Christmas Cheer

Mother came down from the home for Christmas. With her boyfriend! 92 years old. Been through two world wars. And took a bit of damage in both. Set the love swings for them in the back room. Ear plugs for me, I think.

Martin Chuzzleclit cooked the turkey. I carved. Mother slurped, burped, farted and followed through. The usual Xmas dinner. Her fella had a saline drip for his dinner.

Martin got me a calender of roundabouts. We had a giggle. I hate roundabouts. Fucking hate them. I got him a copy of "Last Tango in Paris" and a block of lard. Little in joke between us.

Got a New Years gig at the club. Big money. Big crowd. Big trouble.

The Dark Ages

Medieval Banquet in Garstang. What a mess. A couple of spotty kids from Oldham Acting College dressed in chainmail made from Dr Pepper ringpulls ripping Iceland chicken wings apart whilst some pisshead played Layla on a lute.

Me and Chuzzleclit were on after the jousting between the chief exec of the recyling plant and one of the knuckledraggers from the plant. Blood everywhere. The exec might lose an eye.

So we came on. Bloody Dark Ages. Bones. Mead (Newcastle Brown Ale with Morrison's Honey). I think a glass of piss. A bit of the exec's eye. What a mess.

It took me an hour on the bus to get the chicken skin out of Martin's inner workings. Nice snack for the journey though. Roll on Christmas.

Busy Busy Busing

Been a busy few weeks. Christmas parties. It runs a little like this. A bunch of paper clip executives head up from Blackpool. Get honking pissed. Turn up at the club near the pier. Drag act. Magician (in this day and age!), meat raffle, karaoke, blue comedian, slap up meal, more booze, the fucking dance where they all sit on the ground rowing, more booze...and me and Martin. Graveyard shift. We've had more scampi thrown at us in the last week than Jayne Macdonald's comeback tour.

Anyway. Money's money. And Christmas is coming. Martin loves Christmas.

Got an Xmas do at a Medieval Banquet in Garstang in a tomorrow. How they'd know is beyond me.

Hoover Power

We're into the Christmas run up. I'm hoping that agent gets us more work. Macolm always used to say that my agent was a talent vaccuum. Which for 12 years I thought was a good thing.

I goggled it on the internet recently and now I know what it means.

Got a gig at Barrow in Furness. Or the Furnace as all entertainers call it. Last time me and Martin Chuzzleclit appeared in "The Slapped Tit" in Barrow I walked away with a broken cheek bone. Martin had a leg pulled off and lit like a cigar. By a woman. This country is falling apart.