12-16th Dec: Nap Attack!

This week was the start of me feeling Christmassy. Not because I sat on a sex offender’s lap, who uses the guise of Santa to get his creepy kicks in December, or that every shop I go into has a bellend behind a till wearing a 1.99 red hat but because I’d started eating way too much and sleeping in the afternoon. By the end of the previous week I’d had three Christmas meals over the space of four days but cannot tell you anything about them because they were not between nine and five. You can probably guess that they involved Turkey, someone getting too drunk, someone getting too emotional and bargain basement gubbins otherwise known as “Secret Santa”. It’s hilarious to see someone receive a £10 gift that has a had a bit of thought put into it juxtaposed with someone receiving one with no thought behind it. The recipient has to put on a brave face and pretend they really like it, but 3 hours later once they’re absolutely Prince Naseem Hammered they have to tell everyone near them how crap it is. Luckily between friends this is all harmless and amusing; I’m delighted I don’t work in an office where people who don’t really like each other buy each other useless crap. I saw a hilarious Ebay listing last week where some bloke hadn’t opened any of his presents and titles it “6 unopened & unwrapped Secret Santa presents given to me by female co-workers”. Ungrateful genius.

This excess of food combined with journeys to Edinburgh and back meant that I napped everyday of the week. The best example of me wasting a day was when I arrived in this lovely boutique hotel in Edinburgh at 1pm, where you get a 4 poster Tudor style bed and an x-box, I went to sleep, woke up, did my gig then went back to bed. The owners thought I was mental as it must have seemed like I’d travelled all the way to Scotland to have an expensive kip. When I arrived the woman at reception asked, “will your other half be joining you later?”. Being single at this time of year can be depressing in itself but when a stranger acts like you’d be mental to stay in a nice hotel alone, it rubs seriously coarse rock salt into your open puss-filled wounds. It made my already shameful hotel masturbation session even more pathetic and pretty much forced me into a mid December crank (crying & wanking). I don’t work in a hotel but if I did I would suggest that you never assume someone has another half otherwise you will cause them to desecrate your lovely 4 poster beds; I may or may not have done this.

Let’s hope next week involves less sleeping and more human company.

5-9th Dec: Hand me the Nurofen

I’ve been ill several times in my life but this is one of the most frustrating occasions because I’m pretty sure I know exactly how I contracted my illness. At the end of the previous week I left my flat at the same time as my neighbour, Roberto (not Alessandro as I thought for several months). He spent the 5 minute walk towards the station with me explaining that he’d been ill for days, then as we parted ways he shook my hand. Now, I’ve never been overly OCD but knowing someone’s flu covered hand has touched mine, made me extremely paranoid. So paranoid in fact, I diverted my route to the station to go via the pharmacy to purchase some of that hand sanitizer gel. I did so petrified of letting my hand touch any other part of my body, so was wafting it around like it was covered in dick sick. After this panic buy, I still contracted flu, which makes me think either that hand gel is a gimmick for idiots like myself or Roberto’s flu virus was quicker working than a 5 year old ADD sufferer on speed. I got ill in the least cool way ever; the cool ways being from snogging someone or playing paintball in the winter in old a t-shirt and shorts.

I was only a bit sick. The worst type of sick. If you’re fully ill, where you can’t eat or move then you can lie on a sofa watching action movies and masturbating without any sense of guilt. When you’re only under the weather you flit between wanting to be pro-active and wanting to do zero things. It’s the human equivalent of a semi-erect penis (if you catch my drift): if you had to get the job done you could, but you wouldn’t enjoy it or think you’ve done your best. Apologies for this slightly crass blog but I’ve been ill so leave me alone and bring me some soup.

I also made my first ever chicken soup that week. It tasted mainly of chicken stock.

Nov 28th- 2nd Dec. Bye, Bye, sex offender!

The moustache finally had to go. I was briefly tempted to keep it on my face but when whipped cream from a seriously tasty hot chocolate got stuck in it, I knew it was time to remove the top lip bush. I think it almost reached the level where people started to think I was wise. I nearly made the mo leap when people go from changing direction when they see you in the street to asking for directions from you. Now, I’m back to having just an all over crap beard which suits me fine. We managed to raise over 2k as comedians, which is pretty damn good: hopefully enough to contribute to preventing a few cases of dick and ball cancer.

Despite this good deed, it was generally a sad week for sport and comedy. The passing away of Gary Speed, Socrates and Patrice O’Neal (Youtube him now) all happened in the space of a few days. Although I didn’t know any of them personally, they were all exceptional in their fields and they should be remembered for bringing joy to the people that watched them. I find it intriguing how in this day and age all tributes are essentially done online. It’s rare now that people will write a card and leave flowers. Instead people will tweet “RIP”, followed by a tweet about what they ate for breakfast. This used to annoy me but I guess this is the way the world is changing. In 20 years when someone else famous dies I suspect no one will even bother writing “RIP” but instead just think it in their minds and then this gets scrawled on a robot re-incarnation of the body. Due to the inherently selfish nature of humans, when something like this happens to others you think about it happening to you. I’ve decided that if and when I play Connect 4 with Diana in the sky, whether you tweet or not about it please do not go on my Facebook and click “like” button under, “Chris Martin is dead”.