Wednesday, December 16, 2009


Wednesday 16 December 2009

There is something distinctly wrong at waking up at 5.30AM this morning. Unsurprisingly when I do so I want more sleep. That’s natural.

Today it is very cold again and with comes a misery beyond description that burns out reservations akin to any man.

My day does not begin well as during the sports segment on GMTV it transpires that Tottenham are playing Man City this evening. No wonder Iain was being sketchy earlier about coming along to see DANIEL KITSON tonight. So now I can’t help but feel the chances of him coming along tonight are next to zero.

As I leave my apartment there is a taxi parked smacked in the middle of our complex’s car park, which serves to get in the way of anyone wanting to move his or her car. Really what the fuck is with this mentality. As the taxi driver comes running wave apologetically to move her car I actually find myself shouting “well don’t fucking park there then.” This is fair comment but really out of character for to be so snappy. What is going on with me?

Eventually I arrive at the station early and I manage to get the 7.52AM train for a change. It is rammed, a miserable experience of a train and very depressing with it. For the whole journey I am sat in the eye view of a kooky acting and looking woman. On her head appears to be a tea cosy but it doesn’t spoil her as in fact I find her kind of attractive making the glance not so annoying after all. Towards the end of the journey thought she appears to be taking photos with her mobile including pointed in my direction. Did she just snap me? Am I really so vain? Did I blush? Did I say cheese? Will it come out well?

Frustratingly the cloud of the website solicitor thing looms over my head again today. I can’t be bothered to contest, I just am not passionate about it.

By the time I get into work the day has turned chilly which compliments my demeanour and mindset at this time.

Not long after arriving The Girl gets in touch and it turns out that she messed up last night and left her inside car light on and when she has got in it to leave for work this morning the battery has been run down and her buggy ain’t moving. This is so horribly typical of her actions and fortune. In the end she has to leave it, wrestling with public transport from Clapham in full knowledge that while she is away the car is likely to get clamped by an overzealous private patrol.

In contrast I find myself having a productive day, somehow with little effort I manage to accomplish a lot and make up for my staggered state yet.

At lunchtime while I wait for a response from the solicitors I check my spam box and discover a response from them. It comes from a member of the guy’s B team and does not offer much in the way of cooperation regarding my request to have a meeting with them at their office. As I thought from the address it gives off the impression of being a business run out of the guy’s house.

The letter is blunt and threatening, displaying no quarter and still acting very much with the view to scare me, to bully me. Immediately I begin my response as yet more of my work time is taken up with this trivia and I loss momentum for the day.

Off the back of this I sail out the remainder of the day uninterested in much else while this hangs over my head.

In early afternoon Iain gets in touch and confirms things for KITSON this evening. This is a relief and a result, away from all this website crap good times lay ahead in at least some capacity.

Tonight I work back a little late as I am in no hurry. The angry boss notices me and tells me to go home because it is supposed to snow this evening. Inadvertently I manage more brownnosing.

From here I head down to Green Park on the Jubilee Line and then up to Highbury & Islington on the Piccadilly Line. Arriving well ahead of time I go to Starbucks with viewing to getting an eggnog latte. Typically as I order the woman behind the till tells me that they have just run out of eggnog mixture so instead I have to settle for a gingerbread latte, the American’s favourite I seem to remember.

As I resume waiting back at the station while doing so I spot Jim the pirate hippy from this past ATP weekend. I don’t bother to acknowledge him, making a point of avoiding him. Does this make me bad?

Eventually Iain turns up and we grab a drink at the Wetherspoons where again I see the pirate hippy and again I avoid him although this time I feel he is bound to have spotted me.

It is very weird seeing and hanging out with Iain again. Baker Street now feels like a lifetime ago and indeed this past weekend it was two years since the rubbish Christmas staff party in Holborn where he thankfully brought along the gear that saved proceedings. I have to admit I had forgotten just how fucking tall the guy is and now his hair is longer I barely recognise the guy. As far as the success rates go he fucking has it over me, he ditched being a poxy accountant to pursue his dreams which should make him a hero in anybody’s eyes.

Soon we head to the Union Chapel snag good pews. This is the strangest place to be seeing comedy, nice but strange. In a way I slightly suspect that I weird Iain out by dragging him to this place at this time.

Thankfully conversation flows between as we actually still seem to have stuff in common. We tear Baker Street apart, coming away from it with an opinion that resembles “we were the only normal people there.” While doing so we also update each other on our respective worlds post that place and we certainly have taken different routes. By rights at this time I can’t help but feel we should have long since severed ties but nevermind.

While waiting for the show to start we spot Dan! Dan! from Alan Partridge (Stephen Mangan) in the crowd. To me this feels like a true celebrity spotting but Iain is cool about it.

Eventually DANIEL KITSON strides onstage in bounding motion, surprisingly full of beans for a man considered a misog. He then appears to become even happier as he announces that this tonight is his “death set.”

From here for nearly two hours DANIEL KITSON does what he is amazing at, which is spinning out an idea and constructing the longest yarn on that theme. This act comes with lots of focused meandering and lashings of appropriate anecdotes, confessions and theories that serve as examples/evidence to backup and prove that what he says is exactly correct.

With his delivery here you feel you are listening to a man that is at odds with himself but also somewhat happy in his confined resignation of existence. With a clear view of the big picture he rightly finds and takes happiness in the smallest things even if he feels guilty along the way.

His best admissions come along with what appears to him coming out of his shell. At one point he bemoans anyone that has ever ordered a latte with the reaction of a rampant, unrelenting mantra of “fuck you fuck you” that feels like it lasts two minutes in dog years. This is a particularly bold and impression gesture/feat considering it is being delivered in a church. Its all in a good cause though and extra funny when soon after closing this rant he reveals himself to be an utter hypocrite on the latte matter. Hats off.

During there set there is a great moment when he describes dealing and conversing with work colleagues in an office as being two faced when in reality you consider all your colleagues to be wankers. This joke/comment feels personally delivered to/for Iain and I.

These days DANIEL KITSON’s stutter appears to be less prevalent in his delivery, which proves something of a feat when he adds to this the fact that he has barely had a few hours of sleep after only arriving back from Australia a day or so ago. He truly is a trooper.

For me KITSON has always stood out for the way in which he interacts with his audience and tonight when he spots a youngster in the crowd he points out how his father found a joke funny that really is not benefiting such a figure of authority. At another time just as a person pulls his mobile out of his pocket KITSON happily points out that the sight of the light coming from the phone screen made it look as if the man were pulling out magic itself from his pocket.

After his little swear fest regarding the ordering of a latte KITSON proceeds to up the stakes by toying with the idea that/of every time he touches his dick somebody dies. From here he proceeds to give us a demonstration of how he holds the fate of many within his pants as he repeatedly prods his member and announces “dead, dead, dead”. At one point he touches his cock with two fingers and says/states “twins” before just touching one of his bollocks and declaring “maimed.”

Elsewhere his eating habits come under grand scrutiny by himself, bemoaning about having to cook for one with portions for two. When he confesses to eating a whole cake in one go and that food talks to him this clearly is a man with eating disorder of the highest order. Then again for a man with Sky Plus and a Chinese restaurant in reaching distance why complain now.

Eventually it all ties up to a healthy conclusion, one where magic, wonder and belief can be found in the synchronicity of flashing lights and the senility of relatives making more sense than ever. We all know death awaits us but KITSON appears to have considered this more than any of us and with it he has discovered and now uncovered a way to embrace it and the time that comes before then. This truly is a positive message he is selling, a real work of art that reaches heights seldom even hinted at by those in the profession bettered regarded just through being eager to please. KITSON remains a treasure.

After the show Iain and I are in agreement that we have just seen something truly great, a person at the height of his powers at the pinnacle of his profession. We agree that we should do and see more stuff like this and as we part ways at Highbury & Islington station we wish each other a good Christmas and shakes hands with our left hands which freaks me out.

With the set being done by 10PM I manage to snag the 10.30PM fast Norwich train home on which are a number of Spurs fans that are emerging happy from a 3-0 trouncing of Manchester City. I guess the Sheik’s money isn’t that great after all.

I eventually get home just after 11.30PM and with it feeling fucked. Tonight was a joy but with it exhausting.

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