of a slope. For a few weeks of the year I could walk the dog in the morning before school, and sit there for a while watching the sunrise.

I remember staring at rockpools for hours when we were on holiday. Like little worlds of their own, with their own vegetation and animal life. They were amazing. As a child you would imagine the same thing happening above you, some great giant staring down at your little world and marveling at it. And above him, another, and another ad infinitum.

I had a thing about leaves for a while as well. Just to pick a leaf from a tree and stare at all the veins in it, or try to take the green leaf apart so you are left with a fragile skeleton of leaf veins.

The 'great outdoors' doesn't really float my boat, it makes me dizzy. I like the lesser outdoors. Its the less and the more for me.

Note to self... Weds 17th Jan

...it's not worth risking no sleep for 36 hours inclusive of organising a comedy show, two shifts at work, and 3 hours in a student union unless you are CERTAIN you are going to get somewhere to sleep.

Since I have no keys, I had to take the gamble on going to a club, that I would have somewhere to stay last night. There was no way I was going to get in the house by banging on the door at 3:30am. Given my recent antics, that would be tantamount to signing my own eviction order.

So I gambled, and I did have a sofa to sleep on. It was a sofa mind, in a room full of other people, and I got the uncomfortable outside bit. I have decided to ease off on this one, it may be a tease.

She did - as the kooks song goes - come to my show just to hear about my day. Which I was flattered by. So flattered that I took leave of my senses, and now am at work in no fit state to go near the heavy machinery.

A sense of enormous wellbeing - Tues 16th Jan

It is distinctly unlike me. I normally contract healthy cases of the fear. I've spent weeks on end feeling like I need to look over my shoulder. But today I feel great.

Due to some drunken antics, and a fairly obnoxious stain on the stairs carpet, my flatmates are clearly upset with me. Over the weekend I lost my glasses, my car keys, my house keys, my jacket, got two very big scratches on my back and leg, ruined a pair of shoes and a nice shirt. And as previously mentioned, upset the flatmates. At least they are still talking to me - its not like they sent me to Coventry or anything.

I don't know why being given the silent treatment is called being sent to Coventry. I've been to Coventry, and I much prefer sitting in a quiet house in Newcastle to ever going back there.

But I digress. Normally this kind of return from a weekend will give me that overwhelming feeling of dispair, but its not there for some reason. Obviously the good return from Friday night and its attendant revelation were positives, and the drinking at the rugby club was fun (albeit destructive).
It has to be endorphin related, that's all I can think of. There must be some chemical imbalance going on that is currently on an upward stroke.

Maybe I have accidentally taken happy pills? Has someone been grinding them into my booze? I know that one flatmate tried to spike me with the contraceptive pill the other week - not sure what they were hoping for. Except maybe my boobs getting bigger again?

It turns out, its not that hard

You just take a deep breath, back yourself, and go for it.

I don't remember ever having the confidence to just go for it before, but the other day I just went for it. It turns out there's no secret to it. A girl isn't going to jump on you, so you have to jump on her. Simple.

This is also where the fine line between 'nice guy, he's a good friend' and 'yeah, I'd sleep with him' lies.

I'm actually annoyed with myself that it took me this long to work it out. It's easy really.