Am I some kind of comedian?

Lovely gig, lovely night.

2007-01-31T01:06:00.000-08:00

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.

2007-01-30T02:35:00.000-08:00

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.

2007-01-29T01:53:00.000-08:00

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.

2007-01-28T01:30:00.000-08:00

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.

2007-01-27T00:45:00.000-08:00

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?

2007-01-26T07:40:00.000-08:00

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

2007-01-26T07:39:00.000-08:00

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

2007-01-23T22:15:00.000-08:00

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

2007-01-23T22:14:00.000-08:00

...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

2007-01-23T22:13:00.000-08:00

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

2007-01-23T22:12:00.000-08:00

...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

2007-01-23T22:07:00.000-08:00

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

2007-01-23T22:06:00.000-08:00

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.

Pastures new, or go over old ground?

2007-01-12T01:17:00.000-08:00

Change, it is good, it is scary, it is inevitable.

Yesterday, my boss announced he is emigrating to Portugal to become a property developer. It is a dream realised, and I applaud him for having the brass balls to do it. Pats on the back, it will be amazing, and it is one hell of a risk, but a great move for a genuinely talented bloke.

This does mean that we minions that work for him are landing slap bang in a 'better the devil you know' situation. There is talk of 'restructure', which is just a euphamism for people losing their jobs. Not good. Time to dust off that CV.

The thing is, I hate my job, as I have been saying for a while. I got the job because it paid well (compared to other options at the time), I could do it, and I was under the impression I was going to have a family to support. I kept the job, because I really get on very well with my boss. I have a lot of respect for him, and we have a real laugh.

I also haven't left since I found out I wasn't going to get a family to support, because it would have been foolish. It would have been too much change in too short a timescale.

I have been thinking for a while that I would leave the company this year, and this is something of a catalyst to get me moving.

For too long, I have been doing things because they need doing. For too long I am doing things that I think I should be doing. I have absolutely no idea any more what I actually want. I genuinely don't know. I have tried to find myself, but I just found other things that needed doing, or seemed like they should get done, and I did them.

Stop. Step back. If not you, there will be someone, if not now, it really can wait. The world still spins when you go to sleep. The works are done. You are significant, but you're not irreplaceable.

If anyone knows how to tap the brain to tell you what it wants, let me know.

"I don't know what I want?" I sound like a girl.

Blast from the past

2007-01-11T00:39:00.000-08:00

How lovely is it to keep bumping into people from the past? One of the best things about a relationship falling apart, is that you have all this time to rebuild friendships that were lost due to people not getting on, or feeling threatened.

I can completely understand why someone would feel threatened by the lass I re-met last night, because I would be lying if I said anything other than I fancy the pants off her. Always have. Cue a couple of hours of Al trying - incredibly clumsily - to be fun, and interesting, and complimentary, and not-a-dick.

It is nice to meet old friends and the like, and it is especially nice when they compliment you for - and I quote - 'looking very good'. Ok, I have gotten better compliments, but I am taking that one, and storing it for the next time someone shouts 'get off the stage fat-lad'.

'Be quiet strange balding man' (I shall retort, internally). 'For I am pretty, I know this because a real hottie said so' (I shall continue, in my head). 'I am off now, and once I am gone, you will no longer exist' (I shall think, in a small effort to be philosorifical).

Then I will finish my set and thank them for being a lovely audience, in my two-faced pat comedian way.

But I digress, last night wasn't completely unsuccessful, she did suggest we should talk more, and we did agree that the group should go out more. Now I have to somehow escalate this to 'you and I should go out more'. If only I had practiced this more over christmas, I'm sure it would have been easier*.

*who am I kidding?

'S ok, I didn't lose that much in the end.

2007-01-11T00:24:00.000-08:00

I'm sure I blogged yesterday, but I'm blowed if I can find where I put it! I will repeat it as best I can.

The first gag I ever wrote, was when I was in university. This is a paraphrased version:

"I used to be a big fan of spiderman when I was a kid. The deal with spiderman is he gets bitten by a radioactive spider, and develops radioactive spider powers. So he's climbing walls and shooting webs with gay abandon. I thought this was great, up until I was 12 and got bitten by a radioactive fat bastard.
Still, now I can eat tall pies in a single bound, and blame my glands faster than a speeding bullet. But don't make me hungry....you wouldn't like me...when I'm hungry."

Critique it all you like, that is a nice, neat gag that gets my set off to a good start. And far better comedians than I, have told me it is good.

Due to the reasons I spoke of on Tuesday, this gag has to be mothballled, until such time as I put all the weight back on.

So the challenge on Tuesday night, was to retain as much as I could of my Fat Bloke/ Exercise/ Diet routine, whilst acknowledging the fact that I am no longer a complete bloater.

It went surprisingly well. This is due - in part - to the fact that it was in front of the Long Live Comedy crowd, who are some of the most lovely people in the world to perform to. BUT, it is still an indicator that there is funny in there, I just need to edit it a little. I also came up with a few ideas on the blog, which will now be part of the usual stage routine, replacing the 'Radioactive Fat Bastard' intro that I love so much.

There were even a few ideas that came to me on stage, and - wonder of wonders - I actually remembered to record the set!! I KNOW! BRILLIANT!

I should be happy, but I've lost too much

2007-01-09T00:58:00.000-08:00

I have finally admitted to myself that I can't do the fat man material any more. Gutted. Steph has been telling me that for a month or so, but I've been trying to pretend it's not true. The fact is, when a 15 stone bloke gets on stage, and proclaims that he is fat, people will immediately look at the 20 stone bloke in the corner and think: 'No son, you are chunky, cuddly at best. Now that boy is fat'.

That accounts for 2 minutes of really safe material, that works everywhere in the country, and is a nice way to open my set. So now I have to try something else.

I am going to try and re-model it as an 'I lost a load of weight, diets are stupid' set – hence some of the stupid blogs from last week, as I was banging around some ideas. I almost apologised for the random-ness of it all, but the chances are, it is the random-ness that makes people read the blog.

I know that I should be proud of myself for losing some 4 stone in the last 6 months, I really should. People over Christmas have been really complimentary about how I look. Not just saying 'didn't you do well', but saying 'you're looking good!' in that slightly shocked I-didn't-realise-you-weren't-ugly way that people have. I have been enjoying the compliments (not that any of it has yielded any action – which is more down to me than anything else). But the down sides are becoming apparent.

It is costing me a fortune to renew my wardrobe. It is costing me good stage material. According to the doctor, part of my kidney problem is down to the rapid weight loss. I know I am getting more female attention, and my mickey did get bigger, but every positive brings with it a negative – hopefully vice versa too.

Buggeration, I just did it again

2007-01-09T00:57:00.000-08:00

I am trying to get a handle on the concept of flirting by text message. I foolishly thought I was getting there...but...

Yesterday, I got a text at around midday from hot blonde girl who I mentioned before christmas. It was quite amusing, and based on a random conversation we had where we decided what animals each other looked like. General flirty banter, I'm sure you know the type.

I replied, she replied and so on and so on. This went on all day until about 10pm. I told a friend of mine about this, we were in the pub, it was about 20 past 10. He asked me when, during this text chat, I asked her to join me for a pint/ coffee/ cup-of-tea-and-slice-of-cake, whatever.

It hadn't occurred to me.

He said, 'you have had this girl showing interest, unsolicited, since midday, and it is now nearly half past 10.'

It really just hadn't occurred to me that this was an opportunity to press forwards.

As Rob pointed out in a comment a couple of months ago - the chatty bit is the easy bit. That last 5% where you spot a chance, and advance from speaking to squeaking is beyond me.

I actually had to take myself home, and give myself a slap. And not a nice one either.

The only straight in the village

2007-01-09T00:56:00.000-08:00

Having realised that a couple of things in my life were not going as planned due to drink (kidney pain, searching for a 'lady' the very fact that I don't remember moving into my house) I have decided to not drink for a couple of weeks.

This is a sensible and laudable exercise, and isn't as hard as I originally thought. I also decided that I would not allow this to interrupt my social life, so I am still going out - I'm just drinking soft drinks.

The net result is being stood there, a sober island in a sea of drunkeness. It has made me realise what a pain in the hoop I really am. Shocking really.

Thursday and Friday were ok, different pub mates all encouraging me to drink, realising we were getting nowhere, and enjoying the chat. Saturday, I was at the rugby club, and found myself watching the drinking games I am normally at the centre of.

It turns out, seeing someone fall over, break a chair, vomit and clutch some injured body part isn't funny. Even though I would normally be near wetting myself with laughter, it's surprisingly boring. And very repetitive.

Don't get me wrong, I know next time I am drunk at the club it will be funny again, I will enjoy it immensely. It's just that sobriety has shown me another side of it.

What's my prejudice?

2007-01-05T01:22:00.000-08:00

My parents generation had a society where up until the 60’s, homosexuality was illegal. It wasn’t until the 70’s that it stopped being considered a mental illness. Now it is pretty much accepted. Alright it is in some circles, but it is not generally acceptable to be homophobic. As a result, there is a general feeling among that generation that being gay is still somehow wrong. They would never be so crass as to be rude about it to a gay person, but the underlying thoughts are there.

My grandparents generation lived in a society where people of a different colour skin were still considered inferior. It was common for them to use racial slurs and the like – and these were educated people. Nowadays, they wouldn’t consider using them, but there is still that underlying feeling of racism amongst that generation. It isn’t militant, but it is an underlying trait.

I could never be so arrogant as to assume that my generation or I have got it all right, so I have to ask myself, what deep seated prejudice will I have that will embarrass and annoy my children, or my grandchildren.

I am drawing a blank. The problem is you have to search your own mind, and try to work out who you prejudge based on something other than their personality. I am pretty much drawing a blank unless you include people who have a track record of something which is – in my mind – unacceptable.

Is it charvers? They live to a specific culture, and I do judge that culture. Robbers, muggers, murderers – could it be that in a generation, these will be proved to be model citizen? Maybe in 30-40 years I will harbour strange and outdated negative opinions about paedophiles, or rapists.

Somehow I just can’t see it. I do have one thought that’s potentially true.

One of the last groups that we are still allowed to be rude about are the stupid. I don’t mean gullible or daft fun loving types. I mean people who are lacking a certain amount of brain power. Genuine remedial learners. I’ll be honest, I do look down on them to a certain extent. I am blessed in that I can pick up most concepts as quick as the next man. This means I just can’t comprehend what is going on in the mind of the truly slow learner.

I have a man who works for me, as a labourer. One of his jobs is to sort out the rubbish, and the recyclables. I bought him 3 bins. Green for paper and card, blue for plastic, black for everything else. I explained the concept. I asked him to show me him doing it.

“green-for-card, blue-for-plastic, aye Alan, fine”

I turned my back, I turned back, and saw him wedging cardboard into the black bin.

“KEN!”. “What Alan?”. “Cardboard, green bin”. “Aye Alan, green-for-card”. “But that is card and you are putting it in the black bin”.

Pause.

“Oh, aye, reet. Sorry Alan”.

It took me WEEKS of pretty intensive babysitting to get that one in, and it still goes wrong from time to time. I think that must be my last prejudice. The genuinely thick.

First Day Back

2007-01-04T02:30:00.000-08:00

I think we must all get the first-day-back-blues. Yesterday started really well for me, I got up early, and felt ok. I got to work early, and felt ok. I had a banana and a bottle of water instead of a coffee and a coffee. I gave myself a pat on the back for looking after my kidneys.

There was even an air of productivity about me and my team. It was all just kind of...ok. Then, come 3pm, I crashed. I just could not be bothered. I went up to the canteen and had a pie, but still nothing, so I hauled myself through the rest of the day, crawled home, and felt a bit rubbish.

Television happened to me for a few hours. It was a bit involuntary. I felt like I was being indecently exposed at by the time hollyoaks came on – the soap opera form of being flashed in the park. Nonetheless, I resolutely forced myself into doing nothing. I achieved my aim, and even allowed 'celebrity' big brother to assault my eyes. Though it occurred to me a more fair title would be Celebrity prison.

I have no truck with the same old line you will have heard on every radio show in the country this morning. 'You can't call it celebrity big brother because they aren't celebrities'. Balls. Leo Sayer is a bit celebrated in my book. If you don't like it, don't watch it. You would have good cause, it's a horrid program. But don't start complaining just because people with a profile as low as yours has got on.

It has gone a bit far though, Celebrity singing school, Celebrity camping trip, Celebrity prison, Celebrity dancing school, or the brilliant twist on that one, Celebrity dancing school….on ice. I don't know which genius executive came up with that one, but you can guarantee he was coked up to the eyeballs and gave himself the day off when he thought of it.

I never even used to be that bothered, but these days I only have 5 channels, so I'm forced into either watching this rather saccharine trash on the box, or doing something. I am considering putting a chicken in a cardboard box and watching that, because the alternative is going to the pub, and my poor kidneys just wouldn't thank me.

Great News!!

2007-01-03T01:19:00.001-08:00

It is clearly cheating to claim any kind of respect for this, because all I did was make shouty noises down the phone, but after my current bout of illness, I had some spectacular news.

About quarter past midnight last night, I was re-uncled. My big sister had a baby, a real one, with all working parts and everything. It is quite nice to feel that, after being de-uncled earlier in the year, this one can't be taken away.

It is a boy, and he is 7 and a half pounds, and it was a forcep assisted birth. I think. Those are the essential bits that everyone asks, and then has no idea what to do with the information. Though occasionally girls wince a little when you tell them the weight. On this occasion I think it's not too big, so no perceptible response.

He currently has no name – they were insistent on not knowing if it was boy or girl until he was born, which lead to some name confusion. My money is on them calling him Finn, but he could just as easily become a Sam.

I'm happy either way, as long as I get to do the fun uncle job of going around, making him giddy, shaking him up then retreating to a safe distance whilst they deal with the fallout.

So this has made me very happy. It is a good sign for the new year, new life, new opportunities, all the rest of it.

I sat and had a drink with a friend the other day. There has been a lot of turmoil during '06, for many people. There have been sudden deaths, huge illnesses, some breakups. We both decided something between us:

Piss off 2006, you were shit. Welcome 2007, you can't be any worse.

Ill and coming down - Jan 2nd

2007-01-03T01:19:00.000-08:00

I am coming down with a bit of a bump. I ate or drank something funky this weekend, because my stomach is like water, fizzy, angry water. I used chemical means to enjoy myself on New Years Eve, and I remembered shortly afterwards why I never do that.

I have been somewhat obnoxious to many, and complaining to the rest, and I'm not particularly proud of myself.

I am going to take a rest from being the entertainment for a while. I am the guy who does the dance, sings the song, shouts the loudest, so that everyone can lean back and say 'look at that mad basser, what's he going to do next?'

I love being that guy, but the strain is too much, and it causes big lows to go with the great highs.
I am fed up with regret. Bored of guilt. Tired of unhappiness.

I am going to do a lot of situps, eat some soup, drink some water, and write something amusing. Then with any luck, my stomach may stop gurgling, and I can go to work tomorrow, and get on with stuff.

Apparently, according to the advert, if I go to disneyland in florida, all my dreams will come true, but I don't want to get there and realise I am naked, all my school friends are there, and when I try to run away, I just can't. But maybe they didn't mean those dreams.

You can't always get what you want - Dec 31st

2007-01-03T01:18:00.000-08:00

but if you try some times, you get what you need.

I have no 'special lady' in my life, but I have more love in my life than I have had for years. Thanks in part to the kindness of strangers, but mostly because I am blessed with some pretty special friends.

That doesn't change the fact that I am on the hunt.

Tonight I am going to a house party, where I know there will be some suitable and interesting women. This is in stark contrast to the young, dull, unsuitable women I have been chasing in the last few weeks.

The fact is, the more you decide you want or need something, the more elusive it becomes. The way ahead appears to be to care less.

I had a long conversation with my mate Tamsin, who has been a bit of a rock. She was talking about all the one night stands she has, and how it's fun, but when it comes to someone she really cares about, she can't be as funny, as inviting, as sexy. She starts to worry about it all, and thus stops being the person that people are attracted to.

Interesting. I have a mate who is really good at pulling, and he jokes that he has no emotions. He took his heart out a few years ago, and stuck it in a jar. He might put it back in sometime in the future.

I have to stop caring about the loneliness, I have to stop putting any importance on the little things, I have to start to dismiss, if not despise, the people I'm talking to, in order to feed the needs I now have to deny.

You can't always get what you want, but if you don't try sometimes, it'll come to you.

Body Image

2007-01-03T01:13:00.000-08:00

Honestly, people have no idea.

Women think that stick thin is attractive (it really, really isn't). Women will tell you that your size is not important, it's the person that really counts. I have proof of that one being crap.

Both I and a friend of mine have recently lost weight. Prior to that, women saw us as 'friends' or didn't speak to us at all. As a result of years of training, we are both trying to get over the just-good-friends obstacle, but I do know that in both cases, we are getting a lot more random attention than we did a couple of stone ago.

Not lots you understand, lots MORE, which roughly translates as SOME.

Now I've been banging on about this subject more than others for a while, for the above reason, so you would probably be justified in assuming I had body image issues. I don't believe this is the case.

I have, however, pinned up a picture of the muscular body shape I would like, next to my mirror. That way, when ever I go to the mirror, I look at that instead, and convince myself that's how I look.
Interesting stuff. Problem is, when girls come into your room, see it, and assume you are gay.
Unless I can convince them to 'turn' me.

More dieting tips

2006-12-29T04:56:00.000-08:00

It's been interesting doing my research on diets. I realise this is a common theme at this time of year, so I am trying to tap into a zeitgeist. Or paradigm. Or some such management speech crap like that.

So I'd just like to blue sky a few ideas, you know, fly them up the flag and see who salutes...etc

I am a big fan of crisps, so I have been trying to find 'healthy' alternatives. I found some. We get a lot of expensive supplies here at work, and they are often fragile, so they come packed in polystyrene cylinders that look just like wotsits. So I have been eating them for a couple of days. I am constipated.

I also went home, and found out that my brother in law (I prefer that to 'sister's boyfriend' even though it's technically wrong) has put on a LOT of weight. This is due to him giving up smoking. So that's tip number two, take up smoking!

Finally, for today, you must remember one thing which I thought never happened, but was proved wrong by my flatmate. Eating two large 'weightwatchers' brand cheesecakes in one sitting, on your own, is not - REPEAT NOT - dieting.

De-tox

2006-12-29T04:55:00.000-08:00

Interesting side note, regarding the 'de-tox' style of diet.

Fruit, vegetables and dairy products (especially cabbages and onions, which are really good for you) contain far and away more natural toxins than red meat and fish. They are undoubtedly harder for the body to detoxify than the stuff that the de-tox diet demands you avoid for the sake of your liver.

You will lose weight on a fruit based diet - absolutely no doubt. This is more to do with the lack of calories, complex sugars and fats than any percieved toxin purge that the diets bang on about.

Just thought I'd mention it, because even though she can do adding up really quick, Carol Vorderman just doesn't know her onions. Or cabbages for that matter.

Al's Dieting Advice

2006-12-28T01:38:00.000-08:00

Well done. In a strangely socially acceptable orgy of excess, you have managed to rack up even more debt, damaged some internal organs, argued with the family, and if you are single, those few extra christmas pounds aren't really going to make you feel very good about yourself are they?
Christmas is over, time for the remorse to kick in.

So to enter the spirit of the season - the winter lull - I have composed a handbook, available soon in all good bookshops. For the first time, they are actually using my book as the indicator for whether or not a book shop is any good.

I present to you the Al Dawes dieting book "Eat Less And Exercise More You No-Willpower-Fat-C***, p.s. those cigarettes aren't doing you much good either"

As fad diets go, it probably won't be the biggest, relying as it does on a serious approach to losing weight, as opposed to the immediate-results-for-no-effort that most of them offer.

Some of the tips you will find in ELEMYWFCptcadymge (which is my catchy abbreviation of the book title) are thus:

Eat food raw, this will give you the benefit of the vitamins and minerals that are normally destroyed or denatured during the cooking process. I personally found a lot of success with Liver. The resultant intestinal condition lost me nearly two stone.

The apes, who apparently are our parents, are almost exclusively frugivores, living on a diet of fruit, with a little bit of meat. Thus we should eat fruit daily, some days that is all we should eat. This means that you must swap that lager for Cider, unless you get the one in a bottle that comes with a bit of Lime in the top. Bacardi and coke? No, switch it for a screwdriver. It only takes a little bit of creativity, and you are on your way.

Make sure you drink at least 4 pints of water a day. To make it a little more palletable, squeeze a little lemon juice into it. Alternatively, have you considered fermenting hops and barley in it? Then you have a satisfying drink for all the family.

Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, so why not eat a full english breakfast three times through the course of the day? Then each meal will be more important than the last.

Taking supplements can help if you are eating on the go. My friend Gammy Bob swears by the pills he gets from some bloke in a nightclub - why not go out tonight, and ask around in a nightclub for pills? Gammy Bob is always very happy when he is out, so there must be something in it.

It is important to take a little bit of exercise to augment your diet change. Instead of getting a taxi to the pub, try walking. Instead of using the lift, use the stairs. In an effort to help my fellow co-workers, I have cleverly disabled the lift. You'd think they'd be more grateful, but no, they don't stop complaining. Especially Darren from HR, he works on the second floor and would get even more exercise than most. Plus it would get him up off that chair he wheels around in.

Finally, if you really can't eat less, because of some excuse you came up with about that massive bucket of chicken being a 'treat', then try vomiting it all back up once you eat it. It worked for half the girls in my high school.

"Eat Less And Exercise More You No-Willpower-Fat-C***, p.s. those cigarettes aren't doing you much good either" Available soon, just £19.99.

Next year I will be writing a get-rich-quick book called "Work Harder D**khead".

Professional Grandma

2006-12-27T04:46:00.000-08:00

I forgot I was working between christmas and new year, and there is nothing to do, so I will blog. So forget the whole 'no more blogs 'til new year', it was an untruth. I was mistaken.

I had forgotten how professional some people are at being old. In particular, some people take the role of grandma (should that be matriarch?) very seriously.

My big brother's mad (and lovely) Irish mother in law takes her role very seriously. I think she has done grandma exams. If she did, she will have been top of her class.

She had christmas with my big brother and his mad Irish wife. I went around to his house with my little brother on christmas day night. We sat, and as I have wont to do, I drank long and deep of my big bro's impressive array of expensive red wine.

Ethne, the mad (and lovely) Irish mother in law swung in to action the moment we walked in.
'Will you have a turkey sandwich Alan?' 'no thanks Ethne love, I'm still full'. 'Oh sure....Will you have a little gammon?' 'No, really I'm fine.' 'Have you seen all the cheese Alan? I'd hate it to go to waste.' 'I have Ethne..' 'Call me Mammie', '...Sorry eth..Mammie, I have seen the cheese, and it looks lovely too, but I really couldn't fit a bite in.' 'ok, so.'

Now, I won the first exchanges, but I knew this was going to be a war of attrition, so I tried to prepare for phase two, the emotional blackmail.

'Alan, I'm having a bit of christmas pudding. I made it myself, will you have a bite?' 'I'm so very sorry mammie, but I really am full. It hurts, I've eaten so much.' 'Such a shame. It took me so long to make it, and it's got real brandy in it and everything, not potin like my sister used to put in. And that brandy's not cheap you know Alan.' 'I'd love to have a slice, maybe we could have some tomorrow?' 'Come now Alan, I'm having a slice too. You won't make me eat it on my own will you?' 'Really, I'd love a bit, but I couldn't. Would you like a cup of tea?'

Now that was cheating. I used the only get out clause available in a situation such as this. No Irish woman will ever turn down a Nice-Cup-Of-Tea. And I thought I had won. I was a fool, this is a professional we are talking about here.

I made the tea. I swear, I didn't even see Ethne in the kitchen, but as I brought the drinks into the front room, a pile of sandwiches had been prepared, a cake had been sliced, a bottle of port had been opened, and the stilton had been retrieved.

'Now look at that spread Alan, isn't it lovely? Doesn't my daughter keep her husband so well? But the poor laddie is full, so you and I will have to polish this little bit off.'

Then I was battered with a few choice phrases - 'eeh, Alan, there's nothing on you, you're wasting away'. And a plate being piled with food against my will, and being put on my lap. And much talk about the poor people all over the world who are starving, whilst I'm turning away food, and talk of long 'forgotten' hard times back in Ireland. I gave up. I had no choice, and I filled my bloated frame, with more of the same.

There's no stopping a pro like that when they are in full flight. But even though I knew this was an expert, I still got caught out by the coup de grace.

I went around yesterday morning before I attempted the drive back up north. I said my goodbye's, good luck's and good health's, and was leaving. Ethne pipes up...

'Mind Alan, you want to be careful now, you're getting a bit chubby, you need to start watching what you eat.'

She's a genius.

No more blogs 'til new year

2006-12-21T23:53:00.000-08:00

I have an end of the year feeling.

Today, a friend from my past called me. She had no idea about what has been going on in my last strange 6 months. And it was the finest funnest conversation I have had in a long time.

I make friends, not for what they give me, but because these are people I like and respect. Be they friends family or strangers. there is no replacement for a person you get on well with.

So i have to say this little thing.

In the last few months, certain people have helped me. Helped me get through an every day event, that affects millions of people all the time. But it almost destroyed me.

So I had a bit of woman trouble. It happens all the time, to all kinds of people. For all kinds of reasons. For me, it was huge. And I apologise for my consistent whingeing.

The following people, have maintained my sanity, and for that, I owe them my life.

The most important ones are Tamsin, Gus, Karen and Jonny. I know they will never look here, but they are the most important. They stopped me from doing anything stupid.

Beyond that, there are Leaver, Rob, Foz, Sticks, James Allen, PC, Mac, Jonesy, Samm and Lou, Nigel my boss, Gavin my triumph, Stan, Mick, Manda, John S, Baby Dave, Jenny, Simon, Sarah M, Cheryl, Steph, Ashley, Dom, Ali, Rachel and Kate. I know you know who you are, but I need you to know how much you helped me.

You know this is not an exhaustive list, but these are the people who tooke the worst of my crap. Many more were there at the bad times. I don't mean to be rude, I have a memory like a sieve. But if you care for me, you know that already.

At different times, I bent your ears. And I was rude about it too. But i love you, respect you, dig you, and need you to know that this is all reciprocal.

Have a fabulous christmas, and a spectacular new year. You are reading this, which means you are an important part of what makes me, me. God bless. I'll see you, or speak to you in the new year.

May god bless you all, every one.

I love you.

Confidence, confidence, confidence. 21st Dec.

2006-12-21T01:25:00.000-08:00

I am able, albeit with some nerves, to get on stage infront of a bunch of strangers - sometimes 300 or more - and attempt to make them laugh, just by talking to them. I have managed this with varying degrees of success.

I am unable to talk face-to-face with a member of the opposite sex unless I have a pre-existing relationship with them, i.e. friends of friends.

To me these two are contradictory. It just doesn't add up.

What if you die on stage? You get off stage, try to work out why, and get on stage again as soon as possible to exorcise the ghost.

What if she says no? What if, heaven forfend, you lean in to kiss her and she backs off and looks shocked? The potential for that to happen is enough for me to not try in the first place.

A friend last night described me as timid. I have to say, timid is not a word many people would associate with me. Loud? Yes. Gobby? Yes. Expert whittler? Abso-damn-lutely. But not timid. Well it turns out I am exceptionally timid when it comes to 50% of the population.

I have been attempting to grab the bull by the horns in the last week*. The problem is that the bull has horns, and all I have to defend myself, is a red cape. Maybe step one is to stop wearing a cape.

I have been trying to look for the funny in all of this. I'm sure I can find the humour, but what concerns me is that the humour is in the failure. If you build up the courage to do it, and it works, then that is nice. If it all goes horribly wrong, then I can write you a minute of funny material on what happened next. I actually do when I'm on stage.

Still, it is christmas week, and what better time to attempt confidence, but when everyone is full of both types of christmas spirit? Confidence Dawes, offer her a drink. The worst she can say is no. Just remember not to offer her slimfast.

*This has been prompted by a brief meeting with my ex-wife. I realised that I feel nothing for her. I don't hate her, I don't love her, I don't miss her. As the great robbinho said to me 'you nothing her'. This has prompted a shift in my outlook.

I CAN'T be the only one. 20th Dec

2006-12-21T01:24:00.000-08:00

So you are sat there. In her bedroom. She invited you in for 'coffee'. so you sit and have coffee. And you talk for about 5 hours. And you never know when to be, well, you know, forward. She already gave you her number. And is laughing at the stupid jokes you keep making.

It would be nice if she just said what was on her mind, instead of doing it all in.... "signals".... I don't do morse bloody code.

Liberal use of the N-word. 20th Dec

2006-12-21T01:23:00.000-08:00

I am not a racist.

I watched a lot of Richard Pryor when I started doing stand up comedy, because I really felt he had a certain kind of magic, and I wanted to learn what it was.

Yes, a lot of his magic was in saying what no-one else would, in talking about sex, police brutality, the inequality in the world he lived in, his brilliant recreation of his own heart attack. But there was so much more, his performing skills are so good, and so absorbing. There is much to learn from this amazing man.

So last night at our comedy night, we did covers. It happens a lot in music, and is often seen as a good thing. In comedy (now) doing other people's material is quite taboo. Even if we are very clear in what we are doing.

As for my part, I did an homage to Richard Pryor. I thought it was a brilliant idea. I wouldn't be so crass as to black up, and I would do it in my own accent, because it would be funny to hear his colloquialisms coming from a british white middle class mouth.

It wasn't until I started rehearsing on the weekend, that I became acutely aware of how many times he used a rather specific racial slur, that I am not comfortable using myself. Even when singing along to hip-hop.

It was a real dilemma. Do I change to a different act? Do I just edit the great man's work? How do I do this without damaging my own integrity?

Luckily, on the night, Steph Peddie (who really kindly compered the night for us, as a christmas pressent, god bless him) came up with the answer. Instead of using the language in front of me, I was to use the classic BBC solution of bad dubbing.

Thus, motherf**ker became 'melon-farmer'. 'Pussy', became 'Pineapple', and that N-word, became 'Noddy'.

Steph's introduction was good too:

Richard Pryor was a habitual drug user, in and out of rehab, and once set himself on fire after a massive drug fuelled bender; Al Dawes has the occasional bottle of Magners.

Richard Pryor's mother was a prostitute, he grew up in a brothel, and lost his virginity at the age of 8; Al Dawes is from Oxford.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is going to be great or f-ing awful, but either way, quite memorable. Mr Al Dawes....

But some how, for some reason, it worked. It really worked. From the moment I said 'I don' never want to see no pow-lease again', to the point that I said 'Pow-lease don't kill cars, pow-lease kill....noddy'. It was actually funny, and too ludicrous to be offensive.

I was bricking it, the whole time I was on stage, and at one point accidentally said the word I was trying to avoid (I'd been practicing this routine for a few days). But the point was well made. I was able to doff my imaginary cap to a comedic legend, and at the same time managed to present it in my own special little way.

It was a corking night. I can't wait 'til we do it again.

A brief description of myself. 19th Dec

2006-12-21T01:22:00.000-08:00

I have become something new. I wish to share with you my discoveries about myself.

I have a varied and contradictory personality, some of it medically diagnosed, most of it hidden from view. My moods are often so volatile that I become too hot to be safely touched. I can skydive without a parachute, using a set of wings I designed when I was in the 'nam. (chelten-nam).

True to my calling as an engineer, there is nothing in the world I cannot repair with a knife, a roll of electricians tape, and a can of WD40. My skin is so sensitive that I can diagnose respiratory diseases from a distance of twelve meters. I have learnt many skills which I am not allowed to discuss, due to a gagging agreement I signed with Procter and Gamble. I am allowed to tell you that you cannot harm me with bladed implements.

My charitable giving is based around whittling. I can whittle you an item of furniture in less than two hours, but it will cost you a minimum of one goat. Oxfam have a contract out on my life. The french government have tried on more than one occasion to carry this out, they have thus far been partially successful.

I speak 12 different languages, in various dialects. Sadly I have yet to understood in any but andalucian spanish. And even then it's only enough to order car parts for the Seat Ibiza. Cats are allergic to me.

Women are unable to resist my wrists, such is their beauty. I am a percussionistic genius, but I play so loud that it is impossible to hear without becoming deaf. I once made Lennox Lewis weep. I am comfortable to sit on, a pleasure to be with, and difficult to leave. I have an addictive personality. So much so that there are currently 5 people in counselling trying to kick the habit. The lancet described me as more physically damaging than heroin.

My favourite TV show is the one with the ping-pong balls. I have rampaged in a cell, this was reported in the Sun newspaper. I live in a state of dishevvlement, and I am a destructive patient.

A moment in Spain, 16th Dec

2006-12-21T01:21:00.000-08:00

At risk of sounding poetic, I would like to share with you a moment I had whilst I was away last week.

I am no longer a great sleeper, so I was awake late, and up early. It was warm outside, but not hot. The sky was blue. The air was fresh.

I walked outside, to where there was a swimming pool. It was calm, almost silent. There wasn't a ripple or movement on the surface of the water.

I sat down on the edge of the pool, dipped my naked feet into the cold water, and watched the ripples run from my ankles, to the far side of the pool, and back again.

I looked at the patterns made on the bottom of the pool. At first they were ripples, then paired ripples, then squares, but moving all the time, dynamic, but silent.

I felt the coldness of the water, the warmth of the air, the silence of the world around me.
Then I started to hear the quiet noises, that I otherwise discounted. The distant sound of a televison. The almost imperceptible buzzing of flies. The swish of trees in the gentle breeze. The chip-chip-chip of a workman in the distance. An unrecognisable hum - I couldn't tell you what it was.

I felt at that moment, that the world was - once again - existing beyond me. Almost as if I was a spectator, and not a participant.

It was a strange moment of beauty. The world was good. I was well.

I don't know why I decided to share that with you. I'm not saying it was a spiritual thing, I'm just saying it was good. No other emotion or point to make. It was just a moment when things were good.

Bad mood. Sod it. 14th Dec

2006-12-21T01:19:00.000-08:00

Al Dawes gets sense of humour failure. Should really just grow up a bit.

Just a bit fed up with the realisation that actions actually speak quieter than words. People do one thing nice and make sure everyone knows about it. They are known as the lovely people.

Someone else does a hell of a lot more, but doesn't make that much of a fuss, and they are remembered for that time they said something which offended someone.

I don't play games. I don't do it, I don't like it, I don't respect it. For this reason, I lose out to arseholes who do.

Like I say, grow up dawes, get on with it.

It's SO unfair I tell's you - Dec 13th

2006-12-21T01:18:00.000-08:00

I work in a food factory, which means you have to be very careful about allergens and the like.
I understand that, and I appreciate that.

Until we get a load of quality streets in, and the purple ones have been removed because we aren't allowed nuts in the building.

Dammit. When I find out who's had the hazelnut whirls there will be hell to pay. I bet there has been a black market in the car park for all the nut-contaminated contraband.

Lovely non-gig

2006-12-13T00:52:00.000-08:00

I will at some point attempt humour again, but at the moment I am enjoying my quiet chirpiness.

Last night at our regular tuesday night gig we had an audience of 3. This has happened approximately 3 times since last March, and it is an artefact of the time of year, and the fact that it was a horrible day outside.

This should have made the night a complete washout, but it didn't. Instead we sat around chatting, moved the mic (which we never used) to the middle of the room, and did the show anyway. It was intimate, interspersed with a lot of interruptions and chat, and was probably the best night I have had at long live comedy.

Not much else to report, except that I got very angry at a car this morning, which cut me up on a roundabout, but then proceeded to drive 10 miles slower than the limit, and dither. Either be an aggressive driver or a timid one, but don't be both. That's just rude. It's as bad as Stalin crying when he sees a puppy with a poorly paw.

of COURSE i'm pleased

2006-12-12T00:44:00.000-08:00

I went to that-manchester last night, and competed in 'beat the frog'. You may have heard me mention it before. It is a key part of my dealing-with-the-manchester-hoo-doo-plan. I worried that I am unable to perform in manchester for some reason. So I am challenging myself to perform there as much as possible.

Beat the frog is actually quite friendly, but if you are rubbish, the crowd do get to tell you to sod off, via the medium of cards which they hold aloft. If the cards go up, you get croaked-off (as in told to sod off). Which is surprisingly stressful.

I went last night with a lad called Carl Hutchinson. It was his 5th gig, and I got him booked on to do it. Carl is a lad who has performed a few times at our regular Tuesday night gig Long Live Comedy (every tuesday, 8:30, Dog & Parrot, Newcastle, £2). He has impressed us all, and I thought it would be good for him to travel a bit.

So we performed, and I got through my bit without being frogged off the stage. Carl was next, and he was ok as well, and he lasted his time without getting booted off. Out of the 11 acts competing, only 4 lasted the full time.

So it goes to a cheer off, and of course, Carl won.

I won't lie, I was a bit bloomin' jealous. Only 5 gigs in to his career, and he's only 19 the cheeky get.
As well though, it was nice that we are managing to do what we set out to do. Long live comedy is setup by relative newcomers, to help complete newcomers get started. We have only been going since March, and we are all very inexperienced, but this was a hint of success.

If I was a more egotistical man, I'd say we developed Carl from our comedy club, but that's not true. He's a very hard working and more importantly very funny young man. It is really very nice to think that we have at least helped get a very promising comic on to the first few rungs of a pretty tough ladder to climb.

And...De-lax

2006-12-11T06:38:00.000-08:00

I'm just assuming that delax is the opposite of relax. It is entirely likely that I have made up a word which doesn't actually follow any rules of the english language whatsoever. In which case, I apologise to anyone who read the book 'eats, shoots and leaves' but you are probably too much of a pedant to have made it this far into the paragraph.

But, I digress. Quite strangely as it happens. Hmm.

Been to Spain, which was great, sat on the sofa, by the pool and on a stool at the bar. The percentage to which I did these varied day by day, but a simple estimate puts it at an average of 29%, 8% and 38%. The remainder saw me in bed, or in transit.

On day two, I felt my shoulders suddenly relax, which indicated to me just how stressed out I was. It was a lovely feeling, and one that persisted for the whole week.

Sadly I have returned to a mountain of paperwork. Which is a metophor, but I measured it at 65cm, which is well over half a meter of paperwork. I reckon any more than 15cm of paperwork equals a stress related heart complaint. Because of this, I will probably be a little less bloggy than normal, but I will try to keep up a regular flow of garbage.

Despite the bitching I just did about my job, I am strangely pleased to be home. It was a good break, one that I needed, and I genuinely feel different now. I think it helped me mark an end point to the crap that went on over summer.

I emerge a different man, with a gig in manchester tonight, a new house and housemates, and a car with a broken speedometer. Yeah, that's right, I can almost feel the envy already.

Spainos, Grassy Ass.

2006-11-29T02:23:00.000-08:00

I just read through my blogs, and can't believe I forgot to mention this.

I'm off to spain tomorrow for 10 days or so, to see my good friend The Cat. Styx. Jackov. He goes by many names.

Anyway, he's a great mate of mine - was my best man when I got married - and I am going to spend a few days sat on his sofa, watching England be rubbish at cricket, occasionally going to a mad salsa nightclub and hopefully not putting too much weight on (15 and a half stone this morning!).

And I just checked the forecast, its 10 degrees hotter there than it is here. Shorts, ho! I wouldn't worry, I always take rain with me to Spain. I am hailed as a hero by their farmers.

For this reason, as his internet access is rubbish, I will not be blogging, but I may well be writing anyway, because I think it is good discipline to write every day. I'm sure you won't miss me, but if you are considering sending the dog catcher, I've not escaped, I'm in Spain.

In a Cattery.

I'll explain that bit when I get back.

But is it funny, really?

2006-11-29T00:47:00.000-08:00

I still struggle with the whole concept of funny.

I have been telling the tale of how I noticed my 'lad' got bigger when I lost weight. It didn't actually get bigger, but there was less fat obscuring it. I think this is a funny concept, and when told without using explicit language, it becomes less of a man talking about his penis, and more about rediscovering body parts that you really should have known about.

It has a hint of the absurd, and there is a bit of physicality you can put into it. I genuinely think its a funny idea, and I like to tell it.

Last night was the first time I told this tale on stage. I talked about re-notching my belt, which got a cheer (I was quietly very pleased with that), and I talked about this body part thing. Its not just about that part, there are other bits that have changed, and I talk about them too.

I ended on the bit about my fella, and it fell flat. I couldn't help myself, and looking back on it I'm not proud, but as if fell flat I went back to old faithful, and turned it into filth. Which got a massive laugh.

I love what I do, and I really like some of the ideas that are working for me, but it is a constant bugbear, that I only get massive laughs when plumbing the depths.

Not funny, just a bit gutted.

"So, I've managed, through weight loss, to gain a clear inch at the base of my cock! The other day, I saw it, I was scared half to death. Not as scared as the kids were though."

Don't laugh, its just bloody purile.

Vigorous Dreams

2006-11-28T00:27:00.000-08:00

I know that I am a little odd. I rather like this about me. I can be predictable, but not as much as people think. Sometimes I do things that I never expected to see me doing.

On Thursday of last week, I woke up with a groin strain. I was absolutely fine when I went to bed, but when I woke up, I found I had mysteriously janked a muscle in my groin.

On Sunday when I woke up, I found I had mysteriously twisted my knee. Quite painful it was too, it still hurts now. I was absolutely fine when I went to bed, apart from a little bit of pain in my groin from Thursday.

This morning, when I woke up, I found I had mysteriously pulled my hamstring. All three injuries were on the same side.

Now I'm starting to get worried that in the middle of the night, I am getting up to play basketball in my sleep. Or competing in extreme hopscotch.

My question blogwatchers, is this. How in gods name am I damaging my left leg so severely whilst doing little more than rolling around on soft furnishings? Heaven help me if I ever get a love life again, I could break a tibia.

This texting thing rocks!

2006-11-24T00:57:00.000-08:00

I am getting into the whole texting people thing now. I'm quite liking the flirting backwards and forwards. I also quite like the lack of body language, so you have to guess at a lot of the intention of what is being said. The other side of which is that you get to make your textee guess at your own intentions.

I have been doing this now in earnest for a week, and I have surprised myself.

The fact that it is so playful, so innocent and so easy to pick up and put down is great. I am starting to see why people are so into it as a medium for communication.

If I'm honest, I am just playing with it at the moment. Those that I am trying to strike up text conversations with are not necessarily people I would chase. Is that unfair? I don't know. I do think I am allowed a bit of time to have some innocent fun with the opposite sex. I've served my time in the serious bin. I'm due some giggles.

There is the downside though. Confusing girl and Stalker have hit an odd situation, where confusing girl cannot get rid of stalker at all. Every text, which seems pretty clear to me, is taken in completely the wrong way. Obvious put-offs are taken as invitations. There is really no point in trying to say anything serious by text. That's when the old fashioned communication routes need to be opened.

So, no strings flirty fun is the order of the day. My friends keep coming out with phrases like 'confidence shag' and the delightful 'get it poked, lad'. Or my favourite, 'If I'd gone that long I'd **** a trapped rat'. Lovely thoughts guys, and I know they have my best intentions at heart, but I think the only thing you learn from sleeping with a girl called fat Sheila, is that you shouldn't sleep with women called fat Sheila.

Heat Magazine

2006-11-23T01:14:00.000-08:00

This publication really gets on my wick. For those that don’t know, it is a weekly magazine featuring all the media darlings of the day, the clothes they wore, and pictures of them looking a bit rough in the morning, or a bit rough late at night.

It is fast-food for the brain, and I know plenty of otherwise intelligent people (girls mostly) who are addicted to reading it. To be fair, I know how bad fried chicken is for me, and can’t resist, so this is just a less physically damaging self-indulgence.

A few weeks ago, Heat magazine published a load of pictures of young, pretty ‘celebrities’ who had put on a little bit of weight. And I mean just a little. The hint of double chin as she looks down, the slight stomach bloat which was more likely to be part of a cycle than actual weight gain, the suggestion of a muffin top*

I don’t know what happened in the following week, who spoke to who, what public body complained to what private body, but something happened.

The very next week, they ran pretty much the same set of photos, but this time as a ‘big is beautiful’ campaign. The hypocrisy was outstanding. Especially as they had a letters page full of people gushing about how great it was that they were celebrating people with ‘normal’ figures.

THEY BLOODY WEREN’T! THEY WERE TAKING THE PISS.

God it made me so angry.

Then they had the audacity to run a ‘this is what men really think’ article last week. Suggesting – and this is a real nugget that you may never have thought of – that blokes like boobs and bums. IT’S A REVELATION! How do they come up with this stuff? That’s like a bloke magazine running an article telling us that women like shoes. Or that maybe being selfish in bed is a bad idea.

The classic question they asked blokes was:

‘Who’s more attractive, Charlotte Church (20, big boobs) or Victoria Beckham (mid 30’s, built like the gable end of a crisp, 2 kids). Surprise sur-bloody-prise, most lad chose the 20 year old with the big boobs.

For goodness sakes how do they write this crap with a straight face? You’re right, they probably don’t.

As you have probably guessed, I am addicted to reading this magazine, and will be gutted when I move out at the end of the week and have to try and justify buying it for myself.

*to those who don’t know, muffin tops are the bit of fat that hangs over the top of your jeans, similar to the way a muffin hangs over the top of its bun case. And as it happens, it is quite sexy to have a little bit of that. To my eyes anyway.

Long live comedy last night

2006-11-22T02:18:00.000-08:00

Last night we had a lot of fun at long live comedy. It was another friendly audience, and not overly reliant on acts bringing their mates – there were a good few regular audience members there too.

On a personal note, I came up with nothing new, and tried out some older material using my pipe, which for some reason I have been unable to perform. It used to be my best bit, and now it just isn’t working. This annoys me somewhat.

It is especially irritating because it stopped working after my wife left me. The stuff about my ‘wife’ didn’t stop working, that was fine, but my stuff about smoking a pipe, and how it makes you different did. That makes no blooming sense at all. I think I need to get a bigger pipe.

Most distressing of all though, was a triple whammy blow to my perceived hard work with the opposite sex. (apologies for the slightly odd anonymity, but you don’t know who reads this stuff)

Pretty girl #1 introduced me to her girlfriend, Pretty girl #2 didn’t turn up, and Tall girl #1 started showing interest again, so maybe she isn’t moral support, but is as rubbish at dealing with the signals as I am.

Damn this confusing game.

Who doesn't know naughty people?

2006-11-21T01:18:00.000-08:00

I am a little tetchy today, so this will be brief, but I really do not like people who try to be 'big men'. Sadly it is usually men. These are the kind of people who say things like:

'You don't know who you're messing with'

'If you knew the people I knew, you wouldn't talk to me like that'

My problem is that I am a gob on a stick. I don't make idle threats or anything, I just tend to say the wrong thing a little too often, and get people's backs up.

Classic example. I was in Leeds the other weekend, and I was talking to a lad who thought he'd try and wind me up. He basically spent about 3 hours saying that obviously my wife left me because I was an idiot, crap in bed, too fat, etc. etc. etc.

That sounds horrendous when written down, but it wasn't that bad. And I get much, much worse at the rugby club. It's all just banter at the end of the day. At one point, he leaned to his friend and said 'do you think I can make him cry?'.

I'll be honest, that offended me. As if this part time windup merchant can illicit an emotional response from me? Bloody fool.

I bided my time, and then, after a few hours he came out with the phrase 'All women are c**ts'. I agreed with him, but pointed out:

'If all women are c**ts, that includes your mum and your kids'

Perfect logic, but very inflamatory. It took him three hours to fail to get a rise out of me about a very keen personal subject. It took me one sentance and he came very close to hitting me, and the whole thing was dropped.

I win.

Flat search

2006-11-20T05:23:00.000-08:00

I have been trying to find a new place to live, which has been an interesting challenge. I went to see a few places, and all the nice ones were going to other people. You find yourself in a kind of popularity contest.

Ooh, ooh, pick me, I'm a lovely flatmate, ooh, ooh, pick me.

I was also very excited when I realised that, in phoning to see if I could view the room, I was getting their phone numbers. Without the rigmarole of buying drinks and having no idea when it was appropriate to ask. I have decided to talk to one of the girls in question via text to see if anything happens.

It turns out texting a girl is a hell of a lot easier than talking to them. This sets off the worry in my head that it is artificial, and I must be losing touch with the normal way of talking to people – are we losing our social skills in the new technological era?

Tell me, friends that I met on the internet, am I relying too much remote, non-face-to-face relationships?

Anyway, I got to talk to a girl via text, and if she turns up at my comedy night on Tuesday, I will take it as a sign, and try really hard to be confident.

Then on Sunday I finally got the room I wanted. It is a lovely little house, with three other people in it, and I just felt comfortable the moment I walked in. With the house and with the people. They are all a little younger than me, but I don't see that really mattering one jot. Most importantly, we seemed to get on, and when I went back half an hour later, because I had dropped my wallet on the sofa, they asked me to move in. Happy Al.

And they are photographers, which is great, because it means I can get them to do some new promo shots for me, since my only one is from April, and I look different to that now.

AND they said they would come to my comedy night to have a look. So I have more audience members.

Its all good!

Getting shirty at the weekend.

2006-11-20T05:09:00.000-08:00

After I finished work on Friday, I went to a couple of shops with one purpose in mind. I had decided to buy a fitted shirt. This is because I have a big chest still, but much narrower waist than I used to have. As a result all of my old shirts flare at the waist, and make me look bigger than I am. I know all about fashion and stuff, me.

I almost bought a copy of GQ the other week. That’s how serious I am.

I didn’t buy a fitted shirt. I did however buy a shirt. It was a large shirt.

This was a massive thing for me, and I don’t think you have yet appreciated the resonance of the situation. You see, I have been buying shirts for a long time. In the last 10 years, my shirts have all had one thing in common. X’s.

This was not an XL shirt, or an XXL, or even an XXXL (I own a few of each!). No, this shirt was merely large.

I realise I have been banging on about weight loss a lot, but it really is very exciting. That said, I went out in my new shirt, and caught a reflection of myself in the mirror. I still have the double chin and boobs, so there is a long way to go. But I am merely large nonetheless.

It’s just a shame I didn’t have the same feeling of achievement when I shifted from XXL underwear to just L. I liked the idea of requiring extra-large pants, I felt there were undertones of…well…you know.

This is how you learn

2006-11-17T03:19:00.000-08:00

Mercy O'Reily what a gig.

I went to a pub in gateshead last night to compere for a charity gig. 6 comedians had given up their time for free to raise a little money for 'Children in Need', which was reasonably public spirited of us.

When I arrived, I should have known what was coming and just turned tail. But no, I was a fool, I was over-confident, and I went for it.

This was like a working mens club, but not as tidy. The people were friendly, but mad, and in plenty of cases, absolutely hammered. I went on to a gentle applause, and tried very hard to be nice.

I got stoney faces, slight confusion, a comment about how nice my bum was, and huge laughter everytime I swore. Sadly the actual jokes fell on their - apparently lovely - arse.

It's really disappointing when you write and perform what you believe to be a really good gag, just for the word 'wank' to get a bigger laugh.

The first guy went on - Steph Peddie - really good at working a hard work room. I've seen him dig a way through nightmare gigs before, but even he decided after about 15 minutes of battling, that it was time for him to go home. And he got told his bum was lovely too, which ruined the only plus point of the gig for me thus far. She just liked blokes with big arses. Nothing personal against Steph, but my bum cheeks are considerably tighter.

Pete Thompson and Carl Hutchinson strode manfully onto stage, and both did their best, but by this point the crowd were talking amongst themselves, and I just couldn't get them to listen to the acts any more. I will learn the art of the compere, but I have a lot to learn.

The biggest laugh of the night went to Kevin Hayes (poor, poor unsuspecting guy, very good comic), he took the mickey out of the guy in the wheelchair. It was a funny gag, but you could see the crowd missed the point and just went

'aah ha-haaa, cripples!'

Every comedian was having to tone down their language. Not to stop swearing, but to stop using words of more than one syllable. They just wouldn't have understood.

Thus went the gig. I had a man shout 'fourty one years' over and over and over again at me for 5 minutes, and I still don't really know why.

The lad on the door had a black eye, the DJ apologised for his language when he said 'f**k' and 't*ts', but said 'c**t' three times and didn't mention it at all, and the doorman was 50% Max, 50% Paddy.

At 10:15 the karaoke started, and I'm not ashamed to say, I ran away. We were supposed to have stayed until midnight.

Steph phoned me later on to check that I hadn't been stabbed.

Al Does Not Understand Women

2006-11-16T03:33:00.000-08:00

Pretty tall girl #1
So I have been mad keen on a girl that I met at our weekly comedy night, but not had the confidence tell her how I feel. I have been trying, but just making excuses and not really saying anything. I keep seeing her though, and she keeps talking to me, and she always has her mate with her for moral support.
It took me a few weeks of dancing around the whole issue, but I suddenly realised the other day, that pretty tall girl is not interested. Her weird mate is. Pretty tall girl is the moral support and not the vice versa that I was hoping for.

Bugger.

That one is out of the window now. Mark it down to experience.

Pretty tall girl #2
Another lovely looker who is nearly 6 foot tall (I like the idea of tall girls after being married to a dwarf) who I see all the time managed to make herself undesirable. I don't think I could ever be impressed with someone who can start a conversation, absent of any sarcasm, with the phrase 'The BNP have got it right'.

It turns out I'm not driven by looks as much as I thought. More importantly they need to not be an idiot.

Scary girl #1
Girl who I don't fancy at all but is laying it on a plate. I'll be honest, my defences are eroding, but I have learnt that I enjoy the chase more than I realised. It turns out someone throwing themselves at you isn't as attractive as I assumed it would be.

Thinking about it, how nice would it be to get home, walk into the kitchen, and there was a naked woman on a 6 foot plate? Possibly with a nice garnish. And some sauce.

So I take it back, I would like it laid out on a plate for me. But only in a purely literal sense.

Scary girl #2
Very explicit text messages scare me off. Use of the word 'clit' is maybe a step too far for me at the moment – maybe I need to be less of a prude.

Confusing girl #1
She spends weeks complaining about this person stalking her, and being too forwards. Then the 'stalker' comes and meets confusing girl, and I get very angry with confusing girl for leading the stalker on.

Actually, its all just been a defence mechanism, confusing girl really fancies the stalker, but doesn't think her friends will approve, so has been talking stalker down.

Stalker and confusing girl went home together last night. I rather think they are a decent match.

Confusing girl #2
The lesbians are all insistent that she is a lesbian. They have a gaydar, and special powers. Or so they assure me. I'm fairly sure she isn't a lesbian, what with the boyfriend and everything. I currently have my fiver on bi-curious.

This has become the subject of a bet now. If she turns out to be a lesbian before Christmas, I have to lick a boys bottom. If she doesn't, or no good proof is forthcoming, lesbian has to snog the cook.

Nice girl, not sure yet
Nice girl seems keen, but not that keen. Isn't a stunner, but looks nice enough – and who am I to judge – and most importantly, isn't an idiot.

Not entirely sure how I feel about her, which makes me a girl. I need to make my mind up there. Shit or get off the pot young man.

Its all me, me, me

2006-11-15T08:22:00.000-08:00

I do guilt. Guilt is what I do. And I'll have you know, I do it very well.

It's not the kind of latent, stick-it-in-the-back-of-your-mind, traditional Catholic guilt either. This is every-step-I-take-I'm-killing-the-planet-a-little-more middle class guilt.

Now I don't want to get into some kind of competition here. If a Catholic can prove to me that their guilt is a million times more distracting and unpleasant than mine, then great. You are more than bloomin' welcome to it, mate.

This week, my guilt has been taking the form of my conversation topics, and more specifically the material I use on stage.

I noticed the other day, that I talk about me all the time. Me, me, me. If the conversation wanders around to a more interesting topic, I try my best to bring it back to me with a simple trick. Like 'that's interesting, its a bit like when I...'.

I can assure you this is completely subconsious. I don't love myself so much that I don't think anything else is worth my paying it any attention. Though I am very lovely, and you should pay me some attention. Think of me like a labrador, I'll always be lovely to you, and great with the kids, but if I don't get enough attention, there is a risk I may poo on the floor.

But enough digression. I am writing too much material from the point of view of myself. It is time to open wide my horizons, and start doing stuff about adverts, charvers and cats and dogs like so many other comics do.

Sorry, sarcasm. It is never far below the surface. But begone the cynicism! I resolve to write at least 5 minutes of usable material before the end of the year that avoids the use of the first person.

It must be done!

But baby it’s cold outside

2006-11-14T02:40:00.000-08:00

Ok, I admit it, I am a big lying girls blouse.

After getting all excited about having a run around on Saturday, I rather optimistically suggested I would become the model rugby player overnight.

Now, in my defence, I lost my boots somewhere, and they aren’t cheap to replace. And I DID forget to buy any new ones, because I have a memory like a sieve, and it WAS very cold out last night.

In all honesty, I think it was the last point that was the killer.

The problem is, once you are sat down in front of a roaring fire with a dog on your feet and a big steaming bowl of stew, it is very difficult to convince yourself to go out. Especially when ‘out’ means rolling around in the freezing mud with a bunch of people who are younger and fitter than you. Or in a few cases, older and fitter than me.

And that’s worse.

Still, I was being all domestimacated last night, which was lovely. And I did write some new stuff. This week’s theme at long live comedy (which by now I’m sure you know is our weekly comedy night) is cheese. And I work in a cheese factory, so I should have something for the theme!

So I thought about cheese, most notably Cheddar, which is very English. It is solid, dependable, strong but bland, and gladly sits with all manner of foods. It is a multicultural cheese really. Then I look at Camembert, which stinks, and is soft. Unmistakeably French.

Do come along to LLC tonight if you are in the Newcastle area. It’s at the dog and parrot (opposite the centre for life), starts at 8:30 (well 9 really) and is only £2. You might see me do my seldom performed Oompa-loompa song.

Exercise! Now that's the answer.

2006-11-13T02:24:00.000-08:00

After being pretty sedentary for the last couple of months, I found myself playing a full 80 minutes of rugby on saturday.

I had fallen out of love with the game, what with my personal life going wierd, and then at the start of the season, I was on the bench for the first three games and didn't get on the field. I just couldn't be bothered with the whole thing, and I didn't see the point of training twice a week for no reason when I could be out drinking with friends.

So there I found myself, trying and failing all day to come up with an excuse not to play. I was over the moon when I couldn't find my boots, because there was an excuse ready made for me. Sadly a mate let me use his.

What ensued was a game against some very experienced hairy arsed geordies who didn't like the young kids they were playing against. I found myself having to be a little more agressive than normal, and being one of the older guys on our side, I was a little protective when the little scuffles broke out.

Apologies for those who don't know the game very well. I will do my best to explain it. I play as a prop, which means I hardly get to touch the ball, and should spend most of the game doing the 'hit the man as hard as you can' role rather than the 'look pretty and dance around with the ball, locks flowing in the wind' role.

Though my locks did tend to flow in the wind a little as I was charging into rucks and mauls.

What was strange though, was that the game was rubbish, and I loved it. I really enjoyed myself. The referee was insistent on slowing the game down, and the first half just went scrum-drop ball-scrum-scrum-pass-drop ball-scrum. It wasn't a crowd pleaser. But I loved it.

I woke up on Sunday, stiff as a board, but feeling happier and healthier than I have in months.
I'm so chuffed, I may even go to training.

and...relax - Nov 9th

2006-11-13T02:22:00.000-08:00

After a fierce attack of sarcasm and bile yesterday, I feel the need to write something nice and fluffy.

Aren't puppies lovely?

I don't think that's really me. Oh well.

I think the dog I live with may be a racist. It isn't easy to spot, because the area I live in isn't exactly an oasis of multiculturalism. When we go for a walk, we seldom bump into people who aren't white.

Because he is - like most dogs - territorial, anything that is out of the ordinary gets barked at. People with bags, hats, hooded tops with the hood up, sticks, people who have been drinking. They all get a growl and a shout from the dog. This includes people who aren't white. Maybe I should go to a tanning salon to prove this theory.

I found myself trying to explain it away the other day, and it sounded like I was apologising for a racist grandparent. Things are different in his culture, it's more accepted by his peers, he's very stuck in his ways, he's harmless really and ever so sweet. All that kind of thing.

I'm not sure I can stop him doing it, so I have been encouraging him to bark at middle class white people to make it less obvious. So far it appears to be working.

Oh, and one more thing. I would be over the moon if my flatmate hung my washing out for me, but I wouldn't dare hang hers out for fear of looking like a pervert. Does that make me a little too neurotic?

Sleep is great - Nov 7th

2006-11-09T02:33:00.001-08:00

I must have slept for 10 hours last night, which is amazing because I normally get less than 4.
And I put a latch on a door, that made me feel manly and useful.

AND, I resisted the overwhelming urge to buy fast, nutritionless, take away food.

The net result of this is a feeling of peace tinged with a hint of smug. It's a little self indulgent, but then I don't have anyone else to indulge these days anyway, so I may as well revel in it a bit.

I managed to get myself all bent out of shape over the weekend when I decided that everything is disposable. Me, you, love, friendship. It is all easily dropped and ultimately means nothing.

It took me a few days, but it turns out some people have no compunction about living in a disposable world. But that's only some people. Not everything has to end.

Melancholy, yes, but it makes me feel a little better.

Oh, and a mate told me a story last night. He was stretching in bed, and whacked the point of his elbow on the corner of the bedside table. This caused an involuntary spasm, and he punched himself in the face.

Then he did the self same thing again 5 minutes later.

I'm not sure if I was supposed to laugh as much as I did, but it really tickled me.

Broken man - Nov 6th

2006-11-09T02:33:00.000-08:00

I feel unusual. I have a healthy dose of the fear. I have no money. My heart is beating funny.
I think I blogged the other day 'I don't think I'll even drink that much'.
That turned out to be a falsehood of ludicrous proportions.

I finished work at 3 on friday, I had a 'quick pint on the way home' and didn't actually get home until gone 4 in the morning. Started drinking again at 10am on the saturday, didn't get in until gone 5am. Started drinking at 10am on the sunday. Got home at about 9pm, not sure what I said to my flatmate. I hope it wasn't too bad.

I also continued my stupid woman failure rate. This time I managed to turn down 3 women in the same night without realising that they were chatting me up. One of them even came back to my room, and I just fell asleep.

I am a dang fool.

And I think I broke myself.

Leeds! Leeds! Leeds! Leeds! Leeds! - Nov 3rd

2006-11-09T02:32:00.000-08:00

I am going to leeds tomorrow to drink of strong liquor and indulge my carnal desires with ladies of loose morals.

At least that's the plan.

It is a while since I have been on a normal boozy boys weekend. There are normally two levels of boozy weekend. There is the one with lads from the pub, where they talk a good fight, but tend to take it easy. Then there is rugby tour and away games, which is a whole new ball park.

I dearly love the madness of a rugby weekend, but it will be quite nice to go out on the hoy with a bunch of geordies, and not set out with the purpose to be horrid to the poor people who have to put up with us. I will probably not even get that wasted, and be able to remember the funnier parts of the night.

It will also be the first time I have been to leeds since my ex-wife moved there (At least thats what she told people. Legal reasons prevent me saying anything else.). I am in two minds about meeting up with, or contacting mutual friends when I get there.

On the one hand, I hate to burn bridges, and ignore people who were really good friends of mine. On the other, I don't want to be stalking around her friends and making it look like I'm checking up on her.

Tough one, especially as I will spend a fair amount of time in no condition to discuss the fairer points of the breakup. I think on this occasion I won't hassle them, but I will have to make a point of popping around to houses next time I'm in the city.

Who the hell are you Dawes? - Nov 2nd

2006-11-09T02:31:00.000-08:00

I believe I am going through a period of some reinvention. It's quite cool, but it's also a bit scary, and confusing.

I am no longer losing weight, which is a shame, but I am settling at a new level somewhere around where I was when I was 16. I was a chunky money then, but I have spent the last 12 years significantly chunkier and monkier.

Clothing has become a real issue to me. I don't know if that is to do with a kind of girlification, too many episodes of queer eye for the straight guy, or just an overwhelming desire to have nice clothes. That said, I still dress like a 40 year old farmer. Some things will never change. I don't have the build to dress like Russell Brand.

Fact is, none of my clothes fit, and at some point I am going to have to undergo a wardrobe overhaul. I think I will wait until I have a wardrobe before I go for it.

Beyond all that, I have defined myself in a certain way for some years now. Things came and went, but my relationship was a constant, and it was were I felt my self confidence and much of my identity was based. Very suddenly it was gone, and it has left me a little confused.

I don't really know who I am or what I want these days. I used to want kids, and a house, and a less stressful job. Now I couldn't bear the idea of bringing kids into such an untrustworthy and inconstant world, I don't want the responsibility of a house, and I am rapidly filling every second of spare time with new challenges.

I also have the horn.

I don't particularly like most of the single girls I find myself talking to, but I have this overwhelming desire to talk to them anyway. I am putting myself in odd places at odd times, just to 'bump into' people. Then when I do meet them, I tend to be really obnoxious to them.
I suppose this is all part of the process, and it will take time to redefine who, and what I am. And who and what I want. All the time there is a competitive streak that makes me want to prove that I am viable, and better than this situation I find myself in.

Sorry, rambling, but I don't really know where I am and where I'm going. I have no boundaries, I have all manner of options, and the sheer size of it all is quite daunting. I need time to take a step back, and take a deep breath, and think. The problem is I want to keep busy, I want to achieve stuff I was held back from, and I'm living a hectic life, so I'm not really helping myself.

People are idiots. Dogs are not. - Nov 1st

2006-11-09T01:37:00.000-08:00

Now I'm not some wierd lonely person who claims the animals talk to them or anything, but I sometimes people are too dim to be let out without a lead. They are a danger to themselves.
So I was walking the dog last night, and he was excitable because of all the fireworks and things. I wasn't too worried though, it was late and dark so the park was deserted.

On the way back from the park, he got very shouty and growled, barked and snarled at a couple of students.

They were very upset, and quite indignant about how I should be controlling the dog, and it was a 'fffaaarking disgraaace' in their irritating plummy accents.

I had to counter, with what I thought was a very fair point. If you are going to dress like an axe murderer, or a skeleton, you are going to get dogs being a bit interested.

Bus Again - Oct 31st

2006-11-07T01:08:00.000-08:00

I'm sure I never used to be this much of a snob, but for goodness sakes how to people put up with public transport? It is deeply unpleasant.

My car was in for a couple of odds and ends to get fixed, so I had to bus in and out of work. Even though I hate the bus, I did write three distinct bits of material during my ride home last night, so it can't all be bad.

If you come along to Long Live Comedy tonight, you will see me doing 'hack' material. I have decided to give it a try. Not that I am the most inventive of comedians, but I do try to avoid the obvious material that every comedian on god's green earth has thought of. Similar material to that I blogged yesterday will crop up, and I bet it gets laughs too.

I have also written a 'rant' about how unfair it was that my mum didn't let me do trick or treat. I'm not saying its good, I'm just saying its there. Come along tonight and judge for yourself.

If it all gets laughs, I may have to consider using the bus more often. It may be smelly and full of oiks, but if it is a tool to help me write, who am I to turn it down?

Long live comedy, tonight, 8:30, Dog & Parrot, Newcastle.

Halloween tomorrow - All Hallows Eve - Oct 30th

2006-11-07T01:07:00.000-08:00

Dress up like a ghoulie, knock on strangers doors and demand money or sweets with the implied threat of a 'trick' if you don't come up with the goods straight away.

Its the only time of year when kids are told to forget what they are told in countless assemblies via the medium of schools theatre, and take sweets from strangers.

I would get in so much trouble if I wondered around at night in fancy dress with a mask on demanding 'treats' from all the kids. So why are they allowed to do it to me?

It's not like any of the ones around my way even make any effort. A black t-shirt and a mask and that's it. You don't deserve a miniature mars bar for that!

I may institute a sliding scale for the kids. Those that made a bit of effort get their dwarf cadbury treat, those that really pushed the boat out and really look good get a can of special brew, and the lazy buggers who don't even have a mask get veg. I'll have a big steaming bowl of spinach on the side next to the door.

I don't like Halloween. It's not even the proper day. It is the day before all saints day. It's like having a massive party for christmas eve, and doing nothing on the day.

Which in retrospect, is exactly what has happened ever since I was old enough to drink.

Melton Mowbray, no pie gags. - Oct 28th

2006-11-07T01:06:00.000-08:00

went to melton mowbray last night, to do a gig, which was a lot of effort. It is a 3 and-a-half-hour drive from Newcastle, and I picked up a fellow comedian on the way.

The gig was very small, and there weren't many there. The promoter - spiky mike - was very nice, but suffered from the problem most promoters have. Every quiet gig I go to, the promoter tells me that it was rammed full of people the previous week. I am starting to distrust them. Now I get people offering me gigs instead of me begging for them, I may start to request the previous week.

Also on the bill was an australian chap, who was very pretty. He looked a lot like Ashton Kutcher. Who's name I can't spell. He had picked up a couple of girls in town, and they came to see him perform. He went on after me, and did not have a great one. It happens.

One of the girls, 'Al' asked him how he thought it went. He mumbled on about it being ok, quiet in places, but generally really good. She just said 'you think?', and followed it up with 'the guy on before you, he was very good.' This is not a nice thing to say. Though I was quite pleased that I made a good impression.

Imagine if he slept with her that night. 'How did you think that went?', 'I thought it was really good', 'you think? The girl I slept with before you was very good'.

Punk? Me? - Oct 26th

2006-11-07T01:05:00.000-08:00

If you are aware of FC United of Manchester, you may have heard them refer to themselves as 'Punk Football'. I think that is kind of cool.

I had a long conversation about this with Gav Webster last night, he was going on about NUFC, how long it has been since he went, not because he is fed up with the lack of cups etc. etc. he is just fed up with the whole business of football. 'I don't want to be looking at Kieron f-ing Dyer as a role model, making £80,000 a week, abusing women and crashing his ferraris'. There were 15,000 in St James' Park last night to watch a league cup match. To a club that regularly sells out its 52,000 seats, that isn't many. He isn't alone. A lot of the fans are starting to get fed up with it and voting with their feet.

Now forgive me for my rant, but I love the British (yes, even the celtic neighbours) and I know that we won't stand for it. It will take a while, and because we are British, we will be quiet about it, but we won't stand for it.

FC united get 6,000 plus every home game, to play non-league football. Punk football.

I don't think this is restricted to football. I think as a nation, we are quietly getting fed up with people making huge amounts of money and contributing very little to the community. The fruit and veg shops, and butchers are growing again after years of decline, because people are getting a bit fed up with supermarkets. Farmers markets and the like are hugely successful.

As far as my own little world is concerned, in the last year there have been a few new independent comedy clubs open in the north east, because even the satirists art is being diluted by the jongleurs's of the world. I like to think our little group at Long Live Comedy is doing it's bit. Come along on tuesday nights for a bit of punk comedy.

I honestly believe the backlash is coming. I have faith in the British people that we won't take this homogenised, sanitised, profit driven shite forever.

Accents - Oct 25th

2006-11-07T01:03:00.000-08:00

I have no accent, so I tend to absorb them.

My current accent is a strange mix of BBC, North Eastern and Yorkshire. I'm not sure how I ended up here, but there are a few obvious pointers. I also noticed different emotions bring out different accents.

If I'm angry, upset or exasperated, the yorkshire accent comes to the fore.

If I'm particularly relaxed (or drunk) or happy, or being blasé, the geordie accent comes out.

If I'm in a meeting or on the phone to the bank, the posh BBC one comes out.

That's fine, they all serve their purpose, but I have noticed that I have been mimicing accents. A guy from Bolton recently sold me something at work, and I accidentally started doing his voice. It got a bit embarrassing. That has happened with a Londoner who started working for me recently.

Strangely enough, this has never happened with asians, or the welsh. I don't know what that means.

Hangovers - Oct 24th

2006-11-07T01:00:00.000-08:00

For the first time in god only knows how long, I am going to our tuesday comedy club with proper new material about the theme.

We do a theme for every night so as to spur us on to write new material. All well and good for Pete who is a prolific writer of new stuff, and Callum who is a quick witted riffing type, and just says what is on his mind. I tend to sit and stew over material, writing and re-writing until I am happy. Give that I don't have much time at the moment, I am not getting much written.

That's why I came up with the theme for this night, hangovers. I have hangover stories, and I like them. I do all kinds of things which I then try to explain away because I had too much to drink. I am a big clumsy oaf, and the booze just makes this worse.

Great, so come along tonight for tales of idiocy. Dog and Parrot, Newcastle upon Tyne, 8:30. It's lovely.

Just in case anyone other than me cares - Oct 23rd

2006-11-07T00:50:00.000-08:00

I realise this is of very little interest, but today I hit 16 stone. I don't recall when I was ever this light.

That said, the boobs and double chin persist, so it seems there is still a long way to go. As I have discussed before, the benefits of weightloss are there, but the drawbacks are getting on my wick.

Even though my waistline is disappearing, my chest is still big, so my trousers don't fit, and my shirts flare out like tents, but if I get a smaller shirt, it goes skin tight to my ample man-mams.

Also, I can't push heavy machinery as easily as I used to. If I throw my weight around now, it just doesn't move with as much momentum.

If I cut my hair as well I would probably samson-like not even have the strength to get out of bed.

Stimulants - Oct 21st

2006-11-07T00:49:00.000-08:00

I am currently surviving on a strange cocktail of Coffee, Cigarettes, Cider and Cheese. Oh, and lots of adrenaline. It is making me go a bit mental, but not how you might expect.

The various chemicals appear to be balancing each other out. I am struggling to feel drunk, or get a caffeine high, I am just keeping going. However, the other day I had a bunch of grapes, and seeing as I haven't had anything remotely sugary for a while, it made me really hyper.

I was at work, and I was just bouncing off the walls with all the nervous energy. I even called a member of management 'a bit of a twat', and the last time I did that I was drunk at a christmas party.

So I have to avoid the fruit, I can't get that out of control again. I will maybe try something a little safer.

Like smack.

Chat up blindness - Oct 20th

2006-11-07T00:47:00.000-08:00

OK, it happened twice in a row and I need to sort myself out.

I am having a very busy week, due to the comedy festival and a load of gigs to organise, and the fact that work is during a busy phase, and the other stuff that I keep agreeing to do. It's nice to be busy, and it suits my personality. (it does mean the blogging is a bit thin on the ground).

On Tuesday, we had a really good gig at the Dog and Parrot, I did around 30 minutes of material, and really enjoyed myself. I was picking holes in it a lot, but that is my way. On reflection, it was a good strong set, and I have plenty to be happy about.

Afterwards, I was chatting with friends, and one of them mentioned that a girl in the audience seemed to find me particularly funny. As she left, she gave me a kiss on the cheek quite at random, and said she thought I was brilliant.

I said "Thanks. See ya!"

She left, and my mate gave me a clip around the ear. I didn't realise that I had been given a cue to commence chat, with potential to lead to phone number exchange.

The following night, I was chatting to another audience member called Gemma. I found her rather attractive, and vis, made the obvious assumption that she was in no way attracted to me. She said she was off to a bar with a friend, and I said "Oh right, have a nice time, we are off to Mr Lynch" which is a bar on the other side of town.

She left, and another mate gave me a clip around the ear. I'd just missed a second opportunity in the same 24 hours.

I'm a dolt. Please, in the unlikely event of a person reading this needing to make some subtle point, or knowing someone that does, remember this very important point.

I don't do subtlety, I never have, and I just don't think I have it in me.

Does this dress make me look fat? - Oct 16th

2006-11-07T00:45:00.000-08:00

No sweetheart, the dress doesn't make you look fat. The fact you eat chips everyday makes you look fat.

It's an old line, and a very funny one. I like.

Body image is a strange creature. I'm always worried about how I look, especially my weight. It is enough to put me in a bad mood, but not really enough to make me do anything about it. Though I have been buying lots of clothing of late.

Women notoriously obsess about their looks and stuff, but it is a commonly known fact that blokes often think their lady looks best first thing in the morning.

You know the one, hair all over the place, makeup remnants on the face - often panda-eyes - breath that could rival the dog for rancidness, and a dopeyness that will take a few hours to pass. It's a classic example of the whole being so much more than the sum of the parts.

I subscribe the the same idea. To me, women do look their best first thing in the morning.

Now I have to find out when, despite all indications, I inexplicably look really good. Even though my hair is big, my mouth unpleasant, my eyes bloodshot, my face sweaty, and my clothing stained. If anyone has any pointers I would be interested.

Al Dawes is a busy man - Oct 13th

2006-10-31T08:21:00.000-08:00

Where once I had a relationship, now I have stuff to organise.

The Comedy Festival is next week, and I am running around putting up posters and the like for that. I wish I was technical enough to put a copy on this site, because it's a very purty poster.
My few weeks 'off' traveling to do comedy isn't quite falling into shape, as in the last week and a bit I have been to York, Sheffield, Manchester and halfway to Glasgow. This is nice, but knackering, and I seriously need to relax.

Everyone at work has noticed that I am sorted, so they are all piling the work on that they have been saving up for me over the last few months. Nice. We are building a new production room, and even though you pay a project management company to do it for you, they always seem to need 'a moment of your time'.

The escape from this, is my precious hour or so a day walking the dog. God bless you Jackson, I wish I could let you know how you keep me sane. Yesterday we were out walking after I finished work - I didn't get back until nearly 8, so it was very dark. We had fun walking down the street pretending not to look into windows.

Very voyeuristic, and probably a bit bad, but I can't help but look in as you walk past and see people's lives happening. Students playing computer games, or sat around listening to someone murder old oasis songs on an acoustic guitar, families of bored kids and exhausted parents, old people asleep in front of emmerdale.

The old people scared me a little. I have no issues against the older generation, its just that when someone with a weathered face and no teeth falls asleep, their faces can assume this mouth-open-head-back-eyes-shut mask of death. On two occasions last night I walked past windows and had to double-take.

"My GOD he's Dead!"........"oh no, just sleeping".

Genesis? Oct 12th

2006-10-31T08:19:00.000-08:00

Last night I returned to the scene of my first ever press review. The pub quiz in the Chillingham pub (hereafter referred to as the chilli), in Heaton.

I used to do two quizzes a week in the Chilli, and I loved it. Now I only do the quiz if the regular quiz master is away. It's a chance to be a little funny, but no real pressure to make people laugh because they are there for the quiz.

One of the weeks a year or so ago when I was standing in and doing the quiz, a reviewer came in from the Evening Chronicle, and I got my first ever press review. "the student compere, Al, really was the making of the night".

Now, aside from the fact that I was 27 at the time, and not a student, but a hard working factory management type, I thought that was lovely. In fact I use that as a press quote on my myspace front page. Unsurprisingly, when the normal quiz master came back, he was a little annoyed.

Despite having to compete with the welsh football match for people's attention, I had a really fun night, and got to crack a few jokes*. I'll be honest, I could have done with the night off, but it is probably my best paying gig at the moment, and I got to walk home, and be in bed before 1am, so it's all good.

*not good jokes you understand, but jokes. The welsh got a lot of stick - you're not a country, you're a principality, and the prince is English. And by English, I mean German. I met Offa's Dyke, the sacred bird of Wales. etc. etc.

Bad chat-up lines - oct 11th

2006-10-31T08:16:00.000-08:00

We used to have a competition when I was a student. You had to come up with the worst chat up line imaginable, and the worst one had to be used all night in the nightclub Ikon on a wednesday night.

Unsuccessful ones included:
'So I've noticed you've got boobs'
'I'm not gay or anything'
'can I touch you?'

Succesful ones included:
'Aaaaalreeet, pet?'
'Good lord, you're lovely, how the devil are you?'
And, quite worryingly, 'Fancy a f***?'

Don't worry, by successful I mean successful for the group as a whole, I never managed to get a single one to work. Mostly because I was too shy to ever use them, except for 'so I've noticed you have boobs' which I had to use, because I came up with it.

Completely forgot you. Nothing personal

2006-10-30T08:33:00.000-08:00

Hello, I remember you. We used to be friends, and I forgot you. I'm sorry.

You see, I met some friends, and started talking with them instead. I'd like you to join me and my friends for a chat.

In normal language, I blog on myspace as well as here, and for the best part of 3 weeks, I forgot to cut and paste them onto blogger. If you want to read them, they are here.

DIY supplier

2006-10-10T07:04:00.000-07:00

Chatting to a couple of lads in the pub last night, I found out where I can get cheap or free DIY stuff, which will be good when I buy my new house. What fun.

Nigel, one of the assembled drinkers, is a shop fitter. When they finish a job, all the consumables they have bought in bulk is given away, otherwise they have to throw it away, at a cost. This means things like screws, nuts, bolts, washers, hacksaw blades etc. All handy little things.

I chucked my hat in the ring, and said I would be interested, after his next job.

Then I got warned off by his mate Eddie.

Apparently Nigel isn't the sharpest tool in the shopfitting game. Last time he picked up some stuff for Eddie, he came back with a few tiles with 'ainsbury's' written on them, and two tins of carpet adhesive.

Bless. He looked so upset when Eddie laughed.

Dare I?

2006-10-10T07:03:00.000-07:00

So what with my weekend being filled comedy chat, rugby and drunkeness...Lots of drunkeness....What with all of that, I have more ideas that surfaced from a weekend of madness.

Chief amongst them, is a thought from circuit comedian Gavin Webster, who's car I passengered in down to Sheffield and back on Friday.

He was talking about how 'edgy' comedians aren't edgy at all. If you want to push the boundaries, really push them.

Sick isn't edgy, it's just sick. Taking the mick out of women and using the C word isn't edgy, it's just the same as a guy from the 70's doing mother in law and 'my wife' jokes. Even taking the mickey out of Jews, Scots, Thick People, Poor People, Gingers, Gypsies, Women and Eastern Europeans is not edgy, because so many people do it, it is acceptable on the circuit.

Black guys can take the mick out of white people. Asians can take the mick out of themselves. But as a White Middle-Class Male with a Job, those are out of bounds, its racist.

I was thinking, what if I do gags around the original set - Scots, French, Jews, Gypsies, Gingers, Poor people, all the rest of it. Then do the self same gags again, but with the words, Indian, African, Black Guy etc. put in their place.

It will be roundly dismissed as racist, but I reject that, if you laughed at the first set of gags, it is merely showing up your own double standards and racism.

Or maybe it will just be me spouting bigoted bile.

Not sure yet, I think I have to write the gags first, then work out if it is worth it later.

The Gig that never Gagged

2006-10-09T06:44:00.000-07:00

Blimey what a Thursday. And Friday. Busy Al, no time to blog.

After hareing around on Thursday trying to sort out all manner of stuff, I found myself standing in last minute for Steph Peddie at a gig in Helensburgh (that's north of Glasgow, people). It was a long way to go for unpaid work, but it was also a chance to be seen by Alan Anderson, who is a promoter with a number of gigs.

I'll be honest, I was a little put out that I have done two paid 20 minute slots for him in the past, but on this occasion he was only willing to give me an unpaid 10, and paid someone to do the other 10 in my stead. Not to be out done by all this, I decided to go up to what was meant to be a tough crowd, and win them over.

John Scott was going up as well, so I was driving him the three and a half hours there, and was all set to once again niggle him for comedy advice. Not so for this day.

We get halfway to hexam, and there is much a-rumbling and a-bouncing. I had no choice but to pull over and inspect. I had blown a tyre. And REALLY blown it, the damn thing was in shreds. I have never seen a thing like it.

I would have changed it in a flash, were it not for the fact that I had used my spare just last week on a slow puncture. Yes I should have a spare at all times, yes it is illegal not to have one, but it was just bad timing. I am loathe to buy new tyres at the best of times, because I have had a couple stolen from this car - they are suspended underneath the car, and are easily knicked.

So I called the AA, and waited an hour for a sarcastic old git from prudhoe to come out and tell me I had blown a tyre. I forget how horrendous tradesmen can be when you are in a spot of bother and you need their help. There was much laughter about how I was breaking the law, and what kind of joker drives a renault clio. Sage advice about what I should do on stage. Idiot.

He agrees to tow me to his garage, and replace the tyre. Instead of maneouvering his van to my car, he spins my car around, foot flat to the floor, bouncing off kerbs, and flapping the remnants of the tyre all over the place. He wasn't endearing himself to me.

The tyre gets replaced, and we are driving back to newcastle - it is about half an hour until the gig was supposed to start, so I have had to make my apologies to Alan Anderson. Driving home, my lights failed, and the speedometer stopped working. Brilliant.

Incidentally, I think I have blown it with Alan Anderson - despite standing in for him (making good account of myself) at the last minute on 2 occasions, because I failed him in the third instance, and because he had no faith in me to start with, I think I may struggle even to get unpaid slots for him for some time. Bugger.

Drunken food

2006-10-05T00:11:00.000-07:00

Actually that's misleading, it is not the food that is drunk, it is the food preparer.

Of late, I have been doing a fine line in pasta dishes when drunk. They all revolve around the three magic ingredients of studentdom. Pasta spirals, cheese, a tin of tomatoes. Mix these in a couple of different orders, and you have perfect drunk food. If you are feeling tasty, you can add the fourth pillar of student food, the tin of tuna. Sadly in this delight, there is no room for the fifth and most important student staple - toast. I have tried pasta bake on toast, it just doesn't quite work.

It is a concern that I am attempting to use fire and boiling water to prepare edible goods when I am clearly in no state to do so. I have ample proof of this, in my last night in the flat.

Before I moved out and said goodbye to my former (married) life, I got properly drunk. Super drunk. Then I came home and drank a bottle of red wine. I didn't want to take any food with me, so I tried to clear the last of the stuff in the fridge freezer. 2 onions, and a lump of frozen liver. BRILLIANT!! Liver and onions. I am a drunken michelin chef! I put the liver - still frozen - into a wok, and fell asleep.

I awoke some hours later. The house was full of smoke, and there was a very concerned east asian woman at my back door asking where the fire was. The smell was special. Special like sweet death. It was not good.

I put the wok in the back yard. I put me in the back yard. I left the doors open. I slept.

This was back in June. Yesterday I put my nose to the letterbox of the old flat, and could still smell it. I had no idea that liver could be so pungent. If you read this pete, you were a nice landlord. Sorry about the smell.

Monkey C, Monkey D

2006-10-04T03:12:00.000-07:00

We have agreed, after great debate, that the monkey is the funniest animal in the animal kingdom.

A few people do material about monkeys - pete's 'planet du sange' material always creases me up, shame it doesn't get more of a response. I don't though. Maybe i will fall back on llama's as a monkey alternative. I used to think chinchillas were intrinsicly funny, but I may be wrong.

Llama is a funnier word than monkey, but monkey based imagery is always going to win out. They are great little beasts, and clearly the funniest in the animal kingdom.

There are other examples of basically funny stuff. Odd numbers are funnier than even numbers - if you talk about a character it is funnier to say they are 47 than it is to say 50.

Also harsh vowels, like K and Z are funnier than soft ones.

I don't know where or why these rules come about, but it is making me think about my writing quite a lot.

Always remember though, none of this is funnier than a fart. For that reason and that reason only, we are reminded that God has a sense of humour. Its a shame the fundamentalist organisation Christian Voice don't. I like to think if they saw a 47 year old monkey fart, even they might laugh.

Flirting, lesson two

2006-10-03T02:59:00.000-07:00

So the flirting thing is starting to become more and more important. Alan's lad grows impatient, so I have decided to go up a gear. To this end, I bought some shoes.

It is a worry that they may look a bit gay, but I have been assured by attractive women that they don't look that gay, and that I should be more worried about the hair product than the shoes when it comes to that anyway.

Other important steps, it turns out that being really, really drunk doesn't help. No really! All that stuff about dutch courage is a mistake. For some reason, leering over a woman, staring at her cleavage whilst heavily breathing beer and rum fumes into her face is unattractive! I have so much to learn.

Telling comical tales of public nudity, and the latest sex jokes I came up with in my set is also a bit of a no-no. Which is a shame, because I have some good tales about drunken nakedness!

Actually, no I don't. They all end up with 'and then I got naked!' which, as a punch line, lacks a certain amount of snap.

So there are things to avoid. In their place I will talk about:

Them. Women appear to be like locusts when it comes to talking about themesleves.

A body part that they probably don't get complimented on that often. That means boobs and bum are out the window, but eyes, wrists, cheekbones all well within view. Actually, I'd like to see some boobs and bum out a window. But that will have to wait.

The phrase 'I understand'. I saw it on 'two and a half men' which is a bad place to start, but I am willing to try anything.

Lying about my job. There is no way to make engineering manager at a cheese factory sound exciting, so no i am 'Al Dawes, International environmental superman', its surprising how little embellishment that lie needs, and the use of the word environmental makes me sound rugged yet fluffy.

Texts. Chicks dig texts. Its true.

Saying that I don't find conventional glossy magazine type women attractive - 'they seem so fake, and I like women who have something interesting about them, not just photo-fit pretty.' The only thing with that is you must avoid words like 'interesting' or 'different', that's like calling people jolly (=fat) or special (=thick).

If anyone has any other gems, I am still interested. And if any of you say 'just be yourself' you can take a running jump. That is a lie as big as 'the worst she can say is no'.

Funny how things change

2006-10-02T01:30:00.000-07:00

I had a good weekend in Manchester all told. It was great to see friends of mine who I have known since I was tiny, and catch up.

It is mad how lives diverge and converge, how people turn out, the experiences they have beyond your life, and how those experiences affect them. It's also strange how after all of that, they are still the same person you knew way back when. With all of the same traits, just with the edges cleaned off by experience and maturity.

We were saying how strange it is to compare how different we are compared to just 10 years ago, and how different will we be in another 10 years? In another 20 or 30? It's nice that it's not just me that thinks about all of this.

It would have been nice to go back and be 15, but knowing everything I know now. The damn foolishness of knocking back a schoolgirl. What was I thinking? People with whom I butchered any possible romantic entanglement. The dirty old man in me wants to stab me in the heart for every opportunity missed, every offer turned down. I was a bloody fool. Mind you, I still am.

My problem with romance is that I have standards that no man who looks or acts like me should, by any rights, have. I know a particularly elligable bachelor who has no standards whatsoever, and he has the right to pick and choose. He chooses to pick up anything. I know that I should suspend my standards for a while and have a 'bit of fun'. I'm just not sure how much fun the clap will be.

I would hate to be in the same position in 10 years time. "Looking back, when I was 28, I wish I'd just gone out and got me a couple of slags. Perhaps then I would have never botted that boy badger." Or something.

Stranger

2006-09-29T06:11:00.000-07:00

I am in Manchester and having a day off. It is giving me time to muse.

I am increasingly beginning to feel like a stranger to this world. I just think I don't fit in that well somehow.

Reading the paper today I find there is a German fella called Bernd Dressler who has set up a business in Berlin. For 20 euros he will dump your partner for you over the phone. For 50 euros he will do it face to face with them.

I'm sorry, but how has it come to this?

It would be laughable if it wasn't for the fact that he is doing a roaring trade. Why is it that increasingly we are not only unable to live up to our responsibilities in life, but we are also not expected to?

The comment in the independant was no better - the columnist rightly says how cowardly this is, but goes on to suggest that the problem is that we can't accept that all relationships have a lifetime, and even though we are living longer, the lifetime of a relationship should not be expected to be much more than a few years.

Don't get me started....

Then having finished my coffee, I wandered down the street, and was confronted by the stick thin manequins in house of frazer, lolling around in lingerie. About 5 window fronts in a row. I look up and see adverts full of girls with their tits out peddling all manner of products that have nothing to do with their tits.

Everwhere I go I see paved streets with the same old crap on them. Footlocker, Topshop, M&S, Boots, ShoeExpress, Starbucks, McDonalds, Burger King, The Works, Phones4U, HMV. This is supposed to be a multi-racial hotbed of culture, yet but for the sheer size of the shops, I could be in bloody Swindon.

I know I am a backward country boy at heart, but I yearn for a bit of realism. Something that doesn't involve sex, paving slabs, advertising and consumerism.

I had been really looking forwards to wandering around Manchester, sampling it, getting used to the place, but I have found the experience completely unedifying.

Thus, I had no recourse but to retreat to what I know. I went to Primark, bought a new T-shirt for 3quid, and some new work trousers for 8quid. Then I went and sat in a pub and drank a pint of guinness, read my free Manchester Evening News and ate my 20p Satsuma. Which was absolutely lovely. I wrote some new material, which wasn't very good, and edited some that I will use on stage tomorrow. Oh, and on the way to this internet cafe I gave an eastern european gentleman a light for his cigarette, and we had a nice chat about St Annes square.

I don't think I'm a complete stranger to this world any more, but it is entirely possible that a city the size of Manchester doesn't really agree with me. God knows how I will cope if I ever do move to London.

clever clever

2006-09-28T07:46:00.000-07:00

My language very often gets interspersed with rubbish. Sometimes it is better than others.

I went for a while calling everyone brother - apparently some guy on lost does it too - but I was doing it first. I got really upset when I mistakenly used it whilst talking to a black guy, who took massive offence. It was almost comical except it was a little scary to my middle class sensibilities. Think Joe Pesci in goodfellas - funny how? Like I amuse you? Like I'm some kind of clown? - only in leeds on valentines day.

Another which lasted for a long time was 'beauutiful'. Everything for years to me was just beauutiful. Much like the brother thing, I think this is nice, but eventually fell foul of everyone thinking I was taking the mickey. Shame really.

Of late I have two verbal ticks, one I am perfectly happy with. 'No Danger' meaning it's nothing, or don't mention it. I remember having a friend who used to say it a lot, but I only really started saying it loads within the last year. Not really sure why or how, and I don't seem to have any control over it, but it's fine by me.

Sadly the other one is utter crud. Instead of things being 'ridiculous' or 'stupid', i have found myself calling them 'counter-intuitive'. I don't know where this crap came from, and I'm not especially proud of it, but I have it now. It is a similar thing to hearing that Daniel Powter son on the way to work and not being able to get it out of your head. You find yourself singing 'de-da-de-da-da, de-da-de-da-da' at the coffee machine.

I can only apologise if you hear me spouting this rubbish, you have every right to mock me to distraction.

The 'fro must go

2006-09-27T00:57:00.000-07:00

For those that don't know me to look at, I have quite long hair at the moment. It is something of a white-man-'fro.

I really like it, and I like the fact that ladies like to touch it, but I have to accept that sometime in the next 6 months, the 'fro must go.

This is for a number of reasons. I have had big hair and shaved it off twice before, and it immediately makes you look like you have lost a load of weight. This is one of my current obsessions, and it sounds like a good short cut.

Also, i have been checking some older photos from 2 years ago, the last time I had my hair cut, and I don't actually look that bad. It was fun having a shaved head, because all the nutters in the pub stopped barging me out of the way, and started being really nice to me. I don't think I made me look hard or anything, but the scary blokes did see something of a kindred spirit in me. On second thoughts that is a point for the hair-stays-there camp.

The main reason the 'fro must go, is that I will start looking for a new job. If I'm totally honest, I can't go to interviews with the wild untamed mop that I have at the moment.

I have realised that one of the main reasons for my unhappiness over the last year or so, aside from my increasingly distant now-ex-wife, is my job. Maybe if I had a supportive partner through this I could have got through, but my job is slowly killing me.

It is a very reactive place, and it is a really agressive blame culture. One of the reasons my lads say they like me as a boss is that they don't feel like they are constantly being got at. That's because I take it all on, and filter it down to them in a nicer way. Great for them, but it's knackering me.
Don't get me wrong, it has its highs. When there is a massive breakdown, and you sort it out, and someone else takes the credit, and then try to explain what happened, and it becomes apparent that it wasn't them at all, I find it hard not to laugh. And there are good people working here, who care about each other. I would have lost my job when my wife left me if I were working anywhere else. But schadenfreud and a nice boss aren't really enough to make me want to stay.

So it is with heavy heart, and increasingly heavy head, that I give my follicles notice. The mop will drop sometime in the next six months.

Its a shame because I think it makes me look like Jim Morrison.

Sadly, others see Alan Davies/ Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall/ Samwise Gamgee/ Archie from Balamory.

Mitch Benn, and my career

2006-09-26T01:07:00.000-07:00

Last night I did a gig in Scunthorpe, the town that lauched a million internet filters.

It was brilliant. It was run by the same promoter that does the Scarbrough gig I did last week, and like last week, I experimented by doing a safe 5 minutes, and a newer or less safe 5 minutes. It was brilliant. I do some material about being a bewildered southerner, lost in Newcastle, and it worked nicely. This is the first time I have managed to get it to work outside of the north east.

Even better, the headliner was not Rob Rouse who was advertised. Rob was on the sitcom 'grown ups' and is a pretty boy, who is very respected on the circuit, but I have never seen him before, and 'grown ups' was dire. Sadly he had to cancel but his replacement was Mitch Benn.

If you don't know Mitch Benn, he does a few things for Radio 4, Mitch Benn's crimes against music, and the Now show. My little brother thinks he is good, and made me listen to him when I went to Swansea. I also thought he was good. This meant I was a bit star-struck when confronted with the guy.

Now, I have met a few comedians over the last 6 months, and this was undoubtedly one of the biggest in terms of current exposure. I have found that the further up the ladder the comedians are, the nicer they are. I don't know if it's a maturity thing, or if they are just unthreatened by a new face like me, or what. Certainly guys who are professional but not yet Jongleurs/ Comedy Store regulars tend to be very dismissive. Not this fella.

We sat and talked for a bit before the gig, I managed to make the guy laugh. Then we sat and talked for ages after the gig, about how the career progression works in comedy. What to avoid, why I should go to london, names to look up, why I should go to london, how to arrange my set, why I should go to london. I couldn't help but think he had a bit of an angle.

Callum Cramb has been told the same before, mind. Apparently it is good to go to london, pick your gigs, be prepared to be a no-one, and make sure you have a nailed on 20 minutes of material, so you can hit it hard and make an impact. I have probably a couple of hours of material now, but I can guarantee that an hour and a half of it only makes me laugh, and 15 minutes of it only makes my mates laugh.

In london, I won't get to do a 20 minute gig any time soon, but I will have enough material to chop and change according to the audience.

I find myself thinking that this is a plausible plan. In 6 months or a year's time, I could get a job back home in Oxford, and commute to london gigs in the evenings. I'm not saying I will do that, but it is definitely an option! How cool is that? Thanks to my impending divorce, I have never felt so free, the possibilities are endless.

Things are good people. I'm waiting for the next crash...

So many thoughts, so little time

2006-09-25T00:53:00.000-07:00

My head is buzzing, so much happened over the weekend, and so many ideas popped in my head, but I don't know what to do with them. I think I will list them today, and expand through the week.

Flirting is harder than it looks. A casual compliment is easy, but to try it on a stranger, and expand it into a conversation that ends with 'so do you mind if I put alan's lad in you and wiggle it about a bit?' is proving difficult.

Ice cream vans would do better if they offered a savory alternative - mashed potato in a yorkshire pudding cone, with a sausage sticking in the top, and optional gravy.

My ex-wife has now moved out of Newcastle, and is residing in Leeds. She appears to be talking to me at the moment which is good. There was an incident, after which I was told I was a true gentleman. All of this has made me feel happy.

I am running the bar at the rugby club this year. The first home game was on Saturday. I found out on firday night that there was no beer delivered, and the woman that does the food isn't doing it any more. Saturday was a sustained 24 hour flap. So much so that I didn't actually sleep on Saturday night, which led to a very strange Sunday.

A friend of mine invented a computer game called 'rapescape', misogynistic fun for all the family. It seemed very funny when I was drunk. It seemed pretty horrific when I sobered up.

The dog egg problem persists. I went out with him late at night in the dark, and in cleaning up after him, I had to don the plastic bag of intrepidation, and feel around on the floor for the warm bit. It was minging. The smell alone is difficult to bear. One of my friends told me to not breathe through my nose, but I swear, if I breathe through my mouth I can taste it. Ugh.

I managed to last a weekend in the house on my own without breaking anything, or ruining anyone's week. It's the first time in a month. Thank god.

Could I be a lefty?

2006-09-21T02:41:00.000-07:00

One of the things that infuriates me in life is the sodding left wing of politics.

I am a very right wing thinker, and it gets my goat something horrible that this immediately puts people in mind of jackboots, skinheads and burning the poor to heat the rich.

This is not really true, and I have a friend who works for the labour party (you know who you are), who is considerably less liberal in his politics than me. It's just that his belief is that the answers lie in centralised control, and my belief is more in deregulation and personal freedom. My little brother tells me that makes me a lib dem, but those words are poison and I won't let them in.

Very dull, sorry, but I thought I should set the scene.

Al Murray, is actually quite a left wing sweetie, and a bit of a germanophile (if such a word exists). The reason his Pub Landlord is such a great character, is that he looks at everything he hates in right wing people, and parodies it brilliantly.

To that end, I am considering something similar, maybe I could set myself up as a left wing champagne socialist anal retentive, and push that as a kind of character.

You see, growing up in a posh middle class village, it is difficult to like the socialists. Mostly because they had the biggest houses, and the most disposable time and income. Socialism is fine if you have the time and money, and you have an accountant who can avoid all the extra tax you are forcing on everyone else.

And don't get me started on hunting with hounds. I swear, if they wore burberry, used Staffordshire bull terriers, and rode pit ponies whilst pregnant, it would never have been banned.

Bar Woman

2006-09-20T03:24:00.000-07:00

Beware the amazing powers of Bar-Woman.

I have lived in Newcastle for about 10 years, and one of the things that became apparent, is that every bar in the region has a special security system installed. This is a tiny little barmaid with a screechy voice.

It is a remarkably effective system. They usually go by the name of 'CHERLY' or something along those lines.

Their abilities are legendary to turn angry drunk men 3 or even 4 times their size into little boys.

The master stroke, is the ability to solve any argument, no matter how big using one little mechanism. I swear you could send a CHERLY to lebanon, and she would sort the whole thing out.

"How! Ye! Hezbollah, come here! You too Israel. Now both of you!"
(and this is a work of genius, never fails)
"Shake hands".

Problem solved. World order restored.

Dog Walking

2006-09-19T00:25:00.000-07:00

I took the dog for a walk a while ago in the country. There was a farmer in the next field doing what farmers do best. My dog decided to go and befriend a sheep, and the farmer went mental.

Quick as a flash he stopped molesting his sister, poisoning the land and torturing livestock, to run over and shoot my dog in the face. He actually shot the dog dead, on the grounds that it was 'worrying' his sheep.

I have no idea in the world how he knows that the sheep was worried. It's not like he took the time to discuss the percieved tide of religiously motivated terrorist activity amongst goats, or the plague of obesity affecting the lambs as all they do is sit in the barn playing x-box. He must have looked worried, but I looked at the sheep, and his expression didn't change one iota.

I couldn't be sure if I should blame the farmer for his response, or the sheep for conveying this extreme of concern to the farmer, such that the farmer felt justified in such extreme action.

Being the kind of man who believes in action and reaction, I did the only thing that seemed just. I beat the sheep to death. It is remarkable how long it can take to kick a sheep to death. They are cushiony soft, and surprisingly swift. Still, tired, bloody but not unbowed, I dispatched the sheep, and felt order was restored.

Not so the farmer. He was incensed. He ran over to his range rover, past the immigrant workers who were being paid in 'lodgings' drove to his 5-storey mansion, and phoned the police to tell them I was ruining his livelihood, and his children may starve to death this winter.

I'll be honest, I didn't know that a worried looking sheep could give a farmer that much benefit. Maybe he was hoping he could take the sheep to hollywood, to wow the film industry with its range of emotion. 'Worried', 'Content', 'hiding the shame of its recent molestation'.

Duly the police arrived, and after a brief chat, arrested me. I thought I would have got more leniency. I did point out that rather than taking the cheating american way like the farmer, I acted more like the much loved british bobby. The farmer used a gun, but like the british police, I relied on a good old fashioned beating.

I also pointed out that the sheep was black. I'd be lying if I said they didn't think twice. There was talk of the sheep being planted with drugs and a knife, but sadly the farmer was too middle class, and they were worried about the press.

So I ended up in court, to defend myself for ovicide. I managed to escape by purchasing the sheep at market price. The magistrate did not take much heed of the farmer's overtures that this was the remarkable 'sheep of many expressions', as the best it could achieve at the time, was glassy eyed vacancy.

Many barbecues ensued, as I invited friends over and we ate heartily of sheep. This sounds wrong, but it was a big bugger and I have no idea where the lamb/ mutton divide lies. All I can say is it was dressed quite conservatively, and had no noticable sagging or screechiness of voice.

Flirting for Beginners

2006-09-18T03:34:00.000-07:00

I am currently learning to flirt.

Given that I am kind of off women at the moment, I am taking the opportunity to fine tune my flirting techniques whilst I don't really care how effective they are.

To that end, I have discovered the following:

Pale women are 'Alabaster' rather than 'Milk Bottle' white.
Avoid swear words.
Stop banging on about your ex.
Using hair product is good, admitting you do is bad.
If in doubt, compliment. Even if it is a lie, a really bloody obvious lie, they just won't notice.

A Sweater or Jersey is better referred to as a 'top'.

Likewise a Cardigan is better referred to as a 'zippy top'.

If you have any other tips, let me know, but to be honest, I won't be trying it in earnest for a while anyway.

Lies, Damned Lies and Shaving Cuts

2006-09-15T00:31:00.000-07:00

Whilst shaving this morning I realised that I have not changed the blade on my razor since Nicola left me. And that was June! Normally they barely make a month.

I have been shaving more than I was before, and I'm fairly sure that my facial hair hasn't suddenly become downy soft like a chinchilla's armpit (seriously, feel one, its lovely). I can only come to one conclusion, that she lied about her not using my razor to shave her legs.

Now to be honest, it is far from being her biggest lie. There have been some whoppers over the last few years, especially that oft-repeated one about 'love'. Cheeky bastard even had the gall to say that one in a ceremony recognised by the state! But still, it bought it home to me. Yet another lie.

It is upsetting when the person you trust the most in your life has proven themselves to be one of the most untrustworthy. But that said, there are obvious advantages.

If she lied about that, she probably lied about a lot of things. Maybe I am GOOD in bed. Maybe I am a nice guy. Maybe I'm not as opinionated and rude as I have been led to believe. Maybe I am funny. Maybe I am positive. Maybe I am passionate. Maybe, just maybe, I am fun.

I remember very well finding out that Santa, The Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny were all lies. I was very angry with my Mum, called her a liar, accused my dad of being an accessory to her crime. It was very heated.

However, in the cold light of day, it was quite nice to find out that there wasn't a 6 foot high rabbit that laid eggs, because that thing used to give me nightmares.

It was great that my christmas presents came from my parents, and that it wasn't the case that (judging on present quality) Santa liked me less than my cousins and neighbour, but a lot better than my mate dave.

It was lovely to find out that there wasn't some mad wench who snuck into my bedroom stealing my teeth. I used to wet myself if I woke up in the morning with my mouth open. Mum promised me that the Tooth Fairy wouldn't take teeth out of my mouth, but she already proved herself untrustworthy with the whole Easter Bunny debacle.

So check all the people who criticise you, it might turn out they are full of it. Obviously if they turn out to be very trustworthy, you may have to accept that you are a git.

Meeting the olds in the pub

2006-09-14T00:42:00.000-07:00

I met my ex-father-in-law and my ex-step-mother-in-law in a pub in town on Tuesday night. That is a lot of hyphonated words, and I'm not sure I like the way it looks, but what can you do?

But it was a very strange meeting. I have to say I'm impressed with they way they are not ignoring me - like the other side of the family - and it is really touching that they are keen to keep lines of communication open. The problem is I can't really tell them what they want to hear. My ex-wife told them 'everything that happened' and it quickly became apparent that the everything they heard wasn't the whole story, and they knew it.

What fun! So now they are wanting to know what's going on, and I'm not going to be the bearer of that particular news. Especially after her mother called a few months ago, and got it out of me that Nic had left me, I was upset, she was being very understanding. She asked me not to tell Nic that I had spoken to her, which I agreed to. Then she phoned Nic and said 'Al called me and told me everything that happened'. And at the same time started screening my calls and ignoring me. Cheers. That's not happening again.

So we sat and we had a long chat about the nature of love, and the fact that I was their son for 10 years and they don't want to quick forget it. Which is nice.

The whole thing was very draining though. We talked for about 2 hours, and it left me feeling weird. My natural state in these things is to try and work out where I went wrong, and what I could have done to prevent it. I wish I knew what I could do. So I sat and drank and thought about it. Got a bit peshed, and had an epiphany.

I probably didn't pay her enough attention, but that will never excuse what she did. Ultimately, I have no control over what other people do. No one has your back, because they are too busy looking over their own shoulder. Sometimes there's nothing you can do.

The Pull-Back-And-Reveal Gag

2006-09-13T02:21:00.000-07:00

How very tiresome, and yet effective.

The pull-back-and-reveal gag is very simple to do. A classic example is the fist of fun 'and then I got off the bus...' gag. You create a little vignette of depravity, and then you place that in a situation where it is shocking.

'I woke up this morning, had a wank and a poo.

Then I got off the bus...'

'My parents were unsupportive, I remember being told you're a bloody poof you, you even stand and talk like a poof.

That's a very cruel thing to say... Mum'

Do you see what he did there?

When I was at a gig on monday in manchester, I was shocked to find that all the comedians that were manchester based, had exactly the same style. A bit of banter with the audience, take the mickey out of the drunk girl who had already been set up by the MC, then a series of pull-back-and-reveal gags. Rinse, repeat.

I have a couple myself, but I don't rely on them throughout. Maybe I am being a comedy snob, but I find the writing process so hard, it really gets my goat when people just keep using short cuts.

Maybe I shouldn't be so anal about it all. This is my resolution for the week, to have no fear about doing whatever it takes to get a laugh.

So, come to the dog and parrot next week to see me doing racist gags that bernard manning wrote in the 60's, and if all else fails, yelling cunt at the top of my voice and wearing a WWI flying helmet.

You Frogging Beauty!!

2006-09-12T01:18:00.000-07:00

Last night, partner-in-comedy-crime Pete Thompson and I went to a club in Manchester called the Frog and Bucket for their infamous 'Beat the Frog' gong show. It was great.

Just so you know, the gong show is something of a circus of horrors for new acts, where the comedian gets up to 5 minutes to impress an audience of punters baying for blood. Three audience members get a card, and once all cards go up, a gong is sounded, the comedian gets told he/ she is rubbish and should just go and live in a box under a railway bridge. If you get through your 5 minutes, it goes to a good old fashioned clap off with the other gong-beaters to determine a winner.

Now these are not edifying experiences, you are opening yourself to public ridicule. Take it from me, a three hour drive for less than a minute on stage to a bunch of drunkards shouting abuse is no fun. No fun at all.

I have to say, Beat the frog has a reputation as a lovely gig, but there are plenty of normal reasonable comics out there who don't beat it that much. This is always a worry, and I was bricking myself. I shouldn't have. The reason a lot of people in Manc don't beat it is because they use it to try out new material, some times it flies, sometimes it don't. Simple. I pulled out some new material to give it a little try, and it all worked out nicely.

Pete won the thing, which entitles him to an open spot - another 3 hour drive there and back, this time with no one to share the petrol costs. Such is the life of the open spot comedian. At least at the other gongs you get cash!

I lasted my 5 minutes, and I swelled with pride when I went up at the end and 2 guys from the back shouted 'It's definitely the fat lad in the tie'. Marvellous.

I will now of course be spending the next few months explaining how I should have won, and Pete only beat me due to momentary deafness on the part of the MC.

Strange birthday feeling

2006-09-11T01:11:00.000-07:00

So Nic (my soon-to-be-ex-wife) turned 29 yesterday, and I have to admit the whole thing was a bit wierd for me. She was working in the pub, and I have been rather stubborn about still drinking there. Why should I change my habits? I did nothing wrong! etc. etc.

Enough of the vitriol. I am completely at a loss at how one should approach the situation of the ex-partner's birthday. If anyone knows, please tell me. I'm certain there must be an established protocol, there will be an instruction in some etiquette manual I'm sure.

As it was, I saw her having a pint with a friend, gave her a kiss and a cuddle and wished her happy birthday, and that was pretty much it. I attempted conversation, but seeing as she has not been speaking to me for 3 months, there wasn't much chance. I suppose I should be happy with the slightly uneasy physical contact.

I didn't get her a card though. Or a present. Actually the second one is not strictly true, but it got sent back. Again, maybe I should have got a card and not wandered over and said Hi. I really don't know.

Maybe I should have sat on the other side of the room and hurled abuse and faecal matter. This was the suggestion of some of my friends. It is odd, because I don't feel as bitter or angry as they all think I should. I see that as something of a negative emotion. The worst I feel now, is sad at the demise of what I still think was quite a good match.

This, unsurprisingly left me a touch melancholy. Still, I got to work today, and found that the Health and Safety manager has decided, in his role as the responsible person, that I have to write a training manual, and a preventative maintenance schedule, for the bins. I shit you not, the bloody bins. I laughed so hard I snotted a bit on my white coat.

Friday bloody Friday

2006-09-08T05:57:00.000-07:00

I think this could be the onset of some kind of age thing, but I really hate fridays. They are a teaser of a day, because the moment you get to work, you are just desperate for it to be finishing time. Then when you finally finish, you rush to the pub, polish off pint number one, and realise you have no plans, no where to go except home, and no prospect of a great weekend. This normally pans out fine by Saturday, because the weekend proper has begun, and you slip into weekend mode, but friday is a cruel callous hinterland between the agony of work, and the total relaxation of not-work.

Sod it though, I'm bored. I'm off to the boozer. What's the worst that can happen?

Oi you! Nosey beggar

2006-09-07T07:43:00.000-07:00

In the last 24 hours I have had several people reported to me as abusers of my blog.

Apparently me complaining about my life is a lot funnier that when I was just writing this to work on ideas that I could use on stage. Well bloody sod you, I am not revealing the dark secrets of my break up. It has been unpleasant, and I have already been too big mouthed about it all as I struggled to come to terms with it all, but I have moved on now, and I am not about to dwell on it.

I will refer you to an older blog, make of it what you will.

As it is, I'm afraid that appart from some residual bitterness, the gossipers (sic) amongst you are not having anything more to toy with. So nerr.

Oooh bad timing

2006-09-06T06:38:00.000-07:00

So we had long live comedy last night, which was excellent, if quiet. The quality of acts far outweighed the size of the crowd, but them's the breaks. For a review, try http://www.longlivecomedy.blogspot.com it may take a day to come on mind.

Had a couple of drinky-poos afterwards, and once again had to explain to other people that I am allowed to oggle the lovely rock chicks in the Head of Steam because I'm not married any more.

Thus began a conversation which would be unpleasant in print, but what I will say is I found out what I should have said to Nicola when she told me she was leaving.

You see, we had been to a festival the weekend before, and she told me on the monday night. Whilst at the festival I had a rather lovely young thing called Jasmine show me a lot of attention. We got a little drunk, and a polite enquiry was made, which I just as politely refused, pointing out the sanctity of the institution of marriage.

Thus when Nicola dropped her bombshell, I should have looked her in the eye, and said:

"could you not have done this 72 hours ago?"

It turns out this is the best way to deal with rejection. In any given rejection situation - job loss, not being picked for your team etc etc. It wouldn't half take the wind out of the sails of the dumper, and you would feel much more comfortable with your role as dumpee.

Dumb love and soft clarts

2006-09-05T00:39:00.000-07:00

I am really loving living with a dog. It is so nice to have someone actually be pleased to see you come home and want to spend time with you. Of late I have just had some huffy bastard who gets upset when I get home because she has to get off the phone to her boyfriend.

A bit of dumb love never hurt anyone, and it's heart warming. Body warming too if it is a cold day - it is a new house to me and I still haven't really worked out the heating. Plus I don't pay the bills directly, so I have terrible usage guilt. Problem solved if the dog comes and sits on my chest.

And he needs walking, so I get to take exercise, without it really feeling like exercise, which can only help my 15-stone-by-christmas target**.

The only problem is the dogs eggs. I come from the country, so when I had a dog, I would take it out for a run in the fields, and there was that much cow dung on the floor, the occasional deposit from my hound went generally unnoticed. Now I am walking a city dog in the park, you have to pick it up within seconds of him depositing it.

It has to be picked up for the same reason as anything else - what if it goes in a child's eye? It is amazing how much stuff we are worried could end up in kids' eyes. You have to ask the question why they don't just lead with the nose. But I digress.

Now I find myself walking through the park, armed with a handful of nappy bags, just waiting for the little love to start. There is no nice way of it happening, but when it is very soft, body temperature and sticking to the long grass, I begin to question my love for this animal.

**For interest, when my wife left me in June I was about 18 and a quarter stone, I just dipped under 17 last week. The plan is 15 by christmas, because by then the misogyny may well have given way to the horn.

Been a while

2006-09-04T05:34:00.000-07:00

I know there have been a number of false starts, but you wouldn't want to know what has been going on. Unbelievable. Honestly.

So to recap, I have been left by the wife, and am now on the open market - hold yourselves back desperate overweight thirtysomethings of the world - so if anyone wants a dip, just let me know. I suppose you will have to get used to the fact that I am going to be a touch misogynistic for a while, but I promise you it will pass.

I went to the So You Think You're Funny semi finals, and wasn't great, but was about third on the bill. The winner wasn't the best on the night, and a guy called Ed Acksel was robbed if you ask me. Not that anyone did. The girl that won (a lesbian australian doing knob gags) went on to come second overall, so I shouldn't be disappointed, it's just that I didn't think she was that good.

I then did a few gigs around the country and my pre-existing opinion that Yorkshire is great and Lancashire isn't continues. For some reason my best gigs have all been in Yorkshire and all the really horrible ones have been in Manchester. I can't imagine it is a war of the roses situation, so I am stumped.

I moved house twice, and now live with my friend's wife and dog whilst he is at the other end of the country doing a film. It appears that my role is to fix stuff, change lightbulbs, answer the door to wierdo's and pick up soft warm turds from long grass. The last one notwithstanding, I am happy with my lot.

Despite me staring down the barrel of a divorce, and having to completely re-evaluate my life, I am strangely at peace.