Goodbye 2011, Hello 2012

I'd like to say thank you to 2011. Gracias, cheers, many appreciations, thank you for teaching me to be a better boy, 2011, you weren't so bad. In fact, I learnt a few things, and you kicked my ass. I didn't mind some of the motivational stuff you ploughed into me.

Within 2011, I'd like to thank everyone I've known and everyone I've met. Those who liked me, those who didn't like me. Those who thought I was obnoxious, idiotic, those who thought I was silly and cute. Thank you, you've made my life.

Family, thank you. You made my life, you made me who I am. I love you.

So, hello 2012, I'm looking forward to see you. I'll bring the wine.

Drop Dead Awesome - A Christmas Story

Mark, a 39 year-old plumber from Essex, decides this Christmas he's going to get his wife, Maddy, a wonderful present. The kids have already been sorted, a stack of fantasy Harry Potter DVDs and violent Call of Duty games, which would worry any Child Services Officer but, for him, it shuts them up.

He first goes into London town, to see what he can find in the big city itself. Surely, in the Big Smoke, he could be inspired to find something, if not anything, that would please his plump but loud life-partner of 12 years who has constantly berated him for not thinking about her feelings throughout their entire marriage, which has he has fervently denied and pleaded mercy for.

He walks into a fancy spa shop, and the lightly-tanned receptionist takes one look at his paunch, smirks and directs him to the service door for any deliveries. "No, love," he says, shyly, "I want to treat my wife to a spa day. How much?"

Her smirk grows to the point of exasperation, grabs a nearby price-list and shoves it before him. "We do 1 hour, 1 hour 10 minutes, 2 hours or 2 hours 10 minutes, all based on competitive rates. You paying by card or blood?"

Mark, being the down-to-earth plumber he's been since finishing his apprenticeship at 16, can't make out the unusual dialogue he's just been given. "Wait, what's the 10 minutes for?"

"Listen, buddy," her Notting Hill accent spewing deadly acid over his humble ego, "we ask if you would like that extra 10 minutes for one of our men to come over and 'rub you down', it's a speciality we offer here at Drop Dead Awesome Spa Shop."

Although afraid to ask, "And the blood?"

She looks left and right, leans forward and whispers, "It's for our boss. He's quite a herbalist, and uses fat boy blood to make potions he sells to our, more, 'elite' clientele." The wink she gives and the emphasis on 'elite' with her two fingers in each hand unsettles him.

He looks down at the price-list, which by any standard could feed a third-world country in a single hour. Unsure of whether to proceed, he asks, "Do you do, say, Christmas specials for housewives who have to take care of kids all day?"

Suddenly, out of nowhere, 3 female assistants pop out from underneath the counter, all agasp at the request he had sent like a thunderbolt from Zeus himself, had he been on a bad hair day and wanted to smite someone. Like headless chickens, they flitted around the receptionist trying to understand what this monstrosity of a lower-class demon could walk into their church of Snoot, before collasping in a heap by the corner while a Phillipino boy stands nearby waving a palm fan.

He exclaims, "What the hell?"

She looks down at them, a dishevelled mess of bitchiness, and shrugs. "Oh, they're just not used to 'people'," she makes the emphasis with her fingers yet again, "like you, that come in and asks such a thing. The most extreme we've ever had before was Donald Trump's assistant who came in asking if Donald can buy a candy-bar for 99p. Personally, I know how you feel as I dated a lower-class boyfriend before I had an education, so I'm not so fazed."

Her mobile rings and she answers. "Hello, Drop Dead Awesome Spa Shop, if you're important how may I help?"

------

Days later and Christmas rolls by. Mark and his brood are sitting in the lounge after midnight, the kids ripping at their gifts like hyenas on an antelope, and Maddy walks in with a cake. "So Mark," she sneers, "what you got me for this time?"

Mark looks up from his belly, all smiles as he hands her over an envelope and says, "My love, my dearest, here you go."

Wide-eyed, she opens it up and finds a £20 gift voucher for Boots. "OH MARK, YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE!!!"

The End.

Marc Maron - WTF Podcast

Marc Maron, an American comic spanning over a decade or more, has been hosting a podcast interviewing entertainers now for a few years and has been quietly gaining popularity for his insightful and personable interviewing skills, getting some great acts like Chris Rock, Norm McDonald and Donald Glover into the "garage" for simply a good chat. You can catch his show weekly over at his website, WTFPod , via iTunes or even through his mobile/smartphone apps.

"*slurp* Pow! That's justcoffee.coop!"

New Material - Wisecracks Comedy Night

So I admit, I don't blog a lot, but as I'm a particularly private person, there's not a lot I can say (although preparing for all the people that care). Nevertheless, new material tried last night at Wisecracks Comedy for your entertainment.
Unedited, unashamed...and hopefully bookable :P

My Dirty Little 2011 x

Ok, I know, sorry, I haven't posted for what seems like yonks, and the closest I've bothered is either some obscure advertisement for a gig or an opinion about videogames. But I'm a closet narcissist and hate myself for it, so don't want to constantly berate the public with thoughts about shoes and food and some odd culture.

However, I can tell summarise my 2011 for you.

January and February culminated in a personal transition involving someone else which I won't go into, although many people who know me are instantly aware. But what I can reveal is that my behaviour was bordering on abhorrent and I apologise profusely, and I hope that the rest of the year has been good for you as it has been educational for me.

March and April heralded a housemove with two brilliant comics, sharing a lounge, balcony (small bit of heaven for me) and being able to feel alone again to ponder my thoughts and progress through my development as an individually twat. Comically, I begun placing myself into weird gigs that threatened to derail my confidence, while at the same time feeling jubilant during the moments I make someone in a room full of strangers giggle at my own little stories. It's nice to know I've achieved the basics of humour in an endeavour I never believed could succeed.

Rolling through May, I made a trip to South Africa for my mom's 70th birthday and debuting on the stage in front of my adopted countrymen (yes, I grew up there but wasn't born there), and it was so nice to be acknowledged for the jokes I've written about my growth in front of family who immediately praised me. Think what you think, but I was never acknowledged for the little achievements I made in my younger years by my family, so that night was VERY special and I love them even more than I did before.

June and July rolled by without incident apart from working with Aaron Truss on "Free Cuddles with 007", a lovely project that taught me the value of working with someone on a creative level, writing a coherent script and performing to a lovely crowd in Clapham for our preview.

August was Edinburgh and the end of my role in the company I learnt to work in as a producer. But my time in Scotland was special purely for a lovely informal review and the hard work I placed in doing 4 shows a day. I was knackered and could've imploded in a self-important ball of "why me" had it not been for a healthier month-style of not drinking too much, strawberry smoothies and going to bed early.

Hanging out with Des and Masud together as one was amazing too, and adding Aaron to the 1.21 Jiggawatts Crew meant we had an awesome imrpov troupe that amazed a wonderful crowd of people, especially when I've taken years of abuse with domesticity and made the "World Championship of Ironing" into a spectacle worth remembering. Thanks boys.

September was layover till the next job role, and this meant chilling out, doing gigs, writing new material and performing. I understand that the comedy scene is diluted with stand-up acts who are out of jobs and just say the most banal things, but I cherish the opportunity to perform my material in front of strangers and be the expressive, confident man I always dreamed of being. I don't put it to everyday use in my life as I should, always over-analysing my behaviour instead of letting go and just being me, but at least I'm working on that and I always will.

October was the saddest month of my life as one of my oldest friends in London succumbed to the big C, and I recall visiting him at the hospital on the day, seeing him lay there on a respirator. And as I played host to the London Ambulance Service's Battle of the Bands, a charity event to raise funds for their Benevolent Fund, the brightest spark of my earliest memories in this big city blew out and he was no more. Feeling bummed out just doesn't come close, and even though I don't spend many evenings with the same crowd, I miss them and especially him all the same. Goodbye Homer, I will hopefully continue to make you proud of me (not like you're my dad, but just someone I hope to impress from up there while you're mooning God with a flaming piece of toilet paper sticking out of your bum) ;)

In November I retired from the small room in Camden I inherited from the wonderful Imran Yusuf, an inspiration in many respects, but I knew that had I kept working that room I would become this stale old man performing to two people a week and that would've destroyed my personality to the point of bitterness, and I will not allow that. So I've freed my Wednesday and sacrificed Thursday/Friday for you, the generous and beautiful public in the hope that you will enjoy what I do.

And December is still upon us, and at the time of writing I'm hosting the 3rd Annual Comedians Christmas Party, so hopefully I get to relax with people who are far more talented than me in a more social context. I do enjoy being sociable, honest xx