08:49 - I’m back. And this time, I’m angry....
Current mood: bitchy
Category: Blogging
Ok, so it's entirely possible that the above title does not fairly reflect how my future blogs will run.
I came here today to merely tease you a little, for soon I shall be launching new and improved bloggage.
It's been nearly 7 months. A shit load has happened. I've been too busy/lazy/custardy to write, but I'll be kicking off my blog at some point in the next few days with ANGUS CURLING.
07:00 - Dear Whittlebury Hall...
Current mood: cold
Category: Life
Ok, so more time has passed, and less bloggage has occurred, but I've been saving up stuff for a week for a good one.
Went to watch my beloved Villa get trounced by Man Utd who were rubbish by-the-way and were gifted the first two goals and the third was an OG. They also missed a penalty. Blame Shrek.
The Doc and I sat in the Holte End with the hard core Villa faithful singing our bollocks off. Some of the songs are very funny and I am thus providing Myspace's First Football Singing Lesson.
The main Villa songs are as follows:
(To the tune of Winter Wonderland) Birmingham, are you listening? To the song that we're singing? Walking along, singing this song, Shitting on the 'City as we walk.
and then there's this little gem:
Yippee-Ai-Yay Yippee-Ai-Yow Holte Ender's sing a song.
Natty.
Of course, then there's the sponaneous goal song when Gabriel Agbonlahor scored (first btw):
(To the tune of Karma Chameleon)
Gabby, Gabby, Gabby, Gabby, Gabby Agbonglahor He likes to score, he likes to score...
Awesome.
And then the Man Utd specific taunts like this:
Please support your Please support your Please support your local team Please support your local team.
Followed by (To the tune of Long Way To Tipperary)
"It's a long way, back to Surrey, it's a long way to go...."
And finally in pure exasperation at how bad the Man Utd supporters are at actually supporting (because none of them ever go o a home game because it's too far away, so they don't know the songs)...
4 -1 and you still don't sing...
and
Shall we sing a Shall we sing a Shall we sing a song for you? Shall we sing a song for you....?
After two red cards at 4 - 1 down, just after Stuart Taylor saved Wayne Rooney's penalty the crowd started on the referee. Bit harsh so I didn't join in. In fact, despite aggreeing that the referee was fucking awful I did feel disappointed in my fellow villans' lack of respect with the song "Rob Styles is a Paedophile".
Gutted, beaten and thoroughly looking forward to the smug middle-class Egg Chasers getting a kicking from the South Africans we retired for the evening.
I don't understand rugby at all. It's like 26 blokes on a pitch with an egg, and one bloke called a referee shouting "Bundle...."
Ok, so, other stuff I've been working on. The Doc and I partook of our first wedding anniversary last month and it was a disaster. Not wanting to waste the opportunity of threatening legal action, here is my letter to Whittlebury Hall in Towcester...
Mr. D. ******* * **** ***** Turvey Bedfordshire MK** ***
Monday, 22 October 2007
Dear Ms. Cauwels,
Ref: Stay on September 16th
After a recent and very unsatisfactory visit to your establishment I complained to Mr. Adam Underwood who was the duty manager at the time of my visit. So severe was the nature of my complaint that Mr. Underwood promised a full refund and a voucher for my wife to return on another occasion in order to use the Spa, which she was unable to do.
We have just received a letter (over a month later) from Mr. Underwood offering both myself and my wife an opportunity to stay again, but as yet we have not been refunded for our previous visit. Not only has Mr. Underwood failed to live up to his promise, not refunded us and written to us over a month later with a voucher for further accommodation which we do not want, but he has failed even to get the date of our original visit correct.
Please allow me the indulgence of explaining the particular horrors associated with our visit:
My Wife and I booked to stay on 16th September for our First Wedding Anniversary. The deal was £185 for a room, a meal, breakfast and a day in the Spa.
Upon arrival we were dealt with at the front desk, given our room key (217) and directed up to our room. Ten minutes after entering the room we discovered someone else's luggage in our wardrobe. We called down and a member of staff (Maria) was sent up to collect the luggage. I asked to be moved to another room but was told it was unnecessary as they guaranteed nobody could enter our room and get to our possessions. I enquired as to whether they'd provided the same guarantee to the gentleman (Mr. Kinder) whose possessions we'd had access to, but the irony of this was obviously wasted on a member of staff who had no inclination to move us to another room, despite further protestation from both my Wife and myself. Neither of us was confident that we would not suffer an intrusion, and we were left feeling unimportant and largely ignored.
An hour later we went down for dinner. We were served by a young man of eastern European descent (I'm afraid neither of us can remember his name). We both ordered the Filet Mignon and a good quality wine. Twice we had to send the wine back because the young waiter had brought the wrong bottle. Aside from this the meal was pleasant and the food excellent.
When our bill was presented at the end of the meal we noticed that the young waiter had failed to charge us for the supplemental charges on the meal, and the bottle of wine. My Wife and I are honest people and therefore pointed this out to him as he was undercharging us by £60. He took the bill from my hand without so much as a "thank you" or an apology and replaced it a few minutes later with a correct bill. I was furious and very disappointed at this lack of courtesy. Most others would have taken the original bill, paid up and left without a word.
We then went into the bar and ordered two glasses of Glenmorangie, and were given an entirely different drink. I tried to explain to the bar tender exactly what it was I required. I even pointed to the bottle but to no avail. We gave up and retired for the night.
At 6am the following morning we were woken by a drilling noise. The noise continued for about 15 minutes and then abated for a further 15 minutes before starting again. At 7.30am a conversation started outside our room. I looked out and saw four workman with paint outside working in the corridor. By this time both my Wife and I were completely awake, and so we went down for breakfast.
We queued to be seated and were shown to a table in the far room and were told we would be served tea or coffee shortly. Five minutes passed without service. Then ten. By the time fifteen minutes had passed I had to stop a waitress who had walked past our table several times, completely ignoring us, and ask for tea and coffee. She assured us she would bring some over and so we went over to the buffet. After filling our breakfast plates we headed back to our table and as we entered the room we watched another waitress sit two customers on our table and then the first waitress bustled straight over to them to take their drinks order.
I was fuming at this point. I challenged the waitress who had taken the other customers to our table and was told I had to queue up again to get another table! At this point another waitress stepped in and showed us straight over to another table near the buffet and took our drinks order. Our Tea and Coffee arrived just as we were finishing our meals and were left on the table untouched.
At this point I decided to complain to Mr. Underwood. I told him every detail of our visit thus far (including the names of the waiters/waitresses). He offered to provide us with lunch at the Spa. So feeble and pitiful was this offer that I declined, instead telling Mr. Underwood to mull over it whilst my wife and I tried to get another couple of hours sleep.
I returned to our room to find my wife struggling to breathe. There was a strong smell of chemicals permeating the room, and within a minute my eyes were stinging and my head swimming. I helped my wife out of the room and back downstairs onto a sofa in the foyer. I again asked to be seen by the Duty Manager. On this occasion I didn't even explain the problem. I just handed my key to Mr. Underwood and asked him to go to our room. He returned ten minutes looking decidedly sheepish, clearly having discovered the unattended open tin of Epoxy Resin left outside our room.
He apologised profusely. At this point I asked him if any of his staff had a Ventolin Inhaler or if there was a local pharmacy where I could get my Wife salbutamol. My wife suffers asthma, usually brought on by an allergic reaction or hay fever which is why she did not have her own inhaler with her.
I could stand no more. I requested a full refund from Mr. Underwood, and compensation for one of the worst experiences we've ever had in a hotel. I asked for Mr. Underwood to provide a voucher for my wife to return to the Spa at a later date, as this was the part of the anniversary she was most looking forward to. I also offered to still pay for the meal as the food had been excellent and it is not in my nature to expect freebies where none are due. Mr Underwood told me that he needed to contact his Manager in order to authorise this. He returned some time later but had been unsuccessful in communicating with his line manager. Mr. Underwood decided to take this matter into his own hands and agreed to refund us in full and compensate us as requested, and then further offered us all of our drinks free of charge as compensation for such a poor experience, before taking our address details to write to us.
We did go to the spa to see if a steam room would help my wife, but eventually I was forced to take her home as her breathing was still very laboured.
It is now 22nd October and we have not had our refund. We have been offered a free single night stay (with restrictions) which we will not be taking up. We have no desire to give your staff the opportunity of robbing us of another day in our lives. Mr. Underwood even insulted us by offering "a free upgrade to the heat and ice experience for two people", a service we have already paid for and yet been unable to use because of the incompetence and casual recklessness of your employees.
I am writing to you now at the behest of our solicitor who has assured us that were we to take this further a dim view would be taken had we not first allowed Whittlebury Hall the opportunity to right their mistakes and adequately compensate us for the loss of our first wedding anniversary, a particularly special occasion to most couples, and one that will never occur again.
You have fourteen (14) days to respond to this letter. As of the 5th November we will file in court for our complete losses (including but not limited to; travel to and from Towcester, the accommodation and spa costs, the cost of the meal and all drinks) and for punitive damages (the cost of a replacement celebration for our first wedding anniversary).
05:34 - Dear Mr. Bradley, Managing Director, Philips Collection Services LTD
Current mood: creative
Category: Blogging
I am soooooo going to moan. Check this out: A month ago I received a letter from Thurrock Borough Council asking for £119.66, a debt which I have apparently owed them since February 2005. I asked for them to provide evidence of the debt, they did, I paid. Why they couldn't have asked for it when I still lived in Thurrock is beyond me, but apparently they've had a tracing agency trying to find me for two years. Anyway, after settling up I started to get threatening letters and texts to my home phone asking me to call them. I did, four times but they just won't listen to me. Literally. I actually was not allowed to speak during the last two phone calls.
Well, you know me. Always up for a rumble with an organisation that makes money by oppressing and intimidating others. And so here it begins. Letter number 1:
Mr. Nick Bradley
Philips Collection Services Ltd
64 Duke Street
Darlington
Co. Durham
DL3 7AN
8th October 2007
Dear Mr. Bradley,
Ref:840332
Please take some time to read through the following complaint. I have tried making point through regular channels and have been told that I cannot escalate my complaint, nor would they provide me with a mailing address (that wasn't a P.O. Box), your name or a telephone number to contact. Fortunately my intellect exceeds that of your staff's misplaced determination and rudeness, and Companies House were more than happy to oblige.
You have now been contacted on four occasions, all of which explaining that the debt previously owed to Thurrock Borough Council has been settled with Thurrock Borough Council, in full and to their satisfaction.
The attitude of your staff has been overwhelmingly hostile, and if you do record the telephone conversations I would urge you to pay particular attention to the third and fourth conversations, whereby "Lisa" refused to allow me even to speak, so aggressive was her manner. Apparently I had no right to pay Thurrock Borough Council, and should therefore have paid Philips, despite being entirely unknowing of your existence until after the debt was settled. Of course, if Lisa had stopped talking at me for a moment and listened, she would be all too aware of that.
I am sure that in your line of work you mostly deal with desperate ill-educated working class families, who all too often are bullied into submission by legal threats and provocative language.I will not be intimidated to any extent, and furthermore I will seek to recover my losses should you continue along this line.
On four occasions I have received texts to my home phone asking me to call "Jo" and provide my reference number. None of the texts went on to explain the call charges involved to an 0870 number. So, not only to you adopt a poor attitude towards potential debtors, but you also force them into making costly phone calls by threatening to take further legal action if they do not comply with your "DEMAND FOR PAYMENT" (your language – not mine).You go on to threaten me with "further charges of no less than £45" if I fail to arrange a suitable payment plan within seven days.
You also charge these debtors for making payment! By debit/credit card they may be charged up to 5% administration fee plus VAT (minimum £2.35). Online payments, standing orders, Giro Slip, Post Office Payment are all chargeable if a debtor pays in these ways. Why do you need to charge for receiving payment or for administration fees when your client is already paying to collect the money from them? Not only that, but my debt to Thurrock Borough Council was £119.66 and you have asked for £155.59 without any explanation of the further charges.
In essence, you are deliberately exacerbating the situation by putting financial strain on people that are clearly already under financial strain. There is no legislation that exonerates your brutish behaviour and to this end I will be passing this on to my solicitors, the MP for Thurrock, Consumer Credit Licensing (Office Of Fair Trading), BBC Watchdog and the Head of Financial Services at Thurrock Borough Council.
I have also forwarded this to British Telecom so that they can assess the legality of the telephone harassment I have undergone at the hands of over zealous employees.
Your company's attitude is particularly alarming when you consider just how wrong you have been with reference to my case.
For your information:
Your first letter to me was received after I had paid your client. Not only that, but your initial letter was not even addressed correctly. I only received it by virtue of Royal Mail Forwarding. The alleged debt was unknown until four weeks ago when I received a letter from Thurrock Borough Council. I requested proof of the outstanding amount and then immediately settled upon receipt of said proof from their financial department. Although the debt is almost three years old, I cannot be held responsible for your client's prolonged delay in collecting the debt. I remained in Thurrock for a further seven months after the unknown debt was incurred, and had my post forwarded for 12 months after moving to Bedfordshire, and lived in that house for just under two years. Your client has had plenty of opportunities to request settlement for the debt but did not bring it to my attention until four weeks ago.
It seems that a basic premise for debt collection is that a little time be given to the debtors upon receiving a request for settlement before you start throwing legal jargon and threats at people who will almost certainly be too frightened and confused to stand against an organisation such as yours.
I am now determined to take this further. This letter will be published on my own website and sent to various media outlets along with those organisations whom I have already mentioned.
I expect you'll ignore this or pass it on to an underling to deal with, but I urge you to take this seriously. I will continue to follow this up with the Office of Fair Trading and seek an inquest into the manner in which you conduct your business as I am certain this is not an isolated incident.
If you still wish to proceed legally, I welcome any such action. Any appearance in court for this will result in my charging you for time taken out of work. The cost of my services is £500 Per Hour + VAT and any travelling expenses incurred.
I don't believe it. Talk about the ultimate choke. 4 - 1 up with 20 minutes to go and we draw. Aaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrghhhhhh.
Anyhoo, I have recently made more addictive intermaweb discoveries. In fact, I'd go one further and suggest other poeple discovered it 4 years ago and I'm just catcing on. Whilst tuned into the variably credible Five Live talk radio a couple of days back, I heard a chap ranting on about a virtual world called Second Life. It's so popular now that IBM, MacDonalds, Coke and various other huge corporations run all their marketing ideas and business plans there, using the actual simulation to predict global economy shifts and product trends. I, being the computer wizard that I am decided that I need to have a virtual me to practice stuff with, and so far I am struggling to get past the tutorials. Whether it's so full of bugs that it prevents me from moving on, or I'm so clueless I can't follow simple instructions, I just don't know. I spent a good four hours on it yesterday, butt naked and trying to talk to other people as confused as me and wondering why I'm naked. If I could work out how to get dressed, I would.
I've got a bajillion things to talk about, but I've forgotten them all so it'll have to wait until later or tomorrow.
02:03 - Fucking Kents.
Current mood: sleepy
Category: Sports
Another day, another 8 hour round trip to Kent. I fucking hate Kent. I wonder if I emailed the Government they'd de-commission the county under the Hazardous Waste Act 1984, and then sell it France where it really belongs.
Was back up at the Villa last night watching the worst football you could imagine. I listened to 606 afterwards and the Leicester fans were claiming they deserved to win - NO YOU DIDN'T. They were truly awful. They had 1 shot, yes ONE and it happened to go in. They had 26% posession which I think tells the real story. Despite that Villa were shit too. Isiah Osbourne and Stylian Petrov should form their own team called Crap Utd or something similar. Melberg was rubbish, new boy Curtis Davies under no pressure played the ball across field to Melberg and managed to hit Zat Knight on the back of the head in the process. I know none of you really give a shit, but Villa are on the up at the minute and then Martin O'Neill decides to change the team. Mental. On top of that, the one player that looked pretty good on the field was Shaun Maloney, and he literally hopped of the field with minutes to go and collapsed in a pile on the touchline.
I shattered and I've had my moan, so am buggering offski now.
01:47 - Return of The Kack....
Current mood: knackered
Category: knackered Blogging
Ok, so I'm finally getting somewhere in the new house. We're still unpacking but that's mainly because we've got too much shit. Had a proper surprise yesterday though;
About 10 years ago I started to write a book called "Rapid Eye Movement". I got a long way into it and then printed off a couple of copies for safe keeping. I then moved house from Kingston to New Malden and subsequently lost the hard copies. Two days after my arrival in New Malden we had a massive power surge and my entire computer got wiped.
I lost everything - my band, Babywax, were half way through the second album (Virtuosity) and I had all the master files stored on my computer. The book got wiped. Three years of accounts and eighty four years of porn.
Gutted as I was about the book, my priority then was to get the album finished as the record company had already given us £100k and as I much as I'd like to have deleted the debt apparently HSBC aren't hard linked to New Malden Electricity Sub Station.
Years have passed (10 in case you're a burger). Our new house is like a maze. In essence it's two 17th Century Cottages and a Barn all connected together. So, the Doc and I have finally found a way to spread our shit through 22 rooms rather than pile it in to 4.
All of the loft crap has been bundled in to a limestone lean-to around the back of the Barn. Unfortunately, being a lazy git means that I haven't yet bought a padlock for the door. So, all the boxes are just piled up, and all full of meaningless shit that we're too sentimental about to cull. I went in there yesterday just to organise it a bit better and an animal has been in over night and knocked some of the boxes over. As I cleared up the mess I found a ream of paper that turned out to be my book!
So, am now reading my book again tosee if it's worth finishing. My writing has improved massively in ten years so I suspect it may be shite.
Which reminds me. I've been commissioned to write some short stories (only 360 words each) by the BBC. I wrote a longer version of my Twin Towers/Wembley joke and sent it in and they loved it, but then Joss pointed out that she's heard another act doing that joke.
Now, I wrote that about 6 months ago and told it once at Jongleurs in Reading. I suppose it could be an obvious link between the two, and sometimes acts do genuinely write the same jokes, but all the same it's pissed me off.
If any comedy types have heard it from someone else I'd really like to know who.
Righto. Am offski. My new computer runs the Tomb Raider Legends in full graphics mode and it's fucking awesome, so I shall mostly be completing that today.
Tomorrow I shall tell you all about the ghosts in our new home.
00:47 - The Twin Towers....
Current mood: awake
Category: Sports
Last night was a shocking reminder of just how not match fit I am when it comes to doing a set. The night before I'd been in Kent for Jongleurs and MC'd at the Brittania Theatre which was LOADS of fun. I even met a PCSO that could swim.
Saturday night I had been asked to Headline in Boston at the Blackfriars Arts Centre, a gig I had done three years previously. I was actually quite looking forward to it. Not only do I rarely do sets, but it's even rarer that I headline a gig. I don't know what's wrong with me though - it starts to fuck with my head. When I'm MC'ing I bounce around the stage having fun and making shit up. Last night I fucked up from the first second by changing my mind with what to open with whilst in the middle of the joke, and then it just got worse. In fact the only good thing to come out of it was that by the time I'd done 20 minutes, I was so bored of me that I started to properly improvise and finally got myself a round of applause, before shifting back to the script and losing it again.
September as a whole has been weird though. My first wedding anniversary, and my wife's (I know!), the departure of the Special One from Chelsea, and 6 years since the tragic demise of the Twin Towers.
I felt a real pang when thinking about those towers coming down. I had a great personal affinity with them which died the day they were destroyed. I'd only been there the year before admiring their splendour, that one glorious moment before I went into the building and watched my beloved Villa get stuffed 1 - 0 by Chelsea in the very last FA Cup Final to be held on that hallowed ground.
Of course, the new Wembley is magnificent. It has none of the character, charm or violence of the Twin Towers, but is splendid in its own way. I was there again last month to watch England get stuffed by Germany 2 -1. I can't help thinking I'm destined never to see a team I support win at Wembley.
Earlier that day the Evil One and I had partaken of Channel Five's hospitality and hung around with Lovejoy, Fenners, Tramp and Sheephead for more American Soccer shenanegans. I've added a couple of clips at the end of this blog for your viewing pleasure.
Whilst you are waiting for such treats, here is a little photo documetary of my day in London...
The Soccer USA crew...
Here is the crew of Soccer Bratislavia...
The England Bowler, Steve ParmaHam praying openly for Lovejoy's wardrobe...
Evil, Lovejoy and moi...
Me and The Doc sporting our best Chav attire...
The view from our seats. We were so far away from the action that they decided to let the teams have two goals each to make the game more visible.
Here's Evil, lording it over his Manor...
Me, about to demonstrate Extreme Russian Dancing...
The Doc & I...
I, and Evil with tickets...
On the left is Malcolm Howard, ex-Norwich City Striker - The Doc's Dad!
Check this out - this is worse than Lovejoy's attempts to photograph Reading Festival...
Back to the studio - The Lovejoy bundle...
...and the eagerly awaited - Fenners Skills Episode 2...
dudes and dudettes. Thank you muchly for your comments and emails and well wishes and stuff.
To bring you all up to speed: 8 weeks ago the Doc & I found a lovely little property in a tiny village in Bedfordshire called Turvey. It's lurvely. I'm not bragging but it's better than where you live.
Anyhoo, we put in an offer and within 5 weeks we had moved in. Unbelieveable I hear you cry. Never the less, 'tis all true.
Unfortunately the entire premises is encased in 18 inches of 390 year old Limestone, and therefore nuclear proof, thus I was unable to surf on to someone else's broadband signal and have been confined to misery and previously downloaded porn. Well done those of you who provided naked pictures of yourself for my entertainment. I will continue to encourage such ludity.
On this very day my BT hub arrived, sending ripples of excitement up my raspberry theme park. Not conent with receiving intermaweb again, I decided to go to PC world and by the dogs bollocks computer thing, and two 22inch Hewlett Packard Monitors. Fuck, my desk looks sexy.
Despite previous mutterings about being busy and the suchlike, I promise to endeavour to rampage these areas with random rants and randy rats. And cheese.
Missing you.
DJ
x
Encyclopaedia Lesbianica: Girl Price: The value of purchases as provided to your girlfriend/wife, usually being at least 30% lower than the actual price (boy price) that the product was purchased at: i.e. If Danny were to pay £1074 for a new computer, he would typically explain it as £700 to the good Doc, who doesn't read his blog.
The little bastard Fredcrumbs escaped for the third time this week this morning. The electric fence thing has been absolutely brilliant until now, but he's decided to take his chances with the pain and now he just walks over it, twitching slightly.
I had to drive around the block again and drag him through the bushes back into the car. Several scars and much blood later I finally pinned him down and got him on to the back seat.
The problem is, I didn't actually bring the cat cage round, so stood on my lap with his front paws on the steering wheel whilst I was driving us home, which is pretty good fun because I ducked every time another car came past, giggling to myself at what I imagine it must look like to see a cat driving a jag.
He's a little shit though, and whilst I'd quite like to have him skinned and served in a hot dog bun, it's difficult to be angry with something as funny as this...
Yesterdays exploits were totally Mambonifico. I made the journey from Bedford down to my home town to meet up with Evil and then head off for an afternoon of America bashing courtesy of Tim Lovejoy, Fenners, Sheephead and Robbie at the Aspect Media Studios in Stephen Street.
I'll be honest, the first time I watched the show last week, I did it more for the comedy aspect, without any real due attention to the MLS. However, Evil decided that in order for him to truly show allegiance to a US team, he would first have to do some research and actually watch the football. Not wanting to be the only nobber in the village without a clue, I have had to add MLS viewing to my busy schedule of telling jokes and playing golf. And JulieRoo.
Accidentally put my foot firmly in my north by ripping the living piss out of Croydon and the genetically inept that reside in such concrete abominations, until Sheephead declared that he lives there. Oops.
It reminded me of something Gary Delaney once said while we were recording a radio show for the BBC (this is about 5 years ago).
Me: "Did you know humans and pigs are the only mammals that have sex for pleasure?"
Gary: "Yes. I've been to Croydon".
All this MLS malarkey has been good for me in a different way too. Next year I'm going to be taking two shows up to Edinburgh. One will be an insightful, witty reminiscence about me breaking all my bones, and the other is going to be the spin off from my 2005 show "Radio Blah Blah" except this time it's called "Football Football". I, along with another two comics will be doing a proper football comedy quiz with guest comedians and other celebrity types. We'll have a Subbuteo pitch set up in front of the teams, and a "three passes before you shoot" policy. Basically each team will get questions or captions about football, and for every three right/funny answers they'll get a shot on the pitch against the opposing team's keeper. The winning team will be that with the most goals at the end, after the penalty shootout. It's only a basic premise at the moment, but I've been talking to various comedy types about it and so far the idea is generally being well received. Even Lee Mack thought it was a good idea and he now presents They Think It's All Over. The point of the show is to offer an alternative to the standard "comedian thinks of a theme and then writes a few jokes about it, skilfully hiding most of his usual material in the folds of whatever mediocre and tenuous construction he thought of a month before the festival". Obviously not every show in Edinburgh is like that. Most don't even have jokes. I expect my other show will live up to every pathetic level of mediocrity that I show such outward disdain for, but I'm going to do it anyway.
Half the problem for me is confidence. I can't help wondering who'd pay to watch me trivialise my life. Come to think of it, who'd even read about it?
Hello? Hellooooo?
I have a great respect for the acts that write a show properly, like The Deaf Bloke did with Deafy's Island Discs. I'm not sure I have the conviction to start a project and see it through. I've written two books so far and haven't finished either of them. If only I could get someone else to write the last 10% I'd be laughing. I have the same thing with my material. Just recently I embarked upon a mission to re-write all of my routines, improve them basically. The more I wrote the more I got annoyed without the amount of gags I'd missed out when I first wrote them. By the end of the improvement session I'd expanded two hours of material in to closer to three hours, despite the fact I'll probably only ever use a quarter of it.
Anyhoo, back to the MLS…
One thing is becoming very apparent with the MLS. The officials presiding over the matches are having to deal with some really unpleasant tackles and the such like. Despite the hilarity of a Chicken Wing Battle, players seem content to scythe down the opposition if it's the only way to prevent them getting ahead, but it's not like the professional fouls you see in the Premiership. It's brutal and potentially career threatening. I was saddened this week when Mark Delaney was forced to retire from my beloved Villa, after an injury-riddled decade which all started when he was deliberately cut down by an over-zealous Bolton Wanderers Midfielder. His whole life has been about the wonderful game of football, and yet suddenly he finds himself unable to even take part in training.
On the flip side of that the one good thing about the MLS is that they don't over protect the goalkeepers who DO get tackled and tackle back. You can't even fart near a keeper in the Premiership without getting a yellow card and a full page write up in the Times on the alleged thuggery, and all because Jose lost two goalies in one match to injuries. Yes, they were bad injuries, but it's only ever happened once in the history of football, and all of a sudden Mr. Mourhino is pissing on everyone's chips.
On a lighter note I have decided for the first time ever to play Fantasy Football. I have set up a league called the Punniership and now invite you all to join. The website is www.cyki.com . If you decide to join, drop me an email with your email addy and I'll send you an invite to the league.
I will soon be reviving The Blasting Couch, and have promised several people that I shall blast my celebrity readers first. Having already done Tre Cool, my next target is Richard Hammond. I was going to blast Lovejoy but he's only actually read my blog once which hardly makes him a subscriber. I will, however, endeavour to reel him in and then penetrate him gently.
Until next time, here's a few photos from yesterday and funny clip of Fenners' skills episode 1.
Ta ta.
Sheephead, Moi, Evil & Robbie The Tramp.
The Bridgey James Experience...
Quote of the Day:
Whilst looking at a photograph of Wayne Bridge in a water treadmill, about 3 foot deep:
Lovejoy "Why don't you float or is that a stupid question"?
Bridgey "It's a stupid question".
He's not Jesus, Tim.
Fenners' Skills episode 1: "The Heel Toe Flick Catch Walk"
10:21 - JulieRoo...
Current mood: bouncy
Category: Blogging
Very shortly I shall be departing for that there fancy London place for another jolly in the exciting world of Major League Soccer. Evil and I are partaking of another invite to watch the show recording. Today's guest is Wayne Bridge so I expect tomorrow I'll be posting the usual assortment of photos of misbehaving comedians cavorting with sporting celebrities.
A couple of nights ago I invented a new game: JulieRoo. Allow me the indulgence of a full explanation.
The Good Doc woke up with a scream at 2am which scared the living shit out of me.
"What's wrong?"
"I've just been run over by a spider".
"If it was driving a truck it was probably a dream"
"Shut up".
An hour later she was still unable to sleep for fear of the spider returning so she took a very strong sleeping pill. A further twenty minutes on and she was sparko. At this point I am now awake and utterly annoyed so I decided to see how many household objects I could balance on her sleeping loveliness before she woke up. As it happens I got bored of the game before she got close to waking up. Those pills are good.
My record so far is: 2 turquoise Crocs, a plastic Colt 45, a claw mouse, 2 x 5 litre bottles of mineral water, a sports water bottle, bagpus hot water bottle, turtle neck warmer, Stephen King's "The Running Man", the new Chris Ryan paperback, a pink squishy thing and a BMW Williams F1 cap. I really wanted to use cabbages and invent CrackerDoc but we ate the last cabbage yesterday.
Last weekend was my parent's 30th Wedding Anniversary. I arrived late, which wasn't unexpected after a small fashion disaster. The evening was splendid, apart from the part where my mother decided to pull me from pillar to post introducing me to everyone in the room, all of whom seamed to know all about me.
"This is my eldest son, Daniel. He's a professional comedian, but he's blue so I don't go to see him".
"What?"
"Well you are dear. People keep telling me about your blog".
"My blog is not my act"
"Julie told me you open with a joke on serial rape".
"Which culminates in me being arrested for bumming a Sugar Puff".
Aside from my Mum's deluded sense of my job it was a really good turn out. I won't go into details because family gatherings are almost as dull as Sinead O'Connor, but here is a photo of my cousin Glen wearing his 15 year old daughter's hair extensions and shouting "Sharon. SHARON" at the top of his voice to gales of laughter from at least three people.
That is all. Tomorrow I shall be updating you all on "David Beckham's Soccer USA", Lovejoy's exploits, Fenners' skills and gossip on Wayne Bridge.
01:16 - Not A Diva...
Current mood: cranky
Category: Blogging
The fair town of Kings Lynn played host to my particular brand of talent last night, and what a brilliant / crap night it was.
I don't often harp on about gigs, for the simple reason that I can't believe anyone reading this would give a shit. None of you write stuff about your jobs do you?
On this occasion, though, I find myself wanting to simultaneously scream and applaud. King's Lynn Corn Exchange is a huge gig. The room is enormous and holds well over 400 punters, sat informally at tables around the stage.
There were big signs as you walk in declaring that "Nonsense Heckling will not be tolerated". I asked the manager about the choice of phrase. He assured me that there was bound to be heckling, and that his staff would be keeping a close eye on it. I was sceptical to say the least. The audience demographic mainly consisted of late 20 somethings to mid 40 somethings. It didn't appear chavvy. Quite the opposite actually.
I'd been on stage for approximately 9 seconds when the first heckle arrived. Some bloke at the side laughed really loudly, one of those big false sarcastic laughs, just as I was introducing myself. I hadn't got as far as even attempting to be funny, so the sarcastic laughter was about as welcome as Dolores Umbridge.
Now, I try and be fluffy and nice and childish and all those kind of things, but there are times when I need to be a little harder with the crowd. However, as this was just the first moment I decided upon a nicer approach to dealing with it, by suggesting that the gentleman in question was obviously watching me on sky plus, and had got to the first punchline before everyone else. Cue my first laugh. I then banged straight on with my opening routine about stealing pigeons. Much laughter ensued and the gig settled down to what I though was going to be a really, really excellent show.
Not two minutes later the same bloke shouted something out. I didn't really hear what he said, but there was no mistaking the derisive nature of the heckle. The audience booed him back, which is a bit like spinach for my inner Popeye. The guy continued to heckle and each time he did I capped it with something better. Ten minutes later I decided that this man had every intention of fucking the whole show up, and that the time for affirmative action was nigh.
I verbally buried him in a barrage of insults and put downs, spurred on by the wild applause emanating from the ordinary folk of Norfolk. I humiliated this man beyond any level of ridicule that I have ever imposed on anyone in my career, ever. I destroyed his credibility, challenged his intellect and gave him the biggest verbal kick-in I could possibly muster. By the end of the first rant the audience were actually stood up applauding me. Job done.
I settled the crowd and introduced the first act, whose 20 minutes passed without being heckled. He made a comment as he walked on stage which pissed me right off though.
"I thought you were never going to get me on".
When he came off stage I felt the need to point out that I only actually did 15 minutes at the top.
"That's too long" he said.
"Really? I was under the impression that my job was to be as funny as is humanly possible, warm the crowd up and set it up so you have a great gig. Time is irrelevant. I bring you on when I think they're ready. I did my bit, you had a great gig. Which part did I get wrong?"
He looked around the room for some support from the other acts, but it was obvious they both entirely agreed with my analysis of my job. I fucking hate acts that think they are more important than anyone else, and that the compere's job is to just bring them on when it suits them. There's a reason I compere at 90% of my gigs – I'm fucking good at it.
The second part of the show went much the same way as the first, with me having loads of fun with the audience, interrupted occasionally by the heckling twat who clearly hadn't learnt his lesson. It had started to get a bit tasty by this point, his heckles becoming more unreasonable and malicious, and my retorts were probably beginning to sound strained and annoyed, which is a definite no no.
I settled everyone down again and introduced act two. As I left the stage towards the dressing room I heard the words "here y'are mate" and the a coin was thrown at me.
Oh
My
God.
How disrespectful is that? Not to mention fucking dangerous. The manager was called and I had a proper kick off. Not in a "I'm a Diva and therefore will not be going back on stage" way, because it's not the audiences fault that the bloke s a complete prick, so why should they get less out of the gig? I did insist that the bloke was removed from the building though. The Manager promised to eject him immediately and then came back ten minutes later looking sheepish.
"I've had a word and he promises not to do it again".
"Kick him out"
"I can't. Our security staff didn't turn up."
I was absolutely livid. How can you run a gig in a theatre that holds over 400 people and have no security staff? Is that even legal? I imagine they probably have to provide security for insurance reasons, not to mention any measures imposed by the local council.
Like I said, I'm not a Diva so I wasn't about to storm out, but I let my feelings known. The other acts seemed to think I should refuse to go back on stage, get my money and fuck off. I went back on despite the twat still being in the room, ripped it up for five minutes to a tumultuous applause that makes this job so worth while, and the left with the headliner in full flow, my compromise being that he'd close out the show so I could leave early.
The show as a whole was wonderful, spoilt by attention seeking pricks.
King's Lynn, I shall never darken your inbred fucktard town again.
On a upward note I'd like to end my blog today by wishing my parents a very happy 30th wedding anniversary. The Doc and I shall be trundling down to Worthing for a mega Partaaaay this evening.
Of course, I'll be watching the Villa/Liverpool match first though. AND I just got my tickets through for England Vs Germany on august 22nd, which is going to be soooooo cool.
11:11 - David Beckham’s Soccer USA
Current mood: happy
Category: Blogging
In true blog tradition, every now and then I'll be inspired to ramble semi coherently about the days' happenings. Yesterday was such a day.
I arose at a reasonable hour, despite the constant pouncing I endured from the Little Bastard Zeppelin at 7am. At 10 I was collected from the front door by HotGingerLiz.com and Realistic Inspector Turner, who escorted myself and The Good Doc away from attention seeking felines and onwards to their desired property.
Everyone is selling their house at the minute. It's bloody annoying because our road currently looks like an estate agent graveyard with for sale/sold boards flapping around all over the place.
After perusing said desireable residence, the Inspector & I boarded a train to that fancy Londinuim for further adventures. We met up with Evil at 12.15 and proceeded to Stephen Street, just off the Tottenham Court Road.
Upon entering the Stephen Street Studio I was immediately star struck by the very fact that Ricky Hatton was in the queue for reception ahead of me. Not wanting to trust myself to say something normal, and in mortal fear of getting the living shit punched out of me by a man who could kill me with a mere glance, I kept my twat mouth shut and disguised my mounting excitement, which is not to be confused with Mountain Excitement, something I have yet to experience (unless you count feasting my phat eyes on Kilimanjaro earlier this year…).
Evil, Inspector and I had been invited to attend (by "invited" I mean "we begged") the filming of yesterday's "David Beckham's Soccer USA". Having been a fan of Lovejoy's previous exploits on Soccer AM, I was really looking forward to finally meeting the team and watching the magic. And there really was magic. Lovejoy made green stuff emanate from his wavy hands accompanied by jingly jangly noises, and none of it was television trickery. I think Lovejoy must have gone to Hogwarts. You watch. Next he'll have a show called Quiddich AM.
What's sadder than me believing all this is that I have elected to stand firmly behind the Kansas City Wizards in the race for football greatness in that there America, purely because I believe Harry Potter is real, as is Ball Kid, who also rocks.
I've also been immensely jealous of various other comedy types who have frequently adorned the Soccer AM couch over the years, particularly the ones who felt righteous enough to be smug about it with me when questioned about the experience (Dara, Noel, Russell…)
It was loads of fun too. There were only a few other peeps in the "audience" (about 20 I think) including a bloke from The Rifles, and Ricky Hatton's Bodyguard, surely a man with the most pointless job in the world. Who the fuck is retarded enough to start a barny with the world boxing champion?
Ricky – "I've had your Mum" Bloke – "Come on then!"
As if. Fenners displayed skills unprecedented for a man of his appearance, and then abruptly turned shy and refused to play further with the provided silver ball, instead making dull conversation about the inevitability of having to travel over ground from Surbiton to London. He did make us laugh though, which had nothing to do with his chicken legs.
Sheephead's ability to bring out the worst in ordinarily sensible people culminated in what was surely the best comment of the day "Vancouver Super-Rovers".
You can even hear my dulcet tones in the first couple of minutes, when Lovejoy in a moment of distraction was unable to ascertain the correct word to describe two men beating each other up. "Fighting" I shouted. Brilliant eh?
I was desperate to help Tim pronounce the word "Lorentowicz", but my dignity kicked in and I left Lovejoy floundering in a pitiful downward spiral of verbal flatulence.
The whole show was, I thought, excellent. The crew seemed genuinely pleased with their combined efforts. I gather that the show has steadily progressed and improved with each recording.
If you're a fan of Soccer AM, check out this new one. It's on Wednesday evenings on Channel 5, so I got to watch it last night after being there. If you missed it, it's repeated on Friday and Saturday.
After that, Evil, Realistic Inspector and I got went for a pint in The Punch & Judy, had a crap Mr. Wu's in Leicester Square and then got healthily blatted at All Bar One.
Result.
Ta ta for now.
Right To left: Inspector Turner, Ricky, Evil Martyn, Lovejoy, moi.
Trust Mark to turn up wearing an England Rugby shirt, for a show about foreign football. Wazzock.
Evil and Fenners share manly greatness...
Currently
listening
:
Repeated Offender
By
The Rifles
Release date: 14 March, 2006
11:18 - New web site and apologies...
Current mood: frustrated
Category: Blogging
Dear all,
Please accept my continued apologies for my absence. I promise it's not through laziness - quite the opposite actually. Myself and the good Doc have been rushing around like nutters trying to sort out our new house purchase, which is going through so quickly it's ludicrous.
In between housy stuff I've had a new web site put together AND have been invited to spend a week in the Big Apple gigging!
The NY week commences 6th November and the official title of my show is probably going to be "DANNY JAMES TOUR OF TWO STREETS IN NEW YORK WHERE THERE ARE COMEDY CLUBS THAT HE HAS BEEN INVITED TO DO A SOLO SHOW AT, 2007"
Catchy, eh?
Check out my new web paradise at www.dannyjames.co.uk and let me know what you think.
Tomorrow I shall mostly be spending the day with Lovejoy whilst he films this weeks "David Beckham's Soccer USA" which should be fun, and I shall provide a full report of all shenanegans.
02:09 - £215,000...
Current mood: exhausted
Category: Blogging
I had a bizarre dream last night.
I was backstage at the Palladium, hob nobbing with famous people I didn't recognise when one of the cleaners presented me with a cheque for £215,000. At this point I remember feeling distinctly sad, and so I questioned a nearby barmaid.
"Have I been sacked from Jongleurs?"
The look on her face as she turned away said it all. I was devastated. I asked everybody what I'd done, and then spent two hours pleading and crying with one of the chefs because I laughed at his dungarees, which made him spill diesel everywhere.
I phoned Donna the next day, from the Palladium where I live now, and asked her why she'd sacked me, and why such a small pay off. £215k is only about 5 years work depending on how often you gig for Jongleurs. She told me I was lucky they weren't suing me for £100,000 back, for causing a chemical spillage in the cupboard.
I broke down and sobbed my heart out, until Julia rescued me from the floor, and put my arm round her, and walked me out of the room and up some stairs. Without really seeing where I was going, and still sobbing uncontrollably, she walked me across the stage where I was hit by a wall of sound and light. About 5000 people were stood in the audience cheering and clapping me.
I looked up, utterly confused, before Julia leaned in and whispered "The cheque is your prize money for this year's best Jongleurs Compere".
I collapsed on stage, bewildered and still sobbing, with the Golden Snitch clutched safely in my left hand.
The next thing I remember was being in hospital, with Joss leaning over me and saying "Those bastards. I'll kill them".
"What happened?"
"They got you mixed up with Daniel Kitson. The cunts."
And then Carey Marx walked in and said "I voted for you mate" and walked out carrying the chef's dungarees.
bitchy
cold
creative
cynical
sleepy
awake
relaxed
nostalgic
bouncy
cranky
happy
frustrated
exhausted