Friday, November 26, 2010

Friday 26 November 2010


Friday 26 November 2010

I wake at 3AM thinking it is 6AM.  There is no rest for the wicked, my guilt is imploding and once again I have become the victim of my own piece.  They say things come in threes and I think I got my share last night.  Hopefully things will now run smoother from here.

Now awake I put on the Radio Five Live coverage of The Ashes as I indulge in nocturnal events and overnight entertainment.  It sounds as if England are bedding in but Australia still have us by the balls.  It would appear our approach and tactic of winning via “Australia not being very good” is almost working.

Desperately I try to regain some sleep but there are just too many elements playing on my mind, interrupting and distracting my being.  This weekend was supposed to be a relaxing one, the beginning of Christmas proper but now I feel I have a ton of shit to deal with in too short a time.  It is so typical me, only I could be cursed with a car that breaks down when I have a day off or holiday.  It runs like clockwork, then conspires against me and downright pays me back for my consistent shitty driving.  Does my car consider itself abused by me?  I have had it almost ten years now and it has served me so well, its karma.  Does the car know I am considering a move to London, a move that would no longer require its services?  Do cars have souls?  Do they know what we are thinking?

Elsewhere there is the issue of my neighbours.  This is more serious but likewise also something that can hopefully be remedied by a move to London (out of sight out of mind) with the flat above our Soho restaurant offer made by the posh boss on Wednesday night.  Now more than ever it makes so much sense to get out of Colchester and hit London.  However I am fully aware that a move to London (especially the suggested location) will come with its own set of issues, issues I fear will render these ones miniscule.  As ever I am just unable to kick back and enjoy myself.  All I do is worry.

Eventually I fall back asleep before emerging at 7.30AM where promptly I switch on my TV to catch the news.  By now in Australia the cricket has ended for the day amidst a torrent of rain.  I didn’t think they suffered such weather.

I wind up watching Everybody Loves Raymond which I surprisingly really enjoy.  Twice.  Then comes Frasier and an amazing episode featuring Maris having an affair with a Bavarian fencing instructor which ends with a three way translation communication with the Bavarian speaking German to the maid speaking in Spanish to Frasier who translates to Niles.  I know I shouldn’t find it funny but I just do.  Afterwards the tone lowers with According To Jim which guest stars Cindy Crawford and Mike Ditka.  This I find I am also watching too closely.  James Belushi really turned into a right fucking hack.  More offensive is the supporting cast especially Larry Joe Campbell who plays the bumbling brother.

Finally I pull myself out of bed and gather myself to face dealing with my broken down car.  As I step into my living space and kitchen I decide to play the CD that is currently sat in my stereo.  Unfortunately it is Atari Teenage RiotLive At Brixton Academy”.  This was a bad decision.

When I finally leave the house I find myself having to make three journeys in and out of the door which each time involves passing the dumped washing machine and television on the landing.  With the windows having been shut the place fucking stinks.  I then find it extra insane as when outside I look up at the Trash Humpers bedroom window to spot that it is wide open.  What is going on here?  Is Caroline Geary as crackerjack as her actions would suggest?

It is at this point I decide to check my phone and see if Stu the owner of 15 Hollytree Court has replied to my text message of last night and he indeed has with “being moved at the weekend.  Caroline sends her apologies”.  This response perhaps offends more than if he had just told me to “shut up” or “fuck off”.  I don’t want apologies from the girl; I just want her to have some consideration in the first place and just not do such stupid things in the first place.

From here I turn up at my parents just after 11AM.  Before we address my stranded car in the station car park I first need to head into town to buy the SIMON MUNNERY tickets.  Ever great to me my parents have said that I can borrow their car tonight if mine fails to get going to I head to the Mercury Theatre where I believe I can buy the tickets.  Once there as I make my order something goes wrong with the ticket machine that allows me to drift online and check Twitter where I discover that Bernard Matthews has died.

Eventually the girl hands me my tickets as I head back to my parents with view to broaching my stranded Focus at the station car park.  When we get there the car I banged last night is gone.  Within seconds dad pulls out the jump leads and after a few minutes of charging as he turns the key it sparks immediately.  Perhaps we should have bothered to try this last night after all.

With an air of success we gear up to head back in our respective cars when I suddenly discover that despite the engine running on my car it has central locked itself with the keys still inside.  Immediately a panic strikes me as luckily when I wave my arms like a lunatic I manage to capture dad’s attention who responds kind “what’s up?”  Upon explanation we laugh at the absurdity of the situation but we have royally fucked up.

With dad shivering in the cold I tear back to their place in order to grab the spare key to my place where I think I know where my spare car key (the master key) is.  Luckily (and out of character) the key is exactly where I think it is and about 20 minutes later I return to my still running car where dad is stood with his hood up shivering.  I am forcing this upon a sixty five year old man.  I am going to hell.

From here I open my car without locking the keys in and we both head back to my parents.  As we exit the train station car some guy in a sports car similar to Mr James’ from back in the day cuts me up.  When he does this I aggressively sound my horn which I am sure dad following me finds pretty funny.

Once back at my parents place I snag some soup for lunch as my original plans for the day royally fly out of the window.  The best laid plans, things never go my way.

Eventually I head into town in necessity to buy Helen a birthday present for tomorrow as I also go in search of the Friday afternoon buzz/high that comes with the anticipation of the weekend.  In the end I wind up buying her the TV Go Home book.  This feels like a choice/selection akin to that of an alcoholic single dad.  This is not a gift to give a female.

Upon returning back to my parents place like a bum I hang around and grab some dinner (on top of lunch).  I guess it’s a small price to pay for field so many questions about my impending trip up to Manchester for the weekend.

With Friday beginning to get late I finally drive home where I endeavour to squeeze out a few hours of writing before heading out to the university to see SIMON MUNNERY tonight.  At this stage I still have my parents’ Fiesta for fear that my Focus may not quite be fully functioning again.

After the writing I head over to Shrub End to pick up Loxley around 8PM.  It turns out that he lives achingly close to my place but he lives a minute away from a chip shop.  This is living the dream.

It is absolutely years now since I have been to Essex University.  And quite frankly it has been a fair while since Loxley and I have hung out.  In the end though its good as we get to the university easily in my parents’ car before naturally getting lost in the grounds.  To think one week ago I taking a photo of Bret Hart.  Things sure change.

The university remains a strange place.  I am so foreign to further education that the campus to me looks like some kind of futuristic city but even though this is a Friday night it is next to empty which adds a haunted or post-apocalyptic sense to proceedings.

The comedy is happening is happening at the Lakeside Theatre which appears to have suddenly entered into the cultural consciousness of Colchester this year.  Was it always there putting on cool stuff?  Or is it under new management?  Regardless, Loxley and I can’t find the fucking thing to save our lives.  In the end we (well, Loxley) resort (reduce) to having to ask a student (foreign) just where the place is and finally we find it and step inside.

The Lakeside Theatre is really nice.  Where did this place suddenly spring from?  Truly this is a best kept secret, one of the nicest rooms in town.  If only this space was in the town centre it would be the plushest venue in Colchester.

Things kick off with JOEY PAGE as MC for the night.  He is not overly appreciated for many reasons on the London circuit.  I remember seeing him open for Pappy’s Fun Club a few years ago and literally rubbing my friend (and his girlfriend) up the wrong way.  Also personally I am not strictly for him because he reminds me of somebody I had issues with at school (Facebook Cull Day 9). 

Tonight though PAGE is somewhat more likeable although his cheeky swagger and silly bowler hat could serve/work to make his face very punchable in a different environment.  As he begins grilling people in the audience I frown when he looks towards me as I display my distinct lack of interest in being interrogated.  Well, not until he begins talking about WWF wrestling but by this stage he has since stopped talking to the audience.

The first act tonight is JOE WELLS who introduces himself to the room as being a communist.  This means he is playing in front of a home crowd which shouldn’t (and doesn’t) pose much of a problem for him.  With this he comes over as a bit drippy and lightweight.  He announces how he is from Portsmouth and this causes a person (well, me) to question and wonder if this is what has diminished his edges.

He goes through the motions before stepping into an anecdote about inviting a BNP lobbyist into his front room in Portsmouth, likening it to capturing a Nazi war criminal.  He’s silly.

Thankfully the set is a short one as it ends with him reading entries from one of his notebooks/journals.  Very SIMON MUNNERY.

From here JOEY PAGE returns and swiftly calls an interval at which point I spot a Dawn Porter lookalike sat across in our row.  This is such a common (and good) look for girls right now.

When the show resumes PAGE introduces SIMON MUNNERY who steps out onstage and is soon unleashing an astonishing onslaught of smart quips and surreal anecdotes.  This man’s delivery is spotless and now legendary.

His set is in a different class.  In many ways he pioneered this style of comedy, taking the skill of wordsmith and presenting it in a level manner that is genuinely original.  Also I cannot think of a smarter wit in the profession, MUNNERY is the king of the sentence able to fill a single line of dialogue that might often taken another comedian many minutes to achieve.

Tonight his material includes a vast range of observations such as social awkwardness, the country and tracing vague relatives (who in his case inhabit Paddington).  Then on top of this he plays some songs (something in his repertoire I have not experienced before).

There is a strange air of gratitude and positive defiance to his performance.  Throughout he remains stoic and unchanged, all the more better for it.  At one point during the set when someone gets up to go to the toilet it visibly knocks MUNNERY out of his flow but when the punter returns he turns this into a bit (to his advantage) as he endeavours to fill the guy in on what he has missed while in the john.  Before long with things still running hot he comes to a close where he adds that he has a few DVDs for sale.  I am sold.

With this JOEY PAGE finishes off his MCing duties, calling a close on the evening.

As we I exit I spot MUNNERY in the bar selling his DVD and it just seems wrong that a person of his stature has to do this.  With this I make sure I buy one of the DVDs.  As I do so I tell him “that was fantastic” to which he kindly responds “you were a fantastic audience, you’re students” at which point my natural instincts kick in and I snap back “I’m not a student!” and suddenly that is the end of that.  I don’t mean to be rude, I just am sometimes.

From here Loxley and I head back to my parents car and onto Colchester.  On the way we talk finance and compare mortgages in a scene that is far too mature and adult.  Are we really so old and boring?

When I eventually get home its surprisingly early and things look good.

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