Tuesday, 18 August 2009

Tuesday 18 August 2009

It is tough getting up this morning. I awaken to the sound of my Saxondale DVD (season 2) having been running on loop all night and I suspect I may have slept on top of the DVD player remote through the night as the batteries no longer appear to be working.

The day does not begin well when I leave my drive and almost pull out and into some poodling woman. This only happened because I was trying to concentrate and attempt to look through the three parked vehicles all getting in the way of my view/sight. I thought Layer Road was supposed to be tough on its parking restrictions.

Eventually I get to the car park and head to the station without bruise or batter. As I pass one of the grotty houses in the Chav ghetto portion of Balkerne Heights I hear an alarm clock buzzing non-stop suggesting that either somebody has died or someone left home without switching the fucker off. The noise is insane, piercing and especially bad considering that it can be heard outside on the street. This should serve to send the neighbours suitably insane today.

This morning National Express has the fucking gall to check our tickets. Currently the 12th September expiry date on my Travelcard has all but rubbed off and following the last fiasco of getting a replacement ticket (worked on trains but not on tubes) I am in no rush to get it done. Instead I am egging on and entertaining the thought of getting into an argument with an inspector over the lack of date.

The Wild Woman with wild hair is sat opposite me again today. Not the blonde one that looks like she has been dragged through a bush, this is the stringy brown haired crazy lady. She is only worth noting because she spends the journey writing out cheques in purple ink. Is that legal tender? Would that stand up in court? Who the hell fucking writes cheques on a train anyway? Surely that should not be allowed or accepted. And what does it say about the woman’s mentality to be writing in purple? What kind of statement does the purple make? That she is childish and bloody minded? I then notice her PVC bag is also purple and her wild hair is tinged with a purple touch. She sure likes purple and she sure has a lot of bills – coincidence? I don’t think so. Purple is a fruit. Also I wonder if she would like my purple magic wand?

Today the train beaches twice outside Liverpool Street. It is frustrating and tiresome and the definite source of conflict coming in the near future. The train eventually trolls into the station at 8.05AM – the daily predictable fucking rubbish.

Heading to the tube platform I see the Chinese OCD Man holding and flattening the discarded copies of The Metro. He looks like a man on a mission.

Once past him when I get to the platform for some reason the tube is just going to Farringdon. Problems.

As I watch around me on the tube platform I find myself spooked as a thin lookalike of my American Friend is suddenly standing behind me locked into her iPod for that added element/air of authenticity and being Mindy (glued to her pod as she was/is). Fortunately I soon shake it off and realise just how fucking stupid I am being.

When a train finally turns up some troll in a hajib keeps pushing me from behind but accepted social conventions dictate that there is absolutely nothing I can do about this other than to allow her to keep on prodding me with her dick.

Later as I ride the tube from Baker Street to St Johns Wood it suddenly occurs to me that I am wearing the same clothes that I slept in Saturday night. Things need to change.

As I emerge from St Johns Woods station I see the Azmei lookalike from the other day again. This causes sadness in my soul and my loins.

There is a freshness attached to the air this morning, even in North London the city that is smog central. I do not bother to restart my iPhone when the loop finishes and as a result all that can now be heard are foreign words and accents. The air makes me feel good and puts optimism on my side. With no cunting kids from the various schools around to ruin the place more than ever I GET St Johns Wood.

I don’t think I do anything for fun anymore instead everything I do these days would appear engineered to rack up experience.

For once Nora beats me into the office but The Girl texts to say that she is going to be late.

Not long after The Girl trots in around 10AM I interrupt/disturb her Facebook fun to ask if she would make us a drink. As a result of this request she kicks off. Her attitude gets to me today, she’s too uppity but then again as she is taking a pink pencil case to the bathroom with her I take it that she is on the blob.

One of the main news stories today is how the average debt to go to university is now £23K. This figures rings terrifyingly around my head and should really be resonating with The Girl considering she is about to begin an access course with view to heading to university herself. Perhaps it’s a good thing I didn’t go to university after all.

The day rolls out without any further drama. I leave The Girl to get on with it and eventually she comes around but it doesn’t really matter to me either way as I still have a lot to be getting on with.

Eventually home time comes around but for me this means heading to the Bloomsbury Theatre to check out the new RICKY GERVAIS show “Science.” In the run up to tonight I hadn’t been overly enthused but now the show is becoming a reality I find myself feeling very excited.

I head over to Euston Square with ease and pick up my ticket with all signs pointing to it being an early one tonight. Bonus. Not fancying hanging around in the bar area I head to the Bloomsbury Waterstones where I snag a quick Costa while reading tonight’s free newspaper.

When I return to Bloomsbury Theatre I find myself bumping into a couple of extras from the Colchester train in the mornings. I just about acknowledge their existence as the guy blanks me entirely.

Its really exciting to be back at the Bloomsbury. I think the last time I was here was to see Douglas Coupland do a reading for The Gum Thief during he appeared to experience some kind of onstage meltdown. On that night he said it would be the last time he would be doing such an event but time has proved that to be a lie.

Onstage a large Science background glows as a brain in a jar bubbles to the left of it. This is exciting.

Before Gervais comes onstage he introduces RICHARD MORRIS to do a short support slot. I have never heard of this guy before but he deals out a pretty funny quick firing delivery of a set more akin to Tim Vine than anything really weighty. He is Welsh and at times begins to remind of Mark Watson but it ultimately fun and appreciated by the relatively straight audience in the house.

Eventually RICKY GERVAIS takes to the stage after a short faux ego driven introduction. He speeds onto stage riding a Seque before exiting on the other side of the stage. It’s the kind of smugness we have come to accept and enjoy from Gervais.

He opens with some kind of disclaimer about it being a work in progress before pointing out the cheap price of tickets and reminding the audience of how lucky they are. From here he goes through a list of his accomplishments and announces that with that in mind he is now going on Britain’s Got Talent. Soon this prompts a rant about Amanda Holden that is tabloid and extremely vindictive and mainly very funny. You have to wonder how a person can get away with saying such things about a public figure but then you remember what and who the piece of work in question is and it only serves to be funnier.

With any kind of Science content seemingly a long away GERVAIS then launches into one of his customary off colour anecdotes now describing his experience of watching a mental person watching Ken Dodd. In doing so he takes every opportunity to strike a Ken Dodd pose and every time it hits he nails the audience gaining laughter. The bit is in affect a nasty piece describing a person with learning difficulties rubbing herself, bordering on excited masturbation in public while watching the entertainment that is Dodd. Perhaps it speaks volumes about the mean spirited demeanour that I carry but this is often when I feel GERVAIS is in his element, when he is at his purist and definitely when he is being his nastiness. Here is a comedian that likes to play with the conventions of political correctness but you also sense that occasionally his own virtues suffer as casualties in the process. Similarly he comes over equally as mean when describing other subhuman types in the form of autograph hunters.

Eventually the Science element of the set begins but it more takes the shape as some kind of anti religion dissection of a Noah book by Dove that he was given in Sunday school. As the book appears on a screen behind him GERVAIS takes up the role of some kind of lecturer and authority using a pointer to highlight discrepancies and inaccuracies within a forty plus year old child’s book. One could say this is a soft target but as the chuckles continue to flow and follow you benefit the doubt of his intentions.

As I write this I feel I am looking for reasons to dislike the set/show. Rather than wholeheartedly diving in with both feet and allowing myself to just be entertained by the comedy of the piece suddenly I find I am applying too much analysis to what is being performed in front of me. Such is the sadness of your average RICKY GERVAIS fan I have been lead to believe (very much suffers of Morrissey fan syndrome).

From here he moves onto further liberal baiting material with his gay material that really seems to be condemning everyone involved in the piece, not that his description of a “reach round” is not funny and the stunted justification of a circle jerk that just does not go. Ultimately it is all about the context of the jokes, which is the point he labours to make towards the end as he seemingly attempts to defend himself from being accused of being a performer akin to Jim Davidson, a person in the mainstream that is just horrible. This is a sink that could sink in on him. It is at this point he cleverly tells a joke about a little girl in conversation with her dad that has paedophile connotations and seems designed to split an audience, which unfortunately it does as I laugh when few around do also. What is that supposed to say about me?

Ultimately there is a sense of mischief that still surrounds his performance and it is this that makes RICKY GERVAIS appealing to me. I don’t feel enlightened by anything he says but I am amused, appreciative that there is actually something in there that other comedians are not actually doing. This to me is charisma, the element that makes a career enduring and lasting. Here is a man capable of saying some of the worst and nastiest stuff imaginable while also being able to convince an audience that there is not a mean bone in his body. This was something Rodney Dangerfield was also very skilful at (albeit it in a tamer fashion).

The show ends with the biggest bollock drop yet, with a punchline that even GERVAIS seems ashamed of as he spots a person in the crowd videoing him and he politely asks the guy to stop filming. After going to great lengths to justify his own prejudices over a suspicious looking Asian man boarding his plane, the man then gets revealed as having a family in tow. As the screaming annoyance from the daughters of the man begin to refocus his disdain for the individual GERVAIS snaps in the punchline “you’d better get used to their screaming for when you cut their clitorises out mate” and with it once more GERVAIS manages to genuinely shock (and probably) offend his audience which Larry David would probably describe as “hey, he took a risk.”

I leave the Bloomsbury Theatre buzzing and excited having gained so much more from GERVAIS than I was expecting. Here is one of my old heroes still displaying how he very much still has “it”. As I immediately put a rave description on Twitter I question why I had ever doubted him.

With the show ending just before 9PM I find myself emerging into the beautiful neon and dust mash up of Bloomsbury at twilight during the height of summer. At this time no place is better than this. The sights I see take away my breath and will always be the visions that cling to me when I think of Central London.

I manage to get to Liverpool Street for 9.20PM which lends me the opportunity to snag a flapjack while still getting a fast Norwich train home (the 9.30PM).

On the train home I indulge in some kind of online frenzy, a gesture to display just how great my life is and can be. These are my feeble attempts to sell myself. I also check on the football where I discover that Millwall have beaten Oldham 2-0 including an injury time goal from Super Neil Harris.

Things seldom get as good as this.

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