Wednesday, August 23, 2006

So I got back from Edinburgh and somehow I survived yet again. Saw a whole bunch of shows some of which were excellent (Leveland) some which were pretty good (Richard Herring) and some of which were frankly a bit poy (Lucy porter). Interestingly my opinions are pretty much the reverse of most critics, but what can you say? They're wrong and I'm right, mostly because I am unaffected by the vagaries of fashion. Hence Lucy Porter is suddenly a 'big noise' and hence 'great' even though her show is in fact a bit shit. Oh well - it'll all even out in the end. Was good to see that although levelland has had pretty bad reviews it didn't seem to have dented their box office one iota. Still that's critics for you - they know nothing, and they know it.

This particular holiday, however, was especially enlivened by my friend The Fat Doctor getting drunker than you'd have thought it would be possible to be and still live. Even Andrew Maxwell spotted it. From his lofty position on stage he peered into the late night audience and pointing at the good Doctor intoned "That's the drunkest man I've ever seen". And he wasn't wrong. During the hour long battle it took to get the fucker home we were laughed at by cab drivers who thought it was hilarious we'd even flag them down with this monster on our hands, avoided by the police (you could see their 1000 yard stare coming on as soon as we got within range) and even abandoned by the Scottish street drunks. Yes. While The Fat Man was holding on to a bus stop like grim death (why? - who knows) and refusing to move some ancient alcoholic street bum wandered up, started chastising me for me gentle attempts to get our mutual friend home (slapping him round the head, kicking him in the shins and attempting to uncurl his fat sausage like fingers from the concrete pillars) and began to engage in some sort of drunk-to-drunk bonding. It took him about 45 seconds to realise that The Good Doctor was not in fact a jolly inebriate who'd had one too many but was in fact a dangerously intoxicated psychonaut who could quite possibly kill you without even noticing due to his massive porcine strength and complete loss of all social imperatives. So he left us to it. Bastard.

I don't have anything against The Good Doctor but I've yet again been forcibly reminded of the one rule many of us now live by. never ever go on holiday with the fucker. And if you should happen to be out with him and he ties one on, just run away and leave the muggers/plod/hypothermai to deal with the situation. Actually the last one isn't really much of a danger. The fucker could fall asleep at the South Pole and melt a whole down to the centre of the earth before the cold would get through his blubber layer.

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