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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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Monday 23rd January 2006

Posted by on January 23, 2006 4:44 PM | 

I forgot to mention yesterday that, lying in bed, I was temporarily woken by a loud but distant boom at about eight in the morning. It sounded a little like a bomb (not that I’ve a great amount of bomb experience) but wasn’t enough to stir me properly and I went back to sleep. Bombs going off are generally best left for others to deal with, don’t you think?

Then later when I watched the local news (BBC Northwest or Granada, I can’t remember) I realised to my disappointment what it was that had generated the blast. It was the detonation and subsequent demolition of the Paradise Street Bus Station and multi-storey car park. If only I’d known, I’d have been down there in person to witness it.

The NCP car park was a typically grey affair, built in the 60’s. The bus station came with it, although it had undergone modernisation in recent years. They were both a blight, and it would have been satisfying to see them suffer at the hands of several tons of explosives, as well as interesting to see the detonation first hand.

The funny thing about it from a televisual perspective though, is that the reporter for whichever channel it was had positioned himself on a vantage point close to the condemned buildings, which formed the backdrop. He’d obviously concocted a plan to do a live piece to camera, and then have the buildings explode behind him – as if by magic. He obviously thought that this ambitious plan would win him lots of North West journalism awards and maybe even give him a shot at doing the proper news on a national programme.

I can picture the cameraman and possibly a producer saying “Are you sure? I mean, how can you be absolutely sure when it’s going to blow?�

“Don’t worry about it. They said eight O’clock on the dot. I’ve synchronised my watch with the site foreman’s. It’ll look great, trust me.�

“Well, if you’re sure….�

He went ahead and did his piece to camera. It went something like this; “The buildings you see behind me are part of Liverpool’s social history, but that history ends today because in ten seconds time both the car park and the bus statio.. BAAAAAAAAAANG!…

It almost ripped his head off. He was about eight seconds out. I’m sure the clip will turn up time and time again on one of Dennis Norden’s brilliant calamity clip ensembles.

I walked into town today to look at the rubble. They did a great job blowing it up – what a hugely satisfying job that must be. Weeks of planning and setting the charges, all for one push of a button and one almighty explosion. It’s seems strange having some new vantage points now. You can see right through to the new car park and the Police headquarters. Unlike the new Wembley (see yesterday), I can see this – arguably bigger project – being done in time.

I went to Rawhide Comedy Club in the Royal Court Theatre tonight to try out some more Pathetic Lot material. Nothing really worked – it was lousy. In retrospect I should maybe have mentioned the stupid reporter standing in front of the condemned bus station trying to get on the proper news and almost decapitating himself. That’s quite visual, not to mention topical.

I’m not too concerned about this Blog stuff not working as yet. It will take time. One thing that interested me about this evening, which was a special night for new acts or new material called Rawhide Raw, was how young all the new, upstart comedians seemed to be. Some are teenagers. I was convinced for a moment that this wasn’t the case when I first made forays into the business, but then remembered that I myself was twenty or twenty one. That seems impossible. Maybe it is time to get a proper job.

Back then, all those years ago, a bad gig such as tonight would really knock me, but that’s not the case now. I’m not completely disaffected but I can put things into perspective. I know I have an archive of tried and tested material, but I’m going to stubbornly stick to adaptations of these Blog entries for the time being, and hopefully always, and for two reasons; One, it’s risky. Two, ultimately it will make me better.

The only drawback is that, for the time being, it certainly won’t make me richer.

Comments (1)

Barry wrote...

You should advise in advance of the gig and guarantee at least six laughs in the audience, I mean if we are enthralled by your blog, imagine the hilarity of live entertainment!!!

Posted by: Barry  | January 25, 2006 12:23 PM

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