Week 81: Naked On Stage. Again.

Friday, 19 July 2019

Reading time 01 minutes 37 seconds 

It’s important to remember you are born naked, and the rest is drag – Ru Paul

The standard nightmare of most humans is being naked in front of other humans. It’s a universal theme that was beaten into our young heads. To me it’s ridiculous because we’re all born naked, we all get naked, and excluding a thin piece of clothing we’re pretty much naked most of the time. We are taught to believe that our naked bodies are a little embarrassing. Although my nightmare on this sadly comes from an actual event.  

I was 8ish at school with a teacher named Mr Russell who loved to stage amateur comedy productions at the morning assembly’s in school. He was a very funny yet scary man, similar to Ronald McDonald but in corduroy. 

I know the productions we good as my dad would take time off work, which he never did, to come and see them. Dad wasn’t the only parent there as you could not get a seat at any of Mr Russell’s productions. They made all of the children sit on the floor. They were very popular. 

Dad was upset that my younger sister was not in his class as he no longer had a legitimate reason to be entertained. He always said that I shouldn’t grow up, probably so he could keep enjoying the free comedy mornings.

The one that haunts my dreams and makes my Mrs ask if I had that dream again is from a fashion show we performed in. We pranced up and down in various outfits while the Kinks song Dedicated Follower of Fashion played out of a tape recorder. We walked down the catwalk while one of our class mates would offer hilarious commentary on the clothing style then exit and quickly change into the next outfit.

My final costume change was into a Roman Toga which was an old bed sheet and for some reason that I can’t quite recall today I had not put on underpants. The horror of it struck me for one moment but I was a very professional model and the show must go on so I slipped out of one outfit wrapped the sheet around me and awaited my turn.

I then walked out, the audience laughed. I strutted down the catwalk like the supermodel I thought I was. As I turned the sheet slipped and my left bum cheek was there for all to see. The audience were already laughing due to the ridiculousness of the commentary and outfits and this put them into overdrive. 

My nightmare consist of the laughter I could have got with both bum cheeks.

Picture: The end of the 13 hour Dunwich Dynamo 110mile, city to sea overnight bike ride from Saturday night.

Week 80: Why Dogs Shouldn’t Lick Your Face

Friday, 12 July 2019

Reading time 01 minutes 20 seconds 

The world would be a nicer place if everyone had the ability to love as unconditionally as a dog. – M.K. Clinton

My earliest and happiest memories is with our family dog*. 

Mum would always shout at me not to let her lick your face. Why ever not? It was like a kiss, but much much better. If I had to let my scary nan kiss me then surely my dog easily qualifies and then one day the penny dropped.

She was beautiful, the dog that is not my nan. She was a Doberman Cross, again the dog not my nan, not that she was angry. For the final time my dog not my nan, who was a little angry. She was one part Doberman and one part something else that we never knew nor cared about.  

My step mum always laughed at my dad’s 1950s values with her. The Dog, not my Step Mum. If she was on heat, the dog that is, not my step mum, dad would be warned to keep her inside. It’s OK he’d insist, She’s a good girl. How the dog understood this is beyond me. She either used contraception, or was not interested in sex as any of these would have resulted in no pregnancies. Or she could have just been a good girl as she never fell pregnant.

My earliest memory of the pair of us is carved into my brain. 

There’ s a tin Pedigree Chum dog food in a hubcap. It’s still in the shape of the tin and still wobbling from where it slid out of the tin with that satisfying SCHLUPP sound. 
We’re sitting in our back garden and four eyes looking at the majesty of that little tower of goodness. Then we’d share it. 
A little bit for her, a little bit for me. It was delicious! To this day the small of Pedigree Chum makes me drool in anticipation and nostalgia.  

On my birth certificate my dad is registered as a Painter. This is true in a roundabout sort of way as he had a railway arch lock up and was a panel beater but painter sounds much more romantic. Our Doberman Cross lived in this arch and would be a guard dog at night to keep the thieves away. Good girl she may have been, sadly she was terrible at her guarding duties as my dad had many break ins over the years.

I’d often be at work with my dad during the school holidays and sadly there was no toilet. If I needed a pooh I had to dig a hole in the back yard and make my deposit in there. 
One day I learnt that I didn’t need to put the initial work in because my dog would eat my deposit, and once I learned that she never licked my face again. 

To be on the safe side I didn’t let my nan kiss me again either.

*Obviously I can’t reveal my dogs real name as I’d have my identity stolen.

Picture: I was performing at The Dead Pigeon which we can all agree is the Best bar in Rochester Kent and this photo was taken of my shadow. I did wonder why people were laughing.

Week 79: My Guilty Pleasure

Friday, 5 July 2019

Reading time 01 minute 19 seconds

Short is the joy that guilty pleasure brings – EuripidesA guilty pleasure is something that we’re slightly embarrassed by, yet gives us ultimate enjoyment. We don’t broadcast them to our friends or loved ones, it’s not Facebook post worthy. Some of the pleasure is derived from doing it alone. To some of us it’s almost illicit.

For others, it’s a shame on their intellect, like admitting they still watch Neighbours and haven’t missed an episode since 1985. The interested may be keen on knowing it’s now on Channel 5 every day. For some of us it’s an indulgence in a thing that their friends would mock them for, like hanging out with Tottenham Supporters [Never Met one I didn’t like]

I’ve looked at my guilty pleasures and realised I don’t have any. I’m not ashamed of a single one of them, in fact I’m proud of mine, I wear them like a badge of honour. 

This is me.  

I’m an occasional nose-picking, Shirley Basseyloving, BMW Driving, West Ham fan. 

I believe if it gives us pleasure, and no one is hurt feelings wise or physically and it’s done from the privacy of your own home, then why not do it, where’s the guilt and shame?  

I have a love for expensive German cars, I’m not embarrassed by this, it’s a fact. I’ve never broke down in Bournemouth with four friends and had to pay a mechanic two weeks wages for repairs because I needed to get home one day like I did with my crappy Ford Escort.  

I’ve worked in the Finance industry for over 20 years, it supported my suits habit, my alcohol and shoe dependency. Why should I be embarrassed by that?  

I take my Mrs to see Jason Statham movies at the cinema – oh OK, I’m starting to get it now.

Picture : My current comedy offering thats going to the Edinburgh Fringe