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Stanley McHale is a single man rapidly approaching thirty who loves and dreams of the same things he did when he was seventeen. But the band was never formed, the novel never finished, and the ill-chosen career in stand-up comedy is giving him more headaches than headlines. With the self-imposed deadline of his thirtieth birthday to either make an international success of himself or go and work in Woolworths, why not pull yourself up ringside seats for the tragically inevitable descent into mania and psychosis by reading his increasingly inane, pedantic, desperate, harrowing and wretched daily diary. It'll make you feel a whole lot better about yourself.

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November 2005 Archives

Wednesday 30th November 2005

Posted by on November 30, 2005 6:13 PM

Somewhere way over Greenland I manage to almost literally crawl out of the toilet of a Boeing 777 and shamble my way to the back where I find three empty seats and put the armrests up to make a bed of sorts.

I tried to sleep but due to a problem mentioned yesterday and not to be repeated here, or ever again, I have to get up and go to the toilet every twenty minutes when the situation has worsened. This is a nightmare.

Also, because you have to always, how shall I say, ‘dignify’ yourself at regular intervals, this leads to whole forests of paper being cut down and – more importantly – an increasing level of discomfort for the sufferer, leading ultimately to great pain at every interval. You get me. SURELY you get… yes you get me.

Now add a new dimension. Every time I try to sleep I simply have increasingly bizarre, involuntary, and vivid images play before my closed eye lids. Almost hallucinogenic. And sometimes scary. But never too scary because then it’s off to the toilet again.

At one point, after limping out of the cubical for the third time in an hour, a suspicious steward went in after me. I think he was convinced I was smoking. I wanted to say to him “Smoking? I gave up smoking two years ago, but if I could relieve myself of this situation I’d gladly smoke two hundred a day for the rest of my life in a laboratory as a scientific experiment.�

The images when I tried to sleep were getting increasingly strange? What was going on? Was it a lack of vitamins? Had I been drugged? Was the tiny piece of rice I managed to get in my mouth earlier in the flight rancid and off?

Eight and a half hours isn’t a long time to be on a plane but this one felt like days.

Tuesday 29th November 2005

Posted by on November 29, 2005 4:47 PM

There have been a few nasty mornings on this drinking trip but none like this morning. Normally my new posse of reprobates have been tippling again by noon and so hangovers naturally fall by the wayside, only to return with stronger munitions the following day and be drowned out once more. But this was different, because I couldn’t drink through it. I had to go to the airport and couldn’t risk not being allowed onto the plane. Which I surely would be, this would take more than a glass of beer to solve. This was serious. I mean it.

I’m writing this a few days hence and so I know now that this was just the start of a hangover so severe it lasted several days and even made, despite sobering up, question if I’d done any lasting mental or physical damage. People will scoff at this, especially the Modern Drunkard lot in America, but I’ve never felt like I did this morning and never want to again.

It was 9am. I lay in the dark room slowly moving my hands, palm down, on the mattress. I was pretty much unable to move aside from that. I opened my eyes slowly a few times and then agonisingly – and I mean inch by inch, stood up and shuffled to the bathroom with my feet never leaving the carpet by an inch. I poured one glass of water and sipped it down, not looking in the mirror. I did that again with a second glass. I knew any hangover is 90% dehydration and I was desperately dehydrated. The amount of cocktails and beers I’d drunk the night before, you’re probably looking at about three bottles of rum in total, the beers almost irrelevant. And this on top of the previous seven nights. I am an imbecile.

Monday 28th November 2005

Posted by on November 28, 2005 4:45 PM

The call to arms came early by phone from Frank. I met him, Jimmy and Jen in Charlie Brown’s and we mixed up a few Bloody Marys. I also decided I HAD to eat something for the first time properly in four days and so ordered an omelette.

The trouble is, that because the thing that arrived came on a plate big enough to put on the side of your house and pick up free sports channels you’re immediately less hungry. American food is very different to what I’m used to. Not worse, but different. For example, an omelette isn’t brown, but yellow. Bright yellow. Maybe they just use the yoke or something. Anyway I managed to eat a large proportion of it and that set me up for my final full day in Denver – a day of binge drinking that would have painful consequences.

We stayed in Charlie Browns until reasonably sauced, making merry and cracking jokes. It was later, in a dive bar, that things started to get stranger. Frank used to be an Army Ranger and we bumped into a guy that had also served. We were drunk now, and the guy, equally fired up, told us he was working as cop and mentioned to me he was carrying a gun. Being drunk, I thought nothing of this – it’s not uncommon in The States surely – and asked to see it. So we went to the toilets.

Sunday 27th November 2005

Posted by on November 27, 2005 4:43 PM

There’s a joke going around that those who set up the Tiki Bar and drink in it (mainly Modern Drunkard staff) have formed an amiable yet effective Tiki Mafia. From what I’ve seen so far, this isn’t too far from the truth.

Jimmy, one of the Modern Drunkard crew and one of the many people I’ve got on very well with, had a word with the hotel’s reception staff when I wearily said last night that I’d probably get a room again and the rate was slashed, despite the bar having nothing to do with the hotel at all. I think that the basic scenario is that people respect them, and seeing as none of them are exactly wilting flowers, probably don’t want to get on the wrong side of them either, no matter how universally pleasant they are to meet.

It was Jimmy who rung my room this morning and suggested we head straight out for drinks. He, Jen and I met in a bar called Charlie Brown’s and get about some cocktails before talk came up of popular bar sports. America shares (exported, obviously) a lot of the pub video games we have in Britain, such as Golden Tee and most of the quiz ones. Then there’s the stables ones, such as pool, darts, and winning arguments. I suggested there and then that we should spend the day playing as many of these games as we could against each other in a sort of Bar Olympics, UK vs. USA.

Saturday 26th November 2005

Posted by on November 26, 2005 9:44 PM

Awoke in the hotel again, naturally, and whilst brushing my teeth noticed a sign in the toilet. It read ‘Millions of hotel bed sheets are washed around the world every day using millions of gallons of water and a lot of detergent. If you would like to help save the planet and do not wish your sheets to be changed, please put this notice on your bed.’

I’m unsure if this is a genuinely decent environmental gesture of just the hotel trying to cut costs and not do as much work. It’s clearly both, now I think about it. I’m not sure if I’d ever use the sign and decide to sleep in the same sheets for more than one night because I’d feel I wasn’t getting value for money. I’d also mentally argue that this isn’t a selfish act and I’m not putting my comfort before the future of the planet because the environmental effect of me not having my sheets washed is so utterly minimal that it doesn’t make any difference.

I understand the concept of it takes the first drop to fill the ocean, or whatever, and that if lots of people decided to suffer the indignity of sleeping the same sheets for more than one night it will ultimately make a difference, but that’s also an easy argument to selfishly counter because I would convince myself that no-body else, in any hotel, puts this sign on their bed and therefore I wouldn’t be contributing to a worthwhile and effective cause.

Indeed, I would feel that maybe the hotel staff would secretly laugh at me and say ‘Someone’s actually done it! Someone’s actually wants to save the world by not having their sheets washed, the hippy!’ to each other when they see it. And I’m not one to be mocked, dash it all!

Friday 25th November 2005

Posted by on November 25, 2005 9:23 PM

Woke up in the Ramada Hotel, fully clothed on the bed. This is one step closer to a normal sleeping situation than waking up in the chair but still poor form.

I spent the afternoon sat in Jennifer’s darkened apartment feeling like death. Denver is sin city and no matter how much I like it I could never move here for fear of completely loosing myself to the madness.

This hedonism is excellent fun but no matter how much you romanticize the lifestyle, the kitchen still needs to be cleaned once in a while, if you get my meaning, and that simply wouldn’t happen. I suppose that’s the danger of living a drunken lifestyle, you need to be able to pull yourself up out of it on occasion and not loose your grip. I think that Denver would absolutely destroy me.

The lifesaving plane ticket back to the UK will be my salvation, but for the mean time, heck, I’m on holiday and so I pulled myself together and made my way down to the Tiki bar.

Thursday 24th November 2005

Posted by on November 24, 2005 7:50 PM

Today was Thanksgiving, which is alien to us in the UK but is a massive holiday here in America. Basically it started with the first settlers in the New World having a bit of a get together to give thanks for a good harvest. It became an official, annual custom in 1811.

Frank and Christa had kindly invited Jennifer and I over to their home for dinner and we arrived at two in the afternoon. It was no great surprise to find that Frank has a bar in his house and we settled down to a few gin and tonics.

A great many turkeys loose their lives around this time of year and the meal was delicious. After that, it was time to experience the other great American thanksgiving tradition by sitting down to watch the football game. The Denver Broncos were playing the Dallas Cowboys and it was amazingly entertaining,. I had to inquire as to the rules, but soon picked it up and despite it being a very stop-start sport, it’s also a fascinating one. The scores were level at 27-27 at the end of regulation time and so they played a sudden death period. The Broncos won with a kick and I was surprised at how delighted I was.

The cards came out and we played a bit of poker. I flukely won despite playing some stupid hands. Then, inevitably, it was down to Tiki Boyd’s. We travelled in Frank’s truck, with him and myself sat in the open air in the back, facing backwards, swigging a bottle of wine and laughing.

Wednesday 23rd November

Posted by on November 23, 2005 11:15 PM

Jennifer and I took a drive to a city called Colorado Springs this morning. I felt like death and was incredibly nauseous in the car.

I naively thought that Colorado Springs was short distance from Denver but soon after getting onto the interstate (which is American for motorway – see how I’ve picked up the lingo and everything) the satellite navigation system in Jen’s car said “Stay on this road for sixty five miles.� I winced at this because although I’m always keen to see new places I didn’t fancy a long car journey and seriously thought I was going to be ill.

The unforgiving sun was beaming through the windscreen, I had a hangover, I had a headache, and to top it off I was reminded of Jen’s Jekyll and Hyde transformation when behind the wheel of a car. She has a default setting of white rage. She’ll scream blue murder at anybody and then instantly revert back to her nice old self.

So it was an hour and a half of headache, screaming, blinding sun and feeling like I was about to vomit. I was delighted when we finally arrived in Colorado Springs (or The Springs as I call it – see how I’ve picked up the lingo and everything) and we set about exploring.

Tuesday 22nd November 2005

Posted by on November 22, 2005 8:51 PM

There are three distinct advantages of waking up in a hotel room chair. 1 – Your hair isn’t disturbed. 2 – You’ve not touched the bed itself so there’s less work for the chambermaid to do, which is considerate. 3 – You’ll doubtless be fully clothed and so you’re good to go.

I went to a bar I remember from my time here in May called The Lions Lair. We don’t really have dive bars in the UK which is a pity, they’re wonderful institutions. The term ‘dive bar’ doesn’t mean they are of low quality, it means you can go there and loose your inhibitions and drink cheaply. The few dive bars I’ve visited in the U.S. are friendly places and very welcoming too, not at all threatening.

I was only in The Lions Lair an hour before a familiar face walked through the door. Troy Baxley is a comedian I met on my last visit and we settled down to an afternoon of heavy boozing, moving on eventually, and inevitably, to Tiki Boyd’s – the scene of last night’s antics.

Tonight though was even crazier. I got drunker than I’ve been in many months and have absolutely no idea how I got back to Jennifer’s, but I did.

I have to warn you that the Blog entries written here will rather boringly and monotonously be about drinking. This is going to be the heaviest week of my life thus far in all probability. I’m aware that it’s very dull to read about someone getting drunk when you’re not drunk yourself but all I can do is relate what I’m up to and so far on this excursion all I’ve been doing is catching up with people and tippling.

Monday 21st November 2005

Posted by on November 21, 2005 6:54 PM

Sat on the tarmac at Heathrow waiting to taxi to the runway, I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation being played out between the couple sat beside me. They were American, both in their 60’s, and the thyroid-problem, over energetic variety. The conversation was about the local time in Denver.

“Well, let’s see now. It’s one thirty in the afternoon here, and Denver’s seven hours behind…. So that’s….�

The husband looked at his wife and shrugged. I shook my head and looked out of the window.

“Okay – I’ll get this. One thirty minus seven. That’s…. Hang on… That’s….�

This went on for a while before my general lack of tolerance for the public snapped and I politely said “It’s six thirty in the morning in Denver.�

To illustrate the point, I set about adjusting my watch. (Always do this as a symbolic gesture upon take off – it eradicates jet lag).

“Six thirty? No, I don’t think it can be that early.�

Me, “Well, yes. Because it’s one thirty in the afternoon here and Denver’s seven hours behind. So that’s six thirty.�

“No.�

Sunday 20th November 2005

Posted by on November 20, 2005 6:49 PM

I’m generally a supporter of Richard Branson because I like the way he buys business interests a bit like a kid will buy penny chews, and so I’m not going to blame him for the Virgin Train service to London this afternoon.

It was an epic though. I don’t know why Sundays are singled out for special attention but even if there’s no engineering works all journeys take longer on the Sabbath. Perhaps the train companies are deeply religious and believe that because God rested on the 7th day, they should take it easy too.

The trip took about five hours from Liverpool to London, in which time you could fly to The Holy Land. When we got to Crewe I noticed a sign on the side of an engine shed that said ‘Only 258 Miles To Glasgow’ and an arrow pointing towards Scotland.

I considered this sign for a while. Quite a long while as it happens because we were passing it at about eight miles per hour, a scary speed compared to the rest of the journey which was carried out at about four.

Saturday 19th November 2005

Posted by on November 19, 2005 6:45 PM

For the majority of today I busied myself trying to find distractions to stop me writing a fresh chapter of the book and managed to do this quite successfully up until half past five when I ran out of football / e-mails / things to look at out of the window / food / shopping / packing / rubbish mobile phone games and eventually did manage to successfully start and complete Chapter Six.

The strange thing is that I do really enjoy writing the book but will go to all lengths to avoid doing so. Apparently this is a very common affliction. I suppose I find having to write a whole chapter (which is my self-imposed daily requirement) quite a daunting prospect and that’s why I’ll browse the internet or look at the football results instead, two pastimes I don’t find daunting in the least.

There were more valid things to get done today which also served to keep me away from the book. I had to walk into town and get some travel essentials like earplugs and sleeping pills and realised I’d better sort out some travel insurance too. I’ve never done this before because I’ve always thought that travel insurance is a bit fey. I’ve always prided myself on being able to look after myself, roll with the punches, and basically take my chances.

Taking out travel insurance suggests you’re worried lots of bad things will happen, like a big girl, and that you wont be able to look after yourself if they do. But I’ve taken a different attitude to this trip to Denver because, basically, Denver is in America and if you get toothache in America it will cost you half a million quid.

Friday 18th November 2005

Posted by on November 18, 2005 12:15 PM

My friend and fellow comic Chris Cairns came over for tea at noon. We a bit of work to do writing the bumf for my new agent’s website. It was trickier than I imagined and took a surprisingly long time. I think I’m far more cautious about getting a sentence right when it’s for somebody else.

These Pathetic Lot entries are as much for me as anyone else as a self-serving way to firstly keep a record of my year and secondly get some stand-up material together. I’m aware that people read it, but I don’t really think about that when I’m sat here with a coffee in the morning tapping away so I never get too hung about how to properly conjugate a noun. I remember that phrase from school and to this day don’t know what it means. Is that wrong of a writer?

Got another chapter done today which keeps the momentum up.

The trick is to lessen possible distractions as much as possible and one of the biggest ones at the moment is the rubbish game Midnight Bowling (read about it in the entry for Sunday 6th November), which I downloaded onto my phone. I justly call it rubbish because although it’s slightly addictive, it’s inconsistent, too easy and too difficult at the same time, and has a preposterous scoring system.

In the game you are a bowler called Russell (why Russell? Why?) who tours around two bowling alleys in a town where people clearly can’t bowl to save their sorry lives. As you play the games, even just practice games, you win money. But inconceivably large sums of money. For example, if you get a ‘spare’, which is knocking down all ten pins in a frame with your two allotted bowls, you get about $500. If you mess it up and get a ‘split’, where the remaining pins are on opposing sides of the alley and hard to hit with one ball, you get about $100 and the crowd still enthusiastically go ‘Yeah!’

Over the course of a game, you should collect about $25,000 - $30,000 in prize money, even if you’re rubbish. I’ve been playing very occasionally for a couple of weeks or so and have amassed a fortune of $1.2 million.

Thursday 17th November 2005

Posted by on November 17, 2005 9:33 PM

I got another chapter of the book written today which really does put a spring in my step. It marks the end of the first section of seven, so that was another little mini-milestone. It’s looking good so far – I like it, anyway.

I also got the film mailed off to America. It’s a PAL copy but I spoke to A who works in TV and she seemed to think it would work, at least to some degree. I enclosed a letter saying basically that they had to find a way of making it work as I’d exhausted all my options. It’s true – I have done just about as much as I can.

Talking of working ridiculously hard – I see in the news this week that Prince William has started a city work placement at Evil HSBC, the high street bank. The report said that staff had been told to address the future monarch simply as William to make the experience as real as possible for him.

Perhaps if they’d wanted to make the experience as real as possible for him all the city banker idiots could send him off on impossible and juvenile tasks, like fetching the company's hamster from the bosses office. “Yeah, whatever your name is, the hamster is in the boss’s desk drawer. Find a key or break into it and bring it to us.�

And you know there’s no hamster and they’re just playing a power game with you to try and forget that they are , themselves, slaves but you have to go and find the fictional hamster anyway.

I bet Prince William is getting quite a lot of that. I bet he’s making loads of coffees for everyone.

Wednesday 16th November 2005

Posted by on November 16, 2005 12:16 AM

I didn’t get a word of the book written today because I overslept the alarm and realised I best spend my time tidying up loose ends rather than grumpily attempting a new chapter.

This was the easy way out but I did get lots of business and organisational stuff done (2006 really is looking exciting) and felt satisfied that I’d made a contribution towards my professional life by the time my 4pm deadline fell.

“What 4pm deadline, you loser!� I hear you question. Well, Landlord John had told me about a wine tasting evening at Chester Racecourse and by half past five we were on our way by train to the quaintest city in the region.

I used to do a stand-up routine about Chester. I like the fact it’s streets are straight out of a medieval fairytale but none the less contain your regular high street shops like W.H.Smiths and Dixon’s, albeit hidden behind a 15th Century façade. I performed a routine whereby a visitor to Chester would see the mystery and majesty of an ancient, knotted wooden door, without a sign, slowly and cautiously push it open with a long crrreeeeeeeeek and then, in anti-climax, say “Oh. It’s Boots.�

The Landlord and I were joined on our journey by Katie, who works for Littlewoods and occasionally as a barmaid in The Lion.

(Oh God! I’ve just noticed how that last sentence started in pure Ale Talk, the method CAMRA members have of describing their outings in the local magazines, as described on Monday, 7th November. Maybe that’s how you naturally write about boozy expeditions?)

Tuesday 15th November 2005

Posted by on November 15, 2005 8:25 PM

I woke up at 5am and felt properly awake and so got up, turned on about 20 of my 37 lights and sat down at the computer.

Today’s been a great writing day. I had to catch up with a couple of these pesky Pathetic Lot entries, both of which I had out of the way before 7am, then a spot of tea and breakfast, then a whole chapter of the book written before noon. That’s one hell of a morning. Every chapter is 1/30th of the first draft finished. Bloody authors, always moaning aren’t they; “Oh, I’ve got writers block… Oooh, I can’t get the inspiration… Oh dear, I’d better go for a walk in the garden and relax under a cherry tree and perhaps have forty winks…�

Oh by God those words are going to come back to haunt me… I’ll be tearing my hair out next week no doubt. But they are moaners, writers, or ridiculously slow workers. “Well this book took me five years…� It’s only 80,000 words long, man! That’s about a sentence a day!

By 1pm I’d showered, dressed, and was about to sit down to attempt (perhaps foolishly) a second chapter when Trevor rung and asked if I fancied a cheeky afternoon pint? Hell, I’d done enough and it was only a couple of beers as he was driving so I met him in The Lion twenty minutes later.

I needed to get some cash out of the cash machine nearby. Before you put your card in, the screen read ‘The Royal Bank Of Scotland do not charge customers for the use of their cash machines.’

The generosity! No charge to take out my money? There must be some mistake! How can they survive when they’re throwing business away like that?

Monday 14th November 2005

Posted by on November 14, 2005 7:32 AM

My darned film, Things To Do In Denver When You’re Drunk, is long finished but continues to cause problems.

The difficulty is that I’m distributing copies of the film to both the UK and the USA and the two nations use different video standards. America uses a system called NTSC, whilst here we use the, superior, PAL. This means that if you film something in PAL, it can’t be shown in the USA without first converting it.

Now this is a simple click-of-a-mouse procedure, but requires such mammoth computing power that my Apple has now been huffing and puffing over it for 17 hours.

17 HOURS!

I don’t know if this will work. I’ve got a gut instinct that it wont.

On a more positive note, the UK copies have been burnt onto DVD, put into nicely designed sleeves, and posted off to some TV folk in London today – which marks the completion of the project in part.

But it’s essential for people in Denver to see it so I definitely need to get a US version done but it’s proving impossible so far. I might just have to send a UK copy and see what happens when they try and play it. It might just look a bit dodgy on the screen.

No – that would be too easy. I don’t think it would work at all.

It’s very, very frustrating.

Anyway, it’s my problem, not yours, so I’ll keep quiet on the matter until it’s resolved. Let’s lighten the mood and have an update on the brand new ‘Grossly Inappropriate Behaviour That People Turn A Politically Correct Blind Eye To’ section (see yesterday).

I was walking up Bold Street today and passed three teenage school girls sat on the step by the Halifax, each eating an open portion of chips. As I was passing, an old man stopped and started saying something to them. I could just about make out that it was “Give us a chip, girls!�

Sunday 13th November 2005

Posted by on November 13, 2005 6:02 AM

It was a gloriously bright autumn day today and yet I saw little of it, stuck at home dealing with non-compliant computers unaware of how simple they tasks I ask of them are, before eventually getting out at about dusk.

It made me wonder why I’d been stuck indoors all day at all but, as I’ve reported a few times recently, I’m feeling quite driven at the moment and so want to get a decent amount done every day, be it a Sunday or not.

The next chapter in the book is called ‘A Briefer History Of Time’ and this would benefit from being at least loosely based on fact and so I printed out a mass of information on the subject from the interweb and took myself off on a long walk to try and find somewhere to digest it and make notes.

When I need inspiration to get writing I sometimes go and look at the Georgian houses along Falkner Street, Canning St, Williamson Street, Percy Street, and all. That would be an idea spot of live and, of course, a decent book that captures people’s imaginations would give me a sporting chance of doing so.

I thought Peter Kavanaghs would be a good spot to do some reading but when I walked in there was a group around the bar who’d obviously recently just walked in and were at the early stages of trying to organise a mammoth round of drinks. I waited quietly, trying to get a measure of the situation, but noticed the one barman saying ‘Right, let’s start from the beginning again’ one too many times and knew I’d be standing there waiting indefinitely and so left, cursing the nerve and stupidity of people who choose to go out in big crowds.

I settled in the annoying Quarter Café. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve sworn I’ll never come into this gaff ever again but always seem to find myself giving it one last chance. The staff are simply the worst in Liverpool and you are made to feel like dirt – if you’re lucky enough to be noticed.

It’s always busy though. Always full of an entirely middle-class contingent with their stereotypically pre-teen sandy haired offspring saying “Daddy, Daddy, can I have more aubergine please, Daddy?�

Saturday 12th November 2005

Posted by on November 12, 2005 2:28 PM

I made sturdy progress with the book today, writing two whole chapters. At first I thought that writing in character, as Dr James Crisp, would make things trickier, but in practice I’m finding it easier and good fun.

The great thing is that I can say whatever I like and if anyone brings me up on it I can just say “Ah, but it’s not me thinking that terrible thought is it? No, it’s a character, so I’ve got you there. Now let me go.�

They’ll probably say “Yes, we understand that. But you invented the character, and you were the one that sat and typed it into the computer, so you are directly responsible for it.�

And I’ll say “No, again, I was speaking in tongues. My hands were merely the messenger. Or messengers, as I have two hands. And okay, I’ll admit that the thoughts did originate in my head, but then I was simply renting my mind out to the character, and it was the character who made that comment about black people, not me. So I reiterate, I’m entirely innocent.�

And they’ll say “Whichever way you look at it, and no matter how you word it, you’re entirely guilty.�

And I’ll say “No. No I’m not.�

And that will probably carry on infinitely

Friday 11th November 2005

Posted by on November 11, 2005 12:50 PM

I should really write something about it being Armistice Day, a small gesture to remember the significance of the war and all that, but I slept through 11am and besides, there are some other pressing concerns on my mind.

For example, there are too many lights in my flat. And by ‘too many’ read ‘far, far too many.’ I’m not talking about lights that you buy individually, I’m talking about the lights that were installed when the flat was designed, lights fitted onto the walls and into the ceiling.

There are 37 lights in my flat. That’s too many isn’t it? It’s not like I live in Longleat. I live in a two bedroom flat, but one that contains 37 separate lights.

In the living room, which is of an average, perhaps generous, size – there are ten. Which is too many. Not only is the living room lit by these ten lights, it’s also pretty much heated by them too. Even in the depths of winter, just turning on these lights can make the room nice and snug.

When I see news reports in the TV about global warming I do feel a slight pang of guilt, knowing that my flat is accountable for quite a bit of it.

My home also looks out over the river towards Birkenhead and I’m sure if I were only to replace my light bulbs with various coloured ones in mid-October, the good people of the Wirral would assume Liverpool had turned on it’s Christmas decorations early.

My apartment is actually the reason people in the Merseyside area can’t see stars in the sky at night.

Thursday 10th November 2005

Posted by on November 10, 2005 1:28 PM

Met up with K and Seamus this evening. K’s news is that he’s arranged for us both to be able to book out an office together, free of charge, at the BBC in Manchester whenever we need to.

This is a great development because there will be far fewer distractions in there. When you’re trying to write a project at home there are things like DVDs to be watched, toast to be made, cups of tea to be brewed, Countdown to be laughed at, etc, that makes the day less productive.

Also, you’ve got producers and whatnot milling about at the BBC whom you can give your brand new and brilliant idea to as they poke their heads around the door to see how you’re doing, meaning the chances of them reading it increase from 1000/1 to 500/1, which is considerable.

This breakthrough comes at a time when I’m really looking forward to 2006 as easily my best year. I’ve got complete faith in my new agent (indeed, the work’s already coming in without me having even performed the new material yet) and I’m also really excited about the Power Of 10 book, which is going well. There’ll be a draft by Christmas, so 2006 sees me finish it and market it.

There’s also my first Edinburgh Festival next August. This is one of the reasons why I’m taking the trip to Denver this month as a treat, I’ll definitely not have a holiday next year. In fact, Edinburgh will act as a sort of anti-holiday, managing to pack about a year’s worth of stress into thirty days.

It will be interesting to see, from January onwards, just how far it’s possible to advance with hard work, a lot of writing, a good agent, and a bit of luck. I’d say a long way, theoretically.

Wednesday 9th November 2005

Posted by on November 9, 2005 1:04 PM

I drove my car down to a garage in Garston this morning because the engine’s making a worrying noise when it gets above three thousand revs.

I’ve been to this garage, The Mercer Street Garage by name, a couple of times in the past after it was recommended to be by a Renata’s boyfriend. It’s essential to get recommendations with garages, I think. They’re in the same category as plumbers, builders, and prostitutes – yes there are some reliable ones, but most will only want to rip you off.

The great thing about the Mercer Street Garage is that they never do any work on your car. This might sound like a negative but in practice it isn’t, it’s a great service. What they do is listen to whatever problem you describe, and then recommend somewhere reliable for you to go and get it fixed.

I don’t know how they profit from this or remain open at all, but their honesty is refreshing and genuine. A typical exchange at the Mercer Street Garage goes like this;

CUSTOMER; “Hi there. Seem to have a bit of a problem with the transmission. It seems to be jarring a bit.�

MERCER STREET: “Right. Well your best bet is to go and see Transmissions R Us in Walton, they’re excellent and very affordable. Here’s their number.

CUSTOMER: “Oh, right, thanks. I’ve also got faulty brake light, I don’t suppose you have a suitable bulb?�

MERCER STREET: “I’m not great with lights. You should pop over the road and see our rivals, they’re good with the electrical side of things. Better than us.�

CUSTOMER: “Right-O, shall do. One last thing, here’s ten thousand pounds in cash in an envelope, to spend whichever way you like, no questions asked.�

MERCER STREET: “I tell you who could do with that money – the old lady who lives at 54 down there. She’d benefit from that more than us, despite us going out of business in the next week if we don’t pay the bank ten thousand pounds in cash.�

Tuesday 8th November 2005

Posted by on November 8, 2005 9:00 PM

I’m happy to say that there isn’t anybody in the world whom I could accurately call an enemy of mine. There are some people I dislike, and doubtless several people who don’t like me, and yet I don’t have anyone I’d like to see swim with the fishes or vice versa.

But it’s good to have a foe and so I’ve taken the less hazardous option of warring with giant organisations instead. My first skirmish was with Evil British Telecom, and that’s one that I maturely put to bed two weeks ago by disconnecting their no-good e-mail service and switching to a different provider. Evil BT pretended not to care but I could tell they were wounded and bleeding.

My second nemesis is Natwest Bank, or ‘Shatwest Bank’, as I rudely and cleverly call them. Oh yeah, this fight has advanced to name calling.

They’ve been messing me around for a couple of years now with various petty inconveniences, almost using my financial affairs as a sort of plaything, much like a kitten might toy with a ball of wool. Except it isn’t wool they’re messing with, it’s my life. They’re not one for minor details like that though, Shatwest, and have continued with their bullying and adolescent behaviour despite me going and getting the teacher on several occasions.

Here’s today’s example of mindless victimisation and pointless tyranny.

I wanted to book flights to America this afternoon. I’ve decided to go back and visit Denver later this month for Thanksgiving. I can justify the trip financially in several ways.

1. I found a dirt cheap flight.
2. I’m doing my first gig for my new agent as soon as I get back, the fee for which covers the flight. Twenty hours in the air covering 9100 miles for 20 minutes on stage talking about nonsense? Deal.
3. I can stay with my friend Jennifer so there’s no accommodation costs.
4. Stuff is cheaper in America so I’ll probably spend less than if I stayed in Liverpool drinking martinis.
5. I can get people original and exciting Christmas presents.
6. I’ve never experienced Thanksgiving except for watching it in movies and in episodes of Friends. That’s not a strictly financial reason but it’s a cultural one. Cultural justification is important.
7. The film I made in Denver arrives there in a couple of days. I can follow it up.

So you see it makes sense. People go to New York to save on Christmas shopping, don’t they? And they have to pay for a hotel. This trip is sensible, whichever way you look at it. I am justified.

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