The worst line ever

There is a line us chaps fear more than any else. It over-shadows 'I'm pregnant', eclipses 'I want to talk about where this is going' and makes 'we need to have a talk' seem like something from a greeting card.

This line, feared by men the world over is.

'Let's just be friends'

I got hit with it last night, from Ms Pencil Skirt. She'd still like me to take her out to the Wolesley, but just as friends. Oh really.

This was after yet another day at work where I performed miracles and then got abuse. I think we can mark yesterday as one of the worst Tuesdays I've had in a long time.

On the plus side, I think I've just found a load more stand-up material.

Abe Lincoln and his amazing beard

I'm starting to get ready for my trip to London, a social calender is being put together, various meetings have been arranged and I've shaved off my silly Miami Vice beard.

While shaving I discovered that an Abe Lincoln beard rather suits me, so perhaps I should go and join a puritanical order in America for a bit. I don't think I'd get on with the religious aspect but the facial hair wouldn't be a problem.

Also I've just found out that my 'slot' for the stand-up is 25 minutes, that's erm about 20 minutes longer than any previous slots I've had so my options are:
a) Say everything five times.
b) Speak at 20% of normal speed.
c) Come up with some new stuff.

Currently A is winning, but B has potential too. The only way C is going to really work is if my journey up to London turns out to be hilarious in a 20 minute sort of way, not exactly likely but we shall see. Or, I could try and date four women in the next four days and try and squeeze five minutes of material out of each relationship. That might work...

Packing informal hats

I've got a gig in London this weekend and I completely forgot about it, yikes! Not only did I agree to do some stand-up I have a few fairly important parties that I really should attend. So perhaps a return to the capital is in order.

This means I'll have to shave my luxuriant beard which is shame; but probably for the greater good. And then think about what I'll take with me, I'll have a social engagement every night so I'll need a few looks but I really don't want to have to take a whole suitcase. Hmm, this will be tricky. Perhaps if I just take a couple of informal hats and only one or two changes of brogues.

Of course if I can co-ordinate my trip with some work stuff, well that would be excellent otherwise it will just be a jolly across the capital which will be fun but not a terribly good idea. Although, many a grand adventure has started off with something that could be described as 'not a terribly good idea'.

The meaning of yes

Yes is a strange word. I think of it as more absolute, but to some people it is relative. I say this because when I think about the last six months or so and how many times the possibility of life-changingly good news has being dangled in front of me and then snatched away.

Some of these events have got to now what I call the 'unofficial yes' or 'faux-affirmative' stage where someone who could make your life loads better has said 'yes' but what they really mean is 'no, but I won't let you know this for a couple of months - ho ho ho'.

As you can imagine this can make a chap a bit miffed, but I shall not give up!

No. I shall get a haircut. My flowing, Spinal Tap-like curls which are now below shoulder height are going to get a serious trim. I may even look like a grown-up soon, it is a mathematical possibility at least.

Oh and I've got another stand-up show tonight. it's in Islington and get this, it's completely sold out. Although this is probably due to the fact that Stephen Merchant, who is a proper famous is also on the bill rather than the lure of my freshly shorn locks.

The end?

I had a stand-up gig last night, probably my last one. I say this because I already have one high-risk, low reward career that doesn't pay as well as I'd like so I don't need another one.

The gig was excellent - probably my best - so it's good to stop on a high-note. Loads of friends turned up so it was cosy little gig and my new material went down well, especially the joke about shoes.

I was pretty nervous before I went on, it was a long wait and I didn't want to mess up in front of friends. The organisers had put me on last which technically makes me a headline act but it's more that 95% of the audience were my friends and the organisers didn't want them to leave after seeing me and leave an empty room for the other chaps.

It really was impressive how many people appeared, including some chums I've not seen for years. Bless. Some of the women there were probably in a pub for the first time in their lives, they are rather more the cocktail set.

In other news, I've had some news, and it's not good. Not terrible but not great either. Sort of neutral to good. Ho-hum. Well I suppose if the promise of a full time job hadn't been waved about I'd be doing a little dance now because of the commissions, but it seems the goal-posts have been moved again.

The Ice Queen Melts

Well I did the gig. It was extremely scary. I've never seen a gig with such an angry crowd. Two acts couldn't actually tell any jokes because the crowd were talking back so much - one of them just did a dance while his time ticked away.

The MC had to tell the hecklers off, I mean a proper telling off. Why do people do that? I mean really? These weren't even funny hecklers, just sort of depressing.

Anyway. I did my set, the final act in fact. Which was a first, sort of accidentally becoming a headliner. It went okay, I'm probably being more critical on myself than I should be. I mean once ditched anything even remotely high-brow I got a very reasonable amount of laughs but it was a shame. There was no sparkle the sort you get - in my limited experience - when you are really getting on with the crowd.

It was recorded on a camera but I'm not sure I want a copy of that. Also doing the set were two very funny female comedians, one of whom I've met before. They are both extremely pretty, extremely funny and extremely nice and yet. Extremely single. It's baffling. The flatmate thinks this is due to most chaps being afraid of not being good enough for single girls. It sounds possible.

Oh and I spoke to The Ice Queen, she has a proper boyfriend. One who sent her flowers and took her out for a meal. I know the chap she used to think of him as just a friend but she has seen the light. Now she has a lovely boyfriend who thinks the world of her and that is very nice.

French toast and destiny

I spent a lot of the day moping about, I'm not entirely sure why. It should have been a good day, I paid in cheques (now only one thing remains unpaid) went for a walk and then did some work.

I think I was feeling a little bit blue because I piece I wrote for another newspaper that should have appeared today didn't. The editor says it is lovely and they are going to use it, just not this week. Ho-hum. As I was feeling a little strange, I made some French toast and went for a stroll.

Walks are good for improving one's mood, I think because the maximum speed of 'the blues' is quite low so just by walking moderately fast you can outpace it and then leave it behind.

I did feel much better after the bimble and I brought some more flour so I could make some bread. I introduced the flatmate to the wonders of home made bread last weekend and it was so good she was witness to the introduction of the bread dance. Which is a bit like the chocolate dance but with more pointing of toes.

I had no real plans this evening, but as always I thought I would trust in fate and let it decide what will happen. Fate has decided that I should do some more stand-up as someone I met briefly a few weeks ago will phone me out of the blue and offer me a comedy gig. So that is what I'm going to do tonight. So I've got to choose my waistcoat now, and practice my ding-dongs.

Debut

I spent most of the afternoon going through my routine again and again to make sure I didn't stumble over anything - and to make sure it would fit in the slot. Sadly this caused me to drop a whole section about dinosaurs but perhaps it will appear somewhere else. Because I had gone over the material again and again in my head it had ceased to be funny to me long, long ago. So I had no idea if anything I said would be generate a giggle.

Anyway I stumbled towards the bus, in a world of my own. Going through it all to see if I could improve anything. I was fine and this world of calm stayed with me until I saw the microphone. Then I started to get a little bit jumpy. The first half was rattled through and the second half was just about to begin and I had the thirst of the gods for some reason. Perhaps because I was opening the second act and the chap before me had just DIED. Really died, it was painful to watch.

Anyway, I strode on stage, did all the things you are supposed to do - move the stand away. Step forward to the audience, make sweeping eye contact and then launch into the set.

My material was mostly about strange things my ex-girlfriend has done and about being dumped. After my first quip they laughed and I was away. It was brilliant fun but sadly passed in a flash. The five minutes shot by, filled with a very respectable amount of laughter, I even managed to use the phrase 'feckless popinjay' and sadly my time was over.

It was exhilarating, I was zinging about for the rest of the evening. The other chaps (and ladies) who were performing that night were lovely and were very supportive, especially after the heard it was my first time.

So what now? I've got more shows already booked and I'm completely hooked on the buzz you get for stand-up. And how that I've done it, well everything else seems like a doddle.

Hard core

The following description of my weekend is hard core, not in the naughty video sense just in the sense of being hard core, it's not for the light hearted sort or anyone who says 'I say, mind if you hold off on the Pimms a bit, I had a heavy night last night'.

This story really starts on Thursday when I went wine tasting, I got myself comfortably drunk, not quite ruined but more than enough so that I didn't feel like doing much the next day. Instead of not much I wrote a lot of words and then in the evening I went to a party.

These parties are special because they are a bit rude (yes that sort of rude), they are organised in the middle of no-where so you have to slog across London to get there. And even more amusingly are organised by the party organiser. The one who talks to me like I'm a moron, bless. Anyway she doesn't do that anymore because this time I was going to her party to review it. What a good weeze!

The chaps and I, got dressed up. The theme was a sexy Christmas office party so I was dressed as an angel, in a suit so I was an 'office angel'. This costume involved a viciously well cut pinstripe number, some wings a halo and about half a tonne of glitter and gold body paint for anything visible. My hands are still a bit sparkly.

After a bit of struggling with eyeliner we were suitably angelic looking and we bimbled over to meet up with a friend and then onto the party. The photographer who was there to take a few shots of me at the party had arrived before us and he was having so much fun getting strangers (girls in their underwear) to pose for him that didn't actually take any photos of me.

I was only going to stay for an hour or so because I was tired and I had something big the next day but by the time I checked my pocket watch it was 4am. I had a really good time, loads of old friends were there Hannah the lovely Dominatrix, The Blond Bombshell, M the DJ (who is terrifyingly pretty in drag) and various other old salts who I've not rubbed shoulders with in ages. Before I realised it, the club was closing. Well I say club the event was in a huge mansion with a plethora of rooms each filled with something slightly more bizarre happening. Nothing actually 'adult' but right on the edge of it like a racy re-make of a John Hughes film (of the Pretty in Pink/Weird Science type).

At around 6:30 I was outside somewhere in SE21, I had no idea that postcodes went up that high and I had left my coat and most of my other stuff at a friends house - this friend had disappeared with a German woman with a whip earlier on and had not re-appeared. I was in a bit of a pickle.

There was a bus going to an after party for those that hadn't quite danced enough, but sadly all the tickets had been sold out. I couldn't even catch a lift into the centre of London because of 'health and safety'

I looked around me and it was dark. I was lost with no chance of getting a cab and my phone was being wonky. It is times like that when a chap has to jolly well get a stiff upper lip and do the British thing. First I changed my outfit and hid my wings. The bus driver had spotted me asking about getting on the bus and new I was a 'no' I borrowed a wig of someone else and then waited until the bus driver leaned over to get some chewing gum out of his pocket. Quick as a flash I zoomed into the bus and dived onto a seat near the back. The next 30 minutes were gripping as I hid in terror of being kicked off the bus in some ungodly part of down wearing a wig and painted gold.

The spirits of the great escape were with me that day and after what seemed like an age I got off the bus and walked the remaining way home. I was feeling rather chuffed with myself until I glanced at my watch. It was 7:20! I rushed the remaining way home but only had about 20 minutes before I had to set off again. I spent almost all this time trying to remove eyeliner.

20 minutes of frantic scrubbing later and I was still looking rather 'intense' around the eyes, but I had no more time and so I had to go to the next task of the weekend, a comedy course in North London.

I wasn't even hungover when I first arrived, I was drunk but with a very clean face. It started off well enough because I managed to drink about four pints of coffee which kept me awake if made me go to the loo constantly. I laughed a lot and got really into it, the people on the course were v. entertaining and the teachers were excellent. At the end of the day we had to perform a set in front of the rest of the class which was really frightening, I think because after the talk was given everyone would provide feedback on what you said but everyone was very nice and laughed in all the right places.

Apart of me is looking forward to the set I have to do now, but I'm still slightly worried about it, either way I can't do much because I have to finish this silly book.

After show I went out for a drink or two with the people which wasn't a great idea, I returned home an exhausted mess and only wrote a dozen or so words before I went to bed.

The next day was very productive, I wrote 5,000 words before what I was typing turned into nonsense and finished off a feature. Ding-dong and all that. I'm going to have to go out on extreme weekends more often.