With better audio than the video from the Manchester Store, here is the video from my first open spot at the London Comedy Store from last week.
It was a pretty nerve-wracking 5 minutes and, watching it back, I'm surprised by how I don't really betray myself in terms of nerves. I'm still waiting to get feedback from the Store and to hear if I'm allowed back but I hope all will be good.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Nice is Out of the Ordinary
This month people have been incredibly nice to me. What’s odd is that that shouldn’t be an odd thing, should it? People going out of their way to be nice to perfect strangers should be how people are, but instead it comes as a surprise. A nice surprise of course, but a surprise all the same...
At the start of this month, some of the crowd at the Nottingham Trent Uni gig were kind enough not to tell me to fuck off after the show was over and a couple of days later (a Wednesday) I was sat in a cafe (again) in Lincoln (Lincolnshire) killing time before the gig when one of a group of three students came over and asked if I was sat on my own (I was) and would I like to come over and join them?
This has never happened before. As it happened, I was just about to leave and so politely declined but I was surprised at this niceness and surprised at my surprise to it. I think everyone should do it. Everyone should definitely talk to strangers. Well, apart from children for obvious reasons. They can’t sustain an intelligent conversation. But in the street, in cafes or on public transport talking to strangers can me your day. And quite possibly theirs too.
I remember being on the tram when I lived in Germany, as it was the most practical way of transport into the city centre. I was sat travelling backwards next to an elderly lady, who smelt of onions, and facing two teenagers. It was relatively busy and seats on the other side of the aisle were taken as well. When the teenagers disembarked an old man, who had been sat on the other side of the aisle – also travelling backwards, came and occupied one of their seats, directly opposite me.
“I can’t travel backwards,” he said to me.
There I think he, and most other people in earshot, thought this seemingly redundant friendliness would end. But I decided I simply would not allow it.
“Why?”
With a surprised look on his face he said, “Because it makes me sick.”
I nodded pensively, partly to show I sympathised but mostly because I wanted him to think for a split second that this would be where I left it...
“Have you always been like that?”
“No,” he said, still confused why I was taking such an interest in a travel-sick octogenarian.
“Only in the last couple of years.”
“Do you not drive?”
“No. I had to stop because my eyes are bad.”
The conversation continued until he got off a couple of stops before I did. Perhaps he was uncomfortable and would rather put himself and his ancient limbs through the agony of walking the rest of the way than staying to talk to me?
Where most people are just dead miserable in public, myself included most probably, it is nice now and again to talk to a stranger, like the students at Nottingham Trent and Lincoln.
After a while, this old German man did seem to enjoy talking for once, instead of making his tedious journey on the tram locked in his own thoughts about how, had his wife not had those four strokes, he might be making the journey with her.
This didn’t come up in conversation of course. Even I did not probe too far into his private life. I just assumed he was a widower because, unless he was a bachelor, what was an old man doing without a wife? Even if he was a bachelor, he would probably still have thought, “I wish I had a wife...”
Or maybe she was just bedridden, riddled with disease? In which case, he still probably wasn’t thinking, “What a wonderful life I’ve got going on, I’ll be sad when it ends.” Plus, if he was gay, he was still without partner so the same train of thought applies.
Again I am making conjecture. But my point is that the unexpected parlance between two strangers – sometimes of vastly differing generations (and nationalities) is far from heinous. In fact I’m pretty sure that the lady who smelt of onions was a little bit jealous I wasn’t talking to her...
At the start of this month, some of the crowd at the Nottingham Trent Uni gig were kind enough not to tell me to fuck off after the show was over and a couple of days later (a Wednesday) I was sat in a cafe (again) in Lincoln (Lincolnshire) killing time before the gig when one of a group of three students came over and asked if I was sat on my own (I was) and would I like to come over and join them?
This has never happened before. As it happened, I was just about to leave and so politely declined but I was surprised at this niceness and surprised at my surprise to it. I think everyone should do it. Everyone should definitely talk to strangers. Well, apart from children for obvious reasons. They can’t sustain an intelligent conversation. But in the street, in cafes or on public transport talking to strangers can me your day. And quite possibly theirs too.
I remember being on the tram when I lived in Germany, as it was the most practical way of transport into the city centre. I was sat travelling backwards next to an elderly lady, who smelt of onions, and facing two teenagers. It was relatively busy and seats on the other side of the aisle were taken as well. When the teenagers disembarked an old man, who had been sat on the other side of the aisle – also travelling backwards, came and occupied one of their seats, directly opposite me.
“I can’t travel backwards,” he said to me.
There I think he, and most other people in earshot, thought this seemingly redundant friendliness would end. But I decided I simply would not allow it.
“Why?”
With a surprised look on his face he said, “Because it makes me sick.”
I nodded pensively, partly to show I sympathised but mostly because I wanted him to think for a split second that this would be where I left it...
“Have you always been like that?”
“No,” he said, still confused why I was taking such an interest in a travel-sick octogenarian.
“Only in the last couple of years.”
“Do you not drive?”
“No. I had to stop because my eyes are bad.”
The conversation continued until he got off a couple of stops before I did. Perhaps he was uncomfortable and would rather put himself and his ancient limbs through the agony of walking the rest of the way than staying to talk to me?
Where most people are just dead miserable in public, myself included most probably, it is nice now and again to talk to a stranger, like the students at Nottingham Trent and Lincoln.
After a while, this old German man did seem to enjoy talking for once, instead of making his tedious journey on the tram locked in his own thoughts about how, had his wife not had those four strokes, he might be making the journey with her.
This didn’t come up in conversation of course. Even I did not probe too far into his private life. I just assumed he was a widower because, unless he was a bachelor, what was an old man doing without a wife? Even if he was a bachelor, he would probably still have thought, “I wish I had a wife...”
Or maybe she was just bedridden, riddled with disease? In which case, he still probably wasn’t thinking, “What a wonderful life I’ve got going on, I’ll be sad when it ends.” Plus, if he was gay, he was still without partner so the same train of thought applies.
Again I am making conjecture. But my point is that the unexpected parlance between two strangers – sometimes of vastly differing generations (and nationalities) is far from heinous. In fact I’m pretty sure that the lady who smelt of onions was a little bit jealous I wasn’t talking to her...
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Joke Post #2
A joke I wrote today;
I'm not really that into sport, don't know rules and whatnot. I mean, in a sport game when you header the ball. That's not cricket, is it?
My personal rating of this joke; 4/5 (I may be too kind to it but I really like it)
I'm not really that into sport, don't know rules and whatnot. I mean, in a sport game when you header the ball. That's not cricket, is it?
My personal rating of this joke; 4/5 (I may be too kind to it but I really like it)
Friday, June 19, 2009
Joke Post #1
Joke I wrote today;
I'm really indecisive. So indecisive that I can't think of a good title for my autobiography. Story of my life.
My personal rating of this joke; 3/5 (Good but too corny to be excellent)
I'm really indecisive. So indecisive that I can't think of a good title for my autobiography. Story of my life.
My personal rating of this joke; 3/5 (Good but too corny to be excellent)
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Breaking My Teeth
I'm off to London in a minute (on the coach - sadface) to do my first open spot at the London Comedy Store. I'm in a better position two years down the line than when I started doing open spots, in that I know I've got five minutes that's good and works (very nearly) every time. But I never had the pressure of knowing I was at the Store.
I know it's just a gig, and five minutes isn't difficult, but it was reading about The Comedy Store that got me into seriously wanting to do stand up in the first place and I've been putting off going there for the past two years. But I've got to bite the bullett I suppose. Doesn't stop me being nervous about biting it. I could break my teeth or all manner of metaphorical analogies.
I'm also concerned this blog isn't funny enough for what is a comedian's blog, so I'm going to work on it.
Promise.
I know it's just a gig, and five minutes isn't difficult, but it was reading about The Comedy Store that got me into seriously wanting to do stand up in the first place and I've been putting off going there for the past two years. But I've got to bite the bullett I suppose. Doesn't stop me being nervous about biting it. I could break my teeth or all manner of metaphorical analogies.
I'm also concerned this blog isn't funny enough for what is a comedian's blog, so I'm going to work on it.
Promise.
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
Partying with the Front Rows
I was doing a gig at Nottingham Trent university last night, which was a pretty tough gig. The nice weather and consequently depleted audience figures made it a tough slog. But I did enjoy it. The funniest thing of the entire night didn't come from any of the comedians, but from the guy in the audience who - when I was doing a routine with my back to the audience - got on stage and switched my pint for an empty glass without me knowing.
Of course this got a lot of laughs from everyone, and this left me thinking, "Wow, this new stuff is going REALLY well, I'm going to milk it and draw it out even longer because I'm obviously the funniest comic they've ever seen and I'm brilliant and ace."
In fact, when I turned round I looked right at the empty pint glass and still didn't register anything. I just thought I'd must have drunk it all and forgotten. Eventually I realised and had to applaud the jape. It was very funny and definitely the highlight of the gig.
The real tragic thing was after the gig was over. I was staying in Nottingham for a couple of nights - it's where I still am - at my agent Shaun's house before I go and do his gig in Lincoln tomorrow. But he was still in Leeds making his way back from a gig there, and so I was stranded in Nottingham for a while with nothing to do, so I ended up going to Walkabout Bar with the first few rows of the crowd.
It was very nice of them to let me, this tragic figure with no friends lugging about his rucksack containing a sleeping bag and a change of underwear, tag along. Most wouldn't. Hilariously, I snatched the pint away from he who had replaced mine while I was half way through my set. Not really hilariously, it was obvious and not exactly ingenious, but it amused me for a little bit.
Despite how nice they all were, I still felt like I was imposing on them and - even though I'm of no age at all to feel old - I felt like a sad old man. A weird feeling given I'm only in my mid-twenties.
So weirdly, I had a nice night despite having to work ridiculously hard, feeling far older than my years, cutting a sad lonely figure and having my pint stolen from me.
Of course this got a lot of laughs from everyone, and this left me thinking, "Wow, this new stuff is going REALLY well, I'm going to milk it and draw it out even longer because I'm obviously the funniest comic they've ever seen and I'm brilliant and ace."
In fact, when I turned round I looked right at the empty pint glass and still didn't register anything. I just thought I'd must have drunk it all and forgotten. Eventually I realised and had to applaud the jape. It was very funny and definitely the highlight of the gig.
The real tragic thing was after the gig was over. I was staying in Nottingham for a couple of nights - it's where I still am - at my agent Shaun's house before I go and do his gig in Lincoln tomorrow. But he was still in Leeds making his way back from a gig there, and so I was stranded in Nottingham for a while with nothing to do, so I ended up going to Walkabout Bar with the first few rows of the crowd.
It was very nice of them to let me, this tragic figure with no friends lugging about his rucksack containing a sleeping bag and a change of underwear, tag along. Most wouldn't. Hilariously, I snatched the pint away from he who had replaced mine while I was half way through my set. Not really hilariously, it was obvious and not exactly ingenious, but it amused me for a little bit.
Despite how nice they all were, I still felt like I was imposing on them and - even though I'm of no age at all to feel old - I felt like a sad old man. A weird feeling given I'm only in my mid-twenties.
So weirdly, I had a nice night despite having to work ridiculously hard, feeling far older than my years, cutting a sad lonely figure and having my pint stolen from me.
Man Tea
From my notebook, Thursday 28th May 2009
I'm in York at the moment in the vegan restaurant El Piano. It's quite expensive but the food is delicious and I was hungry and needed dinner. I'm eating a chickpea and potato curry, which is absolutely lovely, and drinking a pot of what is called "men's tea." There's "women's tea" as well but I am a man and so had "men's tea." The label on the bag says, "A relaxed mind is a creative mind," which sounds exactly the cup of tea I need.
One that gives me advice.
I'm assured by the waitress that were, say, a woman to have some men's tea it would be completely fine and not alter her biology at all. All the same, as a man I could not drink women's tea before having tried men's tea. That's the way round to try it, I think.
I'm not saying I'll never have women's tea in my life. And even if I did, it would not be a slight on my masculinity in any way, OK? So just shut up.
The tea tastes really nice, a bit like Aztec Chocolate Spice tea but with a kick at the back of the throat. I'm told women's tea is sweeter, probably because ladies cannot possibly cope with the sheer force of the overpowering strength of the tea, which I find quite mild because I am a manly man.
I wasn't last night though (27th May). If I was, I'd have been cheering Man Utd on in their ultra important mega dramatic clash TO THE DEATH with Barcelona. As it happened, I was performing to two punters. Well, two at first.
There had been upwards of ten people in the room at the start of the gig. That did include the acts in the first half, one of which was a four man skethc group and their roadie. They were called Live Naked Idiots and I thought they were very good. My favourite of the night, in fact.
But they left, along with the other act and his friends, at the interval. To be honest, I didn't want to continue with the gig but when everyone else did I didn't want to be the only one who didn't. Despite only two audience members being there, a nice atmosphere of collective good mood made it seem like it would be alright.
About a minute into me being on stage, three upset, drunk, angry and shouty United fans sauntered in, childishly sulking at having been defeated. Only they hadn't been defeated, had they? Manchester United had, those eleven players had been defeated. These three urethra-wastages had been getting pissed in another country from that in which the game was taking place. And their bad mood spread, especially when they didn't really take to me at all and began shouting at me to 'tell a joke.'
Obstinately - and perhaps rashly immaturely - I simply refused and deliberately said nothing remotely funny, save for pointing out how stupid they were.
Laughably, one of them said, "Lee Evans has nothing to worry about." This amused me because anyone wandering into the room above a pub to a free-in comedy gig in a Manchester backstreet and expecting something of the level, crowd-pulling-power and energy of a Lee Evans show at the O2 arena probably wouldn't have been troubled with the heavy burden of an intelligence quotient above 70.
Besides, I bet not one of them has even so much as sipped Man Tea. So who is the man now? It's the skinny long-haired Doctor Who fan sat in a vegan restaurant writing in a notebook, that's who.
I'm in York at the moment in the vegan restaurant El Piano. It's quite expensive but the food is delicious and I was hungry and needed dinner. I'm eating a chickpea and potato curry, which is absolutely lovely, and drinking a pot of what is called "men's tea." There's "women's tea" as well but I am a man and so had "men's tea." The label on the bag says, "A relaxed mind is a creative mind," which sounds exactly the cup of tea I need.
One that gives me advice.
I'm assured by the waitress that were, say, a woman to have some men's tea it would be completely fine and not alter her biology at all. All the same, as a man I could not drink women's tea before having tried men's tea. That's the way round to try it, I think.
I'm not saying I'll never have women's tea in my life. And even if I did, it would not be a slight on my masculinity in any way, OK? So just shut up.
The tea tastes really nice, a bit like Aztec Chocolate Spice tea but with a kick at the back of the throat. I'm told women's tea is sweeter, probably because ladies cannot possibly cope with the sheer force of the overpowering strength of the tea, which I find quite mild because I am a manly man.
I wasn't last night though (27th May). If I was, I'd have been cheering Man Utd on in their ultra important mega dramatic clash TO THE DEATH with Barcelona. As it happened, I was performing to two punters. Well, two at first.
There had been upwards of ten people in the room at the start of the gig. That did include the acts in the first half, one of which was a four man skethc group and their roadie. They were called Live Naked Idiots and I thought they were very good. My favourite of the night, in fact.
But they left, along with the other act and his friends, at the interval. To be honest, I didn't want to continue with the gig but when everyone else did I didn't want to be the only one who didn't. Despite only two audience members being there, a nice atmosphere of collective good mood made it seem like it would be alright.
About a minute into me being on stage, three upset, drunk, angry and shouty United fans sauntered in, childishly sulking at having been defeated. Only they hadn't been defeated, had they? Manchester United had, those eleven players had been defeated. These three urethra-wastages had been getting pissed in another country from that in which the game was taking place. And their bad mood spread, especially when they didn't really take to me at all and began shouting at me to 'tell a joke.'
Obstinately - and perhaps rashly immaturely - I simply refused and deliberately said nothing remotely funny, save for pointing out how stupid they were.
Laughably, one of them said, "Lee Evans has nothing to worry about." This amused me because anyone wandering into the room above a pub to a free-in comedy gig in a Manchester backstreet and expecting something of the level, crowd-pulling-power and energy of a Lee Evans show at the O2 arena probably wouldn't have been troubled with the heavy burden of an intelligence quotient above 70.
Besides, I bet not one of them has even so much as sipped Man Tea. So who is the man now? It's the skinny long-haired Doctor Who fan sat in a vegan restaurant writing in a notebook, that's who.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Live in Midhurst 28-04-2009
I thought I'd stick this up. It's a recording of a gig I did a month ago in Midhurst in Sussex. It was really nice too, despite one really stupid woman who was quick to be rude but even quicker to get all upset if you were rude back. Still a really nice gig though. She's the one about half way through, not the women who go 'aaah' at the start. They were really nice and I wish I could take them to all of my gigs.
I thought I'd put it up because there's none of my stand up on here, after the video from the Comedy Store turned out annoyingly poor quality.
I had to cut a minute or so (right before the start of the final routine) because of a weird noise. It was probably Duncan (the compere) finding my recorder and rubbing his pubic hair on the microphone. I reckon it was this because he told me he did.
I thought I'd put it up because there's none of my stand up on here, after the video from the Comedy Store turned out annoyingly poor quality.
I had to cut a minute or so (right before the start of the final routine) because of a weird noise. It was probably Duncan (the compere) finding my recorder and rubbing his pubic hair on the microphone. I reckon it was this because he told me he did.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Last night I ate a toffee apple in the bath...
There is no pictoral evidence for it but I did. Even if there were pictoral evidence I would not proudly display it on my blog.
Everyone I have told about it has laughed at me for eating a toffee apple in the bath. I didn't think it was inherently amusing or absurd and if I hadn't been laughed at I wouldn't have titled this post with the sentence, "Last night I ate a toffee apple in the bath." Because I wouldn't have known it was an odd thing to do.
And if I hadn't known that I wouldn't have started a blog with that phrase because I didn't think it was anything to be especially proud of either. But now, thinking about it, I suppose it's a little bit slightly out of the ordinary.
The bath is not really the optimum place to dine, unless it's a Cadbury's Flake - if you believe the adverts. What's more, the bath is most definitely not the location associated with eating toffee apples. For me, that would be the carnival on the field behind the Star Inn on Bonfire Night. Where you would eat your toffee apple fully clothed and not - as I did last night - in the nude.
But what I say is, "Does there have to be rules for where you eat your toffee apple?" I was unaware of any toffee apple-related legislation at all, which led me to my innovative toffee apple anarchy, of which I am now proud actually.
"You ate a toffee apple in the bath!?"
"Yes I did, so what? It just proves that when it comes to funfair confectionery my mind is open, my friend. Enlightened, unlike your square, narrow, closed, linear way of thinking."
Don't let anyone tell you where to eat your toffee apple. Or candy floss for that matter. If I choose not to eat my huge mound of candy floss on a Ferris wheel, but instead in a job interview, who really cares? Except for those interviewing me, obviously, who don't matter in the scheme of things. They'd only brainwash me even more as to where I can and cannot consume outrageously sweet snacks.
In the words of the great - but dead - Bill Hicks, we need to squeegee our third eye. And I'm pretty sure this is EXACTLY the kind of thing he was talking about. Unspoken but generally assumed protocols about where it is permitted to eat toffee apples. Rules and procedures that have been stealthily enforced, but enforced upon us nonetheless as our civilisation has evolved.
All I want is a world in which people, upon you telling them that you ate a toffee apple in the bath, don't scoff or laugh or think it odd but instead just say, "Oh right, was it nice?"
Everyone I have told about it has laughed at me for eating a toffee apple in the bath. I didn't think it was inherently amusing or absurd and if I hadn't been laughed at I wouldn't have titled this post with the sentence, "Last night I ate a toffee apple in the bath." Because I wouldn't have known it was an odd thing to do.
And if I hadn't known that I wouldn't have started a blog with that phrase because I didn't think it was anything to be especially proud of either. But now, thinking about it, I suppose it's a little bit slightly out of the ordinary.
The bath is not really the optimum place to dine, unless it's a Cadbury's Flake - if you believe the adverts. What's more, the bath is most definitely not the location associated with eating toffee apples. For me, that would be the carnival on the field behind the Star Inn on Bonfire Night. Where you would eat your toffee apple fully clothed and not - as I did last night - in the nude.
But what I say is, "Does there have to be rules for where you eat your toffee apple?" I was unaware of any toffee apple-related legislation at all, which led me to my innovative toffee apple anarchy, of which I am now proud actually.
"You ate a toffee apple in the bath!?"
"Yes I did, so what? It just proves that when it comes to funfair confectionery my mind is open, my friend. Enlightened, unlike your square, narrow, closed, linear way of thinking."
Don't let anyone tell you where to eat your toffee apple. Or candy floss for that matter. If I choose not to eat my huge mound of candy floss on a Ferris wheel, but instead in a job interview, who really cares? Except for those interviewing me, obviously, who don't matter in the scheme of things. They'd only brainwash me even more as to where I can and cannot consume outrageously sweet snacks.
In the words of the great - but dead - Bill Hicks, we need to squeegee our third eye. And I'm pretty sure this is EXACTLY the kind of thing he was talking about. Unspoken but generally assumed protocols about where it is permitted to eat toffee apples. Rules and procedures that have been stealthily enforced, but enforced upon us nonetheless as our civilisation has evolved.
All I want is a world in which people, upon you telling them that you ate a toffee apple in the bath, don't scoff or laugh or think it odd but instead just say, "Oh right, was it nice?"
Monday, May 25, 2009
Late-Night-Driving-Back Beverage of Choice
“Massive Legs” is going nowhere. Maybe it didn’t have the legs I thought I did… Ha, ha. No, in all seriousness, maybe it has gone as far as it can and it can never work as a stand up routine? I could try it as a sketch, but then I couldn’t do it at the gig in Manchester on Wednesday, for which I’ve decided it is IMPERATIVE to have new stuff. Unless I did it as The Random Purple Cheese Doctors From Venus, the 5 man 20-something, white, middle class male sketch group, which I’ve performed before. I play all the parts because the other 4 have not been bothered to turn up to the gig. It can go really well, or it can go really badly.
I was in Nottingham last night at Just the Tonic. It was my third time there and I’ve really enjoyed it every time. I didn’t do anything new, except for a line I came up with whilst chatting to one of the other comics, Daliso Chaponda, about him having a one night stand with a racist. He’d like it, he said, because it meant he would have no moral obligation to be nice to her and I thought it would also be the ultimate test of whether you do go back…
TV Licensing Man hasn’t really gone anywhere either… Not after I locked him in my cupboard! Ha, ha. No, in all seriousness, the comedy routine I wanted to write about the TV Licensing Man has not blossomed into humour the way I had wanted it to. I’d never lock a TV Licensing person against their will in any cupboard, mine or otherwise, however patronising, aggravating and/or sweaty they are.
I’d get in trouble and most likely have to pay a fine or something.
I quite enjoyed driving back from Nottingham. Even though I’m utterly destroyed the following day, long drives in the middle of the night can be quite enjoyable. Sometimes therapeutic, I think. Sadly, last night I had to make do with coffee on the drive back and not tea, which is my late-night-driving-back beverage of choice.
I got back around 4am – although I did take my time and stop a few times. I approve of service stations keeping their WH Smiths open 24 hours now. It means I can read magazines without paying for them at night as well now! Ha ha.
No, in all serious, I would never do that as it is tantamount to stealing, which is against the law, like not paying for your television licence (if you have a telly). I bet that man is out there now, laughing at me, saying, “Ha, ha, you stupid monkey! You thought you were going to get so much material out of me, didn’t you? Well egg on your face, because, guess what? I was just funny enough to make you think you could get some comedy out of me, but actually I was just unfunny enough to make you not realise you couldn’t until days and days later! Ha ha… No, in all seriousness, I would never throw egg on your face because I know that you are a vegan.”
On the radio during my late night drives is Janice Long on Radio 2. I don’t know what it is that makes me like the show but I do. I think it’s because it is endearingly shambolic. She’ll occasionally play the wrong jingle and realise half way through, or forget to go to the news. Plus, the music she plays is – on the whole – really good. There are tracks I don’t like, obviously, but the fact that they are not ones you’d often hear on the radio is good enough to give the show a listen anyway, I think.
Last night had – among others – “Ocean Rain” by Echo and the Bunnymen, a – really quite good – indie cover of that hit song from 1993 “Tease Me” as well as “Last of the Famous International Playboys” by Morrissey. And an enactment of the balcony scene from “Romeo and Juliet.” Ramshackle tomfoolery and nonsense, yet I really like it.
More long journeys coming up too; up to Manchester on Wednesday to gig up North for a few days, then back down here on Friday night, over to London on the following Monday until Wednesday, then up to Lincoln then back to Manchester on the same night and then remain in Manchester until the next Monday. I am going to be completely cream crackered. Ha ha.
No, in all seriousness, I will be really tired.
I was in Nottingham last night at Just the Tonic. It was my third time there and I’ve really enjoyed it every time. I didn’t do anything new, except for a line I came up with whilst chatting to one of the other comics, Daliso Chaponda, about him having a one night stand with a racist. He’d like it, he said, because it meant he would have no moral obligation to be nice to her and I thought it would also be the ultimate test of whether you do go back…
TV Licensing Man hasn’t really gone anywhere either… Not after I locked him in my cupboard! Ha, ha. No, in all seriousness, the comedy routine I wanted to write about the TV Licensing Man has not blossomed into humour the way I had wanted it to. I’d never lock a TV Licensing person against their will in any cupboard, mine or otherwise, however patronising, aggravating and/or sweaty they are.
I’d get in trouble and most likely have to pay a fine or something.
I quite enjoyed driving back from Nottingham. Even though I’m utterly destroyed the following day, long drives in the middle of the night can be quite enjoyable. Sometimes therapeutic, I think. Sadly, last night I had to make do with coffee on the drive back and not tea, which is my late-night-driving-back beverage of choice.
I got back around 4am – although I did take my time and stop a few times. I approve of service stations keeping their WH Smiths open 24 hours now. It means I can read magazines without paying for them at night as well now! Ha ha.
No, in all serious, I would never do that as it is tantamount to stealing, which is against the law, like not paying for your television licence (if you have a telly). I bet that man is out there now, laughing at me, saying, “Ha, ha, you stupid monkey! You thought you were going to get so much material out of me, didn’t you? Well egg on your face, because, guess what? I was just funny enough to make you think you could get some comedy out of me, but actually I was just unfunny enough to make you not realise you couldn’t until days and days later! Ha ha… No, in all seriousness, I would never throw egg on your face because I know that you are a vegan.”
On the radio during my late night drives is Janice Long on Radio 2. I don’t know what it is that makes me like the show but I do. I think it’s because it is endearingly shambolic. She’ll occasionally play the wrong jingle and realise half way through, or forget to go to the news. Plus, the music she plays is – on the whole – really good. There are tracks I don’t like, obviously, but the fact that they are not ones you’d often hear on the radio is good enough to give the show a listen anyway, I think.
Last night had – among others – “Ocean Rain” by Echo and the Bunnymen, a – really quite good – indie cover of that hit song from 1993 “Tease Me” as well as “Last of the Famous International Playboys” by Morrissey. And an enactment of the balcony scene from “Romeo and Juliet.” Ramshackle tomfoolery and nonsense, yet I really like it.
More long journeys coming up too; up to Manchester on Wednesday to gig up North for a few days, then back down here on Friday night, over to London on the following Monday until Wednesday, then up to Lincoln then back to Manchester on the same night and then remain in Manchester until the next Monday. I am going to be completely cream crackered. Ha ha.
No, in all seriousness, I will be really tired.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
"Writing"
I do feel like a complete twat, sat in a cafe with a cup of coffee and writing in my notebook. Take away the notebook from the equation and I would be doing the most ordinary thing one can do in a cafe. But no, I'm 'writing.'
Maybe there's somewhere else I can go and do it that still isn't in the house? The library is the best option. Yes, from now on I'll do it in the library. Just as soon as I've made everyone in the cafe read this, so they know I'm well aware of the nobby cliche and am uncomfortable with conforming to it. Perhaps it will make them all like me?
"There goes self-aware-Chris again. The usual, self-aware-Chris?"
"Yes please. I didn't style my hair like this deliberately, it accidentally fell in this incredibly stylish way."
In terms of trying to generate new stand up material I think "Massive Legs" needs more time ot gestate. But it occurred to me that I could put the TV Licensing Man from yesterday into a routine, especially as - in my irritation - I left out the funniest part.
The first thing he said as I answered the door was, "Is your mum in?"
I'm fairly certain there's some mileage in that.
"No, she lives in the Lake District. What's this about? Maybe you could get your mum to call mine and they can sort it out?"
I'm well aware that I look younger than I am, but I would say at the very youngest I could conceivably pass for eighteen. Which, as it happens, is still old enough to understand the regulations of TV Licensing procedure, isn`t it? Even if I myself am not contributing to paying for it.
I am hoping to get some new material to run through at a gig next week. If I can get "Massive Legs" ready then brilliant but I am not optimistic. Maybe "Telly Man" and an extension of the Vegan routine might be ready. It`s probably not worth worrying about anyway, given that the gig is in Manchester on the night which Manchester United are in the final of some football thing or other, meaning that there probably won`t be an audience except for the comics. Who will have seen all of my stuff before.
Probably more reason to have new stuff actually.
Maybe there's somewhere else I can go and do it that still isn't in the house? The library is the best option. Yes, from now on I'll do it in the library. Just as soon as I've made everyone in the cafe read this, so they know I'm well aware of the nobby cliche and am uncomfortable with conforming to it. Perhaps it will make them all like me?
"There goes self-aware-Chris again. The usual, self-aware-Chris?"
"Yes please. I didn't style my hair like this deliberately, it accidentally fell in this incredibly stylish way."
In terms of trying to generate new stand up material I think "Massive Legs" needs more time ot gestate. But it occurred to me that I could put the TV Licensing Man from yesterday into a routine, especially as - in my irritation - I left out the funniest part.
The first thing he said as I answered the door was, "Is your mum in?"
I'm fairly certain there's some mileage in that.
"No, she lives in the Lake District. What's this about? Maybe you could get your mum to call mine and they can sort it out?"
I'm well aware that I look younger than I am, but I would say at the very youngest I could conceivably pass for eighteen. Which, as it happens, is still old enough to understand the regulations of TV Licensing procedure, isn`t it? Even if I myself am not contributing to paying for it.
I am hoping to get some new material to run through at a gig next week. If I can get "Massive Legs" ready then brilliant but I am not optimistic. Maybe "Telly Man" and an extension of the Vegan routine might be ready. It`s probably not worth worrying about anyway, given that the gig is in Manchester on the night which Manchester United are in the final of some football thing or other, meaning that there probably won`t be an audience except for the comics. Who will have seen all of my stuff before.
Probably more reason to have new stuff actually.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Sanstelly
The year is 2009 and in the average household are plenty of gadgets and gizmos that our forebears would never have even imagined; toasters, microwaves, laptops, stereos, DVD players, televisions and smoothie makers.
In 2009 you would think everybody has a telly. We don’t have a telly. But then I don’t suppose we’re an average household, in that we live in a park home. But you’d think, judging by the reaction of some when finding out we do not have a telly, that we’d told them we’re planning on taking our summer holiday on Ganymede, Jupiter’s seventh and largest moon. And that we’re planning to cycle there. “Good luck with that,” sort of thing.
This assumption that everybody has a telly isn’t normally grating if you’re one of those without one, but it can be. For example, you don’t get a man with a magic computer box coming round to check you out because you haven’t paid your smoothie maker licence fee.
Yes, I know, it’s because there is no smoothie maker licence fee.
But the reason this man came round was because it was inconceivable that somebody wouldn’t have telly. Even if they’re told in writing – in response to one of their letters – they still come round to check. I understand why, they need to be sure people aren’t breaking the law but I thought they had super duper 1984-type ways of knowing if you had one or not? And the reason they come round is because it’s more likely that people are lying than do not have a telly. Because everybody has a telly.
He was almost disappointed when he noticed that there was no telly. Maybe he’s used to catching people out? “And I didn’t even know you were coming,” I was tempted to say, sensing his love of looking for – and finding – a hidden telly, exposing ingenious hiding places like off the adverts.
“Oh I’m sorry, Mr Tellyman, with your box of tricks because hand writing’s so difficult, were you looking forward to punishing someone?”
As he left he said, “Remember, if you do get a telly, you’ve got to get a licence.”
Well obviously. You just can’t help yourself, can you? You came here to wag your finger, so you can’t let yourself leave without ticking someone off can you? Even if they haven’t done anything? I know to get a licence if I have a telly. It’s the law, isn’t it? When I did have a telly, I did have a licence. Clearly you wouldn’t know that, but it’s not such a massive leap to register that I’m clearly not an idiot and know about TV licensing regulations. We’ve established that I haven’t got a TV licence because I haven’t actually got a TV. As unlikely as you may find that, it has been verified by your own eyes.
Unless he thought that because I don’t have a telly I must be really simple and need things spelling out for me.
Back in the old place, where we didn’t have a telly either, two electricians (who spent far too long making far too much noise and being homophobic) came round to do some work, and were pretty scornful of us not having a telly. The letting agent who only 3 days before had turned up with prospective tenants to do a viewing of the house without giving us any notice whatsoever stood in the living room in the suit that was too big for him, merely reinforcing the idea that he wasn’t a real letting agent but a nine year old playing at letting agents, and said, “Bit weird… Not having a telly.”
“Shouldn’t matter, should it? I don’t like you, letting agent. You really pissed me off the other day just turning up out of the blue. What did you expect? Did you expect that having given us no warning at all, the house would be in a fit state for a viewing? With our underwear drying on radiators and a visiting friend shitting and vomiting in the bathroom after overdoing it last night? That would be in your interests, wouldn’t it, showing possible tenants that? You make me sick, and calling me weird is not the best way of making sure I don’t write a letter of complaint to your company.”
Having said all that, I don’t know what I’m going to do when Doctor Who starts again.
Last Book: Still 'Gallifrey Chronicles'
Last DVD: Richard Herring - Someone Likes Yoghurt (15)
In 2009 you would think everybody has a telly. We don’t have a telly. But then I don’t suppose we’re an average household, in that we live in a park home. But you’d think, judging by the reaction of some when finding out we do not have a telly, that we’d told them we’re planning on taking our summer holiday on Ganymede, Jupiter’s seventh and largest moon. And that we’re planning to cycle there. “Good luck with that,” sort of thing.
This assumption that everybody has a telly isn’t normally grating if you’re one of those without one, but it can be. For example, you don’t get a man with a magic computer box coming round to check you out because you haven’t paid your smoothie maker licence fee.
Yes, I know, it’s because there is no smoothie maker licence fee.
But the reason this man came round was because it was inconceivable that somebody wouldn’t have telly. Even if they’re told in writing – in response to one of their letters – they still come round to check. I understand why, they need to be sure people aren’t breaking the law but I thought they had super duper 1984-type ways of knowing if you had one or not? And the reason they come round is because it’s more likely that people are lying than do not have a telly. Because everybody has a telly.
He was almost disappointed when he noticed that there was no telly. Maybe he’s used to catching people out? “And I didn’t even know you were coming,” I was tempted to say, sensing his love of looking for – and finding – a hidden telly, exposing ingenious hiding places like off the adverts.
“Oh I’m sorry, Mr Tellyman, with your box of tricks because hand writing’s so difficult, were you looking forward to punishing someone?”
As he left he said, “Remember, if you do get a telly, you’ve got to get a licence.”
Well obviously. You just can’t help yourself, can you? You came here to wag your finger, so you can’t let yourself leave without ticking someone off can you? Even if they haven’t done anything? I know to get a licence if I have a telly. It’s the law, isn’t it? When I did have a telly, I did have a licence. Clearly you wouldn’t know that, but it’s not such a massive leap to register that I’m clearly not an idiot and know about TV licensing regulations. We’ve established that I haven’t got a TV licence because I haven’t actually got a TV. As unlikely as you may find that, it has been verified by your own eyes.
Unless he thought that because I don’t have a telly I must be really simple and need things spelling out for me.
Back in the old place, where we didn’t have a telly either, two electricians (who spent far too long making far too much noise and being homophobic) came round to do some work, and were pretty scornful of us not having a telly. The letting agent who only 3 days before had turned up with prospective tenants to do a viewing of the house without giving us any notice whatsoever stood in the living room in the suit that was too big for him, merely reinforcing the idea that he wasn’t a real letting agent but a nine year old playing at letting agents, and said, “Bit weird… Not having a telly.”
“Shouldn’t matter, should it? I don’t like you, letting agent. You really pissed me off the other day just turning up out of the blue. What did you expect? Did you expect that having given us no warning at all, the house would be in a fit state for a viewing? With our underwear drying on radiators and a visiting friend shitting and vomiting in the bathroom after overdoing it last night? That would be in your interests, wouldn’t it, showing possible tenants that? You make me sick, and calling me weird is not the best way of making sure I don’t write a letter of complaint to your company.”
Having said all that, I don’t know what I’m going to do when Doctor Who starts again.
Last Book: Still 'Gallifrey Chronicles'
Last DVD: Richard Herring - Someone Likes Yoghurt (15)
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Two New Jokes and Nothing Else
I always seem to be telling myself to write more, yet I never do. If I go a couple of days without gigging, it would be an ideal time to do some writing, but I'm always put off if I can't think of anything funny in the first few minutes, then off I go to watch a DVD or read a book. Recently, it's been quite Doctor Who-heavy. More than usual, that is. I've been having quite a Fourth and Eighth Doctors feast, including 'Wolfsbane', which features both. But no comedy has been forthcoming, except for two new (proper - not like me) jokes, which I tried out at a gig at Sheffield University;
"My girlfriend is very supportive of my little comedy thing. Though I do prefer it when she calls it my penis."
"People with cleft palates are strange... But that's easy for me to say."
I've got a routine I want to write, which I've even given a title. It's called 'Massive Legs' but I'm struggling with it. It's a bit of a minefield, really. I'm trying not to come across as insensitive, but some of the funniest bits of it - I think - will be awful things said by someone who is insensitive. Yet, it would be messy to contrive A. N. Insensitive Person and I couldn't assume the persona myself, as it wouldn't suit me or most of my material. Tricky one. Although the cleft palate joke, if I get it wrong, can come across as insensitive.
"Gig every night, write every day." I gig as often as possible, but I'm really lazy with the writing, and feel really quite guilty about it. Maybe I approach it wrong. Like with 'Massive Legs' and all of my other stuff, it seems I need an idea first, when perhaps I should just try and write regardless. Then I'd find neat little lines to pepper my set with. Blogging helps, so I've resolved - again - to blog daily.
This time, I'm falling into a routine. I go and get a coffee and write in my notebook by hand, then come to the library and type it up. It's such a cliche, sat in the cafe, but I find it works. I need to write out of the house, because if I'm at home, I just go back to the books and the DVDs. Which is bad when I should be massaging my comedy mojo.
Also comedywise, Dom and I have managed to slightly overcome the hurdle preventing us from editing the sketch show podcast. In that we've got some material edited, and the rest is still proving tricky. We'll try and stick some up on the The Boycott Deathtrap blog soon.
Last Book Read - Doctor Who: "The Gallifrey Chronicles" by Lance Parkin
Last DVD Watched - "Robin Ince is as Dumb as You" (15)
"My girlfriend is very supportive of my little comedy thing. Though I do prefer it when she calls it my penis."
"People with cleft palates are strange... But that's easy for me to say."
I've got a routine I want to write, which I've even given a title. It's called 'Massive Legs' but I'm struggling with it. It's a bit of a minefield, really. I'm trying not to come across as insensitive, but some of the funniest bits of it - I think - will be awful things said by someone who is insensitive. Yet, it would be messy to contrive A. N. Insensitive Person and I couldn't assume the persona myself, as it wouldn't suit me or most of my material. Tricky one. Although the cleft palate joke, if I get it wrong, can come across as insensitive.
"Gig every night, write every day." I gig as often as possible, but I'm really lazy with the writing, and feel really quite guilty about it. Maybe I approach it wrong. Like with 'Massive Legs' and all of my other stuff, it seems I need an idea first, when perhaps I should just try and write regardless. Then I'd find neat little lines to pepper my set with. Blogging helps, so I've resolved - again - to blog daily.
This time, I'm falling into a routine. I go and get a coffee and write in my notebook by hand, then come to the library and type it up. It's such a cliche, sat in the cafe, but I find it works. I need to write out of the house, because if I'm at home, I just go back to the books and the DVDs. Which is bad when I should be massaging my comedy mojo.
Also comedywise, Dom and I have managed to slightly overcome the hurdle preventing us from editing the sketch show podcast. In that we've got some material edited, and the rest is still proving tricky. We'll try and stick some up on the The Boycott Deathtrap blog soon.
Last Book Read - Doctor Who: "The Gallifrey Chronicles" by Lance Parkin
Last DVD Watched - "Robin Ince is as Dumb as You" (15)
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Comedy: Cool or Not?
I always thought it was one of the coolest things there was. I still do, to be honest. That's why I love watching it, writing it, doing it, reading it... But what was I meant to think? The way people laughed at the comics I saw on telly was enough to make you think that they would start a new religion worshipping them.
At school, everybody laughed at Greg Instone and thought he was really funny because he'd 'cheek' the teachers by being infuriatingly inane rather than witty and would put on a silly voice. Oh, and he'd change the words to current popular songs into rude things. All of this made him cool.
Whereas I would attempt a layered satire of boring, conformist and 'laddy' behaviour in French class, only to wind up looking like an extreme homophobe. That's perhaps a story for another time, thinking about it. Even though it backfired spectacularly, I still think it's funny.
So from school onwards I had it in my head that comedy equalled cool and I still maintain that it does. Otherwise, why else would Russell Brand, the Boosh, Michael McIntyre and Eddie Izzard be so popular? Being good doesn't really come into it because they'd be brilliant - as some of them are - but comedy wouldn't be considered cool, so therefore they wouldn't be popular.
It's also inherent in groups of alpha males too. By alpha males, I mean those that are so uncomfortable and vacuous that they seem to behave for the benefit of others, to show how blokey they are; talking far too loudly about the sport game ("Blues won, who I support!"), the breasts of women and going, "Waheeeeey!" a lot. They are always competing to be funny. It seems really important to them.
So is this because comedy is cool? Because when people find out I do comedy, I don't become cooler or more interesting to them. In fact, that in itself becomes something of a joke. Admittedly, I've never fitted in with the alpha males. That's why a fuss is normally made if I say I don't actually like football, nor do I have any understanding whatsoever of whether that ref was a knob for doing that thing, or I don't join in going 'phwoar' at a picture in Zoo magazine (either of a topless model who is pressing herself up against a wall or of a sports motor car - the two seem to illicit similar reactions) and I say can't actually eat that Yorkie bar because I'm a vegan. Which, as we all know, means 'girl'.
But it isn't just with alpha males that comedy is uncool if it's me that's doing it, it seems to be with anybody.
Once, I was in a pub with a group of people I didn't know very well; friends of a friend. My friend made reference to me having to go to Manchester.
"Why're you going to Manchester?" one of them asked.
I don't like introducing the fact that I do comedy in everyday conversation because of reactions past, but my friend told them it was for a gig.
"Who are you going to see?" was the next question.
"No, I'm... Doing a gig."
"Oh cool! What do you play?"
"No, he's a comedian."
"Oh..."
They all then tried no to laugh. Yet when they thought I was a musician, it was cool. They hadn't even any evidence of how good or bad a comic I was. So I think that the answer to the question 'Is comedy cool?' is as follows.
Yes it is, incredibly cool. But anyone who does it isn't automatically cool, and comedy is brittle enough to be embarrassingly uncool if not handled correctly.
At gigs that have gone badly where I've stunk the place out, I'm woefully uncool. At gigs that have soared, I'm the coolest person in the room.
But why, if people haven't seen either way, is it uncool? This is what I don't understand. Something similar happened a few years ago when the sketch group I'm part of, The Boycott Deathtrap, were preparing for our first show.
I've considered those two examples and I think that this is the case; Comedy is so cool, that anybody considered uncool can't be cool enough, and therefore good enough, to do it.
It fascinates the hell out of me. Perhaps there's a show in it...
At school, everybody laughed at Greg Instone and thought he was really funny because he'd 'cheek' the teachers by being infuriatingly inane rather than witty and would put on a silly voice. Oh, and he'd change the words to current popular songs into rude things. All of this made him cool.
Whereas I would attempt a layered satire of boring, conformist and 'laddy' behaviour in French class, only to wind up looking like an extreme homophobe. That's perhaps a story for another time, thinking about it. Even though it backfired spectacularly, I still think it's funny.
So from school onwards I had it in my head that comedy equalled cool and I still maintain that it does. Otherwise, why else would Russell Brand, the Boosh, Michael McIntyre and Eddie Izzard be so popular? Being good doesn't really come into it because they'd be brilliant - as some of them are - but comedy wouldn't be considered cool, so therefore they wouldn't be popular.
It's also inherent in groups of alpha males too. By alpha males, I mean those that are so uncomfortable and vacuous that they seem to behave for the benefit of others, to show how blokey they are; talking far too loudly about the sport game ("Blues won, who I support!"), the breasts of women and going, "Waheeeeey!" a lot. They are always competing to be funny. It seems really important to them.
So is this because comedy is cool? Because when people find out I do comedy, I don't become cooler or more interesting to them. In fact, that in itself becomes something of a joke. Admittedly, I've never fitted in with the alpha males. That's why a fuss is normally made if I say I don't actually like football, nor do I have any understanding whatsoever of whether that ref was a knob for doing that thing, or I don't join in going 'phwoar' at a picture in Zoo magazine (either of a topless model who is pressing herself up against a wall or of a sports motor car - the two seem to illicit similar reactions) and I say can't actually eat that Yorkie bar because I'm a vegan. Which, as we all know, means 'girl'.
But it isn't just with alpha males that comedy is uncool if it's me that's doing it, it seems to be with anybody.
Once, I was in a pub with a group of people I didn't know very well; friends of a friend. My friend made reference to me having to go to Manchester.
"Why're you going to Manchester?" one of them asked.
I don't like introducing the fact that I do comedy in everyday conversation because of reactions past, but my friend told them it was for a gig.
"Who are you going to see?" was the next question.
"No, I'm... Doing a gig."
"Oh cool! What do you play?"
"No, he's a comedian."
"Oh..."
They all then tried no to laugh. Yet when they thought I was a musician, it was cool. They hadn't even any evidence of how good or bad a comic I was. So I think that the answer to the question 'Is comedy cool?' is as follows.
Yes it is, incredibly cool. But anyone who does it isn't automatically cool, and comedy is brittle enough to be embarrassingly uncool if not handled correctly.
At gigs that have gone badly where I've stunk the place out, I'm woefully uncool. At gigs that have soared, I'm the coolest person in the room.
But why, if people haven't seen either way, is it uncool? This is what I don't understand. Something similar happened a few years ago when the sketch group I'm part of, The Boycott Deathtrap, were preparing for our first show.
I've considered those two examples and I think that this is the case; Comedy is so cool, that anybody considered uncool can't be cool enough, and therefore good enough, to do it.
It fascinates the hell out of me. Perhaps there's a show in it...
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Lloyds TSB Have Destroyed Some of My Closest Friendships
There are at least two extremely good friends that I haven't been in touch with for a while, and I feel really bad about it. The truth is that the past week or so has been pretty hectic, certainly for me who isn't used to such drama.
Basically, we've moved out of that horrible place we were living to a nice place across town and, in doing so, have rid ourselves of the silly landlords and even sillier letting agents. Should have been pretty straightforward, not counting the physical act of moving all of our things from one to the other, including an antique grandfather clock and a double mattress, in a Nissan Micra. But we managed that and there should the difficulties have ended.
But no. Having already been well aware of how stupid the landlords could be, as well as how idiotic the letting agents we were with, we hadn't expected yet another bunch of braindead, knuckle-dragging, bottom-feeding jellyheads to rear their empty heads. Lloyds TSB (the bank) saw it fit (in their own personal wisdom) to not cancel the standing order to the previous landlords when we asked them to. This of course meant that we paid £530 to the old landlords, as well as the £400 for the new place, in the one month. But no, that wasn't enough of a cock up for Lloyds TSB. That £400 rent for the new place was paid in advance at the end of April. The standing order we set up to pay the rent on the new place was then supposed to commence on 1st June, as May's rent had been paid up front.
Good old Lloyds thought differently, and as such - even though the form clearly reads June 1st - they started it a month early, meaning we paid three months rent on two different properties in just the one month.
So we've spent the last week or so trying to sort this out, as well as paying electricity and gas bills and phone bills and the like, which we would have used the money Lloyds took away from us erroneously to pay for. It's been quite tricky, truth be told.
The letter of compaint to Lloyds TSB will probably include more than a paragraph about how they have ruined close friendships I had with people. Then it will go on to say how they have ruined my life as well, and how we've been living on tomato ketchup straight from the bottle and nothing else. I'm also planning on creating an embarrassing scene in their branch.
If only so I've got a talking point when I get back in touch with old friends.
Basically, we've moved out of that horrible place we were living to a nice place across town and, in doing so, have rid ourselves of the silly landlords and even sillier letting agents. Should have been pretty straightforward, not counting the physical act of moving all of our things from one to the other, including an antique grandfather clock and a double mattress, in a Nissan Micra. But we managed that and there should the difficulties have ended.
But no. Having already been well aware of how stupid the landlords could be, as well as how idiotic the letting agents we were with, we hadn't expected yet another bunch of braindead, knuckle-dragging, bottom-feeding jellyheads to rear their empty heads. Lloyds TSB (the bank) saw it fit (in their own personal wisdom) to not cancel the standing order to the previous landlords when we asked them to. This of course meant that we paid £530 to the old landlords, as well as the £400 for the new place, in the one month. But no, that wasn't enough of a cock up for Lloyds TSB. That £400 rent for the new place was paid in advance at the end of April. The standing order we set up to pay the rent on the new place was then supposed to commence on 1st June, as May's rent had been paid up front.
Good old Lloyds thought differently, and as such - even though the form clearly reads June 1st - they started it a month early, meaning we paid three months rent on two different properties in just the one month.
So we've spent the last week or so trying to sort this out, as well as paying electricity and gas bills and phone bills and the like, which we would have used the money Lloyds took away from us erroneously to pay for. It's been quite tricky, truth be told.
The letter of compaint to Lloyds TSB will probably include more than a paragraph about how they have ruined close friendships I had with people. Then it will go on to say how they have ruined my life as well, and how we've been living on tomato ketchup straight from the bottle and nothing else. I'm also planning on creating an embarrassing scene in their branch.
If only so I've got a talking point when I get back in touch with old friends.
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