big brother

so, it's not like big brother needs more pontificating on it, or opinions from people, or discussions as to the fleeting nature of fame - but here goes.

so i went to the friday night project record last week. my friend david was on it, and so rather than sit in the audience i was allowed to sit in the green room to watch the show.

i enjoyed it, it was good knockabout fun, and there was a bit in it where to celebrate big brother starting last year's winner, tourettes pete, ran through the audience wearing a jacket covered in five pound notes which the audience then tore off him (the fivers) as prizes.

as i said, all good fun etc

in the green room after pete came over to my friend david to say hello, and david's mother (who i thought was very funny on the show) said to pete (let's not forget the man who WON big brother only some nine months previously)

"oh, did you manage to grab any money yourself?"

we all started to laugh and then pete said

"yeah, a tenner" and pulled two fivers out of his pocket. we all laughed and then it looked like he wasn't kidding and so we sort of stopped. and then he offered them to us. and then he put them back in his pocket when we all looked a bit awkward.

now, the thing is he seemed like a really, really nice bloke. sweet and cheery, and i'm not writing this just because it seemed like he shouted 'wankers' every time i was near him, as he did seem nice. but the thing is it seemed to encapsulate what the whole thing has become - he was one of the most popular winners ever not even a year before, and now he's having to nick prize money from shows he's appearing on as a celebrity.

and that seemed to me to be pretty poignant. oh yeah.

also on the show they made some jokes about jeremy beadle (who is a brilliant bloke) having a small hand unaware that the actor anthony head, who was on the show too and sitting there at the time, also has a small hand. i liked that, but would have preferred it if the justin lee collins had somehow spotted anthony's hand half way through the joke and had to make up something else on the spot about beadle's hands. perhaps that they were sweatier than you'd think for a man who looks so well groomed.

sorry if this one is a bit shit. i'll try harder next time.

Currently listening : Blur By Blur Release date: 11 March, 1997

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chris tarrant

and the lady who he was with is on the front of the mail today.  tits in different postcodes, that one.

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finally

right then, i'll try to finish the interminable comedy awards story this time. before i do though, it's nice to see that as many as 30 people may read the blog. and one person has subscribed (thanks jessica). so thank you for reading it, but i am cripplingly vain and also desperate to please so do feel free to leave comments. yes, feel free, no pressure. just say what you like or don't. personally i think they've got a bit long.

feedback in any form is nice and in fact one person, the hugely successful producer of harry hill's tv burp and the mighty boosh spencer millman, phoned me in hysterics the other day and said 'i read your blog, it's hilarious' and i had a split second of thinking 'great, maybe it is worthwhile, spenny knows comedy' before he managed to get out through his laughter 'the one about lloyd cole - are you the world's most depressed man? jesus christ, you're so miserable'. i was genuinely a bit thrown but then i remembered the time that spencer dressed as a bear for a fantasy football league sketch and people were asking him why he was still wearing the outfit two days later. is he hairy? when we went on a work to trip to cyprus EVERYONE spoke greek to him, that's how hairy he is.

anyway, the comedy awards (this one is also now quite long i notice). so i'm sitting sort of next to but behind sam bain and david mitchell. to david's left jesse is sat, and to his left is the face launching chips lady. it's miserable for me, but i can hear snippets of the conversation which is being bellowed into jesse's ear and that does kind of cheer me up because it makes the hell complete, and also makes me grateful that i'm not sitting there. here's more or less how the top of that conversation went;

so what do you do then? (bellowed, above noise of someone accepting award)
erm, i'm a writer
what d'you write then?
this show, peep show.
never heard of it.
um, david here is in it.
who, him?
yes.
never fucking seen him before. what channel's it on then?
channel four
channel four is shit, why don't you do something for a proper channel like itv?
erm....

i think at that point she may have glanced over at me, so obviously i had to look away for fear of engaging.

chris tarrant got up to accept a lifetime award and as soon as he did the women, who had been largely ignoring him and drinking as he sat there looking a little 'tired' were all over him. the boxer-nosed one even jumped up and ostentatiously gave him a huge kiss on the lips. and she then checked to see exactly where the camera was. all a bit grim, enlivened by his speech which started embarrassingly and ended up just slightly misjudged (telling your kids you'll always be their 'daddy' on the comedy awards half-cut after you've very publicly cheated on their mum? is the stage where jonathan ross is making cock jokes to an audience of hammered personality disorders the best place for that sentiment?).

anyway the evening went on and then we got to the best sitcom category. i had worked out that i'd sat with the peep show table at seven award ceremonies, and had never won. it gets depressing. not medication levels depressing, but familiar and irritating (i'd stopped even being gracious in defeat after award ceremony four, and at five went so far as to boo julia davis to the stage).

then they announced it and we had won. this was good news (even though the comedy awards are a carve up if we are being totally honest) as i think it was / is the best sitcom. we all stood up. i didn't know what to do. i looked at jesse, then my 'commissioning editor' head kicked in. 'don't go up to collect the award, you don't deserve the credit' so i didn't, and i still regret that but i'm not sure why (the first thing robert said to me when he got back to the table was 'where were you?' - god bless him).

so they accepted the award, people applauded and they went off backstage to have photos taken. i turned back to my table and realised that the good news was that i now had the space i wanted, the bad news is that i was now all alone on one side of the table with chris and his lady friends across the other. and sober.

before i'd even settled though the woman who had been sat next to jesse, who i had barely said two words to all night and certainly hadn't spoken to for hours, lurched over the two empty seats and yelled at me;

'oi, your friends have won now, so you can FUCKING CHEER UP'.

then sat down.

a lot has been written about witty comebacks and thinking later of things you wish you'd said at the time, but that was nearly four months ago and i'm fucked if i can think of anything.

i got the nightbus home, and the next morning got beaten up by my kickboxing instructor to earn my blue belt, something i'd been trying to get for two and a half years.

and that was my winningest week.

Currently listening : In Your Honor By Foo Fighters Release date: 14 June, 2005

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finally
Current mood: headache

right then. some four months after the fact i'm going to have a dart * at remembering the chris tarrant comedy awards evening. and you can be sure of one thing - after all that build up it's going to be a bit of a let down.

and as i'm slightly hungover after an exhausting week of work (which meant i missed a party that i was excited about and was in the diary for months, and for that i slightly resent it (work)) this could all peter out dreadfully. still, let's look to the positives, at least i'm having a go.

where were we? i think i had used the quite brilliant description 'a face that launched a thousand chips' for the girl in the black dress who was in the process of chucking david mitchell's place name over the table. we had the slightly older woman with breasts in different postcodes, the most attractive one who had clearly spent a lot of time getting ready but still had a boxer's nose and another one. and in the middle of it all, looking like a man who had no idea where he was, was chris tarrant.

so i arrive at the table and i am immediately confronted by my woorst nightmare on an evening out. confident, drunk, lower middle class women who i am now in conflict with. but, due to basically being a massively over-pampered ponce in my professional life, rather than engage in the situation i stood neer the table, tutted, then looked around for someone from objective productions (who had very kindly invited me) either much more important than me or much less important than me to sort the situation out.

i couldn't see anyone. i started to spaz out a bit. it was a night for peep show and, because i think he is the character i sympathise with more than any other in 'art' i became a bit 'mark' about it all (if it's of any interest i'd most like to be robert jordan from 'for whom the bell tolls' if i could be anyone in literature or maybe charles ryder, but probably more orin incandenza. i am nothing like any of these people though).

clearly these were in the wrong places. i suspected that they weren't even properly invited. it looked like a pissed chris had approached one of them in an esher wine bar, maybe the older one first, and asked her to the comedy awards to impress her. she'd phoned a friend (thanks to kevin bishop for that joke) and now four drunk people were ruining my evening of showing off.

due to their presence there weren't even close to enough chairs round the table, and i didn't want to offend or upset anyone i was with by sitting myself down first. so now i'm standing just looking at the three spare chairs, then looking at the seated girls and chris tarrant, then again at the chairs, then at chris, then around the room for someone, anyone, to deal with this nightmarish social situation. then robert (popper) suggests that the 'friends' of chris could maybe all sit on one side and that we then sit on the other side? still not enough chairs or the response i was looking for, which was for the comedy awards security to quietly whisk them away, leaving us to share with chris tarrant and maybe just the one woman he'd clearly met in the pub and asked to the comedy awards then sat in our seats at our table on the one fucking time that it looked like we might actually win something for all the hours and hours of work. but they did, and as they did so one of the number, let's called her 'joe bugner', took all the booze, water, snacks and bread on the table over to their side with a move of her arms that i can only describe as 'if a cartoon character won really, really big at a poker table'.

anyway, then david and jesse turned up. they are two of my favourite people in the world and i think it's fair to say that we all share a similar ish outlook on life. i think that jesse is 'mark' (as once revealed early on by sam bain in a readthrough) david really is 'mark', and i that i see the world pretty markishly. now i know a lot of people say that (a huge welsh rugby playing city boy once came up to david m in a pub and said 'i love the show, it's so real. i'm just like mark'. and he was very pleasant, but i think we both thought 'well that's nice that you connect with the show, but you really aren't meant to be mark. really. to be honest you are kind of anti-mark'.) but i'd like to think that i can lay a little claim to that. david and jesse saw the situation, reacted almost exactly as i did, and so now we've got three grown men all looking round like meerkats, panicing a bit, slightly bumping into each other, and generally what i can only describe as 'spazzing out'. as david was up for three awards and jesse had written peep show i think that they could be excused, but i had no real excuse. and, don't forget, i am stone cold sober.

a chair for me appeared. i think phil clarke brought it over. obviously this was lovely, but there wasn't actually enough space for me to sit at the table so i ended up sitting on one of the camera runs, behind sam bain and to the right of david mitchell. yep, pretty cool. i'm at a black tie awards dinner, sitting on my own behind a table, constantly being shoved out the way by fast moving camera assistants. one thing you feel when you sit on a formal chair in a space where everyone else is sitting at tables, is exposed. i was sitting with no table to put my legs under, or to cover my balls. they weren't out you understand, but it does feel weird. try it at a dinner party or a wedding. sit in the thoroughfare, on your own, but formally. and do it for a couple of minutes before telling anyone why you are doing it. it's miserable.

and i've got nothing to drink. certainly not water, which along with all the booze and snacks, is being devoured across the table that i'm not sitting at by a group of people who look like they have won the pools. not the lottery, the pools.

so this is quite log, and i'm going to have to go to work. the punchline, such as it is, is coming. but it's not really worth the wait.


* to have a dart (at). a phrase i have been confindently using for a good fifteen years or so. most often used in auditions when, after the prelimary pleasantries and chat, i will say 'shall we have a dart at it then?' meaning 'shall we read it now / shall we start?'. this means, at a conservative guess, i have said this phrase directly to four hundred people or so over the last year. it was only when auditioning for this new sitcom, the scum also rises, that one of the auditionees said 'i'm sorry, have a dart at it? what does that mean?'. i then looked to my co-workers, who all sheepishly admitted they had always thought it weird but had never mentioned it. ditto the actors who we cast and had come back for recalls and had therefore heard it a number of times without challenging it. so 'have a dart' - please help me and let me know if you've heard it before.

Currently listening : Quiet Is the New Loud By Kings of Convenience Release date: 06 March, 2001

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why i love ' why i love country music'

the one below is the new interesting one.  this one's shit.  don't read it alex / simon / marsha / joyce.  ix

warning. it is late and i'm a bit sad due to a text i've had from the g'friend, and it's about lloyd cole so REALLY don't read this. i can guarantee nothing funny or interesting, just a load of self-indulgent nonsense. and i'm not being self-deprecating, i'm totally serious. i'll finish the comedy award one soon, but i just need to pour out a bit of lloyd love. really, don't read this it will be so boring and shit and pretentious and woe is me. i should write it in my diary but somehow that would seem to give it a weight it (my writing) won't deserve. the song, why i love country music by lloyd cole, is more deserving of 'everything' including weight, respect, love, veneration than just about anything else i can think of. i have managed to listen to it twice whilst typing this. it's starting again.

right, excuse out the way. don't read this i say again, it's your own time you are wasting.

right then. why i love country music by lloyd cole is the most listened to song of my life. it's three minutes but it seems shorter because it's so brilliant it's gone so quickly. three times, going to start it again, maybe not live version. have started non live version, it's more upbeat but that's worth mentioning only because this song is the most heartbreaking song ever written so it's odd to be so uptempo.

wilcm contains in the stated three minutes;

regret
loss
self loathing
sex
love
anger
compromise, and the feelings of sadnesss that go with that
self-justification
attempts to make life bearable

what the above list has shown me, and indeed what this whole exercise is showing me, is why songs are brilliant and why they exist. i actually can't say why this song touches me so much, i can't say why it honestly gives me a lump in my throat every time i hear it. i can't articulate exactly what it is about the upbeat album version that tells me so clearly of someone trying to make the best of a bad job in the present tense or the live version which, though being the same words, is clearly somehow now the retrospective of a more mature man thinking about what could have been.

still, i'm enjoying it so i'll keep going. i'll take this down sometime anyway, because it's a clear case of over analysing the life out of something, but i love it. did i mention i'm sad at the moment? here's some biographical information about my relationship with the song. i first began to love it when i heard on the stereo i got for my 18th birthday the rising strings throughout the chorus(?) what is that bit that begins 'only when i'm sleeping' and ends 'be any place but here' called? anyway that bit. i loved that the lyrics could not be more tragic but the strings are more and more hopeful.

anyway, i used to listen to that bit again and again before i did stand up gigs when i started. i think i thought it was my lucky tune. it didn't help my stand-up much, i was shit.

still going. line by line? maybe. i'll just say that only badhead by blur comes close to expressing the uttter hopelessness of falling out of love, or more precisely someone falling out of love with you.

i've had three bottles of beer tonight, and none for three hours, i'm not sure why i'm writing this.

so, line by line. let's reallly ruin the greatest out of love song ever.

'jane is fine always fine, always fine, we're unhappy most of the time'.

well - things aren't right. i'm a bloke so i'm not great at guessing what it is. hmm, it's getting worse but she's not really saying anything. this is getting ridiculous, i'd better ask; 'jane, are you alright?' 'yeah i'm fine' 'really?' 'yeah, fine'. well she says she's fine, but i'm not sure as we both seem so deeply unhappy. i'm obviously making a woman i love unhappy and that is killing me and it's so bad she can't even tell me the truth any more.

'we don't talk, we don't fight, i'm just tired she's way past caring'

so it's getting worse. we don't even fight any more. imagine getting to that stage? imagine not caring enough to even fight with someone.

'but she says she is fine, she tells lies most of the time'

what can i do? i ask but she won't open up. i know this is fucked, but what can i do? how has it got to this. i'm too tired to get too deep. but i love her.

okay bored of killing it. now just the absolutely heartbreaking lines

'and she, she's white beneath crumpled sheets, she's everything i need but she would rather be any place but here'.

we've had sex. i've lost her forever. this has been going on for months. she doesn't love me and i can't give her what she needs or wants. i have failed. but she's being good about it, not fighting her way out, just letting it die and letting me come to the same conclusion. if we are doing the grown up and mature thing then why does this feel worse and sadder? is it the loss of time? there's no crime here, as jane and i are the only victims and we are victims of ourselves.

an ex once said to me 'this is your life, your real life. it's not a lloyd cole song, even if you want it to be'. i'm confident that she meant this one.

and you can't say i didn't warn you.

4:42 PM - 2 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

winningest week contd

right then, you read correctly, this is the continuation of the last one.  and, as i pointed out, i have finished it the next day.  it is december the 18th.  so where was i?  this should be easy to remember as it was only yesterday and not, say, a month later.

so i imagine that the next thing i won was at the comedy awards.  is that right?  let's say it is.  i knew that on thursday i had to take my blue belt grading at eight in the morning, so i decided not to drink at all that night.  at the comedy awards.  for me (and most of the people there i think) had there been a choice of not drinking at the comedy awards or of not breathing at all at the comedy awards they would take a bit of blue face any day.

but i didn't drink.  i looked hot in my patent black welsh ladies' shoes, normal white shirt (dress shirts in the wash) and c and a suit.  that's right, c and a.  a suit from the own brand label of a shop that doesn't even exist any more and even when it did exist was pikey, is what i choose to wear for posh evenings out.  i also had on my bow-tie which i tie myself.  since the three hours it took me to learn how to tie it in 1991 i have never worn a clip-on.  you'd think this would be a good thing, but clip-ons actually look like smart bow ties, whereas my home tied effort looks like a very droopy moustache.  it is the sort of bow tie that a down on his luck street magician caught in a heavy shower might be wearing, not one that screams class and breeding, which is kind of the point of wearing a self-tied one.  sure, i had a couple of black tie balls in my late teens where i could wander around with it loose on my neck looking cool, but those days are far behind me now as i realise it was never cool and the extra hour it took to tie it got me none percent more girls kissing me.  i know it was none percent because i never got kissed at all.

so i was sober at the comedy awards.  the way it works is that they have a sort of reception thing in a studio first, and then they lead you through to your tables and make you sit quickly.  i was on the peep show table, which it became apparent very quickly wasn't to be solely peopled with cast and crew members of peep show.

at the awards they have name places set on the table of the 'stars' (comedians, actors, whatever - i'll call them stars for now as on that night they are the 'stars' of the show) so that in rehearsal the cameramen can work out where they (the cameramen) need to be in order to get a good shot (or any shot) of the star as their nomination is read out.  as i arrived at the table a woman, not attractive but young and wearing a black dress off the shoulder, was peeling off the only name place on our table saying 'who the fuck's david mitchell anyway?'.  i'd like to not be a snob about it but i'd say that she looked like she worked in a non-franchise fried fish take-away.  she had a face that looked like it launched a thousand chips.

'um, i think that's for cameras' i kind of mumbled behind her and 'fuck that' she said as she chucked the name tag away.  i looked up to see she was now talking to two friends of a similar age, and a woman of much later years wearing a dress with a plunging neck line which revealed a tit job so bad it was like her breasts were in different post codes.  three of the four were orange (the women, not the tits), that is the only colour i have available.  in the middle of them, sitting down, was a man i recognised as chris tarrant.  i loved his radio show, and i think he is amazing in millionaire, but my first thought wasn't to introduce myself or of his body of work but 'oh, i see chris tarrant is having a breakdown then'.

aaarrgghhh, go to leave work, where i am typing this.  can i save it?  i'll post it, then finish it tomorrow.  frustrating, just as i'm getting to the chris tarrant bit.  i really, really want to write about 'why i love country music' and our maybe, could be, on radio one on the 3rd feb too.

Currently listening : Easy Pieces By Lloyd Cole & the Commotions Release date: 25 October, 1990

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winningest week

hello,

i have had what has to be the winningest week of my life this past week. and yet could it feel more empty? i don't know, i don't think it could. why is that? fucked if i know, maybe because the things which you've won don't really mean that much?

never.

so monday night was the century club quiz. sam pinnell entered the team and it contained two of the three people who actually read this blog so i'm loathe to go through the whole night in detail again, but i will say this; i did some serious sucking up to the quizmaster throughout the night and i am confident that this helped us win. which is just as well because i think i only added one correct answer out of 75 (delhi). was very impressed by simon wilson, but overall a strong team performance to net £50 each on top of the drinks and food being paid for. well done us, made all the sweeter by the previous attempts of the club to ban us and also to cheat (once a category was 'the century club' including questions such as 'who did we buy the leasehold from?'. a rival team contained the owner's wife AND THEY PLAYED THEIR JOKER, thus doubling their points), which i would never do.

tuesday a relatively quiet day for winning things, and i failed to win a single thing.

wednesday was the comedy awards. i had no black shoes so i went to sam walker (the vintage shop where i bought a suit for school some 17 years ago) and bought a pair. £29 and as i tried them on i thought 'these are mod-ish, they are stylish, i can't believe the price, i will wear these out with jeans, not just at black tie dinners'. having inspected them this morning they are disgusting and look like they are part of the traditional welsh national costume - female version. i've been done at £29.

anyway, someone's about to come round so i will have to continue the winning blog at some point tomorrow. people may ask 'when they are this unentertaining, why bother continuing' but i say 'fuck off' and then add that i will go on to give the full story of chris tarrant and his sluts, who were on our table. so that's got to be worth reading.

Currently reading : Caravaggio: A Life By Helen Langdon Release date: May, 1999

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devon

hello,

i'm writing this from a kitchen table in devon. i'm at my friend alexis' parent's house in branscombe, devon. actually it's about a mile outside branscombe up a fucking enormous hill. damon and i have now been here three times over the last couple of years. we come to write scripts that we absolutely have to get done.

baggy trousers, our script for c4 / e4 was written here incredibly quickly and successfully in january 2005. lexington, a script described (twice) by simon wilson of the bbc as 'misogynistic' was less successfully written here in november 05, and this time we've been writing our script for the flight of the conchords HBO show.

we come to branscombe because there is no mobile reception, the house phone doesn't ring and there's no internet. except this time the house phone works and there's wireless broadband. so i'm doing this and damon is watching arsenal on sky sports via the internet.

writing a script for hbo may sound glamourous but it's purely due to nepotism that we got the gig. and it's been a nightmare. we've worked hard (in as much as one can ever work hard typing thoughts) , but the storyline keeps changing and so we tend to write a draft. wait til LA wakes up, then find that we've written the wrong thing. even though we really like it.

another reason we come to branscombe is the mason's arms, which is a pub that does brilliant food at the bottom of the massive hill. i recommend it at any time of the year. it's got me drinking bitter again.

one corollary of the constant frustrating re-writing (and it does seem to be mainly taking jokes out at this point) is it's made me wonder how people wrote stuff before computers. i imagine word processors were better, but a fucking typewriter must have been incredible. cut and paste literally meant that. you couldn't drag (my new thing) and it would have been literally impossible (that's right, literally) to have two people write together and then to merge the two pieces via a dongle (or clip drive if you like) into one whole which HBO will then dislike.

in other news my oldest friend from school (i don't count neil or andrew who are more like brothers) dave got married, thus making me the last. i am the last. last. on the plus side at the wedding my mate's brother's wife said 'can i have a photo of you. my friend's a massive fan from the radio'. i pointed out that i was last on the radio five months ago, and even then only as a sidekick, but it was good enough. then about five minutes before the end of the wedding a very nice, but very large and scary man asked if i was 'that cunt off the radio'? i think he may have said 'funny cunt' as he went on to be very complimentary, but i heard 'cunt' loudest. anyway with an arm around my shoulder the size of a horse's leg he told me what i needed to do with my life and career. and it was strangely inspiring. at least i certainly found myself agreeing enthusiastically, but that may have been my 'flight' mechanism kicking in.

and on that i've heard nothing from jimmy re the radio so i presume bad news. ho hum

anyway, that's it. alex i need to hear about why blogs are bad.

back to my final night at brokeback branscombe.

i.

oh, and joyce - i LOVE that i can put a picture of what i'm reading / listening to up. how about that? how ya like me now, eh?

Currently listening : Turn On the Bright Lights By Interpol Release date: 08 October, 2002

1:29 PM - 4 Comments - 1 Kudos - Add Comment

stuff

hello,

so i find myself up early and with nothing to do for an hour. am listening to interpol right at this very moment so this blog may end up a little aggressively melancholy.

the 4 radio weekly show recording later. i really enjoy the records, but am struggling more and more with the writing days on a friday. they are great fun, but i'm contributing fewer and fewer jokes personally each week. this week i couldn't even get the structure of the jokes right. i don't think i've ever had 'it' in spades, but i have a distinct feeling of losing 'it'. on the plus side it made me think of other jobs i could do. and it was none. i am a man in his mid thirties who is uniquely unqualified. i once worked as a receptionist at a health club, but i wasn't even very good at that and it was only a sunny disposition (i know) and a willingness to play tennis (and lose) against septugenarian members that stopped them firing me.

i've also moved house and more importantly area. from the east end / city where i've been for about eight years to belsize park. obviously still living in someone else's house, but the area scares me. it feels really grown up and posh. i'm scared.

in other news i spoke to jimmy thev other day and he's been chatting to xfm about bringing the radio show back in the new year. he's just waiting to see if they want me. so that will be a nice phone call to get 'yeah, i'm going back to do it but y'know how they sacked you earlier this year? well they still hate you'. to be fair jimmy's agent was very upfront about saying that she'd be happy if he did it with someone else.

great.

i.

Currently reading : A Farewell To Arms By Ernest Hemingway Release date: 01 June, 1995

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times, good times

hello,

so here is my blog alex and simon, and anyone else who cares.  i'm doing it at work really quickly while damon is away, so don't expect it to be any good.

so, i'm going to say it, i miss doing xfm.  it's been four months since i was sacked and i miss it. i've got an appointment at the advanced hair studio (the baldies place advertised by graham gooch) and i want to go partly because i'd be willing to pay for a bit more hair (i've set a limit of five grand, which i can't afford anyway) but mainly for the story.  then leo at work pointed out that i don't have to generate material for radio show any more, so i should just not go.  then i felt sad.

anyway, other things that are happening are that the peep show series three dvd has come out which features a commentary by myself and robert popper.  it is hugely embarrassing and involves me telling the story of when i shit in a mcdonalds bag and also robert saying something insulting about my mother. 

um, that's it really.  i move flats on sunday, and am still working seven days a week.  also i am mainly creeped out (as the kids say) by jennie's myspace site, but i've told her that. 

our pilot is finished, and as soon as channel four reject it it'll be up on youtube.

went to see little britain live last night, which is great btw.

where is simon's myspace?

i.

Currently listening : The Negatives By Lloyd Cole & The Negatives Release date: 03 April, 2001

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