Thursday, 27 August 2009

Twenty-First Night - So Right for a Fight.


Interesting sort of day. Blimmin lovely in the afternoon. Tried a new piece of erotic literature. It was deeply sexy. I can't remember what it was now. Oh, it was about a film director.

I made the mistake of singling out a young lady who wasn't singing during the shanty, who happened to be a friend of a nice man I used to work with. So now I feel like a right old tosser.


Then the evening show was fantastic - a small crowd, but a really lovely one. Special thanks to Natasha and, shit, Rob? who heard Dora Dale on Radio 7, and were very encouraging.

And THEN - well. My first compering gig. Sowerby and Luff's Allstars, minus Sowerby, minus Luff, and plus Jake, and plus a nutter who wouldn't stop using his mobile phone through the whole show.

We got through it. The fabulous Katerina Vrana read some of my most lamentable erotic fiction (she elevated it for me, if you know what I mean, but, you know...) and she was wonderful. As were the other acts, Nick Helm, James Shakeshaft, and the Dog-Eared Collective.

And then after the show, Richard, the God of Trespassed-Against Comedians, burst out from behind the curtain, and yelled at the mobile phone guy, and then the landlord yelled at Richard, and I said "thank you for coming!" to the audience, and I don't think there will be any more of those shows.

And in all honesty, why should there? Not to cast nasturtiums, but, you know... If you tack your name to a show, I don't think it's really ok to sort of leave other people to get on with it.

Sorry if that sounds a little bitchy, but, you know. It's been a night for scrapping. I myself am going to go out and tell a local he looks like a pussy.



Shit. Ow.


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