Can it be? A blog that isn't angry or miserable in any way? Yes it can. And today will be that day. Tomorrow: back on the misery-river (sly Tom Waits reference there, for anyone who cares, which is no-one).
Today I finally succeeded in seeing some comedy, in a basement near the seafront. I was there far too early (as per usual) so I went to the pebble-based beach to look at the ocean and just enjoy it. The last vestige of Steiner School education is an unnatural attraction to large natural objects and the ability to enjoy these on a metaphysical level. I'm ashamed of it but I do. Maybe I'll grow out of it one day. So as I was standing there, for nigh on ten minutes, I let my mind wander; as I saw the waves crashing down, rumbling loudly very quickly after one another. The tide was going out. I felt into my pocket and found a clove of garlic. Now, if I were five years younger, I'd say that was a sign. For something or other. Not sure what. For me, most superstitions need an incongruous amount of research. I forgot to throw it in the sea though, and walked back.
As I walked back from the surf, I looked at one of those outbuildings from the Boulevard onto the beach. It was in the same neo-classical style as the bulk of Brighton's seafront, but after a seriously rare unforced double-take, I saw it was a gym. An actual gym, near the sea. Pretty cool, yes. And it made me laugh, because it was so unexpected.
I did get there on time (a bit early even, still), checked the lock on my bike a second time and went in. It was busy, and I wondered whether I would be unlucky again, like last time. Fortunately I wasn't. The gig was in a basement, very dark, so I even I could hide in a corner, in that lovely Gollum-esque way that I have. I didn't, and grabbed a chair right in the middle of the path to the toilets from the bar, as it turned out. To counter that, I moved slightly forward, so everyone had to pass behind me.
I did enjoy myself though. I hadn't been in a comedy club since the Fringe, and always enjoy the slightly clandestine nature of it. There's something terribly sweet about 50 people packing themselves into a basement to laugh at one of their number on a slightly raised step. I remembered why I came to this country, to do this. This is the best thing in the world. Well, no, DOING comedy is the best thing in the world. But Zoe Lyons and Sean Walsh weren't far off.
More happy next time! Bye!
When wondering if he would be able to actually attend the night's gig (see his indelible track record), Jorik was wondering what to write about for that day's blog. Then, as he went into a supermarket, he saw a small boy with the stupidest haircut he had ever seen. A spider's web, on the back of the boy's head (who can't have been older than about 9) and an actual spider on the front, in the spider-man style.
Now, a couple of questions need to be asked. Why would anyone have their own head as a way of advertising an already overexposed cartoon character (who, I must admit, was my favourite superhero as a child too and always will be). How could his mother agree with that plan? But most importantly: Spider's don't even have hair! They're arachnids (not insects, you idiot!)! Strictly speaking, only mammals have hair, and spiders (along with some caterpillars) have hairlike protrusions from their bodies but not actual hair. So this vain and self-regarding combination of hair and Spiders was incongruous and erroneous. There. And after he said that to the child, he was arrested and spent the rest of my life in prison.
Still angry, eh? No worries, better luck next time.