Wherever I lay my hat...

Profuse apologies, first of all, for the long gap between posts. I returned, glory-clad, from Edinburgh to discover that, for reasons far too tedious and lengthy to reveal here, I had 17 hours in which to find a new flat, pack and move before my beloved landlord changed the locks.

I freely admit that one does not find oneself in such a situation without a certain degree of fuckwittery on my behalf, however, stern measures were called for. This, clearly, was the time to prove my mettle. I steeled myself for action and did the only sensible thing - gibbered like a loon for about half-an-hour. After I had pulled myself together I called the angelic paragon of sweetness that we call our director, Beren. This heroically-endowed Titan of cool has the singular distinction of being the only one of my close friends legally permitted behind the wheel of a motor vehicle. In almost less time than it takes to grovel abjectly and promise away your first-born this latter-day saint had agreed to drive a van with all my worldly goods to the local lock-up, but even offered to let me crash at his until I found a place to live. Ladies, Gentlemen and Others, I give you this month's winner of the 'Give this man a Prize' award for conspicuous good-eggitude and all-around splendiferous behaviour - let his name ring proud in the halls of honour.



So, to cut a long story vaguely shorter, I have been without a computer let alone net access for a short while. However, since my new flat not only contains lovely, fluffy people whose inner beauty is matched only by their striking bath-robe deshabile chic, but also broadband access... Caloo, Calay! I am back! Let your wails of disapointment cease!

Ahem. The Battersea Barge gig went well despite a wearyingly familiar failure to win me any cheese. As my old granny used to say, "It's not the winning, but the free food that counts." For those of you gagging to see use live (as opposed to the countless hordes who want to see us dead) sadly we will not be returning for another bite at the dairy products next month, but we have been invited to partake of their first annual Christmas Cheese-off (see website closer to the time for details).

The crowning glory of our to-do lists, however, is undoubtedly the glorious 'Get Yout Glitz Out" gala. For this charity extravaganza we shall be storming the gates of heaven and rocking London's premier gay nightclub alongside yer actual celebrities. No kidding; I've heard of many of them...

I shall leave you now to continue the long, slow business of unpacking my life (not helped by discovering the Championship Manager CD that went missing nearly a year ago). Adieu, mein kinder and Shalom.

New gig!

Well, all right, it's actually a gig that's been organised for ages but I forgot to big it up on the site (or rather beg Beren to) until now. Mea culpa, Bitchbunnies. So anyhow, here's the details:

Time: starts at 8pm, Thursday 16th September.
Venue: the delectable Battersea Barge
Programme: The night is called Cheese 'n' Crackers. Many and varied performers will sing for their cheese-based supper at this eclectic cabaret night. We are one of the acts and will be strutting our funky for about 15 minutes or three songs' worth.
Price: a bargain fiver. The last one of these nights sold out, by the way, so if you do fancy coming along I recommended booking on 020 7498 0004. No need to pay upfront - and if you're multiple and sensible (and want somewhere to sit down) I recommended booking a table at no extra charge.

See you there. It really is maaaarvellous ... it's where the party I went to the other night was. and now I have the theme from Around the World with Willy Fogg stuck in my braaaaaaaaaaain ...



Ciao now!

I am my own hero

This just in, before I get pissed and go off to a party (yeah, I know it's usually the other way round, but I'm not really going to know anyone ...)

I took the Family Guy quiz.


Which Family Guy character are you?

I am Brian. Made my damn day.

:)

Bubbles and baubles

Fame being the burden and distancer that it is, few people can honestly claim to have had a Perrier winner press free tickets to his show upon them in the street. Thanks to the until-now obscurity of this year's Perrier champion, an actor called Will Adamsdale, however, Beren and myself can both claim that honour. (Admittedly it was on the first day of the festival, but hey.)

Adamsdale's show is called Jackson's Way, and I've got to admit, professional crazed jealousy aside, that I enjoyed it a lot. I recognised him when we were flyered from a piece I'd seen him do about a month ago at the July BAC Scratch Night, about a man who finds a piece of paper which changes his life, and the boy certainly has talent, as well as an oddly charming onstage presence, both as American life-coach alter-ego Chris John Jackson and as the paper man. I did feel that the Edinburgh show stretched a great idea ten minutes past its natural length, but the Scotsman disagreed to the tune of five stars, and an Edinburgh fairytale was born. However, I now have the ultimate theatre-snob distinction of being able to say truthfully that I slightly prefer his earlier work.

What I love about the Jackson hoo-ha are two things:
1)Adamsdale is now the second famous alumnus that the Oxford School of Drama (or Barn in a Backwater) can boast, after Braveheart's Catherine McCormack. Go OSD! Proof that the talented can survive any amount of pretentiousness and poor teaching! (The usual apologies to anyone who cares.)
2) This magnificently naive quote from the Guardian article linked above:
"What's interesting about Will is that the comics love his work as well as the public. Given that he is not part of the comedy community there's a huge feeling of goodwill towards him. Who knows what he's going to do now?"
Oh really? Called me an old cynic who knows little of comedians but much of human nature, but I fucking doubt that goodwill is what Reginald D. Hunter, Sarah Kendall, Chris Addison and the rest of the nominees are feeling towards Adamsdale. Homicidal impulses, perhaps. Emerald envy, surely. A massive sense of "that actor stole my Perrier", absolutely. He came from nothing and defeated all expectations. He's not even on the comedy circuit! A bloody amazing achievement and one that may not be forgiven lightly.

"What's he going to do now?" Hide under the bed, Will, until Avalon and the avengers go the fuck away.

In Other News, the playscripts of my Samuel French one-acter Open Secrets arrived. Zoe Gardner, of the superb Congress of Oddities, (see, you'll find this next time you Google yourself) and Ray Newe, I need your addresses so I can send you your copies. Also I found out that the headmaster of my old school, who died recently, asked for one of my poems to be read at his funeral, which is an amazingly touching and sweet and slightly confusing thing. I had no idea he a) knew or b) cared that I still wrote. Or, if I'm unlucky, it was some of my adolescent drivel that had knocked about on a wall at Frensham for ages, and he never read Vertigo - still one of the ones I like best. And it's about love, and death, which is kind of fitting.