23-27 April: …From a Land Down Under

I made it to New Zealand without dying. Another country on my travels where prostitution is legal. It seems to be a new rule I have. I only gig in countries where you have it off with a prostie without getting banged up. Not for my pleasure but it’s just comforting to know that none of the men around me ever have to be alone at night if they’re feeling unloved.

After shamelessly blagging a cheeky upgrade to premium economy I spent all week being jet lagged. I’d say the worst thing about jet-lag isn’t the dreamlike dizziness and the fatigue but the fact that all you seem to talk about is how jet lagged you are. This boring repartee if anything just adds to your tiredness. Now that I’m typing about it, I can actually feel it creeping back into my system. However, it’s not all I did for the first few days here. I’m in New Zealand, the other side of the world with countless activities, so naturally I watched the first series of Game of Thrones in my serviced apartment (like a mixture between a hotel room and a flat; the best thing about it is that I get to tell everyone I’m staying in a serviced apartment). GOT, is incredible. I never thought I’d be so addicted to watching dwarfs, incest and Sean Bean being a proper Yorkshire bloke. Even if you don’t like fantasy/medieval stuff, I recommend you give it a go. The main thing that has stuck with me after watching it, is that our lives are so much cushier than back then because almost every week someone you love gets murdered or raped.
As the jet-lag subsided I managed to, shows aside, do something constructive. Me and a few other great men (Bill Dawes, Dead Cat Bounce & one third of Axis of Awesome) went on a cycling tour around the vineyards of Waihiki. Being disorganized comedians we messed up the timings and basically rode on a bike to one vineyard and got drunk. On an island of seven thousand inhabitants we somehow managed to meet a slightly anti-Semitic Ukrainian girl and British girl who grew up near me. I will not going into details about this as there is a lot of you had to be there moments but my quote of the week goes to Bill Dawes. The 50 year old ex-pat guy we rented the bikes of seemed really mean and weird so I said to Bill:

“Does the bike rental guy seem weird to you? I’ve no idea why he’s so rude”

Bill perfectly concise American response:

“Dude, he sells bikes…on an Island. Of course he’s weird”

On that brilliantly valid point. Toodles

April 2-21st: I’ve continued to be lazy.

In my defence I’ve had lots of other things to write but bearing in mind this only takes a few minutes out of my week I should really have kept on top of it. Especially as one of the activities I participated in was having a swim and a sit in a Jacuzzi; although you can’t take your laptop into the swimming pool area of my gym for obvious reasons.


I’m now sitting in a café waiting to fly to New Zealand. So what I’ll do to make up for this big blog vaccum is write some extra interesting entries from down under. Either that or I’ll be too distracted and so forget for the next three weeks.


I just tried to blag a free upgrade on Qantas and failed miserably. I wore a shirt and everything. Shouting that at the check in girl doesn’t in fact aid your quest for an upgrade.


I’ll be in touch soon…or not.


P.S. I wrote this before my journey and am publishing it from NZ. In this time frame I did manage to get an upgrade on the first journey into Premium Economy. It's the closest thing to winning a trophy, I will ever achieve. Big thanks to Adam for helping me out.

12-30th March. I’ve been lazy.

This is one of those entries where I’ve got behind on my blog so I will go through some of the highlights in one super-blog. By calling it that, I’ve made it sound way better than what it actually is: a shit, patched together collection of things.

I’ve been to exciting and far flung places I the last month: Zurich, Basle, Westfield (Shepherd’s Bush). You may think that is a joke but the latter is a very exciting place for me to go in a weekday afternoon due to the large number of comedians walking around it. I was there two afternoons in a row: one because I had to visit an ironically titled genius in the apple store and the other was to do some writing with a coupe of people. I managed to bump into most of the comedy circuit including Whitehall, Walsh, Connaty, Donnelly, Crosby, Beckett. If you want to stalk a comedian just hang around the cupcake shop of a shopping centre and you’ll be no more that 5 metres away from one. We are like rats…rats that carry shoulder bags.

I usually hate going into the Apple Store, although one man made the visit worthwhile. As I was waiting for some arsehole in a blue t-shirt to make me feel like a techno-tard, I overheard a man trying to barter for an Iphone. His was broken and so the guy brought out a replacement for £120. The man (wearing a Man U football shirt, smart trousers and black trainers) said “can’t you do me a different price?” He must have confused the Apple Store with a market in Thailand. Pretty understandable as they look so similar.

I should probably talk about Switzerland as it’san usual country. It’s unaffected by the recession, ridiculously clean and supposedly very boring. I disagree about the boring bit. Walking around the place I saw several old men in business suits traveling around on micro scooters. It’s almost like the older you get there the more childish the transport. I wonder if you get given a pogo stick when you retire? Also everyone there is fit. I saw one fat person in 3 days, and they were probably only fat because no one got them a micro-scooter for Christmas. Apparently Swiss people keep themselves to themselves but I didn’t meet any so I can’t confirm or deny this. Also the final thing I learnt is prostitution is legal but being too loud after 10pm is illegal. Therefore, If you have loud sex with a prostitute at 10:30pm the only thing you will get banged up for is being noisy.

I’m currently sitting on a train back to London from Newcastle. I’m in first class trying to cash in by continuously requesting free bottles of Harrogate Spring.

Laterz x

5-9th March: Northern Nomad

Most of the time my job is cool. If I want to, I can just sit in my pants all day watching films and mosey around coffee shops staring at people (not in my pants). However, sometimes I have weeks where I’m predominantly in transit. Last week, for example, I spent most of my time knocking around Manchester and Sheffield before a brief return to London. It’s impossible to feel fully comfortable when you’re away from home. You can’t write properly, you can’t think properly, you can’t touch yourself properly (if you’re into that). Therefore, I have very few interesting incidents that I can remember from my trips that are worth writing down.

One thing I noticed about my time in Manchester is that the people are a lot friendlier to you than in London. Bus drivers don’t treat you like a man in a dirty mackintosh if you try to pay for a ticket with a note. If you try to give the driver cash in London they act like you’ve ruined their entire day. If I were a driver I’d probably find this the most exciting part of the day as you get to break up your routine of pressing the door buttons and driving. This is the reason I’m not a bus driver. The other bit of friendliness that occurred was when I was at a bar. I thought I was standing next to a comedian called Vince Atta, so naturally I said, “Hi mate” and shook his hand. He shook my hand back then walked off. Only ten minutes later did it dawn on me that it might not have been him. It was not him. It was just a different mixed race guy. The fact that I mistook a mixed race person for a different one means I’m only classified as half racist. I don’t know who this bloke is but I love the fact that he shook my hand without even questioning who I was and how I knew him. He must have just been a big fan of handshakes.

In Sheffield, due to me being a boring arsehole who isn’t really drinking at the moment, I have to amuse myself in my own way. Now I know this is technically after 5pm but I think it’s worth retelling so I’m breaking my own made up rules. I went to Wagamama on my own on the Friday after my gig. It was prime dinner time, therefore, the fact I was on my own on a Friday night was magnified. I might as well have been wearing a badge that said “Sad Twat” on it. I had a decent bit of conversation with the waitress as I was desperately trying to compensate for the fact I had no friends with me. The next day, I went into the same restaurant at the same time, wearing the same outfit (from my gig) and I was served by the same waitress. She came over and said “good to see you again”. I then went “again? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She looked really confused and a bit taken aback. I then proceeded to order exactly the same thing as I did the night before. (chicken katsu and chicken gyoza). As she walked off I laughed to myself. I may well have got some free turd in my curry but it was worth it for the look on her face.

Now I can look forward to a week of lying in my own bed and getting treated like a terrorist by the London bus drivers. Bliss.

27th Feb- 2nd March: Mean Women and Nice Guys

I may have mentioned this on here before but just to re-iterate: if you want to witness a bust-up in the day time, get your argument-loving ass down to the parking permit renewal shop. Normally you get some irate middle-aged man shouting at the jobsworth behind the counter. This time, however, there was a vile lady (I think) who managed to make a whole room of strangers hate her within seconds. From the moment she opened her toilet of a mouth you could feel everyone else think “please have an aneurism right now”.

She walked in with her kid, took one look at the queue and said, “Come on man. This queue is stupid. I don’t even want to be here. I’m here for my neighbour, innit. No one minds if I go to the front do they?” Everyone minded. No one said anything. This is because we all suffer from the crippling illness that is being a polite Brit. Eventually a man in his sixties at the front piped up, “I do actually mind”
“Why? You’re well old. You’ve got nothing else to do. I don’t want to be here”
The big geezer in front of me rightly said, “None of us want to be here”
I’m nodding along…in my head. On the outside I showed no sign of siding with anyone. As soon as she left the room to go and be racist to a parking warden who had the audacity to give her a ticket for being parked on a double yellow, I was the bravest man on the planet. I was saying, “who does she think she is?” Then the geezer in front of me earned a virtual high five by saying, “she’s a fucking donkey”. I’ve never heard this used as an insult but I liked it and I wanted to become friends with this man. She then returned and loudly called us all mean and grumpy on the phone to her mum. People like this make me so angry. She clearly has some bad things happening in her life but to subject us all to her deep rooted anger is selfish. I think when someone like this enters a public room you should legally be allowed to tranquilise them. Everyone should be given a blow pipe and ketamin filled dart, which then becomes as essential to any excursion as a mobile phone and keys. As soon as you get a bully ruining the vibe of a queue, then “bosh”: society will be much better for it.

On the other hand I think all shops should be legally made to hire a nice person to walk around making you feel good about yourself. I went to buy some sushi on the same day and a really friendly man standing next to me cheered me up. Firstly he made me laugh by asking where a certain road in Wimbledon was and when I had no idea, he went “It’s ok I’ll just check my Google maps.” This whole question was therefore so pointless it made me laugh and convinced me that he was an angel sent down by god to make my day. He then complimented me on my sushi selection and bantered about how the owners were Korean not Japanese. I don’t know anything about this man. All I know is his aura gave my soul a semi. He made me want to commute to the same shop at the same time just to see him.

So there you have it. If you vote for me as Prime Minister I promise you all blow darts full of ketamin and shops full of nice guys. I’m off to find my new best pal.

20-24 Feb: Growing Up & Then Back Down Again

Do you ever think you’re maturing at an alarming rate? You start worrying about taxes, savings and get excited by purchasing a new selection of plates for your house. All these things have been happening to me recently. On Wednesday I did a couple of bit of behaviour that really pushed my maturity level up to a disturbingly high number. I bought my dad a Blackberry as a birthday present, followed by a piece of art for myself. Get the Pampers ready because I’m speedily moving towards old age and becoming a senile man with a stick.

If you thought buying a phone was tedious; try doing it with your eccentric dad. When you don’t happen to know about the latest technology the people that work in phone shops look at you like you just asked them to sniff the bit of your arm under your watch strap. Add into this already precarious situation a man who says phrases such as: “what does that do?”, “Do I get a charger?”, “how do I get my email?”, “what’s an email?” & my personal favourite “I don’t want the pink cover because I’m not a gay”, then you’re sure to be on the receiving end of some exceptionally rude customer service.

After struggling through this process I then went to trendy East London to buy a print from Ellah Sadkin (Google her, she’s very good). I know literally nothing about art, which made this an even more exciting experience. I really should have brought an art expert with me but instead brought Benny Boot, who is an expert in…making me laugh and forgetting stuff. Not an ideal art buying companion but I found a piece that I liked (it’s colourful and doesn’t contain any scary babies). She also agreed to paint a zombie version on Benny, so it wasn’t a completely wasted trip for him: the fact he already has the lips of a zombie will no doubt make the job easier for her. As I returned home that evening thinking I’d turned to a new mature chapter in my life, I spent most of Thursday…
…winding up a squirrel in my garden by hiding his nut. I would love to tell you the whole story but this is now a bit of material in my set. If you want to see it you’ll have to watch me live.

So if you thought I was going to start regularly writing about politics and economics, you thought wrong.

13-17th Feb: Just floating along

“Love is in the air”, as well as on the floor, the shop windows, the restaurants, the street, the public toilets; it was everywhere due to the vastly over-rated Valentines day being at the start of the week. I could come across as a bit of a curmudgeon due to me being single but even people in relationships dislike the day. Everyone I know seems to celebrate it the day before or after, to avoid paying excessive money for average food and to avoid being surrounded by creepily in love people. This is alright in theory, however, if this is what everyone’s doing then presumably you then get surrounded by all these people on the 13th and 15th. If this is the case then the restaurants should keep their prices high for a three day period. I may well be over-thinking it. Something far more noteworthy happened during the week, which I need to tell you about…

….I went for a Friday lunch with my friend Kai Humphries (Google him and you’ll probably see a picture of his tattooed white arse), who was in town for the weekend with some friends. We went to this very nice but over-priced American diner type place where they actively encourage children to be there and the chef says stuff like “I suggest the chicken pie”; to me this always implies that everything else he cooked, is a bit shit.

I went for a pre-meal trip to the toilet. Despite always being packed they have the rather awkward, one toilet for men and women system. As someone was inside the cubicle and I’m not a weirdo, I waited just outside for them to finish. This does, however, mean you have a two second uncomfortable stare off with the producer of the smell you’re about to walk into. There was now a queue system where a woman was waiting to go in after me, so I was fully primed to be extra quick so there could be no ambiguity about my deployment of a number one. The person that exited before me was a very sheepish looking eight year old girl. Why was she looking so sheepish I hear you ask? Probably something to do with the massive floater she’d left in there for me.

As I stared at this chunky heap of regret, it dawned on me that the woman after me would definitely think this was my handy work. Therefore, I urinated as hard as humanly possible onto this briquette, to break it up: to no avail. I had one saving grace, the flush: no luck. Then instinct took over and I’ve no idea why out of all my options I thought this was the best one: I wrapped toilet paper around my hand, picked it up and threw it in the bin. Feel free to vomit on your keyboard. I then used up all the soap that has ever existed on the planet washing my hands. This cleaning process took so long that the woman behind me probably thought I had in fact crimped one out.

When I returned to the table and told the story about how I had no other option but to do what I did after being stuck between a cronk and hard place. Kai replied simply with “why didn’t you just put paper on top of it? It would have then flushed away”. I did not know you could do this. I wish I had already known this. I wasn’t particularly hungry thanks to the eight year old girl that tried to frame me for leaving a dead body in the toilet. If you’re reading this little girl, thanks for ruining my chicken pie.