Thursday
25th to Sunday 28th
Here
it is - the final letter from Edinburgh. So,
let's try, in a pathetic attempt to draw to a satisfying conclusion,
to make some sense of this crazy thing called the Festival.
The
final Thing I Don't Understand is …
The
Edinburgh Festival Fringe.
I
don't understand how something that began as a response against the
conformity of the Festival could end up being such a bankrupt, sell-out,
corporate whore. "Here it is!" screams the hype. "Here is the alternative
flowering of all things dramatic and comedic. Here, in all it's glory,
is the finest and most 'out there' expression of our culture!"
The
reality? If you can't afford a press agent and a marketing budget
that would impress Croesus, then you're coming simply to appease your
ego. If you think that this place is some kind of meritocracy, then
think again. The major media outlets aren't in the business of embracing
the genuinely 'out there' and, if you are even vaguely amateurish
then woe betide you if you actually get covered by any of the orthodox
media because they will rip your best efforts to shreds. This isn't
sour grapes, by the way - by and large they've been very kind to me.
I
shouldn't have been surprised really. If history shows us anything,
it's that the 'alternative' rapidly becomes the 'establishment' -
at least if it makes money. There's nothing remotely alterative about
the Edinburgh Festival Fringe. It's a place of massive conformity
and an audience with sheep-like qualities. Nobody wants to think,
nobody wants to be challenged, nobody wants anything but 'entertainment'.
I knew it before I came here but I've had it proved to me time and
time again. Sadly, there's no consolation in being right.
So,
the audiences have flocked to the likes of Danny Bhoy and Omid Djalili
and The Odd Couple and they have laughed and they have been relieved
of the pain of living and they have emerged, blinking and sated, into
the Edinburgh night. And then, slowly but surely, that feeling of
being sated has turned into the feeling you get when you've had a
McDonalds - "That was nice at the time but now I feel sick."
Human
beings are an extraordinary thing. Our potential and capacity are
infinite. And we are wasting it. Throwing it away on things and pastimes
that are totally worthless and unworthy of attention or regard. We
turn away from the different and the strange because we like conformity
and we like to feel part of the crowd. It comforts us. But we deserve
so much more.
That's
something I understand.
I
just wish it wasn't so.
Chris/Phil
Wednesday
24th
"And now… the end is near…"
One more missive after today from me, here at the Edinburgh Festival.
I'll sum up tomorrow but, in the meantime, what can I tell you that
you don't already know? I don't know how I'll be able to live once
it's over - once I actually care what's happening in the rest of the
world again. What's on the news - which celebrity is shagging who
- what's in, what's out - what flavour of Ben and Jerry's is floating
people's boats… I think I may just be grasped by inexplicable urges
to give people leaflets and beg them uncontrollably to come and see
my show - even when I no longer have a show for them to come and see…
This place has become my whole life, so much so that today I can't
think of a single thing I don't understand…
I'm fucking knackered… Four more shows to go… God, they're going to
be good… do come along, you won't regret it… I promise I'll be full
of energy for you…
Really…
Chris
Tuesday
23rd
Hello children! Here we are again for another fun-filled Edinburgh
day where the clouds scud happily across the wide Scottish sky and
the rain lashes down like a bastard. Today is the day of a certain
prize's nomination announcement. Am I excited? You bet your fucking
arse I am! It's been a long hard road but I know that this year I
will finally crack it and hold aloft the little metal bottle and everybody
in the entire universe WILL FINALLY HAVE TO ACCEPT THAT I AM THE VERY
BEST STAND-UP COMEDIAN IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD!!!!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Sorry… No, I'm not actually expecting to be nominated really, I mean,
I've been consistently ignored by audiences up here so it would seem
totally stupid for a commercial enterprise to celebrate somebody who
they can't make money from. I mean, it stands to reason, don't it
squire
Let's try in our last few days together to try and rise above all
the media hoopla and navel gazing up here and go back to a happier
time when all we cared about was 'Things I Don't Understand.' Shall
we? Yes, Chris, let's!
I don't understand mobile phones. Plenty to talk about here. I've
got one, of course I have. I held out for as long as I possibly could
but in the end I had to capitulate. But I don't actually need the
fucking thing. Who really does? And of course I'm one of the fraternity
who don't have a contract and have to top up my phone in the pathetic
way allotted to us - by handing over our card in supermarkets. And
that, of course, means that I can't update my phone to the very latest
model every two days. "Oh, this one's got Bluetooth, this one's got
a video camera, you can watch TV on this one, you get free porn downloads
on this one, this one will wank you off and not charge you afterwards,
this one, this one, this one" - why do we fucking need all this shit????
I'm not just backlashing like a born again oldie against 'modern technology',
I'm just very calmly asking: why is any of this stuff NECESSARY? It
isn't, is it? "No, Chris, it's not really. But I don't want to be
laughed at in the playground cos I'm not cool and trendy enough."
And, make no mistake, we never really leave the playground - whether
at work or in the pub - we're all still in short trousers looking
up to the cool kids who have the trendy clothes and the trendy haircuts.
Let me today relieve you of this burden and, once again, get all new-agey
on you: You are enough. Naked and bare on the face of a planet in
a cosmos you cannot possibly understand. Nothing will make you any
more significant and why should you need it to?
You are enough.
To quote HRH Hicks: Sleep tight.
Chris
Monday
22nd
Right, this is getting weird now… I've been nominated for an award…
it doesn't really matter which one but, suffice it to say, it isn't
the one named after a bottle of fizzy water. This is the first time
in my life I've ever been nominated for an award and I really don't
know how to feel about it. In my previous un-nominated life I've always
rather scoffed at the notion of awards and assured myself that I don't
need them and anybody who seeks them is just a sad, lonely person
who seeks validation for their existence through the approbation of
others. But now that there's at least a chance that I could get one…
I think they're the greatest fucking thing since sliced bread! I think
they are a fantastic way to celebrate the wide cultural diversity
of a festival such as this and I wholeheartedly believe that they
should be supported. Of course, I don't really mind if I don't win
- after all, it's just nice to be nominated and that's enough for
me. It's great to be included in a field of such talented people and
I will feel great about myself for the foreseeable future just knowing
that somebody likes me enough to consider me for such a thing…
(… you hypocritical wanker…)
No, really, I know what I said in the past about them but I just couldn't
see them from the right perspective but now that I do…
(…wanker…)
Honestly, I really…
( … )
OH ALRIGHT! I KNOW I'M A HYPOCRITE! I KNOW I'M SHALLOW! AND, YES,
OF COURSE I WANT TO FUCKING WIN!!!!! Are you out of your mind? Do
you seriously think I want to sit there at the awards ceremony and
clap for some other wanker who is clearly much less talented than
myself, all the time keeping a rictus grin on my face that says 'I'm
such a lovely, magnanimous guy that I never really wanted to win in
the first place'? OF COURSE I WANT TO WIN!!!! I want to win and have
everybody in the room love me and tell me how great I am and have
all the other people who were nominated have to shake my hand and
pretend that they're pleased for me when really they want to slip
date rape drugs into my drink and drop me off in the roughest part
of Edinburgh in full make-up and a tutu!
I've never understood the way people behave at awards ceremonies.
The person I most respect? Samuel L Jackson. When he was nominated
for an Oscar for Pulp Fiction after years of struggle and drug addiction
and bit parts, did Sam want to win? You bet your fucking arse, he
did! When the award was announced and Sam, along with his fellow nominees
who'd lost, was sitting in the cold rush of defeat, did he smile magnanimously
and clap the bastard that beat him? No, he did not. In front of the
cameras and a massive worldwide audience, Sam clearly mouthed the
word 'SHIT!' I love him for that and, rest assured, when I don't win
on Sunday, I'm going to behave in homage to Sam… I'm going to turn
tables over and heckle the winners acceptance speech and generally
make a right cunt out of myself.
But, of course, I don't really want to win…
No, honestly…
Chris
Friday
19th, Saturday 20th & Sunday 21st
Erm…
hello…
So, anyway, they tell me that week two of the festival is really the
hardest and it's usually at this point that you wonder what the hell
you are doing there in the first place and contemplate suicide/murder…
I've just re-read last weeks entries… sorry… seems like it happened
to me… just a little bit… but it's tough up here, you know? People
elsewhere - where real life carries on as normal - don't realise what
a pressure cooker atmosphere there is up here and how it can really
mess with your head.
Anyway… Somebody saw the show and reviewed it on Chortle.co.uk - "Pretentious
bullshit … don't give up the day job." Now, they always say that you
shouldn't respond to criticism and I fully agree. However in this
case… YOU THICK, MINDLESS CUNT!!!! If you'd actually bothered to read
any of the marketing blurb instead of brainlessly buying a ticket
cos you thought it might be comedy then you'd realise that I'm having
a go at thick mindless cunts like yourself. "Oh, it wasn't funny!"
You know what, mate? You aren't funny - with your attention span that
makes a gnats look positively gargantuan and your inability to take
in any idea that might stretch your mental capacity beyond that of
rubber band! We live in a country where we celebrate Victoria Beckham
who blithely announced this week that she's never read a book. You
deserve all the mindless, empty entertainment fodder you get, you
bovine moron. Fuck you, fuck your entire family and the sooner you
die, the sooner there's a little bit more air left in the world for
people who actually contribute something of value to the human race.
Never read your reviews…
One week to go… I-pods. Why exactly do we need to take our entire
CD collection with us wherever we go? Is it vital to our lives? No.
So, why do we need it? We don't. So why do we want it? Because we've
been convinced that it will somehow enhance our lives. Look at all
the adverts on TV and at the cinema - mobile phones that double as
cameras, video cameras, radios, mp3 players, arse wipers, blood pressure
checkers, fuel gauges, games stations, e-mail computers etc etc etc…
Do we need them? No. Are they vital? No. Do we want them? Of course
we fucking do. Cos if we don't have them then we are somehow left
behind in the race to be the coolest most up-to-the-minute wanker
on the face of the planet. Take my advice: throw it all away and go
to a monastery for a year. That'll put it all in perspective. Got
air in your lungs? Yes. Got something to eat? Yes. Got a place to
sleep? Yes. Then you've got everything you could possibly ever need.
All together now … OOOOOMMMMMMMM …
"Don't give up the day job." CUNT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
OOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMM…
Chris
Thursday
18th
OK,
right, the fucking gloves are coming off …
Yesterday
I discovered that I had been reviewed by the Stage - not a publication
that I expected to cover my show but, beggars can't be choosers, especially
since the Independent and the Scotsman STILL HAVEN'T FUCKING PUBLISHED
THEIR REVIEWS!!!!! COME ON, FOR FUCKS SAKE - WE'RE ALL GOING TO BE
DEAD SOON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Anyway,
the Stage said lots of nice things and ended with the following line
- Powerful, challenging, unmissable.
Let
me just repeat that - Powerful, challenging, unmissable. Unmissable.
6
people saw my show yesterday.
6.
Tell
me, how many people do you think sat through the execrable dreck that
is the current production of The Odd Couple yesterday? 800?
1000? A production that has been universally panned - even if the
critics had loved it we all know in our hearts that it would still
be a giant, cynical, cold-hearted, theatrical turd - a production
that gives knew meaning to the phrase 'scraping the bottom of the
barrel' - a production that the mere thought of its existence makes
me want to castrate myself with an HIV-positive junkie's cooking-up
spoon. 800 people saw it yesterday and 6 saw me.
That's
it. That's what I don't understand today and, frankly, I don't give
a flying fuck if it's not funny cos, the truth is, it simply isn't.
It's
not funny at all.
Chris.
Wednesday
17th
How fucking long do you have to wait in this town before the people
that review your show actually PRINT THE FUCKING THING????!!! I had
The Independent in last week and The Scotsman came on
Saturday and today (when I'm writing this) it's Thursday morning and
still nothing. How long does it take? I mean, I know there's rather
a lot going on here and they have to try and cover everything but,
believe me, I'm starting to get a bit paranoid about it now. Not that
the reviews are necessarily going to be good, of course, I'm aware
of that. But since we give the fuckers free tickets to see the fucking
show you'd think they would return the favour by getting their thumbs
out of their arses and publish the fucking things!!!
As you can tell, dear lonely reader, I'm starting to lose it somewhat
up here. It's a hermetically sealed world where anything else that
might be going on elsewhere loses all importance or meaning and all
you care about day to day is how many people are coming to see your
show and how many reviews you've got and you spend all your time watching
crowds of people queuing up to see shite that you've already yawned
through and wanting to surgically remove their taste sensors because
they're clearly fucked…
11 shows down, 11 to go… I'll never make it…
Last night's show was made more interesting by the fact that there
was an extremely large woman in the audience. There is a great deal
of material in the show that talks about fat people… to say that I
was uncomfortable is a fucking understatement and I can only begin
to imagine how she must have felt. For the record, the references
to fat people in the show are my feeble attempt to mirror the media's
OBSESSION with obesity, as if it's the biggest (no pun intended) problem
we face as a society. Now, I'm no sociologist but… surely we should
look at the root causes of why we've been brainwashed as a race to
believe that we should behave rather like pigs at a trough, rather
than demonising the poor fuckers who've become trapped in their own
flesh? Love, if you're reading this, I hope you got the point and
didn't feel that it was an attack on you. And if you did then I hope
you'll realise that I'm not that fucking cruel. I mean, look at me,
I'm hardly fucking svelte myself…
Things I don't understand… oh, seriously, who really gives a fuck?
No fucker's reading this anyway… I don't understand why I bother.
You try and create something that you think might have something important
and honest to say and you present it to people in the spirit of communication
and love… and you feel like you've offered them a piece of your own
shite in a box, wrapped up with a nice bow. Our capacity as a race
to celebrate the banal and mediocre whilst totally ignoring the original
and exciting never ceases to amaze me. Look at Van Gogh - the poor
mental bastard cut his own ear off and then blew his brains out -
maybe if one or two people told him while he was alive that 'Sunflowers'
would end up on every toilet wall worldwide he wouldn't have bothered.
Mind you, maybe he would…
Is it worse to be accepted by people whose values you despise than
for them to completely ignore you, thus proving you were right in
the first place? Discuss…
Chris
Tuesday
16th
I think I've got this leafleting thing going pretty
well now… I just hold them out and ask if the person will do me a
favour and drop it in a bin further down the road. Seems to work -
as to whether it's leading to anybody coming to see my show, well
I can't be expected to think of everything, can I?
No news as to the culprits of the cancelled signs - Jimmy Carr has
obviously got wind that I'm wise to his little scheme and is keeping
his head down. I'm in the middle of my second week here now and I
think I can safely say that I've come to a conclusion: I fucking hate
it here. Any pretence that this place is somehow some great example
of artistic flowering and solidarity is about as believable as a political
manifesto. It's a scabrous, unto-itself, dog-eat-dog, small minded
little festival of shit that parades itself as a cultural explosion
but is actually a cultural implosion. You put all this stuff together
in one place and what do you really get? A load of fucking luvvies
luvvying it in the desperate hope that someone on the inside will
finally notice them for the undiscovered genius that they are and
give them the keys to the big time.
And if you think I'm bitter… then you're fucking right!
Today - what don't I understand? Taste. Other people's taste. I'm
sitting in Starbucks typing this - I'm not buying their fucking coffee,
before you ask - and the bland MOR shite that passes for music in
this place is a classic fucking example. We're going to be dead a
long time, people. Why do we want to spend any of the precious moments
we have alive on this planet listening to corporate shite? Easy listening
- fuck off! I want to live every moment like I'm walking along the
edge of a razor blade and the slightest misstep means I tumble down
and slice my bollocks off - how exactly can Nora Jones help me to
do that? "She can help you to chill out, man." Why this fucking OBSESSION
with chilling out? Where exactly is all this stress that we need to
chill out from? Try popping back a few hundred years while everybody
around you is dropping dead of the Bubonic plague - now those people
really needed Katie Melua! She would have helped them relax. It's
all shit, all of it and I want no part of it. Come and see my show
- I promise you'll leave feeling better. At least once the show's
over…
Chris
Monday
15th
The plot thickens … I have a rather attractive
selection of posters around the town - who is putting them up, I don't
know - and somebody is very kindly pasting 'CANCELLED' over them for
me. Now, I know that I could do with a break and I'm hardly setting
the town on fire up here BUT … can you just belt up?! Everybody says
that the festival - which I understand happens here every year (how
could I have missed that?!) - is very quiet this year. Who knows why?
Bombs… maybe. If you're trying to tell me that there are no Americans
here then I'm going to tell you to go and have a look at Pigsknuckle,
Arkansas because the fucking place must be a ghost town. Even if the
place is quiet, my audience is hardly threatening the big boys. I
don't think Jimmy Carr is coming off stage after his show going "Yeah,
that thousand people was OK but there was a hole of about four or
five people. Where the fuck were they?" "Oh, they're at Chris Rich's
show, Jimmy." "Right…" I'll keep you informed, dear loyal reader,
of what transpires over the next few days. Suffice it to say I'm a
bit fucking pissed off about it…
Today's
TIDU … Last night I had a night off and I went to see Crash
at the cinema… I don't like seeing other comics… laughter messes with
my carefully constructed demeanour of dark cynicism. Anyway, three
girls (women, ladies, whatever…) sat behind me. Now, regular readers
of this column will remember an earlier one about cinema food. Well,
these women had clearly eaten prior to the film - THANK FUCK! - but
this meant that they had plenty of energy available for kicking the
back of my seat and… talking. Now, if they were just morons who didn't
like the film then clearly I would have turned round and bitten their
fucking heads off but they would just have been idiots. But, no, they
loved the film. They loved it so much that they wanted to talk about
every interesting plot nuance as it happened. 'Aaaah, bless him. Oh,
no, that's awful.' 'Why's he done that?' I was inclined to turn round
and explain that 'he'd done that' because he is a character in a film
and his actions move the plot along but her friend was quite capable
of getting there before me and breaking down the characters actions
into the TINIEST FUCKING MINUTE DETAIL. Can we, once and for all agree
that WE DON'T FUCKING TALK IN A CINEMA?!!!??? It isn't a social event
and I don't give a fuck what you do in the privacy of your room when
you rent the DVD from Blockbuster. I'm sitting in front of you, I
paid for my ticket and I have a brain that functions and allows me
to process information without any assistance from you so SHUT THE
FUCK UP, YOU IGNORANT CUNTS!!!!!!!!
Thank you… You know, I'm glad I'm such a mellow guy because otherwise
I could get really stressed…
Chris
Friday
12th, Saturday 13th and Sunday 14th of August
What
a difference three days make … 72 little hours …
Hello
again, dear lonely, lonesome reader… I'm back, did you miss me? Was
your life bereft in my absence? I know it was and who can blame you
when you've got riveting stuff like this to read. Weird few days,
to say the least… three more shows in this competitive hellhole of
a city… three more days of 'would you like to come and see the best
show you've ever seen in your life?' … three more days of 'get the
fuck out of my face before I take that leaflet and introduce it to
your stomach the hard way!'… three more days …
The
show seems to have been going pretty well, I think. I guess I'm not
the best judge… people seem to laugh quite a bit … I suppose that's
a good sign, isn't it? I mean, so long as I'm succeeding in bringing
some much needed levity to their humdrum lives then I feel that my
time here isn't wasted. Had an interesting experience at yesterday
afternoon's show… some walkouts… Right, well, look… you're entitled
to walk out of anything you like, that's why we've got such big supermarkets
and everything but… if you're a critic, which one of these sad fuckers
appeared to be, then HOW FUCKING DARE YOU! Let me tell you now if
you write a review after seeing HALF A FUCKING SHOW then you shall
rot in the fires of hell for all eternity with Jade Goody regaling
you with tales of her latest breast op!!! The two ladies who left
during the bit where I suggest that the Nuremberg rally was a stand-up
gig - ladies, I quite understand. Tricky stuff to find funny… fair
enough. BUT you'd already sat through an in depth description of some
sexual practices that would make the Marquis de Sade blush… and Hitler
was the straw that broke your personal camels back?!! Clearly jokes
about the Fuhrer are absolutely off limits. Let me say now categorically
- there are no subjects that are off limits for comedy. None whatsoever.
End of fucking story.
Today's
thing I don't understand… I appreciate this shows me to be the ageing,
prejudicial, judgemental wanker that I clearly am but… piercings.
Not all piercings. I mean, ears - fair enough. Belly buttons - sure,
if it's what you want to do. Lips, noses - knock yourself out. Must
be fun trying to get through airport security. No, the ones I don't
understand are … eyebrow piercings. Why would you want one of those?
A - You look like a complete and utter wanker. B - They just make
me want to rip them out and watch you screaming in agony with blood
squirting from your eyebrow. Along with all the tattoos and other
ways that the generation beneath me are, ahem, 'choosing to display
their individuality', I can't wait to see the old peoples homes in
60 years time. Saggy old cunts with hanging tatts on their upper arms
and the small of the back, raddled old piercings hanging off ageing
noses and bushy old eyebrows. But, no, it's just me, I know - go to
it. But if you SERIOUSLY think that this pointless self mutilation
is 'displaying your individuality', then allow me to disabuse you
of that notion. It simply proves how desperately you need somebody,
anybody to notice you - somebody to believe that you are unique and
special when the truth is… none of us are. We're as unique as bacteria
microbes in a Petri dish, friends. That's the truth and no amount
of rings in your eyebrows is going to change it. So just fucking deal
with it… Day off today - Monday - hurray - I'm so happy I could shit.
In fact, I think I will…
Aaaaaah,
that's better.
Chris
Thursday
11th August
Ok,
so clearly I'm starting to lose it up here since, after rereading
what I wrote, yesterday I wished you all a good weekend when it was
Wednesday, for fuck's sake! There's no way of knowing what day it
is here since every day is the same. More leaflets, more posters,
more people trying to persuade you that what you really need in life
is an hour sitting through some pointless shite - it's day and night,
24/7, total blanket coverage and I just want it to stop!!!!!!
…
but if you're looking for an entertaining show then you could do a
lot worse than catch mine … 5pm, Wildman Room at the Assembly Rooms
on George Street … believe me, the five people I played to yesterday
had the time of their lives … seriously…
Right,
today's TIDU … I had a really good one when I was half asleep this
morning but now it's gone so I'll have to come up with something else
… soap operas … let's try that on for size … I don't understand how
people can bring themselves to give a fucking toss. There are magazines
out there … Soapwatch, Inside Soap … what's going on in the soaps
… who's shagging who, who hates who, who's murdered who and buried
them in a totally obvious spot where they won't be found for six months
or until the producers want a boost in the ratings … are our lives
really that fucking small that we give two shits about the ongoing
saga of a bunch of people who DON'T FUCKING EXIST!!! 'Mustn't miss
Eastenders.' Why not? What's going to happen tonight that's so fucking
vital? 'Kat's going to tell Alfie that she loves him.' Well, be still
my beating fucking heart. People care more about the characters in
soaps than they do about their next door neighbour. Is it me or is
that just a little bit fucked up? And how often do we have to have
these fucking shows on the box? Five times a week? Twice a day? Omnibuses
at the weekend? Where's it going to end? 24 hours? Let me make one
thing absolutely plain - a story that doesn't end ISN'T a story -
it's wallpaper. If your life is really so empty that you need to watch
this shit to feel alive then I fucking pity you to the core of my
being.
Now,
my love of the Star Wars movies, on the other hand … No, really, they
are deeply thematic and primal and speak to the child in all of us
as they break down the fabric of interpersonal relationships and …
no wait, don't go away …
Three
more shows ahead, have a good weekend and come to my show if you haven't
already and if you have then get somebody else to come for fuck's
sake before I die a long slow agonising death in a room on my own
… no, really, have a nice weekend … I hope I'll be back on Monday
…
Chris
Wednesday
10th August
Ok, I've grasped the situation here finally… it's a festival of sycophants
and crawlers. A place where everyone is looking to be one step ahead
of their rivals. A place where being in the know counts more than
being. It's a capitalist festival of culture where the only thing
that matters is opinion, judgement and values - but who's values?
That's the question… Everyone wants to be right and everyone wants
to be able to say that they saw "THE BEST SHOW IN TOWN™" but would
they know it if they saw it? Wouldn't they be too busy trying to second
guess whether they were, in fact, sitting through an enormously overhyped
pile of shit? Who will be the first to scream: "But the Emperor's
wearing no clothes!" We are a sad motherfucking race of beings… that's
all I can say…
Anyway, comedy… erm, something I don't understand… OK, packaging.
Yes, packaging. I know it's an environmental problem etc but really,
isn't it just pointless? Fuck the environmental impact, let's talk
about the impact it has on your soul. Why do 'special edition' DVDs
come in a cardboard slip case which is an exact copy of the plastic
one inside it? How, exactly, does that make it special? Are we so
fucking shallow that we really go - 'Oooh, look it comes in a pointless
cardboard case - now that is special!' Toothpaste. Yes, toothpaste
- can somebody explain to me why it still comes in a cardboard box?
If you're trying to tell me that it's the only way we can make it
stack then I'm going to tell you to fuck off! The box is utterly pointless
and, maybe it's just me, maybe I'm a little thin skinned but, everytime
I see one I just feel the whole cosmic waste of time that we call
life weighing a bit more heavily on my shoulders… another thing related
to toothpaste that I don't understand - electric toothbrushes. OK,
a small soldier in the army fighting obesity but - how tiring is it
to stick a brush in your mouth and oscillate it for five minutes?
I mean you've just woken up, for fuck's sake, you should be full of
energy! And don't give me the argument that it's the only way to get
your teeth clean - isn't that just what they want you to think? And
by they I of course mean the companies who want you to buy this shit
- Fight back against this fucking nonsense - buy an ordinary toothbrush,
get the exercise and post every piece of useless cardboard back to
the manufacturer… of course, what about all the envelopes and paper
and petrol to transport it… oh, fuck it!
Have a nice weekend and, if you happen to be in Edinburgh and you
fancy seeing a show that won't make you feel like you're an unevolved
simian desperately trying to make fire… then you could do worse than
check out mine… Honestly, I don't even think anybody's reading this
shit… I'm having a word with Cunty…
Chris
Tuesday
9th August
If I could begin to describe how weird this place is at the moment
then I'd be some kind of Victorian Novelist. Everywhere you go you're
accosted by a group of students doing some kind of street theatre.
Ostensibly, it's to promote some piece of theatre they're doing somewhere.
What they don't seem to grasp is that, if the quality of their piece
of theatre is anywhere close to the quality of their street theatre
then it's hardly good advertising. But this doesn't seem to put off
the Americans - of whom there are 25 million! - is America empty?
Cos they're all here and, let me tell you, if one more of them asks
me for free tickets then I'm not going to be responsible for my actions…
not that I am anyway… responsible, that is…
Today's TIDU (oh, for fucks sake…) Robin Cook has died. I understand
that, before you start - that's why I never climb big mountains. What
I don't understand is how, when politicians die, everybody says that
they were one of the greatest statesmen, most important parliamentarians
etc when clearly they didn't believe that when they were alive. Blair
clearly didn't think Cook was one of the greatest statesmen when he
sacked him from the Foreign Office and made him Leader of the House,
for fuck's sake. It's like when Heath died recently they all piled
out of the woodwork to say how fantastic he was, even though whenever
he opened his mouth in his later years they wished he'd drop dead.
Is it any wonder we don't trust our politicians when they offer us
such blatant hypocrisy when one of their number dies? I really hope
that Thatcher dies (just in general …) while Blair is PM. I want to
see what bullshit he comes out with on that day: 'She was … (sensitive
and agonisingly long pause) a truly great … (and yet another pause
that we don't believe is genuine - does the guy not know that we don't
believe this sham of spontaneity any more? He's supposed to be intelligent,
for fuck's sake, can't he string a fucking sentence together?) person.'
Actually, what I'm really looking forward to is Ben Elton's reaction.
At one time he would have organised a national street party when Thatcher
died but now, since he's gagging on the Establishment's cock, he'll
probably say he had her all wrong and she did an enormous amount of
good for the country. Weaselly little sell-out cunt…
My spell checker has just given me a libel alert… better sign off…
no, mate, I don't want to come and see Accidental Death of an Anarchist,
and how original to lie in the street to publicise it…
Chris
Monday
8th August
God, this place is nuts. I spent most of the morning wandering around,
trying to get some idea of what makes the place tick - apparently,
what makes the pace tick is a vast amount of people trying to sell
you things. If I said no to one fucking leaflet then I said no to
about twelve million of the fuckers. Don't these people think about
the environmental impact of printing all these leaflets? I hope they're
biodegradable cos if they're not then that's going to be one big fucking
landfill. Millions of years from now it's going to make phenomenal
coal but right now… anyway, along with the leaflets there seems to
be a massive desire to do street theatre - two words that in my opinion
should never be within shouting distance. And fuck me do they shout!
I came back to where I'm staying with bleeding earholes!
All of this rabid advertising got me thinking (he types with his head
to one side in a quizzical Sex & The City way) about today's
TIDU (see yesterdays posting for an explanation, for fuck's sake…
). I don't understand the current vogue for alcohol companies to accompany
their adverts with - "Please enjoy responsibly." Do they think that
we're actually too stupid to understand what they're getting at? "Yeah,
we don't care if you drink till blood comes out of your ears and you've
knifed your entire family to death in a drunken frenzy, just so long
as you can't sue us for it. See, we told you to drink responsibly
so that means our responsibility for your behaviour is at an end -
fuck you." It wouldn't be so bad if all alcohol adverts were like
the Jack Daniels ones - lots of aging Tennessee blokes hanging out
on their porches, sipping JD, chatting about the old days. Try getting
a fifteen year old girl at in a club in Macclesfield who's on her
fourteenth JD and coke of the evening to sit on a porch and talk about
the old days…
Bacardi are the worst. The ad for Bacardi Breezer shows a bloke going
to a job interview, recognising his new boss as this crazy hedonistic
bird who's antics included pouring BBs all over the crowd, riding
a fucking horse into the club and leading to him getting so wankered
that he dressed up as the devil and ended up getting out of a lift
stark bollock naked. And in the bottom corner of the screen in tiny
letters - 'Please enjoy in moderation.' Right, cos that's the message
you want us to get from the ad then, is it, lads? Basically, it just
proves what we already knew - not only are marketing people scum (thanks
Bill) but people who sell us alcohol and are then shocked that we
choose to use it to get out of our skulls are also cunts of the highest
order. Right, now I've got that off my chest, I need a drink… in moderation,
of course…
Chris
Saturday 6th & Sunday 7th August
Right, well clearly there's been some kind of misunderstanding here…
Cunty asked me to keep a diary of how things went in Edinburgh. OK,
fine. It's quite a long run - three weeks - but I thought nothing
of it because he seemed so happy to have me here and I was just happy
to get the gigs. As I said in my previous postings, the place seemed
a bit busy but I thought it was just summer tourism, y'know, the Castle,
Arthur's Seat… Arthur must have been a big fella… but the last couple
of days… fuck me! This place just exploded with people! Parades and
street theatre and leaflets every-fucking-where! And finally the penny
dropped… there's some kind of Festival going on! And I've unwittingly
walked right into the middle of it. Thanks for letting me know that
one, Cunty, you useless… well, cunt. So, here I am, doing my show
at some kind of festival where the competition is, shall we say, intense.
So intense that I did my first two shows to ten people. That's ten
people each show, not ten spread over the two. The shows went OK though.
I mean, I think I might have lost it a bit - y'know, sweating and
losing my way and screaming about stuff. I don't know - I can get
a bit confused up there sometimes, under the lights and when you can't
see people's faces…
Anyway,
today's TIDU (that's the acronym for Thing's I Don't Understand -
I hope I don't have to explain that again…) I don't understand why
they call it 'dying' when a comic has a bad show. Any comic worth
their salt will tell you that it feels nothing like dying - it feels
like you've never been more alive in your life. Your heart beats out
of your chest, your pulse races, you've got enough adrenalin in your
system to chase down a cheetah, every second feels like a minute,
every minute feels like an hour. I don't know anything about what
death feels like and I fucking hope I don't for a looooong time to
come but I can tell you this - it'll feel nothing like going arse
over tit on stage. Laid there in your coffin, heart racing, sweat
pouring, I think the thought might eventually cross your mind - "Fuck
me, I think I'm not dead!" Maybe it's called dying because the audience
wishes you were dead. Fair enough… Fucking hell, why so much aggression,
man. I'm just trying to make you laugh up here, you fuckers, no reason
to treat me like this… What's so bad about trying to make people laugh,
eh?
Not
that I 'died' at the weekend you understand… the shows went really
well…
Chris
Friday
5 August
Well,
yesterday I went to see the venue - some place called the Assembly
Rooms - and I'm more certain than ever that something is going on.
The place was a hive of activity and there seem to be rather a lot
of comics playing there soon. That's fucking beautiful timing, that
is… I finally get a gig here and there's a load of other comics playing
here at exactly the same time. I've really got to sack Cunty. What
kind of manager books his act when he's up against some competition…
I ask you…
Anyway,
nice room, nice lads working there - although I thought they were
a bit short with me. "That's a microphone, those are seats - but don't
worry cos nobody will be sitting in them come tomorrow, ha-ha, now
fuck off, we're a bit busy." No need for that, I thought. Anyway,
today's thing I don't understand.
I
went to the cinema last night and saw Charlie and the Chocolate
Factory. Fuck me, Gene Wilder looks different these days… And
what I don't understand is… cinema food. Do people just not eat before
they get there? Are they saving themselves up for the huge range of
culinary delights available to them at the concessions counter? Why
do we buy this shit? And more important why do we eat it? When did
it happen that we started to go to the cinema knowing that we'd have
to take out a second mortgage in order to buy this pre-processed shite?
And why's it got to be so big? Fucking buckets of soft drinks! People
walk out of the cinema having developed diabetes from all the fucking
sugar! Reconstituted pigs knuckles deep fried in teenage spot grease
and served in a bun made from hessian, lavishly smothered with e number
surprise. The crack team of spot infested morons who know all about
food preparation - I'd like to see Gordon Ramsay turn around some
of these kitchen nightmares. Popcorn - what the fuck is it? Warm bits
of cardboard that makes so much fucking noise when you chew it that
you can't possibly hear the irate bloke next to you telling you to
stop eating it before he force feeds you his hotdog. Please, for the
love of God, STOP EATING IT!!!!!! If you think you might be a bit
peckish then stock up on unappetising shit at home so we can all enjoy
the film together. A film about a sweet factory… oh, for fuck's sake!
Tomorrow's
the big day, first show. But for now, I might wander and have a look
at Edinburgh… I don't think there'll be too many people around… Chris.
Thursday
4 August
Edinburgh, Edinburgh… so good they named it… well, once actually but
it's still pretty good. Just arrived last night after one of the longest
drives of my life - who knew this island was so bloody long? Well,
me actually since I've been all over the fucking thing for the past
six months touring this show. I'm not sure but there seems to be some
kind of event happening in Edinburgh… either that or it's a very busy
place. If I find out what's going on then I'll let you know …
My
manager… who shall henceforth be known as 'Cunty… has asked me to
keep this weblog/diary/interactive knackers whilst I'm here. He seems
to think it will help me to stay 'down with the kids'… he said something
else about 'being in the hood' but I didn't listen because that's
my default position whenever Cunty speaks. So he's given me this laptop
thing and I agreed on the condition that I can fill the rest of the
hard drive with porn. Of course, in order to send this I have to go
into fucking Starbucks which is almost as bad as having to stand at
the back of an Oasis concert while they play Wonderwall and every
irritating twat sings along. "Excuse me, mate, is it Liam? Are you
Liam Gallagher? No? Well, shut the fuck up then cos I paid 30 quid
to hear him sing it not you, you tone deaf fat wanker!"… Sorry, don't
know where that came from…
Anyway,
in the spirit of the show, I thought what I'd do is share with you
- whoever you may be… some sad, lonely webhead looking for scat sites,
no doubt - some more of the "Things I Don't
Understand". As you know if you've seen the show, I talk about
some things I don't understand - well, two to be precise although
I do tend to go into rather too much detail about one of them - but
I had to cut loads of them cos the show would have run too long. So,
in no particular order and depending on what my mood is like on any
given day, I'm going to share a few more with you in these "missives
to the ether"… ooh, look at me who swallowed a fucking thesaurus!
I
don't understand… people who drive in the middle lane of motorways.
OK, easy target, I know, but… how hard is it to comprehend the rules?
Do they not wonder why people are constantly undertaking them, making
the 'wanker' sign? Why are they always old men wearing driving gloves
with little wives sitting next to them in a twin set and a purple
rinse? Why are they always driving 4x4s? (That's another thing I don't
understand but that's for another day…) Personally, what I like to
do, traffic conditions permitting, is to circle the bastards… undertake
them, pull in front, let them undertake me while I'm in the outside
lane, drop behind them and undertake again… and every time I pass
them I make sure the driver can see that I'm clearly an axe wielding
mass murderer and he has somehow pushed my buttons. Can we, once and
for all, agree that if there's nothing in the inside lane then you
FUCKING DRIVE IN IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!? Of course, these people are sitting
there, clearly with ocular powers far in advance of my own cos they
can see the caravan driver (and that's another thing…) eight miles
ahead that they're going to have to overtake and they think "well,
it's a waste of time pulling back in cos I'll have to pull back out
again in TWELVE YEARS!" You want to know why the roads are so congested?
Because of twats like that, that's why! Of course, I drive a Robin
Reliant in the outside lane but that's another story…
See
you tomorrow, ya sad fuckers… love Chris x
