It’s been a weird week all in all. I was in Birmingham last week doing shows and was about to head home by train on the Monday, and then of course I got the news on Saturday night that my comedy friend Jason Wood had died suddenly. So, instead of heading back to Glasgow I went straight to London. I just felt I had to see my best pal Monica and spend some time with her; Jason’s death shocked us both to the core. And of course I wanted to attend the wee get together with some of my mates who knew Jason.
So, I brought forward some meetings I had at BBC as well and just spent the past week in London. I do love the place and despite being all discombobulated I had some quality time doing nothing much but sleeping and wondering why someone can die suddenly so young and what that means to us all.
The rain battered London into submission, I even managed to stand on one of those wobbly cracked concrete paving stones that are secretly submerged in a puddle, so when you land on it, you lever the puddle up Tsunami style and the water is projected right up into your crotch at 30 miles per hour.
My ass and lady parts were drenched in fetid dirty street water that ran down my legs. I was disgusted and walked like a cowboy trying to get it to dry off.
Then to make matters worse, I headed onto the London Tube and managed to fight at least three times in ten minutes as stupid foreign people stood in a huddle at the top of the escalator of the Piccadilly line just staring about.
They then decided that the entrance to the escalator was the exact spot to pull out a tube map and huddle close. The bottleneck of people behind them grew larger by the second with me at the front of the enraged mob.
“Move – you crazy people decide if you are going down or MOVE!” I screamed and did nothing for the London tourist board. My big accent scared the bejebus out of the folks, yet still they stood in a brood staring at the map. Finally the mob behind me pushed and I eventually pushed them in a big domino effect, they were going down whether they wanted to or not now.
Then at the bottom of the escalator they couldn’t decide if they wanted to go east or west on the Piccadilly line and created yet another bottleneck. There was about nine of them, all just standing at the entrances to things huddling close like fucking blind stoned pandas with no sense of awareness. There was a space they could stand to make a choice, but they preferred to be in everyone’s way. So guess who had to shove them onto the east side of the Piccadilly line? Yes, me…I just pushed them as the crowd pushed me, I was being used as a battering ram for tourists who couldn’t make a decision.
They all glared at me, it wasn’t my fault, but I was enjoying being a conduit for other people’s anger, it was somehow enjoyable. Once on the tube they all stood at the entrance, of course they did, they didn’t know how to move down the carriage did they? No, that was MY JOB to shove them down.
We all stood in silence as the train rattled on its merry way, a young woman in the group of irritating Italians, (did I mention they were Italian?) anyway she spoke in broken English to me “You stop pushing rude” the group agreed and looked at me.
The other passengers who had been using me as a battering ram looked away (of course they did, they didn’t need me now) I looked at the pretty Italian girl and simply said “I am sorry I don’t speak English” in my clearest BBC English voice (which was surprisingly good) and went back to dancing to George Michael on my IPod.
People ignored me, I spotted my stop and pushed the Italian group out of the way (will they never learn?) and got off the tube. When I met up with friends they said to me “The best way to remember Jason, is to be nice to random people, he was always so patient and kind”
So I have failed already. Sorry Jason.
So got home in time to do a Masonic gig in Glasgow, I often cross over into the after dinner speakers especially when I actually won after dinner speaker of the year award last year! Loved beating seven men famous footballer included!
Anyway the gig was just a whole room full of just men. Loads of them glaring at me. Outside when I had a ciggie with the blokes before the gig they said “Do you hate men and do all that stuff about men being shit at sex. Do you talk about your womb and vagina all night?”
I laughed and said “why is that what you like?” and stubbed out my ciggie.
The after dinner speaker circuit is full of lovely blokes in suits who are usually ex footballers and professional speakers from all walks of life. A lot of comics really don’t like them, as they do mostly use Chic Murray’s material and every other joke off the internet. They do make great cash and they rarely very rarely have women on the bill.
I often find myself at a ‘top table’ with men who are really nice but bemused at me. They do a good job, but it can excruciating listening to the same jokes over and over from blokes who have pieces of paper and read through them. I actually enjoy watching people laugh. Despite the plagiarism and the blatant sexism peddled, I still laugh.
So this Masonic night was no different, the sheer amount of sexist and sectarian stuff can be hard to swallow, but I know when I get up there I do comedy and that is so different from what they do.
The Masonic night was proving a hard one as the ‘head man’ did explain that it was nice to have a lady for a change. The room went quiet, but I absolutely stormed it, I took the piss out of the Masons gently, laughed at their attitude to women and made the room burst with laughter. I even got a standing ovation, took the cash and left the room.
So that’s my life, one more night one more audience won over._