September 27, 2006
OLD NEWS
SOME OLD ANECDOTES FOR MATT YOUNG
I got a card from someone called Matt Young the other day. He was saying he had been listening to The Adam & Joe Xfm podcasts (which are nearing the end of their first ’season’) and wanted to know more about the ‘Kiki Pee’ anecdote referred to fleetingly in podcast 1. Matt gave me his e-mail address but I’m always a bit cagey with entering into e-mail correspondence too quickly with someone I don’t really know. I mean it was a very nice card and I’m sure Matt’s totally fine but I like to keep things formal. If he’d supplied his postal address I would have written back, but as he didn’t I’m responding via blog. Hope that’s OK Matt. Here is the Kiki Pee anecdote along with another couple of stories from when I did the Edinburgh Festival in August 2005. I would have put this stuff in my Edinburgh diary but I never finished it in the end. Better late than never though, yes?
KIKI PEE
When I was in Edinburgh my PR was being expertly handled by a girl called Claire Walker, who goes out with Ed Byrne, (a fact that isn’t totally relevant to the story but I don’t like to miss a name dropping opportunity). Ed and Claire were out drinking late one night and were sat at a table with among others these two queens from New York who do an act as a failed lounge singer and her pianist called Kiki and Herb. I haven’t seen them personally but I hear they’re excellent. The guy who plays Kiki was wasted though and at one point he just got out his winky and started to spend a penny beneath the table where he and Claire were sitting. Due to their close seating proximity a lot of the tinkle hit Claire’s foot and understandably she jumped up, disgusted, shouted at the guy and went to the lavvy to wash off the Kiki pee. Far from being contrite, Kiki grabbed her by the arm on the way back from the ladies and said ‘I’m sorry I didn’t pee in your face’. Nice.
Admonished by a mutual friend Kiki then said ‘Oh OK, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I pee’d on her ugly shoes’. Nice again.
When acquaintances of Kiki heard what happened, a lot of them were surprised, saying ‘but he’s just not the kind of person who would ever do something like that’. I wonder how many times you have to wee on someone’s foot before you are the kind of person who would do something like that. I would say once.
Incidentally that story didn’t come to me from Claire Walker or Ed Byrne. Unlike me, they’re far too discreet to mention that kind of thing, but it was a reliable source. That said if Kiki somehow reads this and is upset because he believes he did not wee on Claire’s feet then I will remove this story and issue an apology. I say that because a couple of people I know and like have read what I thought were completely innocuous comments about them on this blog and been upset so now I’m getting nervous about telling wee wee stories featuring famous drag queens I don’t even know…
BIKE ASSAULT
On my way to a party on the last night of the festival I was riding on my bike downhill across the bridge to Princess Street when a young guy leaned out of the window of a passing car and pushed me! I could easily have been killed but thanks to my exceptional cycling skills I kept my balance and stayed on my bike. The car sped away, weaving dangerously through traffic as the yobs inside watched me shouting abuse at them helplessly. I caught them up at the lights briefly and took a picture of their number plate then, fizzing with adrenalin, shouted triumphantly to the passengers of another car that was watching me, ‘THAT CUNT’S GOING TO JAIL!’ Brilliant.
Anyway I finally got to the party and on my way in I bumped into Dara O’Briain who I’d met a couple of nights previously. I was in a state by then, apoplectic with impotent rage and keen to get pissed but the fucking doorman wouldn’t let me in because I didn’t have my festival pass with me. Lovely Dara protested to the doorman on my behalf saying ‘don’t you know who this is? Did you never see The Adam & Joe Show?’ I think it was mainly for my benefit to make me feel better about not getting in (because the doorman certainly had NOT seen The Adam & Joe Show), but finally, because Dara is so giant and charming it worked and I got in to what turned out to be a shit party.
One of the first people I saw there was Kevin Bishop, a very funny actor who was in The Last Chancers and can now be seen on Channel 4’s Star Stories. I told him about being nearly killed by these yobs and the fact that I had a photo of their number plate, which I was going to give to the cops. He just chuckled at me and said ‘what d’you think the cops are going to do? Anyway what are you so upset about? They were just kids having a laugh’. That made me feel pretty fucking old. It reminded me of Joe talking about a spate of stabbings near where we live in south London and how if it’s a shallow stab you can’t really complain cos that’s like an informal greeting. That wasn’t so much an anecdote as just a kind of rant about kids these days.
LOU REED
At the same shit party Kevin Bishop told me that he was in the VIP area at this festival in Spain called Benicassim and Lou Reed came up to him out of the blue and said ‘Hey, you’re the guy from The Last Chancers. I loved that show. That’s exactly what it’s like being in a band!’ Kevin swears this happened and it was definitely Lou Reed and not just an old man with sunglasses. One day I’ll probably find out Kevin was just winding me up, but so far he insists it’s the truth. How Lou Reed managed to see a show that only about 15 people in the UK saw before it got cancelled is a mystery but in a world where David Bowie will turn up to write songs for Ricky Gervais, anything’s possible.
So there we go Matt. That’s why this blog is NUMBER 1 for lame gossip that’s over a year old!!! Oh, and if you see these twats, hurt their feelings from me would you?
ADDENDUM I saw Kevin Bishop recently and he finally admitted to me that he was lying about Lou Reed.
August 9, 2005
TUESDAY 9th
The playful showers of the last few days have turned to driving rain. After three sell out nights in a row my audience has dwindled and seems a little weary. There is however one woman who chuckles wonderfully throughout and ends up actually screaming with laughter! I’ve never ever had someone scream with laughter at any of my stuff. It’s such an infectious and rewarding sound, especially on such a damp night, I struggle to keep from laughing out loud myself.
Afterwards I meet some friends and head over to the Gilded Balloon. This is where Late & Live takes place, a drunken compendium of stand up that has become legendary. The Pleasance seems rather sensitive and theatrical compared to this place which seems to be the home of one man and his mic. I bump into Andrew Maxwell, a shoutily gregarious Irish comic who commands me to ’stop being a fucking pussy and come and get properly drunk!’ I explain I have to get back for my bedtime dose of echinacea, zinc, B complex and linseed and I couldn’t possibly get drunk because it might affect my performance tomorrow. ‘This is the Edinburgh festival you wanker!’ He barks and disappears in the roiling heat of the Gilded Balloon bar. What can he have meant?
August 8, 2005
MONDAY 8th
Rather than try any more washing I decide to buy some new clothes and head up to George street. I go into French Connection and try to find something that isn’t emblazoned with a phrase like ‘BEST FCUK IN TOWN’ or ‘FCUK THIS!’ I thought they’d dropped that whole miserable strategy anyway. Perhaps it’s working better in Scotland. I go for a nice old man type cardigan and head to the counter. “Doing a bit of shopping today?†asks the girl at the till as I wait to enter my PIN. Hmm, is this a trick question? “Yes, I’m buying this cardigan†I reply. “OK, lovely†she smiles. I guess shop assistants are the same everywhere then.
August 7, 2005
SUNDAY 7th
My Dad calls to say I got a good review in The Independent. I consider buying it but don’t. Jon Ronson made a brilliant film a few years ago about a comedy critic who takes his one man show (which is about being a comedy critic) to the festival. His show is wretchedly bad but he somehow secures a four star review. Far from being grateful for the insane generosity, he is seen fuming and ranting that they’ve withheld the fifth star! Once you start reading reviews you cannot win. I think the audience tells you everything you need to know. Are you making a note of all this? I’ve been in the game 9 months so I know what I’m talking about.
August 6, 2005
SATURDAY 6th
I remembered to close the shutters as well as the curtains last night so I’m not woken by the daylight this morning. Instead I come round in my own time. For a while I lie in the gloom drifting in and out of a dream in which I’m the guest of a Paris Hilton type spoiled heiress on a gigantic luxury liner docked in Cannes or the like.
In the dream I’m in the sumptuous living room of the boat surrounded by friends of the heiress who are all variously stupid young model types, male and female, many of whom are undressed and fondling each other distractedly. I’m trying to be nonchalant about all the dirtiness and I start to flick through a big coffee table book of glossy black and white photographs featuring the young heiress. She’s naked in every one and some of them are completely pornographic! The goofy looking male model sprawled on the sofa next to me is also in the book, in fact his winky features prominently but he’s not happy about it. “There’s no good shots of my face†he says through a thick Italian accent. “It’s all about her†he nods in the direction of the heiress who is making her way over to us. She’s naked. “You should have stayed last night†she says to me. “It ended up being a total orgy, everyone just swapping around, it was crazy! And I lost track of all the drugs we did!†At that moment I look out of the window and see several figures hopping onto the deck from the jetty. It’s the police! “Quick, dump everything!†cries the heiress. I make a run for it, even though I’ve got no drugs on me. I could have got away but then I think, ‘maybe I’ll look more guilty if I do that. If I just explain the situation to the police I should be able to still make my show tonight.’ So I give myself up and the cops cuff me along with all the naked models. ‘Typical,’ I think. ‘I was this close to a drug fuelled model orgy and now I’m just going to end up doing my show as usual, if I’m lucky.’
Hmm. What can the dream mean? Well, I’m here at the Edinburgh festival for the first time and my wife and children are back in London so perhaps some part of me is being tortured by the fact that I’m finally in the very middle of party central and I’m living like a monk. Not one of the filthy monks either, a proper abstemious one.
Take today. Once I’m finally out of dreamland I take an assortment of vitamin pills and nutritional supplements and have some breakfast. I seem to have been getting run down very easily of late so the pills are part of my attempt to make it through the festival without getting ill, which I hear is a common phenomenon for double ended candle burning performers. I’m trying to avoid wheat and dairy products so breakfast is a wild ride through half a melon, some pineapple and a piece of rye toast with organic honey.
Having practically bored myself back sleep with my breakfast I have a shower and clean up the flat a bit. The place I’m renting is pretty studenty, and every item in it is the cheapest possible version, including the vacuum cleaner. When I switch it on it emits an overpowering funk of wet dog and socks. Gah. Then I load the tiny washing machine with my bed sheets and my show costume, which after three nights of sweaty hilarity, needs attention. With the washing machine rattling the stack of plates and cups that, for want of cupboard space, sits on top of it, I get to work on my computer.
My director David has given me a sheet of notes about last night’s show. He’s pointed out certain jokes that aren’t working and need to be re-written or replaced and suggested areas where the videos could be tweaked to get the most out of them. Last night the audience laughed more than I expected in a couple of places and drowned out a few jokes in the videos, so I have the happy task of making the pauses longer on a couple of them to allow for the gales of mirth! Fiddling with video stuff is where I’m happiest. It was always the best part of doing The Adam & Joe Show for me and I’m fairly confident that I can usually produce something that will make people laugh in that medium.
As far as rewriting the stand up elements goes, that’s tougher. I’ve never been much good at writing gags. Graham Linehan (who co-wrote wrote Father Ted and Black Books amongst many others) gave me some great suggestions for things earlier this year, but when I try to come up with stuff along the same lines I start to struggle and my brain reverts to Christmas cracker joke mode. That said, most of the live bits have been going well over the last few nights but there’s still places that seem flat and the audience glazes over a little. I really want to finish the last couple of weeks of the festival with a show that works consistently well right through, so until then my afternoons will continue to be time to work.
Because of all this tweaking time, I’ve seen absolutely no other shows at all yet which is shameful. I’m figuring by the middle of this week I should be in better shape so I can have some more fun during the day and check out some good stuff. John Shuttleworth is here for a few days soon so I’m definitely up for that. Him and John Hegley are hard to beat in my book. In fact anyone called John I find very amusing indeed. I’m also keen to see Katy Brand’s show Celebrities are Gods and Steve Oram’s show, Denim. I met Katy and Steve at Ealing and thought, like the rest of the Ealing lot, they were great. Katy pretending to be Kate Winslet insisting that she’s ‘normal’ until she’s just shrieking dementedly is one of the best things I’ve seen in a while. I also want to see Stuart Lee and I think I might be on Simon Amstel’s review show in the last week so I guess I’ll see that too.
I take a break from the computer to unload the washing machine and hang my sheets and costume on the line in the little garden out front. The sun’s out and it’s actually quite warm. I should be sitting outside a pub somewhere with the naked models from my dream but instead I head back to the computer and try to think of better experimental animator jokes. After a fruitless hour I look out of the window and see that it’s started to rain. Heavily. I get my clothes in but they are of course sodden. With no dryer and no clue whether there might be a Laundromat nearby I’m faced with a problem. My costume is soaked and I have to leave for the venue to get my stuff ready in an hour. Hmm.
I decide the only thing for it is to turn on all four rings on the electric cooker to FULL. Then using the rickety metal clothes horse balanced precariously above, I drape my costume over the glowing rings. It looks like a reconstruction from ‘World’s Stupidest Accidents’ but at that moment I honestly can’t think of an alternative. Steam begins to rise from the sopping garments but then the rings themselves, which are caked with years of student food, begin to smoke alarmingly. Sure enough, moments later all 5 smoke alarms in the tiny flat go off simultaneously. Why is there never an obvious ‘off’ button on smoke alarms for those toast burning moments? Instead I end up just smashing them to pieces with a broom handle to shut the fucking things up.
My ears are still ringing as I shut the most badly smoking rings off and finish the drying job. By the time my costume has become merely bit damp, I have to leave. Thankfully it’s stopped raining so I get on my bike and begin the punishing climb up the huge hill towards The Pleasance. It’s the weekend so there are a lot of people out. Some drunk guys shout something at me but I don’t hear because I’ve got my headphones in. I get quite a few odd looks these days. My beard is now so huge I look more or less insane. I was in a clothes store in London the other day and I became aware that the shop assistant was following me about a bit. Finally he said to me “it’s a bit warm to be wearing that jacket isn’t it?†I really think he thought I was going to blow up his fucking tee shirt shop. It’s a great beard for the character though. Unfortunately it’s so very massive that a lot of people assume it’s fake, although why they think I would keep wearing a fake beard even when I wasn’t doing my show is baffling. I can’t win.
Once I’m at the Pleasance I find the manager of the Cavern (my venue) and get the keys for the big lock up storage container that houses all the gear used by me and all the other Cavern acts. Then I spend about an hour and a half setting up my projection screen and getting all my props ready so that as soon as the previous act is finished I can get my stuff on stage as quickly as possible. The turnaround between acts is only about 10 minutes so you’ve got to be slick or the manager starts getting arsey and threatening to let people in whether you’re set up or not. Luckily Maddy, who runs The Cavern is great so she gives me a little leeway, but not much. This is the worst part of the day.
The show goes well. In fact tonight I’m sold out. The changes I’ve made seem to work, but every night there’s always a few more bits that need the tweak. I find it hard to tell how much the audience is enjoying themselves though. Jo Caulfield is on before me and I listen to her audience while I’m setting up. They’re really howling with laughter! What’s more it’s regular bursts, every few seconds. The laughs I get are far more dispersed and never so hysterical. Oh Jesus, I’ve become a laugh scientist! This was the whole reason I never wanted to do live stuff; you get obsessed with keeping them laughing at any cost. With the TV stuff I’ve done, you just spend ages crafting it until you like it and then put it out with no conception of how people will respond. I must admit though, a big laugh from an audience here means more to me now than any good reviews I’ve had for my TV stuff. Maybe that’s bollocks. I don’t know.
When the show’s over I hide under the seating area as the audience file out. I put my fingers in my ears in case I hear anyone saying they hated it. Constructive criticism I can handle but I don’t like hearing from people who just don’t like me. I need to toughen up I guess. I pack my gear back into the lock up and head into the courtyard for a glass of Leffe blond before I leave. It’s the only blond action I’m getting tonight. The place is heaving with the kind of girls that were in my dream, except they’re fully clothed. I bump into lovely Ewan Macintosh (the big guy from The Office) and we talk briefly while I finish my drink. He asks if I want to come and read a Ghost Story for his show in a couple of days and I say I’d be delighted. Sadly that’s the extent of my whirlwind of drugs and celebrity. At 12:30am I get back on my bike and return to my smoke filled monastery. I pour a glass of wine and switch on the TV. Species II has just started. Bugger. Now I’m going to have to sit through the whole thing until Natasha Henstridge gets her phenomenal alien boobies out at the end. No wonder my dreams are a mess.
I wonder if Bill Hicks’ diary was like this. I reckon it definitely was.