Hi guys/guy.
I wrote the first 2 blogs with no internet connection in my new flat. It has only just been set up and for the week 22-26th Feb, I have been sorting lots of other boring things out so the blog writing was suspended.
It will resume again on 1st March
how exciting?
Till next week
Friday 26 February 2010
Friday 19th Feb 2010
Today was a great day due to the fact I got to interact with some human beings. I woke up and watched a couple of episodes of Frasier on Comedy Central. This programme always makes me happy. I watch it everyday and think I should write a sitcom as good as this but I don’t. I end up being a ‘viewer instead of a doer’. I’m pretty confident I just made up this saying: I was thinking of patenting it but can’t be bothered, the irony of this is not lost on me.
I was ready to leave the house but hadn’t brushed my teeth. I lent my one and only toothbrush to a friend the night before and for some reason, which was effectively my way of retiring it. I was on my way to get my photos taken in Tooting. I decided to chuck in a little bonus activity en route, so stopped into Portobello Market to buy clothes. Word of advice: If you’re a man and want to buy threads don’t go to Portobello. There is loads of stuff for ladies but pretty much a t-shirt and one shoe for men. Also all the people who own the stalls are dressed like wacky vintage bellends. Everyone seemed to be wearing a hat and big boots: it was especially irksome to see a male stall holder wearing more men’s garments than the rest of the market had on sale. So after this fruitless waste of time, I got my skinny white ass down to Tooting.
I should explain why I was in Tooting. A girl called Tania Ghosh (quality name I know!) saw me at a gig the week before and wanted to take some photos of me for a photography project. I’d never met her before, I was just responding to an email she sent me. It turns out she was a perfectly nice person, however, I completely agreed to meet her above a pub in Tooting without knowing anything about her. I could quite easily have walked into an ambush set up by my nemesis. I don’t actually have a nemesis that I know of but still this illustrates how desperate I am for company. I agreed to go to the other end of London to let a complete stranger photograph me for no money. Not just the other side of London but Tooting. It really is one of the biggest cum holes in London. They still have a Woolworths exterior to one of the shops there. You know an area is pikey when they leave a shrine to a shop that was famous for selling cheap pointless crap.
The photo session went swimmingly. Tania seemed lovely and I avoided making too many obvious gags about her name e.g. ’oh Ghosh’ and….well that’s about it. I’m still not entirely sure what the snaps are going to be used for. If you see me as the new face of Chlamydia in the next few months then I’ve made a rookie error.
I only had an hour and half left to kill till 5 and luckily I was near Clapham South where my good pal Charlie Meek lives. He is probably the funniest person I know yet can also be the grumpiest geezer ever to walk the earth. I arrived at his with a new toothbrush, purchased from a dodgy Tooting corner shop (It’s probably less hygienic than my previous shared one). Charlie is assistant manager of Vodka revolution (that chain of bars that has ‘revolutionised’ vodka/sells different coloured vodka to drunk slappers) and was luckily off work as he’s on crutches with a mystery disease. By luckily, I mean good for me as I got to hang out with him. I don’t think he believes being temporarily disabled is lucky, in fact he was pretty pissed off. Although, he was much less grumpy than I was expecting. We passed the time by playing a very childish game of text roulette. You very simply construct a stupid text on the other persons phone, you chose a letter they chose and number and you go that many places down in the address book and sent the text. The messages contained nothing sexual, they were much sillier, I think one of them was ‘Just so you know if I was going to be any black person, I’d be Hugo Rodallega, just keeping you informed’.
So there you have it, whilst most people are getting emails off before the end of the week to important clients I’m essentially prank calling people. Pretty mature.
I was ready to leave the house but hadn’t brushed my teeth. I lent my one and only toothbrush to a friend the night before and for some reason, which was effectively my way of retiring it. I was on my way to get my photos taken in Tooting. I decided to chuck in a little bonus activity en route, so stopped into Portobello Market to buy clothes. Word of advice: If you’re a man and want to buy threads don’t go to Portobello. There is loads of stuff for ladies but pretty much a t-shirt and one shoe for men. Also all the people who own the stalls are dressed like wacky vintage bellends. Everyone seemed to be wearing a hat and big boots: it was especially irksome to see a male stall holder wearing more men’s garments than the rest of the market had on sale. So after this fruitless waste of time, I got my skinny white ass down to Tooting.
I should explain why I was in Tooting. A girl called Tania Ghosh (quality name I know!) saw me at a gig the week before and wanted to take some photos of me for a photography project. I’d never met her before, I was just responding to an email she sent me. It turns out she was a perfectly nice person, however, I completely agreed to meet her above a pub in Tooting without knowing anything about her. I could quite easily have walked into an ambush set up by my nemesis. I don’t actually have a nemesis that I know of but still this illustrates how desperate I am for company. I agreed to go to the other end of London to let a complete stranger photograph me for no money. Not just the other side of London but Tooting. It really is one of the biggest cum holes in London. They still have a Woolworths exterior to one of the shops there. You know an area is pikey when they leave a shrine to a shop that was famous for selling cheap pointless crap.
The photo session went swimmingly. Tania seemed lovely and I avoided making too many obvious gags about her name e.g. ’oh Ghosh’ and….well that’s about it. I’m still not entirely sure what the snaps are going to be used for. If you see me as the new face of Chlamydia in the next few months then I’ve made a rookie error.
I only had an hour and half left to kill till 5 and luckily I was near Clapham South where my good pal Charlie Meek lives. He is probably the funniest person I know yet can also be the grumpiest geezer ever to walk the earth. I arrived at his with a new toothbrush, purchased from a dodgy Tooting corner shop (It’s probably less hygienic than my previous shared one). Charlie is assistant manager of Vodka revolution (that chain of bars that has ‘revolutionised’ vodka/sells different coloured vodka to drunk slappers) and was luckily off work as he’s on crutches with a mystery disease. By luckily, I mean good for me as I got to hang out with him. I don’t think he believes being temporarily disabled is lucky, in fact he was pretty pissed off. Although, he was much less grumpy than I was expecting. We passed the time by playing a very childish game of text roulette. You very simply construct a stupid text on the other persons phone, you chose a letter they chose and number and you go that many places down in the address book and sent the text. The messages contained nothing sexual, they were much sillier, I think one of them was ‘Just so you know if I was going to be any black person, I’d be Hugo Rodallega, just keeping you informed’.
So there you have it, whilst most people are getting emails off before the end of the week to important clients I’m essentially prank calling people. Pretty mature.
Thursday 18th February 2010
I managed to drag myself out of bed at about 10:30, significantly later than I usually like to rise but I was still feeling ropey from three bottles of Grolsch consumed on Monday. They were the obese bottles with the cool flick and pop tops, which I’m convinced means the bar just refills them with any old crap. Once I was up I was determined to actually do something constructive as the day before I managed to spend 6 hours inside playing Fifa 2010. In my defence, I’d worked my way up to becoming an Arsenal regular on ‘Virtual Pro Mode’; not exactly what most people would call ‘productive’. Today I wanted to invent something as culturally significant as penicillin or at least get an England cap on Fifa.
So I got the bus to my outrageously expensive gym. I don’t know if I can divulge it’s official name so shall we say…‘Virgin Inactive’ in Notting Hill. In my mind, paying £70 a month to use a gym means I will actually go more than once a month. It seems to be working but then again even if it was free I think I’d still try to go as the alternative is staying indoors playing Xbox and masturbating myself into an early grave. Pumping iron in the gym is a legal and socially acceptable form of wanking, in my eyes (not the best choice of words). I went on the running machine and chose the one next to the most attractive woman in the gym. If proximity ever becomes the most attractive trait in a person I’m in prime position to cash in. I tried to lift some weights but it’s less fun than running next to an attractive woman. Also I was attempting to avoid the gazes of the various gym monkey boys. When I say gym monkey boys I’m not casually dropping in a racial slur, that’s just my name for the personal trainers, who pretend to be your friend in the hope that you’ll pay them loads of money to shout you into shape. Gym monkey boy (GMB) number one, who’s quite small and Hispanic and looks like he should be driving a taxi in Tenerife, saw me picking my nose whilst I sat on the bench press. Normally I’d wipe it on the bench but as I’d been caught snot handed I had to rub it on my towel.
I left the gym at around 1pm. Only a few more hours left to eat up. I wanted to go down into Portobello road, find a cute coffee shop with free Wifi and write funny jokes surrounded by bourgeoisie creative people. Before this I needed lunch and so went into a Mexican joint and was served by a real Mexican woman-well she had an accent and a tan so, I guess that’s where she was from. I had a meal deal that involved chicken wings and a drink for £5, which on the surface looked great value but three chicken wings actually amounts to no more than a heaped tablespoonful of protein. That’s what happens when you experiment at lunch, you spend money to remain hungry. Tits.
I did find a coffee shop. It was the world’s smallest Coffee Republic. Hardly the indie, trendy venue I was hoping for. I couldn’t write in there because it was the size of most domestic baths and there were two women having a heated argument. One was wearing a helmet that I assumed was for riding a moped but doubled up as protection from Tally McAngry woman (that’s the nickname I gave to the other lady). I then ended up in a place called Kitchen and Pantry, where only Polish women work and the customers are either really old, really attractive older women or tourists, I don’t know which one of those categories I fit into. In the 2 hours I was there I probably wrote 3 things that might be funny, and spent the rest of the time refreshing my Hotmail, Facebook and BBC Sport. A woman was running around frantically, as someone had pinched her handbag. I bet it was one of the crafty pensioners . There is something really uncomfortable about watching a person descend into panic when they quickly come to the realisation that all their earthly possessions are gone. It culminates in them walking around in circles really quickly, holding their hand over their mouth whilst they shake their head and repeatedly shout ‘shit’, ‘fuck’ or ‘bollocks’. To put a more positive spin on it: her loss is my gain as I had something worth writing down…every cloud…
I also downloaded some belting tracks, by Plan B and Prodigy, whilst I was there. That evening I ironically enough got given the new Prodigy album by their very drunk manager in a pub near my flat but if I told you about that, I’d be breaking the 9-5 rule I’ve implemented. In truth, that would be a much more interesting end to this blog than me jumping on the 52 bus back to Kensal Rise but I’ve made my bed, so I’ll have to snooze in it.
Well, there you have it. That is the first insight into how I pass my day times. I really wish there were people who had my interests available to hang out with in the daytime. I thought it would be a good idea for a website: people, who work evenings in your area, fill in their interests and you meet up and hang out. Friends.com, does annoyingly already exist but it seems to heavily push the idea that once you meet they people, you have it off with them. Why can’t there be a website that has no emphasis on sex and instead pushes the thought of meeting up to play Fifa and go to Mega Bowl. Until tomorrow…
So I got the bus to my outrageously expensive gym. I don’t know if I can divulge it’s official name so shall we say…‘Virgin Inactive’ in Notting Hill. In my mind, paying £70 a month to use a gym means I will actually go more than once a month. It seems to be working but then again even if it was free I think I’d still try to go as the alternative is staying indoors playing Xbox and masturbating myself into an early grave. Pumping iron in the gym is a legal and socially acceptable form of wanking, in my eyes (not the best choice of words). I went on the running machine and chose the one next to the most attractive woman in the gym. If proximity ever becomes the most attractive trait in a person I’m in prime position to cash in. I tried to lift some weights but it’s less fun than running next to an attractive woman. Also I was attempting to avoid the gazes of the various gym monkey boys. When I say gym monkey boys I’m not casually dropping in a racial slur, that’s just my name for the personal trainers, who pretend to be your friend in the hope that you’ll pay them loads of money to shout you into shape. Gym monkey boy (GMB) number one, who’s quite small and Hispanic and looks like he should be driving a taxi in Tenerife, saw me picking my nose whilst I sat on the bench press. Normally I’d wipe it on the bench but as I’d been caught snot handed I had to rub it on my towel.
I left the gym at around 1pm. Only a few more hours left to eat up. I wanted to go down into Portobello road, find a cute coffee shop with free Wifi and write funny jokes surrounded by bourgeoisie creative people. Before this I needed lunch and so went into a Mexican joint and was served by a real Mexican woman-well she had an accent and a tan so, I guess that’s where she was from. I had a meal deal that involved chicken wings and a drink for £5, which on the surface looked great value but three chicken wings actually amounts to no more than a heaped tablespoonful of protein. That’s what happens when you experiment at lunch, you spend money to remain hungry. Tits.
I did find a coffee shop. It was the world’s smallest Coffee Republic. Hardly the indie, trendy venue I was hoping for. I couldn’t write in there because it was the size of most domestic baths and there were two women having a heated argument. One was wearing a helmet that I assumed was for riding a moped but doubled up as protection from Tally McAngry woman (that’s the nickname I gave to the other lady). I then ended up in a place called Kitchen and Pantry, where only Polish women work and the customers are either really old, really attractive older women or tourists, I don’t know which one of those categories I fit into. In the 2 hours I was there I probably wrote 3 things that might be funny, and spent the rest of the time refreshing my Hotmail, Facebook and BBC Sport. A woman was running around frantically, as someone had pinched her handbag. I bet it was one of the crafty pensioners . There is something really uncomfortable about watching a person descend into panic when they quickly come to the realisation that all their earthly possessions are gone. It culminates in them walking around in circles really quickly, holding their hand over their mouth whilst they shake their head and repeatedly shout ‘shit’, ‘fuck’ or ‘bollocks’. To put a more positive spin on it: her loss is my gain as I had something worth writing down…every cloud…
I also downloaded some belting tracks, by Plan B and Prodigy, whilst I was there. That evening I ironically enough got given the new Prodigy album by their very drunk manager in a pub near my flat but if I told you about that, I’d be breaking the 9-5 rule I’ve implemented. In truth, that would be a much more interesting end to this blog than me jumping on the 52 bus back to Kensal Rise but I’ve made my bed, so I’ll have to snooze in it.
Well, there you have it. That is the first insight into how I pass my day times. I really wish there were people who had my interests available to hang out with in the daytime. I thought it would be a good idea for a website: people, who work evenings in your area, fill in their interests and you meet up and hang out. Friends.com, does annoyingly already exist but it seems to heavily push the idea that once you meet they people, you have it off with them. Why can’t there be a website that has no emphasis on sex and instead pushes the thought of meeting up to play Fifa and go to Mega Bowl. Until tomorrow…
intro
As a full time comedian, I’m often asked how I pass my days. People say things like, ‘it must be so fun?” or “you can sleep in till 6 everyday, that’s awesome”. As I’m on my own most of the time and not a vampire neither of these statements are accurate. Therefore, I’ve decided to keep a blog of my daily antics (the word ‘antics’ may be slightly misleading; perhaps ‘ways of passing the empty hours’ is more precise). I will only write about what I get up to between the hours of 9 and 5, to highlight the difference between my day and the day of human being with a real job. I hope this is intriguing, although even if it isn’t at least it’s cathartic and helps me to kill an hour of my day.
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