It is summer and I am not at university for a while.
Welcome to the revival of the Holiblog:
http://blogblogblogholidayblog.blogspot.com/
It's quite good so far and I will be writing on this one again. If I talked about you in the 16 posts from last year, get over it.
Saturday 18 June 2011
Plagiarism
The worst comedic offence (probably) is plagiarism. When you tell a joke that has not been written for you, by you or anyone else, it is stealing. Especially is you are getting paid at gigs, when somebody else is trying to get paid for them as well. I do not get paid, however, I have committed plagiarism, accidentally and intentionally.
Let me explain.
First: the accidental. There is small bit in my short set that briefly covers sexism (vaguely, I am not George Carlin or somebody who actually looks at social issues) and ends with the line, "I believe that fisting should be called uppercunting." A very nice pun, one of the puns that I am most proud of as it is filthy and quite cute at the same time. I came up with it after talking to my friend about boxing, a sport he is very much into. However, this line has been used by one of my favourite comedians, Bo Burnham, in his Words Words Words show and album. I was not aware of this, but it was brought to my attention after sending a clip of myself "performing" to get an open spot.
This is devastating. Some may argue that I have a right to that joke as I came up with it as well. Not many will argue that, I'm guessing. I don't even back that point, he's a world known comedian at my age, even younger, I think. Whether I came up with it or not, if I say it and then somebody hears Burnham saying it, then it will look stolen, no matter the circumstances. As I'm just starting, this would leave me dead and buried before I've even begun. Even though I love this joke and was one of them that made me feel that I could actually do comedy (along with some schtick about malaria), it's gone.
Now: The Intentional. I am not proud of this whatsoever, but due to my low confidence or self-esteem whatever, I used a segment by up-and-coming comedian Phil Wang in my set (occasionally, not always) to sort of get the audience into a good mood with a good joke, before I would use my material. My low confidence is no excuse, but I felt I needed it to actually do well. Eventually, it became a solid bit that I would do, which is utterly wrong and, yes, stealing.
Luckily, I have only been caught the once (via the aforementioned e-mail) and this has not completely destroyed my still minimal reputation. I say minimal, I mean non-existant. However, if I had entered a competition and performed either of these jokes, I would have been disqualified, something which would probably be highlighted on a widely read website such as Chortle.
Then, it would be quite posh pornography as I would be royally fucked.
Do not do what I have done, two readers. It's not on.
Once again, apologies to everyone ever. These jokes have been cut and I will continue aspiring to be a comedian. I'm working on a completely new five minutes, I'm back to the drawing board and it's exactly what I deserve.
I'm probably making this out to be slightly bigger than it is, considering I don't get paid, two people read this blog and nobody knows or knows how to pronounce my name.
However, it's therapy after receiving an e-mail. Hopefully, it will allow me to be a better writer and comedian.
We shall see. I'm not dead and buried yet.
Let me explain.
First: the accidental. There is small bit in my short set that briefly covers sexism (vaguely, I am not George Carlin or somebody who actually looks at social issues) and ends with the line, "I believe that fisting should be called uppercunting." A very nice pun, one of the puns that I am most proud of as it is filthy and quite cute at the same time. I came up with it after talking to my friend about boxing, a sport he is very much into. However, this line has been used by one of my favourite comedians, Bo Burnham, in his Words Words Words show and album. I was not aware of this, but it was brought to my attention after sending a clip of myself "performing" to get an open spot.
This is devastating. Some may argue that I have a right to that joke as I came up with it as well. Not many will argue that, I'm guessing. I don't even back that point, he's a world known comedian at my age, even younger, I think. Whether I came up with it or not, if I say it and then somebody hears Burnham saying it, then it will look stolen, no matter the circumstances. As I'm just starting, this would leave me dead and buried before I've even begun. Even though I love this joke and was one of them that made me feel that I could actually do comedy (along with some schtick about malaria), it's gone.
Now: The Intentional. I am not proud of this whatsoever, but due to my low confidence or self-esteem whatever, I used a segment by up-and-coming comedian Phil Wang in my set (occasionally, not always) to sort of get the audience into a good mood with a good joke, before I would use my material. My low confidence is no excuse, but I felt I needed it to actually do well. Eventually, it became a solid bit that I would do, which is utterly wrong and, yes, stealing.
Luckily, I have only been caught the once (via the aforementioned e-mail) and this has not completely destroyed my still minimal reputation. I say minimal, I mean non-existant. However, if I had entered a competition and performed either of these jokes, I would have been disqualified, something which would probably be highlighted on a widely read website such as Chortle.
Then, it would be quite posh pornography as I would be royally fucked.
Do not do what I have done, two readers. It's not on.
Once again, apologies to everyone ever. These jokes have been cut and I will continue aspiring to be a comedian. I'm working on a completely new five minutes, I'm back to the drawing board and it's exactly what I deserve.
I'm probably making this out to be slightly bigger than it is, considering I don't get paid, two people read this blog and nobody knows or knows how to pronounce my name.
However, it's therapy after receiving an e-mail. Hopefully, it will allow me to be a better writer and comedian.
We shall see. I'm not dead and buried yet.
Monday 6 June 2011
The Last Night
The Last Night. What was supposed to be that anyway. The night we all come together and celebrate a year gone by, with some people actually leaving for a while. They didn't drop out, just got a year abroad. Same thing, I know.
All this celebration was the plan, there was even a goodbye video for somebody leaving. It was going to be great.
Well, the best laid plans of rice and wrens often go awry.
Quite a few exams finished today so most likely people were going to go overboard. Go into excess after a long few hours of revising before a multiple choice exam. I was merely having three showers before 6pm as the heat was devestating for somebody as overweight and uncomfortable as me. It must be the gravity, it's unbearable.
Anyway, people were going to the local shitty, cheap pub before heading out into town and the plan was to show the Goodbye DVD there. Unfortunately, I couldn't make it, as I had to turn up to an Arts Societies gig to raise money for some Estonia thing. As I have learned on several occasions, these shows go on for far too long and have very little quality control. Extremely little. Not even within the societies is there any control. The Creative Writing Society is the biggest example of prentious tripe filled with "realistic" dialogue, also known as "shit" dialogue.
The best poem I have ever heard was also presented again which starts with the line, "I fucking love my grandmother, I fucking do."
Enticing.
There were many acts. The improv fell dead on their arse just as we were about to ask them for lessons on how to improvise. The Dancing Society and the Beatboxing Society were relatively good, had some skill. Better than the Creative Writing or the Improv. I noticed that the Arab House Society has failed to show up, despite beating Comedy Society to "Best New Society" at the Societies Ball. Scared to show their faces as they know I will rip their spies out from their belly button.
Or they weren't invited.
We went on far too late in the night, reception was not the best. I carried on drinking.
Eventually, I called the party people that I knew and wondered where they were in town. It was past eleven o'clock, they had to be in town for any chance of them getting to a club on time. Called up and most of them were still at the pub as the "Guest of Honour" or "The One Who's Leaving" had decided to cry and pass out after the video and a dirty pint. Selfish really. Then, there were revelations as some had indeed gone into town and only a small group had stayed behind.
Bazinga.
After rejecting friendship, I went in search of those I knew less well, but were in town. Therefore, friends. They were outside a bar nearby, but were due to be leaving soon. I walked very briskly to get there. I didn't run, can't pull it off stylishly. No way. Got to the Gothic-themed bar where everyone within a relationship was doing their best to end by fighting about something. I didn't really pay attention, it was neither my business nor interesting. Two cocktails downed, not that I had the money for them. Onto the generic club, Liquid.
I don't remember much else, except that Smirnoff Ice was very cheap that night and it was shit.
Happy New Semester or whatever.
Yeah, I lost effort midway through again. Habit.
All this celebration was the plan, there was even a goodbye video for somebody leaving. It was going to be great.
Well, the best laid plans of rice and wrens often go awry.
Quite a few exams finished today so most likely people were going to go overboard. Go into excess after a long few hours of revising before a multiple choice exam. I was merely having three showers before 6pm as the heat was devestating for somebody as overweight and uncomfortable as me. It must be the gravity, it's unbearable.
Anyway, people were going to the local shitty, cheap pub before heading out into town and the plan was to show the Goodbye DVD there. Unfortunately, I couldn't make it, as I had to turn up to an Arts Societies gig to raise money for some Estonia thing. As I have learned on several occasions, these shows go on for far too long and have very little quality control. Extremely little. Not even within the societies is there any control. The Creative Writing Society is the biggest example of prentious tripe filled with "realistic" dialogue, also known as "shit" dialogue.
The best poem I have ever heard was also presented again which starts with the line, "I fucking love my grandmother, I fucking do."
Enticing.
There were many acts. The improv fell dead on their arse just as we were about to ask them for lessons on how to improvise. The Dancing Society and the Beatboxing Society were relatively good, had some skill. Better than the Creative Writing or the Improv. I noticed that the Arab House Society has failed to show up, despite beating Comedy Society to "Best New Society" at the Societies Ball. Scared to show their faces as they know I will rip their spies out from their belly button.
Or they weren't invited.
We went on far too late in the night, reception was not the best. I carried on drinking.
Eventually, I called the party people that I knew and wondered where they were in town. It was past eleven o'clock, they had to be in town for any chance of them getting to a club on time. Called up and most of them were still at the pub as the "Guest of Honour" or "The One Who's Leaving" had decided to cry and pass out after the video and a dirty pint. Selfish really. Then, there were revelations as some had indeed gone into town and only a small group had stayed behind.
Bazinga.
After rejecting friendship, I went in search of those I knew less well, but were in town. Therefore, friends. They were outside a bar nearby, but were due to be leaving soon. I walked very briskly to get there. I didn't run, can't pull it off stylishly. No way. Got to the Gothic-themed bar where everyone within a relationship was doing their best to end by fighting about something. I didn't really pay attention, it was neither my business nor interesting. Two cocktails downed, not that I had the money for them. Onto the generic club, Liquid.
I don't remember much else, except that Smirnoff Ice was very cheap that night and it was shit.
Happy New Semester or whatever.
Yeah, I lost effort midway through again. Habit.
Thursday 2 June 2011
Becoming a Leader
Due to nobody else running, I am now the President of the Aberdeen University Comedy Society.
Wow. This is something for the CV or something more sentimental. Some sort of scrapbook.
Well, I put my name forward for the Presidency and nobody else did. At a lucklustre trial AGM (Annual General Meeting), we checked for any objections, of which there were none. Good to see I've stricken the fear of God into them. A decent vice and treasurer were also elected, both unchallenged as well. Damn, we have some apathetic people in the world.
A lot more responsibility, but nobody has told me what they are. I'm left in the dark. Everything seems to be passed on by word of mouth. Incredibly strange. We need to book a stall for Freshers' Week, but nobody has given me anything. Need to book a room for next year. Been told nothing. I must overcome this.
Inspiring.
More updates as they come. This was just for me to brag.
Wow. This is something for the CV or something more sentimental. Some sort of scrapbook.
Well, I put my name forward for the Presidency and nobody else did. At a lucklustre trial AGM (Annual General Meeting), we checked for any objections, of which there were none. Good to see I've stricken the fear of God into them. A decent vice and treasurer were also elected, both unchallenged as well. Damn, we have some apathetic people in the world.
A lot more responsibility, but nobody has told me what they are. I'm left in the dark. Everything seems to be passed on by word of mouth. Incredibly strange. We need to book a stall for Freshers' Week, but nobody has given me anything. Need to book a room for next year. Been told nothing. I must overcome this.
Inspiring.
More updates as they come. This was just for me to brag.
Thursday 28 April 2011
Monday 11 April 2011
Manchester
This blog has slightly evolved. Maybe not evolved, but taken a slight sideways step into something different. I intended it to be about university life, something I still intend, but it has now turned into a sort of comedy memoir. Up there with the memoirs of Nixon or that other guy. Important like those ones.
SPEAKING OF COMEDY, I recently did a gig in Manchester. I say recently, the end of February. I wanted to do this gig as the Frog and Bucket in Manchester is a fairly big deal, they have proper comedians that have been on the telly and that. I read various articles about comedians travelling and how it's all part of the game and everything. I could do that. Aberdeen to Manchester is not that far. A bit too far to take the train I had booked, but not far. I took the Megabus down the day before. Another insanity inducing experience. My friend stays in Manchester and agreed to let me stay over and everything. Perfectly fine.
WRONG.
The Megabus left Aberdeen at 7am, which meant I left the flat at 5:30, because I always think I'll be late unless I leave ridiculously early. Enough time for me to become complacent and still not be late. Correct, I fight my ego whilst planning travel. We travelled to Dundee and the driver said it's alright to get off and stretch your legs. I pondered whether to leave my bag on, but I decided to avoid it getting stolen and took it with me. Get back on the coach and my window seat with perfect distance to the toilet has been taken. I walk to another seat and make sure I shoulder barge him on the way, he knew I had that seat as he got on in Aberdeen also. He was also twice as big as me. He got off at Preston, thank fuck.
Preston looks a right shithole as well, just to let you know.
Got off in Manchester, couldn't find my bag in the hold. I call it a hold because it's not really a boot. Eventually found it after panicking and thinking it was stolen. Foreboding here. I met my friend, who had bright, perhaps electric, blue hair. He said he was going to redye it his original colour as it may be easy to point out in security footage. Amateur mistake to be honest. Maybe I shouldn't be talking about this.
Went to a student occupation at Manchester University where my friend is a key player in, maybe. He could have been bragging or I assumed it. Memory is better when it's multiple choice. Explored tunnels behind lecture halls and all that. Was pretty cool. Got some booze in and watched Dr. Strangelove. I fell asleep and snored. Whatever, not apologising, I cannot control it. Snored during the night in the lecture hall as well. Still not sorry.
Explored Manchester the next day, mainly Starbucks around the town. Tried to find an internet cafe to get some money into my account. Didn't manage. Wrote my setlist for the night and settled into some frozen fruit juice thingy that was fairly average. Chocolate chip shortbread is disgusting as well. They just failed at making shortbread. Sacrilage.
Let's get to the gig, shall we? Yes. It was at the Frog and Bucket, which holds about 300 people. I didn't know this. I started to wonder if I was actually any good, and this was after a cracking gig at Snafu in Aberdeen. The MC was a Simon Pegg lookalike and very funny, though he was helped by an incredibly camp man in the front row. With a man bag. The professional circuit comics did their best, but the crowd seemed unresponsive. It was alright. The crowd were fairly warmed up. Now let's get to the competition.
The audience members get three cards. If all three cards are put up during the open spot's five minutes, they have to leave and Beck's Loser plays. Sounds simple enough. It was made to be. Let's discuss my rivals, shall we?
Went back to my friend's flat to sleep in there for that night with my bags still in the lecture hall. Used the internet for a bit, which was nice and slept heavily. My friend arrived in the morning with my bags, yet my laptop was missing. FUCK.
FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK.
This was big, we went back to the lecture place to look for it, but it was not found and I couldn't check parts of it because there were actual lectures going on. And I had a train to catch, so there was no time. It was nicked or I was an idiot and fucking left it somewhere. Ergh. This ruined the whole thing. Ergh.
Train home. Cried mentally.
Would prefer to go to Preston that Manchester ever again. Fuck, I'll live there if that's the cost. Roughly £400 for a new laptop plus Preston plus a good gig.
I'll get over it.
SPEAKING OF COMEDY, I recently did a gig in Manchester. I say recently, the end of February. I wanted to do this gig as the Frog and Bucket in Manchester is a fairly big deal, they have proper comedians that have been on the telly and that. I read various articles about comedians travelling and how it's all part of the game and everything. I could do that. Aberdeen to Manchester is not that far. A bit too far to take the train I had booked, but not far. I took the Megabus down the day before. Another insanity inducing experience. My friend stays in Manchester and agreed to let me stay over and everything. Perfectly fine.
WRONG.
The Megabus left Aberdeen at 7am, which meant I left the flat at 5:30, because I always think I'll be late unless I leave ridiculously early. Enough time for me to become complacent and still not be late. Correct, I fight my ego whilst planning travel. We travelled to Dundee and the driver said it's alright to get off and stretch your legs. I pondered whether to leave my bag on, but I decided to avoid it getting stolen and took it with me. Get back on the coach and my window seat with perfect distance to the toilet has been taken. I walk to another seat and make sure I shoulder barge him on the way, he knew I had that seat as he got on in Aberdeen also. He was also twice as big as me. He got off at Preston, thank fuck.
Preston looks a right shithole as well, just to let you know.
Got off in Manchester, couldn't find my bag in the hold. I call it a hold because it's not really a boot. Eventually found it after panicking and thinking it was stolen. Foreboding here. I met my friend, who had bright, perhaps electric, blue hair. He said he was going to redye it his original colour as it may be easy to point out in security footage. Amateur mistake to be honest. Maybe I shouldn't be talking about this.
Went to a student occupation at Manchester University where my friend is a key player in, maybe. He could have been bragging or I assumed it. Memory is better when it's multiple choice. Explored tunnels behind lecture halls and all that. Was pretty cool. Got some booze in and watched Dr. Strangelove. I fell asleep and snored. Whatever, not apologising, I cannot control it. Snored during the night in the lecture hall as well. Still not sorry.
Explored Manchester the next day, mainly Starbucks around the town. Tried to find an internet cafe to get some money into my account. Didn't manage. Wrote my setlist for the night and settled into some frozen fruit juice thingy that was fairly average. Chocolate chip shortbread is disgusting as well. They just failed at making shortbread. Sacrilage.
Let's get to the gig, shall we? Yes. It was at the Frog and Bucket, which holds about 300 people. I didn't know this. I started to wonder if I was actually any good, and this was after a cracking gig at Snafu in Aberdeen. The MC was a Simon Pegg lookalike and very funny, though he was helped by an incredibly camp man in the front row. With a man bag. The professional circuit comics did their best, but the crowd seemed unresponsive. It was alright. The crowd were fairly warmed up. Now let's get to the competition.
The audience members get three cards. If all three cards are put up during the open spot's five minutes, they have to leave and Beck's Loser plays. Sounds simple enough. It was made to be. Let's discuss my rivals, shall we?
- First up was a tattooed (?) man who talked about some TV show where they go into maternity wards. It was fairly well observed, yet at times simply described the show. He was confident enough. Lasted the five minutes.
- Next was a woman who talked all about sweatshops, I think in one liners, but I had either heard some of them before or were just predictable. It also faded towards the end, yet she had a weird delivery that seemed to take her through. Lasted the five minutes.
- Just before me was a guy that dressed weird and talked about how he dressed weird. He was a regular open spot and had done the same set for the last three years I heard. If you do the same set for three years and are not getting paid yet, the set is shit. It got laughs though, despite his obsession with describing himself. Lasted the five minutes.
Went back to my friend's flat to sleep in there for that night with my bags still in the lecture hall. Used the internet for a bit, which was nice and slept heavily. My friend arrived in the morning with my bags, yet my laptop was missing. FUCK.
FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK.
This was big, we went back to the lecture place to look for it, but it was not found and I couldn't check parts of it because there were actual lectures going on. And I had a train to catch, so there was no time. It was nicked or I was an idiot and fucking left it somewhere. Ergh. This ruined the whole thing. Ergh.
Train home. Cried mentally.
Would prefer to go to Preston that Manchester ever again. Fuck, I'll live there if that's the cost. Roughly £400 for a new laptop plus Preston plus a good gig.
I'll get over it.
The Huge Gap
It has been a while. A very long while. Not one of those average whiles.
Several reasons for this:
At this current time (roughly), I am on my "Easter" break, which ends before Easter, so I can get back to freezing Aberdeen. According to rumours, the weather is actually very nice there now. This does not bode well for me, as I do not get along with the heat or the sun. I mean the police and the newspaper, of course. Dry.
Back in London, as I constantly mentioned on my Facebook, I wondered what to do with my lack of funds. I received £30 of delayed birthday money. Unfortunately, this was spent mostly on a Mother's Day gift plus card, neither of which excited my mother that much. I'm a bad gift buyer, I have no regrets.
There was also a gig for me in Camden. The room was only slightly bigger than my living room and the crowd was mainly there for one act, a woman I think. Both female acts mentioned periods, big surprise. That is something that they've got to bring something new to. The amount of times I hear "Periods are awkward...especially if you're a man!"
Go fuck yourself.
The comedians were a mix of good and bad, the MC being energetic enough to keep the crowd engaged. My jokes seemed to get a shocked reaction, which is fairly disappointing as it seems after every gig I have to tone it down, just to tone it down further after the next gig. It's 2011, are abortions really that shocking? This isn't the Bible belt. It's Camden, there was probably a clinic round the corner in someone's dining room. And Princess Diana...what is the big deal?!
Maybe I'm the one in the wrong, if so, please let me know. Preferrably after watching one of my gigs or a clip (if I ever get one up).
Reading. Barely done any of it. I love reading, genuinely, but some of the book from the period of whatever are just dull. Robinson Crusoe is a struggle. Have you read it? It's detail packed upon detail and the dick hasn't even crashed yet. Apparently, he eventually finds a lime. I heard that, i hope it's a metaphor for something, because that's all I know about the book. His father hates him or something. There are other books that I need to buy first as well. Bugger. Gulliver's Travels? More like Gulliver's Rubbish!!!
Give me a break. It's hot.
Lent is not working. I gave up alcohol and go for days without it, but eventually cave in and drink. Maybe I am actually an alcoholic. I'll keep you posted. Or hammered.
This is extremely unfunny. Apologies.
Several reasons for this:
- Increasing amount of reading
- Deadlines
- Laptop getting stolen/lost
At this current time (roughly), I am on my "Easter" break, which ends before Easter, so I can get back to freezing Aberdeen. According to rumours, the weather is actually very nice there now. This does not bode well for me, as I do not get along with the heat or the sun. I mean the police and the newspaper, of course. Dry.
Back in London, as I constantly mentioned on my Facebook, I wondered what to do with my lack of funds. I received £30 of delayed birthday money. Unfortunately, this was spent mostly on a Mother's Day gift plus card, neither of which excited my mother that much. I'm a bad gift buyer, I have no regrets.
There was also a gig for me in Camden. The room was only slightly bigger than my living room and the crowd was mainly there for one act, a woman I think. Both female acts mentioned periods, big surprise. That is something that they've got to bring something new to. The amount of times I hear "Periods are awkward...especially if you're a man!"
Go fuck yourself.
The comedians were a mix of good and bad, the MC being energetic enough to keep the crowd engaged. My jokes seemed to get a shocked reaction, which is fairly disappointing as it seems after every gig I have to tone it down, just to tone it down further after the next gig. It's 2011, are abortions really that shocking? This isn't the Bible belt. It's Camden, there was probably a clinic round the corner in someone's dining room. And Princess Diana...what is the big deal?!
Maybe I'm the one in the wrong, if so, please let me know. Preferrably after watching one of my gigs or a clip (if I ever get one up).
Reading. Barely done any of it. I love reading, genuinely, but some of the book from the period of whatever are just dull. Robinson Crusoe is a struggle. Have you read it? It's detail packed upon detail and the dick hasn't even crashed yet. Apparently, he eventually finds a lime. I heard that, i hope it's a metaphor for something, because that's all I know about the book. His father hates him or something. There are other books that I need to buy first as well. Bugger. Gulliver's Travels? More like Gulliver's Rubbish!!!
Give me a break. It's hot.
Lent is not working. I gave up alcohol and go for days without it, but eventually cave in and drink. Maybe I am actually an alcoholic. I'll keep you posted. Or hammered.
This is extremely unfunny. Apologies.
Monday 21 February 2011
The Aberdeen "Comedy Circuit".
You may recall that I'm part of the Aberdeen University Comedy Society. Unfortunately for my immense talent, their gigs are infrequent and sparse. Therefore, I have decided to branch out and explore gig as part of the comedy circuit. Now, in Aberdeen, everything is micro sized. And example of how this affects comedy is simple...I have been in two gigs and comedians I met, I met again. Extras were repeated. And one of them is from Montrose, that is not Aberdeen.
Let's begin.
Aberdeen only has one regular comedy night, that's weekly. Frankly, pathetic. There are gigs here and there and professionals come here on occasion, the ones on Mock the Week and that, but for newcomers, it's a tough place to get a gig, especially with many comedians and sketch troupes coming up from Glasgow or Edinburgh. Some even come down from Inverness. So spots are packed tighter than something crude about an arsehole.
Anyway, I managed to scour the internet and get a few gigs with Aberdeen comics, most of whom are alchoholics. Honestly, the fact that they managed to say anything at all, never mind get a laugh, which they didn't, is close to defying all expectations of drunk behaviour. The first was at a place called Cellar 35, which gave me free bar as I was performing, therefore I was well and truly blotto'ed by the time I got onto stage, which gave me an extra verve of confidence, a good help. And then I had about four more pints. Dayumm.
Next gig was the RGU Union for some charity. Those gigs are usually a bust or whatever. MC was a drunk that made obvious connections:
"So what do you do?"
Media Studies
"Oh, issat something to do with the media?"
Idiot.
At that gig, I was thrown off guard several times and it was probably the worst of my performances. I was introduced with the wrong name and the audience was told that I was from Aberdeen University. Hostile reception guaranteed. Jokes got "ughh" instead of laughs. Fuck.
Tomorrow, I have a gig at the sole comedy club in Aberdeen. Wish me luck.
This was an extremely short blog that took hours to write. My life seems to be getting dull.
Let's begin.
Aberdeen only has one regular comedy night, that's weekly. Frankly, pathetic. There are gigs here and there and professionals come here on occasion, the ones on Mock the Week and that, but for newcomers, it's a tough place to get a gig, especially with many comedians and sketch troupes coming up from Glasgow or Edinburgh. Some even come down from Inverness. So spots are packed tighter than something crude about an arsehole.
Anyway, I managed to scour the internet and get a few gigs with Aberdeen comics, most of whom are alchoholics. Honestly, the fact that they managed to say anything at all, never mind get a laugh, which they didn't, is close to defying all expectations of drunk behaviour. The first was at a place called Cellar 35, which gave me free bar as I was performing, therefore I was well and truly blotto'ed by the time I got onto stage, which gave me an extra verve of confidence, a good help. And then I had about four more pints. Dayumm.
Next gig was the RGU Union for some charity. Those gigs are usually a bust or whatever. MC was a drunk that made obvious connections:
"So what do you do?"
Media Studies
"Oh, issat something to do with the media?"
Idiot.
At that gig, I was thrown off guard several times and it was probably the worst of my performances. I was introduced with the wrong name and the audience was told that I was from Aberdeen University. Hostile reception guaranteed. Jokes got "ughh" instead of laughs. Fuck.
Tomorrow, I have a gig at the sole comedy club in Aberdeen. Wish me luck.
This was an extremely short blog that took hours to write. My life seems to be getting dull.
Saturday 12 February 2011
This Clubbing Night
Clubbing is a regular part of my schedule. It happens three, maybe four times, a week. Eventually, I will examine the intricacies of clubbing life, but just for this one post, I will look at the night which only finished an hour ago upon time of writing. Topical. The most topical this blog has ever been. Gosh.
And it's more than one post within a week. Damn.
Flat parties usually start off a night, before moving onto the pub and a club. That is the usual regime, unless the party gets so hectic that everyone just stays there. Those are fun on occasion, except this wasn't one of those occasions. I met a couple of friends and headed over to this party at about 9 o'Clock. I brought my half bottle of rum, hoping that it would get me through the night if I drank it all pretty quickly. I had one sip and felt ill. The last night had made me incredibly ill and my stomach lining may have dissolved. Oh dear.
I left the party to get some food as that usually helps. One of my friends comes with me, making the other friend jealous as it seems that he always chooses me over him. This is obviously untrue, but we are always drunk, so nothing with any sense happens. It just blurs into madness. We wouldn't have it any other way. Kebab meat and chips. Even worse than death. I may actually become a vegetarian, or the one where you have fish as well. It's to help me lose weight and actually become healthy in a very general and loose sense. That would be nice. One can dream, eh?
Got back to the party eventually and ate the food there, like a complete social retard. I could feel what little reputation I had simply slipping away like uncooked chicken held by a spastic. That's not politically correct, but I'm drunk. As if that's an excuse. However, I felt better and started drinking vodka and whatever else. All this after my blog post telling people not to drink. Pathetic. While all this is happening, my friend talks to someone that I may like too much, which make me hate him. I actually hate him whenever it seems people that I introduced him to, like him more than they like me. This is incredibly petty and desperate, but I cannot help it. I'll figure out what's wrong with me later. I should stop talking about other people on this bog, it's unfair. They do not give consent after all, many don't know that I actually write this blog.
Right, after some "banter" at the party or whatever, we all took taxis to the club, missing out the pub. Scandal. And we had some delay after we had a free space that we needed to fill in the taxi, but nobody would get in, which led to shouting and fucking retardation. Sometimes, I hate the human race. Common sense eludes them, or perhaps seeing as I'm the only one that thinks this, common sense eludes me. Debate for another day. Maybe tomorrow, got nothing else to do, apart from read Paradise Lost.
Club. Entry. Skanking. A lot of people weren't up for dancing after about an hour, which was annoying. Somebody joined the queue, went to get money, but just went home. There was other stuff, but I've lost enthusiasm. However, two building mates got off with each other, which was like "Woah!". Except, the girl immediately went after someone else, which seems a bit whorish and a bit deamenaing to the guy. Perhaps. On the other hand, it was a drunk, club getting off, which hardly means anything. Yet, I walked the guy home, as he was off his face and everyone else got a taxi whilst he was walking someone home. I joined them in a goodwill act to make sure he didn't smack his head off of the pavement, which would be a royal pain as he's a decent chap. Or whatever. No homo, because that is a major statement.
Got back to the building, saw people there that needed a key that we had. Kicked a vending machine. Went home. And that's that.
For some reason, I'm angry. More on this when I sober up. Don't know why, but it's annoying me ever so much. Peace out.
And it's more than one post within a week. Damn.
Flat parties usually start off a night, before moving onto the pub and a club. That is the usual regime, unless the party gets so hectic that everyone just stays there. Those are fun on occasion, except this wasn't one of those occasions. I met a couple of friends and headed over to this party at about 9 o'Clock. I brought my half bottle of rum, hoping that it would get me through the night if I drank it all pretty quickly. I had one sip and felt ill. The last night had made me incredibly ill and my stomach lining may have dissolved. Oh dear.
I left the party to get some food as that usually helps. One of my friends comes with me, making the other friend jealous as it seems that he always chooses me over him. This is obviously untrue, but we are always drunk, so nothing with any sense happens. It just blurs into madness. We wouldn't have it any other way. Kebab meat and chips. Even worse than death. I may actually become a vegetarian, or the one where you have fish as well. It's to help me lose weight and actually become healthy in a very general and loose sense. That would be nice. One can dream, eh?
Got back to the party eventually and ate the food there, like a complete social retard. I could feel what little reputation I had simply slipping away like uncooked chicken held by a spastic. That's not politically correct, but I'm drunk. As if that's an excuse. However, I felt better and started drinking vodka and whatever else. All this after my blog post telling people not to drink. Pathetic. While all this is happening, my friend talks to someone that I may like too much, which make me hate him. I actually hate him whenever it seems people that I introduced him to, like him more than they like me. This is incredibly petty and desperate, but I cannot help it. I'll figure out what's wrong with me later. I should stop talking about other people on this bog, it's unfair. They do not give consent after all, many don't know that I actually write this blog.
Right, after some "banter" at the party or whatever, we all took taxis to the club, missing out the pub. Scandal. And we had some delay after we had a free space that we needed to fill in the taxi, but nobody would get in, which led to shouting and fucking retardation. Sometimes, I hate the human race. Common sense eludes them, or perhaps seeing as I'm the only one that thinks this, common sense eludes me. Debate for another day. Maybe tomorrow, got nothing else to do, apart from read Paradise Lost.
Club. Entry. Skanking. A lot of people weren't up for dancing after about an hour, which was annoying. Somebody joined the queue, went to get money, but just went home. There was other stuff, but I've lost enthusiasm. However, two building mates got off with each other, which was like "Woah!". Except, the girl immediately went after someone else, which seems a bit whorish and a bit deamenaing to the guy. Perhaps. On the other hand, it was a drunk, club getting off, which hardly means anything. Yet, I walked the guy home, as he was off his face and everyone else got a taxi whilst he was walking someone home. I joined them in a goodwill act to make sure he didn't smack his head off of the pavement, which would be a royal pain as he's a decent chap. Or whatever. No homo, because that is a major statement.
Got back to the building, saw people there that needed a key that we had. Kicked a vending machine. Went home. And that's that.
For some reason, I'm angry. More on this when I sober up. Don't know why, but it's annoying me ever so much. Peace out.
Thursday 10 February 2011
Alcoholism (or otherwise)
A common interpretation of university life is that it's a great "booze up". Or whatever. Now, let's get this straight: In Freshers' Week, your liver will be about half the size it was before Freshers'. I'm not a doctor, so I do not know if that's true or if it is even a bad thing. If you had a smaller liver, you would need less food? Therefore, saving money? Yeah?
Now, I have a close, intimate relationship with alcohol. Me and it are amazing fuck buddys, one whom I tend to see every day, apart from Sundays and Thursdays. Sometimes on Sunday. Whatever. I am talking about this as I have had a breakthrough. Alcohol, in excess, isn't that great. I had no idea. There should be some sort of advert telling everyone about this, except without that RoboCop guy that just makes me think about RoboCop. So I drink to forget about RoboCop.
There are several side-effects to consuming alcohol:
NUMBER ONE: LOSS OF SPEECH CENSORSHIP
Loss of censoring your speech leads to general embarrassment/harassment. Here are a few examples of what can be said when intoxicated (all true and from me):
I fell up some club stairs and then tripped on a toga. Danced like an epileptic at a rave next to a dying sun on speed. Yeah. Tripping over an open door. Tripping over a closed door. The loss of all control is a very scary thought, this also applies to the speech point. Everything that was once your kingdom is now sort fo equal and has a fair share in what happens in your movement. And you get kicked out of clubs.
NUMBER THREE: LOSS OF THE ABILITY TO EJACULATE
Self-explanatory.
NUMBER FOUR: LOSS OF HYDRATION
"More water, please! Or vodka..."
It leads to ill health the next day. Absolutely awful. Also leads to:
NUMBER FIVE: CHUNDER
Self-explanatory
NUMBER SIX: GENERAL DICKISHNESS
Story time, ladies and gentlemen, of last Friday night. At a flat pre-drinking before some school fancy dress night. I managed to wolf down three cans of Strongbow and a mate had one, because he's a git who didn't bring any. By then, I was pretty tipsy. Despite being made out of the souls of undead orphans and piss, Strongbow does the job. I managed to make a few sexist remarks on the cusp and talk about how fat I am. General dickishness.
Then, it was off to the pub, where pitchers of Strongbow were only six quid. Bang. In there. Drank that and made myself drunker. Attempted to play pool and lost, but not by a large margin, there was some damage limitation. 15-Love, life. Shots. Call a taxi and ignore the girl I've slept with. Even though she's a bitch and wants us to be together forever and keeps spreading the fact that we slept together. Whatever. Slapped a girl's arse. I didn't know her name, turns out I did. General dickishness.
Got a taxi with Mr Taxi Driver. Yeah, him. £2 each. Bargain, yet I argued until I was dragged out of the taxi. Wahoo. Queued up in the line and asked the bouncer whether there was a union and if I could be initiated. Nearly ended with none of us getting into the club. And I tripped up the steps. General dickishness.
Free entry, therefore...vodka. And alcopops. That's the only thing they sell in clubs. We see a girl who's birthday it is and the rest of her party. The party we decided not to go to.
"It's her, man."
"Oh yeah...let's go say hi!"
General dickishness.
So on and so forth. Got a picture taken and the woman said she was moving onto a different club, so I called her a camera slut. G.D.
CONCLUSION
All of these things involve losing something. Be careful when out with your friends and drinking, I say this to my one follower (official follower anyway). Stay safe, now you know.
Do not drink. Unless it's a Sunday.
Now, I have a close, intimate relationship with alcohol. Me and it are amazing fuck buddys, one whom I tend to see every day, apart from Sundays and Thursdays. Sometimes on Sunday. Whatever. I am talking about this as I have had a breakthrough. Alcohol, in excess, isn't that great. I had no idea. There should be some sort of advert telling everyone about this, except without that RoboCop guy that just makes me think about RoboCop. So I drink to forget about RoboCop.
There are several side-effects to consuming alcohol:
NUMBER ONE: LOSS OF SPEECH CENSORSHIP
Loss of censoring your speech leads to general embarrassment/harassment. Here are a few examples of what can be said when intoxicated (all true and from me):
- This club is as empty as a Muslim's vagina!
- Hello, Mr Taxi Driver! Now, Mr Taxi Driver take me to this club! Have you got a card? No? Disappointing, Mr Taxi Driver!
- I hope your vagina is as small as your tits.
- Maybe I'll regenerate, like Buddhists or those ones with the orange Voldemort cloaks.
- Is your boyfriend bigger than me? Like, yno, BIGGER?
- My friend is in the IRA or Real Madrid. One or the other.
- I have met Mr Blobby, he touched me and then bought me a kebab.
- What is the strongest alcohol you have here? I'll take that, Mr McIntyre! See you on the Roadshow!
- Are we human or are we wankers?!
I fell up some club stairs and then tripped on a toga. Danced like an epileptic at a rave next to a dying sun on speed. Yeah. Tripping over an open door. Tripping over a closed door. The loss of all control is a very scary thought, this also applies to the speech point. Everything that was once your kingdom is now sort fo equal and has a fair share in what happens in your movement. And you get kicked out of clubs.
NUMBER THREE: LOSS OF THE ABILITY TO EJACULATE
Self-explanatory.
NUMBER FOUR: LOSS OF HYDRATION
"More water, please! Or vodka..."
It leads to ill health the next day. Absolutely awful. Also leads to:
NUMBER FIVE: CHUNDER
Self-explanatory
NUMBER SIX: GENERAL DICKISHNESS
Story time, ladies and gentlemen, of last Friday night. At a flat pre-drinking before some school fancy dress night. I managed to wolf down three cans of Strongbow and a mate had one, because he's a git who didn't bring any. By then, I was pretty tipsy. Despite being made out of the souls of undead orphans and piss, Strongbow does the job. I managed to make a few sexist remarks on the cusp and talk about how fat I am. General dickishness.
Then, it was off to the pub, where pitchers of Strongbow were only six quid. Bang. In there. Drank that and made myself drunker. Attempted to play pool and lost, but not by a large margin, there was some damage limitation. 15-Love, life. Shots. Call a taxi and ignore the girl I've slept with. Even though she's a bitch and wants us to be together forever and keeps spreading the fact that we slept together. Whatever. Slapped a girl's arse. I didn't know her name, turns out I did. General dickishness.
Got a taxi with Mr Taxi Driver. Yeah, him. £2 each. Bargain, yet I argued until I was dragged out of the taxi. Wahoo. Queued up in the line and asked the bouncer whether there was a union and if I could be initiated. Nearly ended with none of us getting into the club. And I tripped up the steps. General dickishness.
Free entry, therefore...vodka. And alcopops. That's the only thing they sell in clubs. We see a girl who's birthday it is and the rest of her party. The party we decided not to go to.
"It's her, man."
"Oh yeah...let's go say hi!"
General dickishness.
So on and so forth. Got a picture taken and the woman said she was moving onto a different club, so I called her a camera slut. G.D.
CONCLUSION
All of these things involve losing something. Be careful when out with your friends and drinking, I say this to my one follower (official follower anyway). Stay safe, now you know.
Do not drink. Unless it's a Sunday.
Thursday 3 February 2011
Resuming University Education
Let's catch you up to speed. If that's a phrase.
There were exams, one on World Literature and English. The World Literature exam forced me to talk about disasters such as Hiroshima and 9/11 (the 9th of November obviously). The word "blag" pretty much sums up my exam, if "blag" was a word of course, though considering how liberal the dictionary is now, it may well be one. The second exam was on Shakespeare and I brought the Complete Works of Shakespeare with me. Seems like a smart idea, except I forgot a play by Ben Jonson which was studied alongside. A play I actually knew fairly well and fit into most of the questions. I didn't bring it. It caused a minor heart attack when I saw everyone bring two books out of their respective rucksacks instead of one. Also, the Coca Cola I had kept causing innappropriate burping during the exam. My social awkwarness is of my own making. Sad face.
Now, let's get onto the start of university and ReFreshers's Week. These weeks happen to coincide, which means I'd rather not get left behind than go to crappy events with higher prices. The events scattered around the week are the same events that are usually on in Aberdeen anyway, except with double the queue and drinks cost that little bit more. Just to rub the dead souls of orphans into the wound. Wow, my mind is warped.
There is also the matter of the ReFreshers' Fayre. We're a red brick university so we spell everything as if we're bastards, you see. I was there representing the Comedy Society, fully readyu to brag about my gig that I did without them. I never got around to it, as it's actually a fully arrogant thing to do. Plus, it entertains absolutely nobody. The main attraction was us sitting there, occasionally blurting "We're funny, dammit!" to passers-by. Awkward. However, we did get a few people to sign up and come along to the meetings. More than the fucking Amnesty Society anyway. Fuck them and their human rights.
Oh yeah, I missed the first lecture of the semester again. Not usually a problem, except I only have one lecture a week on that subject, so I'm one 12th of the course behind already. That could actually make a percentage, not that I'll bother. If somebody's moaning because I do not know it off by heart, go away. Bad vibes. Not today.
Oh yeah, people are pulling all around me. I may have to become an idiot and start.
I love being on a pedastal of my own creation. Peace out.
There were exams, one on World Literature and English. The World Literature exam forced me to talk about disasters such as Hiroshima and 9/11 (the 9th of November obviously). The word "blag" pretty much sums up my exam, if "blag" was a word of course, though considering how liberal the dictionary is now, it may well be one. The second exam was on Shakespeare and I brought the Complete Works of Shakespeare with me. Seems like a smart idea, except I forgot a play by Ben Jonson which was studied alongside. A play I actually knew fairly well and fit into most of the questions. I didn't bring it. It caused a minor heart attack when I saw everyone bring two books out of their respective rucksacks instead of one. Also, the Coca Cola I had kept causing innappropriate burping during the exam. My social awkwarness is of my own making. Sad face.
Now, let's get onto the start of university and ReFreshers's Week. These weeks happen to coincide, which means I'd rather not get left behind than go to crappy events with higher prices. The events scattered around the week are the same events that are usually on in Aberdeen anyway, except with double the queue and drinks cost that little bit more. Just to rub the dead souls of orphans into the wound. Wow, my mind is warped.
There is also the matter of the ReFreshers' Fayre. We're a red brick university so we spell everything as if we're bastards, you see. I was there representing the Comedy Society, fully readyu to brag about my gig that I did without them. I never got around to it, as it's actually a fully arrogant thing to do. Plus, it entertains absolutely nobody. The main attraction was us sitting there, occasionally blurting "We're funny, dammit!" to passers-by. Awkward. However, we did get a few people to sign up and come along to the meetings. More than the fucking Amnesty Society anyway. Fuck them and their human rights.
Oh yeah, I missed the first lecture of the semester again. Not usually a problem, except I only have one lecture a week on that subject, so I'm one 12th of the course behind already. That could actually make a percentage, not that I'll bother. If somebody's moaning because I do not know it off by heart, go away. Bad vibes. Not today.
Oh yeah, people are pulling all around me. I may have to become an idiot and start.
I love being on a pedastal of my own creation. Peace out.
Sunday 23 January 2011
My Birthday
I didn't keep the New Year Resolution to turn this weekly. In 23 days, I have written two blog entries. Ouch. That's embarrassing and I would feel bad if I had an audience, which I don't.
Right, I turned 19 a couple of days ago. I awoke to several Facebook notifications, which in the modern day, is the equivalent of waking up on Christmas Day to find all of your family members alive and drunk with presents underneath the tree. Or whatever. Tortured metaphors aside, that was reasonably nice to see, especially as some were not of the "Happy Birthday!!1" generic affair that you often see. I got about 90 of these over the day, maybe that number has been exagerrated to boost my ego, which is a fair amount.
Wait. It was 150 people. Yeah. 200.
The doorbell rang gleefully, despite it sounding like a gyre leading to madness, at 12:30. Two friends had come with cards, cakes, sweets and booze. I was taken too far aback by this, I wasn't expecting anything, I was expecting a quiet day that would be special and I wouldn't revise. Not that I revise anyway. I eventually decided I would go to town with them later and I would scope out a new guitar with the birthday money I received. This never happened, but complaining about it would seem ungrateful, not that it stopped me before.
Crude Facebook Event later and people were going to a friend's flat to commemorate THE BIG ONE NINE and I added invites as well and it seemed that it would be crap, but people would be there. This is how it turned out to be, but with a lot more conversation and chuckle. Eventually, we went to the pub and then to a club, which played glorious rock music all night long. The night was good, very good indeed, and everybody was up for it and had a good time. I was also drunk.
Wahoo.
Afterwards, I was put into a trolley and pushed home like the King that I was. We also met a Doctor, a real one, not one that has a PhD in Yachting or whatever. It was a good night, a very good night.
Yeah, that last paragraph should have been longer.
Right, I turned 19 a couple of days ago. I awoke to several Facebook notifications, which in the modern day, is the equivalent of waking up on Christmas Day to find all of your family members alive and drunk with presents underneath the tree. Or whatever. Tortured metaphors aside, that was reasonably nice to see, especially as some were not of the "Happy Birthday!!1" generic affair that you often see. I got about 90 of these over the day, maybe that number has been exagerrated to boost my ego, which is a fair amount.
Wait. It was 150 people. Yeah. 200.
The doorbell rang gleefully, despite it sounding like a gyre leading to madness, at 12:30. Two friends had come with cards, cakes, sweets and booze. I was taken too far aback by this, I wasn't expecting anything, I was expecting a quiet day that would be special and I wouldn't revise. Not that I revise anyway. I eventually decided I would go to town with them later and I would scope out a new guitar with the birthday money I received. This never happened, but complaining about it would seem ungrateful, not that it stopped me before.
Crude Facebook Event later and people were going to a friend's flat to commemorate THE BIG ONE NINE and I added invites as well and it seemed that it would be crap, but people would be there. This is how it turned out to be, but with a lot more conversation and chuckle. Eventually, we went to the pub and then to a club, which played glorious rock music all night long. The night was good, very good indeed, and everybody was up for it and had a good time. I was also drunk.
Wahoo.
Afterwards, I was put into a trolley and pushed home like the King that I was. We also met a Doctor, a real one, not one that has a PhD in Yachting or whatever. It was a good night, a very good night.
Yeah, that last paragraph should have been longer.
Tuesday 11 January 2011
Back to University.
University students have a dilemma, well, the ones that move away from home have the problem. Which is home? At your flat/whatever or at home? It's an interesting question, at least I think it is. It is one of the many things pondered on the seven hour train journey back to Aberdeen.
I also pondered:
If you have two homes, make sure they are not seven hours away. It's a royal pain.
I also pondered:
- What will my sitcom be about?
- Is Black Swan worth watching?
- Why are all the "Sounds of 2011" primarily shit?
- How many Come Dine With Me celebrity specials can they do?
- Why is he reading the Sunday Sun? Why is it called the Sunday Sun?
- Staff shortage?
- Where's the food trolley?
- Staff shortage.
- It took us this long to get to York?
- Is that snow? It better not be.
- She's a 7? Yeah, 7.
- Poland or Ukraine in 2012?
- Am I human or am I dancer?
If you have two homes, make sure they are not seven hours away. It's a royal pain.
Saturday 8 January 2011
It's a New Year.
The updating of this blog has been infrequent. My New Year's Resolution is to make it at least weekly. I didn't need any more as I am perfect. So there.
Christmas was a quiet affair and a nice one at that. I actually prefer it now to when relatives would come over and make it a huge dramatic ensemble play. One written by Ben Elton. That bad.
I received books and clothes. What I wanted and needed. Cannot complain, which makes this blog rather mundane, but there you have it.
Let's talk about the New Year's Eve celebrations.
I wanted to get out of the house for NYE, it would be my first without the family and I wanted it to be a good one. My parents like it to be a family thing, but I'm in my youth. Forget that. The problem is several people like to deploy the tactic, "I'll see what comes up," instead of giving a definite answer of whether they would like to do anything for NYE. Clubs were charging upwards of £30 for entry, even the bad ones. Yeah. You know the ones. With the 52 year old Asian man in the corner.
Ended up finding a NYE party at a decent sized pub and managed to get a few people to come as well. Plans were going well. Others were undecided, but I had five definites, which is enough for me not to care about anyone else.
The two coming with me didn't get tickets in advance, as it was said you could buy them at the door. SOLD OUT. That was a problem until we found a door, one metre away from the main entrance that was unguarded, or unbouncered. Easy. Wish I hadn't bought an advance ticket. It was about as useful as an inflatable dartboard. Or something written by Ben Elton. Zing.
Saw people we knew. Girls from another school, who took half an hour to recognise me. Hmmm. I need to become more memorable, like Raoul Moat. A friend decided to buy a round of drinks and we all wanted double vodkas with lemonade. £17.80. We bought no more drinks that night.
NEW YEAR'S! WHEY!
I remember no more of this night.
This entry in the blog is a disaster. Ben Elton wouldn't read this crap. Fucking Ben Elton.
Christmas was a quiet affair and a nice one at that. I actually prefer it now to when relatives would come over and make it a huge dramatic ensemble play. One written by Ben Elton. That bad.
I received books and clothes. What I wanted and needed. Cannot complain, which makes this blog rather mundane, but there you have it.
Let's talk about the New Year's Eve celebrations.
I wanted to get out of the house for NYE, it would be my first without the family and I wanted it to be a good one. My parents like it to be a family thing, but I'm in my youth. Forget that. The problem is several people like to deploy the tactic, "I'll see what comes up," instead of giving a definite answer of whether they would like to do anything for NYE. Clubs were charging upwards of £30 for entry, even the bad ones. Yeah. You know the ones. With the 52 year old Asian man in the corner.
Ended up finding a NYE party at a decent sized pub and managed to get a few people to come as well. Plans were going well. Others were undecided, but I had five definites, which is enough for me not to care about anyone else.
The two coming with me didn't get tickets in advance, as it was said you could buy them at the door. SOLD OUT. That was a problem until we found a door, one metre away from the main entrance that was unguarded, or unbouncered. Easy. Wish I hadn't bought an advance ticket. It was about as useful as an inflatable dartboard. Or something written by Ben Elton. Zing.
Saw people we knew. Girls from another school, who took half an hour to recognise me. Hmmm. I need to become more memorable, like Raoul Moat. A friend decided to buy a round of drinks and we all wanted double vodkas with lemonade. £17.80. We bought no more drinks that night.
NEW YEAR'S! WHEY!
I remember no more of this night.
This entry in the blog is a disaster. Ben Elton wouldn't read this crap. Fucking Ben Elton.
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