Monthly Archives: August 2010

Ninety Three.

Lynne was a week removed from her time at the fringe and had the look of someone that had jacked into The Matrix for a fortnight and then gone to live in Swindon. Continue reading

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Ninety Two.

We had two options… One was to wait until Dom got there and put him on in the hope that Vince would arrive in time to close. I went with option number two and stepped back up to MC the second section. Continue reading

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Ninety One.

The closer you get to showtime, the greater the likelihood that you will have to make do with any shitarse that has a gap in their diary and a functioning car. That said, as a shitarse with a functioning car, I’ve been on the positive end of this equation a fair few times as well. Continue reading

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Ninety.

With a good number of acts on the bill, this night was going to run very late indeed. I volunteered to push my spot back a week, made my excuses and left. Turns out I wasn’t the only one. Another of the acts turned up, took one look at the place and then bolted. Continue reading

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Eighty Nine.

What? I owe fourteen diaries? How did this happen? Continue reading

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Eighty Eight.

Work hard, pay your dues and I promise that nobody will stand up in the audience at The Apollo in ten years time to shout “That’s the guy who got gonged off in Swadlincote after forty seconds for having shit trainers!”. Continue reading

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Eighty Seven.

If you’ve got a problem, if no-one else can help and if you’re on Facebook maybe you can hire… me! Continue reading

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Eighty Six.

There’s something immensely satisfying about gigs that are ever so slightly off the beaten track yet not so far off that you need to be guided in by phone. Finding the place I was about to perform at the end of an alleyway makes it feel a bit like something out of Neverwhere. Continue reading

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Eighty Five.

Amidst the Ben Sherman shirts and LBDs we stood out like a pair of sore thumbs. A ginger and a lesbian walk into a bar… Continue reading

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Eighty Four.

It reminded me of another oft used line in stand up… “Can I get you anything? Like a fucking watch?” Continue reading

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