March 9th: To Belfast

I managed to get up in time for the arrival of our new cleaner at 9:30. She didn’t go for the standard ring on the doorbell to get into the flat approach; instead when I opened my living room curtains she was waving in the street. Pretty normal. If I was hoping for a conversation exchange and some company, my hope was misplaced. This was down to the fact she spoke no English. I tried to explain to her for about 5 minutes that I was popping out to the gym and the bank. I eventually had to show her a picture of HSBC on my laptop: thanks Google maps.

I got to the gym but hadn’t left enough time to get back before the cleaner left. I wish I knew her name, so I sound like less of slave owner but getting that info out of her would have involved a water board and a Polish dictionary. I had just enough time in the gym to see the gang of rudeboys talk shite and walk around trying to look big. I also overheard two of them in the changing rooms have an in depth discussion about protein shakes: being part of the gym really is like being part of Mensa. There is actually one Gym Monkey Boy who is in fact a Gym Monkey Girl, who I fancy. I don’t even think she’s that attractive but she wears those spandex ¾ length leggings that make all women hot. I realized that I was drifting off half way through a set of exercises to check her out using a series of mirrors dotted around the room. I felt like a perverted spy: so James Bond.

The cleaner was only being paid to do 3 hours work but did nearly 4. Could she be any more Polish? Doing unpaid overtime voluntarily. Once she timidly left,I had to head off to Stansted. I had no reason to be late but something in my genetic make up always causes me to get prepared 2 minutes before I need to leave. I always end up leaving 5 minutes late then jog to the station to ensure a thoroughly sweaty day of travel. I traveled with fellow comedian Rob Heeney. I’d forgotten all the rules about liquid, so to be safe I brought none. That means I had no deodorant or toothpaste- I pity anyone who stood near me or spoke to me for the rest of the day. I’d brought hope made sandwiches like a real gimp. I suddenly had a moment where I worried if I was allowed to bring them through security, then I remembered that there has never been a baguette bomber: so I was fine.

The Ryan Air flight was the usual clichéd crap journey where they try to flog you any old crap. The best thing was the little pikey looking air hostess dude told us we should buy a scratch card because someone won 10,000 Euros a couple of weeks earlier but then ate the card. Honestly, someone so fat or stupid won 10, 000 and demanded the money instantly. When they didn’t give it to him, he ate his scratch card, which achieved nothing apart from to show how stupid he is. Maybe it was because all the food is so overpriced and he was genuinely starving. What kind of a moron thinks they are going to have that much cash on an airline so pikey that you have to pay for a dump. Also, why did he need it? Was he desperate to spend it all on tiny bottle of alcohol and fizzy drinks. The bellend got exactly what he deserved. Nothing.

A relatively action packed 9-5 for me.