WARNING: Due to the comment which came along after this post came up, the following post contains spoilers for a show which has already been on and therefore people know about already. But just in case they forget and do not wish to remember, please look away now.

P.S. We know the picture which gives away a large part of the show which is being spoiled is in within distance of this notice, and to set it right would mean some extra work. Owing to the fact we are lazy, it will continue to be wrong. Suffer mortals!

It’s been a lively time over the past few days, of course one of the most important things on the calender has been the second of the climatic three parter of Doctor Who.

We have seen the doctor lose sight of Earth, Rose come back, all the old companions join together and the Doctor actually get shot by the Daleks at long last and with everything practically down the toilet thanks to the return of Dave, sorry, Davros from god knows where, saved by the first pepper pot creature to laugh and behave, well, like me.

What is going to happen? The very last shot we have is that he is regenerating which means someone else playing the character. Which is kind of at odds considering the fact that David Tenant has signed up for specials and a possible series 5, which means there is going to a almighty twist and a half in the next episode.

And yet, there is a great feeling that because it’s Russell T Davies, it’s going to be as crap as last year’s ending where magically everyone shouted out the Doctor’s name to win the day over the Master, who frankly let’s face it, had won completely.

Let’s be honest, the episode before the last of Season 3 was superb, with the audience getting a real sense of defeat, what could actually be done in the face of such a deadly enemy? Our heroes basically had their testicles removed with a spoon and not even major surgery would have reattached them. And then everyone on earth chanted a name and then all was better in about 10 seconds.

Such a cop-out and perhaps it does show that the train ran out of steam, and all the writer wanted was a sit-down and a cup of tea. Shame, because Doctor Who has been one of the better shows brought back onto our screens in a number of years, with of course the first season being so well constructed and dramatic, it would set the standard for the rest to follow.

For this time round, with a similar set of circumstances facing our heroes, indeed old and new (Sorry, but when I see Billy Piper, I see her in naughtiness only. Thank you ITV! Bless you!) I know, let’s do something which makes no real sense. The Doctor’s going to win over Dave and his condiments via the gift of dance and a selection of custard pies. Or maybe Billie uses her woman assets to bleed the Daleks of money and all their stuff is taken away by bailiffs.

And that’s the challenge and in some ways, the expectation for next week; it’s somehow going to go south. The people in the know will have seen the episode and therefore will have an idea of how’s it going to play out. Whether or not it actually is good will remain a mystery until next Saturday at 6:40pm. Please, please make it a good one to finish off the season.

Ironing. We all have to do it if we are poor. It’s one of those immortal tasks that basically take up time, only to drag our evolved selves away from pursuits of grandeur such as writing an award-winning novel, creating a portrait of a loved pet, or picking your ears clean with a pair of cooking tongs.

It never ends too, we go through clothing like no tomorrow. And all the time we are doing it, we have either walls to stare at or a television telling us how either we can become successful parents, laugh at other people’s misery when they find out they’ve been having an affair with a midget or just one more episode of Pokemon simply to make sure that last brain cell dies screaming with agony.

What if you could make the chore just a little bit more interesting? Perhaps someone could help you out with the work or indeed just talk to you while you battle through yet another crease that just won’t die. Perhaps a change of location is in order?

Here are three examples of ways you too can make this household bore slightly more interesting. There are other examples out there but none as practical or realistic as these three:

Yes, it’s true. You’re not seeing things, those pictures are real, and before anyone asks, it was either that or watch reruns of Colombo. What would you do? Besides it may not be as extreme as some cases you have seen, perhaps the better way to look upon them as more conservative “British” methods of the sport.

Since the weekend’s fun and frolics, and of course Monday’s buoyant update where lots of jolly fun was had, one could almost expect another update filled with jolly and happiness with various other words that mean the same thing, but as this is a post on Ooh Sometimes and not the Guardian, forgive me but looking up words on a thesaurus seems too much effort.

However, once again London is proving itself with the “Love, Hate” relationship that all people down here seem destined to go through each day, not so much with issues such as crime etc, but more a state of some people down in the dirty city.

On Monday, on the way to work using the tube system, there were severe delays. The reason being that someone had either committed suicide or decided to have an costly accident on the central line. Either way, that person is no longer with the living, instead preferring the company of Gandhi, Elvis and Lord Lucan.

As an outsider, just the fact that this had happened was quite a shock, as it’s not something you expect to see every day, but what was more confounding, was the reaction of the other commuters.
Half of them, didn’t seem to care and were off in their own little world of unicorns and rainbows, while all the while still managing to look miserable, and the other half standing on the platform at the time, seemed to be overly annoyed that their journey was delayed. “How dare that person stop tube trains at rush hour, bastard, we hope he got what’s coming to him….”

This was, shall we say, a different reaction to that I would expect after the staff announced that over the speakers and then proceeded to have the message repeating every few minutes.

But, as it turns out after asking around about if this was normal, feedback seems to suggest that this is a regular feature of travel in London as people seem to get bored / upset / news that their cat is alive and well and decide to see if high voltage electricity does indeed leave you on the shade of “not alive.”

Not exactly something to tell people down the pub, but nevertheless it’s worthy of a mention and only goes further to give a more balanced view of life down in London.

Well after an amazing week, you are probably expecting a giant cascade of a weekend out and about, living the high life, sipping fuzzy liquid while laughing at homeless people and asking them if they have any spare change just to get back at them.

Well……it didn’t really happen exactly like that.

You see, there comes a point where after being out every single night, you actually have had enough. Too much of a good thing is indeed possible and therefore, after presenting the second option in a previous blog post of watching Top Gear reruns while still in bed, guess what I did. Given the fact that three middle aged blokes not only make cars engaging to watch, but over the top funny as well, it’s more than worthy of mention upon this digital tome, and may it remain great for many years to come.

I even managed the freakishly difficult task of washing my own clothes, which as we know,normally the clothes have to be sent away to be decontaminated by a team of elite scientists who took it upon themselves to study my white shirt in order to find an explanation for global warming, while trying to beat back the beasts that lay within the fibres of the aforementioned garment.

Certainly a daunting task to say the least, but I have every confidence in them and their ability to scream out “Get back you animal” while being handy with a whip.

Of course, what man could possibly stay in at all while down on the dirty mean streets of London, where crime is rampant as well as sexy, where people like to start pretending they’re chickens, and where people pay money for the privilege of being shot out of a cannon?

Not I.

Of course a fatal attempt at yet another simple household task took place on the Saturday afternoon, shortly retrieving the last pair of underpants that still had no holes in them: shopping at ASDA.

Not for the faint hearted, ASDA has been the downfall of many a hapless shopper convinced that they will only be 5 minutes for a loaf of bread, only then to be destroyed by the horror of the trolley dash made by thousands of 2.4 families, all fighting over the last packet of Daz Ultra.

Time is drained away, you end up buying more than you needed in the first place and then get stuck in a mile long queue, just for the fast lane check out. If you have more than 5 items, and its game over. It’s a wonder that this tragedy doesn’t make the news more often. Perhaps even a campaign could be started by some pointless celebrity tw*t pretending to be more interesting than they really are, where they just ask for £5 a week to open up more tills to ease the suffering. Truly, it’s a concern for all mankind.

After being drained of all emotion and for some reason, some bodily liquids to boot, all was settled once more in time for the episode of Doctor Who, where in a time of crisis without the Doctor, the English would become Nazis. (You may need to watch it to get the reference) On the plus side, Billy Piper was in it, pre-pregnancy anyway. But to be fair, the best show to get you going is “Secret Diary of a Call Girl” in which she does very naughty things for money, thus removing the need for imagination. Great success.

Sunday was a great success too as it goes, as the gallant Lord of Leisure triumphed over the robotic forces of darkness and whatever else was going, playing the long-winded titled Penny Arcade game which was mentioned a while ago. A rich full day, and one of which, you feel like lighting up the cigarette again and asking “Was it good for you, darling?”

But wait, there’s more.

Sunday Evening was spent at the Comedy Store yet again, if only to see the likes of Paul Merton and Josie Lawrence playing around with each other on stage for our amusement. They are the Comedy Store Players after all (no, don’t groan, it’s not a bad joke once you re-read it). Alas to describe what went on would spoil the good humour, and frankly would have to rely on my bad memory, which would result in the world going wrong(er) and people panicking in the streets.

And to round things back off, more Top Gear was had from the brand new series which just started on BBC 2 if you are fortunate enough to watch. Damn, just can’t get away from it, and on that huge gushing bombshell, it’s time to end the entry. Good night!

 

 What the stars said....: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Now, I know that the whole movie premiere issue was milked rather recently but this video had only finished processing overnight into a flash format and it is the last video from Hancock on Wednesday.

Basically after some of the hoopla died down, the stars got on stage and started talking to a bloke who was there. Think of this as Film 2008 except on a hugely limited budget and no real sense of what’s happening.

Note: Yes I made silly comments during this but some of what was said asked for it….

The last few days once again have filled the time with tales of wonder and then more wonder but of a different sort, one of which perhaps leaves a bitter taste in the mouth.

So to Tuesday, a detour was taken to a pub just shy of the London Bridge tube station, to sit down and listen to some scripts written by aspiring comedic writers to be. The cunning name for the writers writing comedy, who were also in London; The London Comedy Writers. How fiendish…

It was actually a rather bizarre thing to do, after all the most I have ever written for, was the blog, the podcast and various crayon scrawlings in phone boxes. Never had I considered writing comedy, in script form and it was a good learning experience. The actors were superb in reading the script, and the material presented by two likely lads who decided University was a waste of time (cough, cough), and the feedback given was slightly hopeful.

It would be unfair to say what it was and also to spoil some of the humour, so for once, I guess the beans shall remain in the tin, as opposed to all over the floor in an erotic display of, err, eroticness.

The idea of the evening was to have your work read out for various people who will have recieved your script beforehand, and have feedback given by whoever was there. Looking back it is the only true way to know if you have what it takes to make it and they all did a very good job in being fair, something very hard to do these days. I suppose that to write so little what what was a great time is a grand injustice to what the LCW actually is, so with that note, I suggest you look up their website and see what it’s all about.

The London Comedy Writers

Now, let us fast forward to the Wednesday of this week, and as you may have guessed by the hastily put-together yet highly superb video piece starring the Lord of Leisure, it was the day that highly paid film stars rolled into town to make sure that they fulfilled their movie contracts in promoting the film they worked on.

Hancock has Will Smuty, Charlize Thermos (which was news to me as nothing had been said about her) and another bloke who up until that point no-one had heard of all playing written characters in the Movie. Hancock is a down on his luck superhero who has had enough but pulls himself together judging by the huge screens showing massive amounts of spoilers. I think so anyway…

By reading the previous paragraph you may be thinking that the impression that has been left is one of the same bitter taste known when making the impossible attempt of seeing which of marmite or Bovril was better.

And in the grand scheme of things, I suppose that is the most accurate feeling I can bring across the digital divide. You see, on television, the events where the A-list Hollywood people are seen on our doorsteps, well only London as it goes, once again reiterating the fact that there is no other place in the UK that anyone actually knows about, are dressed up as grand affairs capturing the human sphere of imagination.

Well…err. It’s not.

Instead, what was presented to open-mouthed people including myself, was a huge corporate event aimed at showing once again the barrier between the people who had money and in the know with the right people, and the general public. All the way around you had never seen so many people in suits outside of Canary Wharf, all there to keep the peace and also a contingent of PR, making sure that no-one would get more than 5 nanoseconds with the megastar of your choice.

But before the main event kicked off, to keep the sort of big-ish crowd at bay from destroying everything in sight, a brief dancing show was put on, with various little people further reinforcing the black culture stereotypes with huge shorts and crap music. However the tiniest midget should be credited with actually pulling off some impressive moves while the women did next to nothing. Dance imitating life methinks.

Now to be fair, credit has to go to Will Smith, who when he arrived on the scene took his time, as he spent the most time signing various implements of the sight-seeing crowd and taking pictures with them, in between going to the media for silly catchphrases and laughing at a jaunty angle (If you were there, you would know) so the wrath of this little self-indulgent article will spare the man.

But as for the other a couple of minutes for the cameras, then a couple for the small portion of crowd towards the front of the carpet area and then the rest of the time for the news media who reports the chaos to the hungry TV fatties. Consider the source of the rant if you will.

The movie going public pay for the actors’ mansions, cars, women, men, light bulbs as well as the jobs of the production company and the studios, so perhaps they should be willing to spend a little more time near…..dare I say….us normos.

Perhaps that is a greatly selfish thing to say, but judging from others around, it was clear that this feeling was there below the surface, below the forced smiles. There were fans who were over the moon to be within 50 metres of their favourite actors, such as the fat girl who sang like a canary to the cops to make a deal for her freedom. I had only seen and heard worse on the Jerry Springer show.

To add insult to injury, you watched countless people who you had no idea who they were, but were all clutching premiere tickets in their hands, hell even the Gladiators currently pretending to hit people on Sky One turned up, in their costumes. How did they get a ticket? The bloke who used to on the show which fixed people’s houses up, Nick someone-whose-name-escapes-me-because-I-don’t-really-care-who-he-is turned up with a tiny sexy woman. Again, how?

I enquired as to how people actually obtain these tickets and somehow I uncovered an underground industry which is growing in the depths of London for the elite to use to make themselves seen at the event of their choice. Lifestyle Management companies.

Yes, you read it, you can’t unread it. Lifestyle Management, as it appears is the way to have things taken care of, for the busy professionals of today’s rough and tumble world, they get you gifts and arrange entertainment on your behalf while you work making 100 million at the stock exchange.

Take a look for yourselves:
http://www.conciergelondon.co.uk/
http://www.sincura.com

These are merely two examples of the growing industry, all catering to your high brow social needs. Unless you know someone in the entertainment industry who can get tickets at will or are very rich, this is the way you have to go.

Perhaps, if you wish to make a name for yourself in any shape of form, this is the new fame academy and maybe everything you see on the news should not be taken as gospel. It appears once again, reality takes on a new meaning here in the capital.

 

 The Lord of Leisure speaks!: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Note: Forgive the tired look, this is after three days of being out all the time. Bound to catch up with you at some point…

After the weekend’s torrent of abuse and indeed excitement, you normally expect that to be the end of the fun until the following weekend, due to the pesky annoyance of having to go to work for a living to recoup your gambling losses and hiring of ladies of the evening.

Don’t look at the page like that’s not a problem you suffer from….

But that notion of wandering off home, heating up the ready meal of mystery and then watching re-runs of Thomas the Tank Engine, was dashed ever so briefly for something I never imagined would actually occur.

For those of you who have read the tome of knowledge known as Ooh Sometimes before, you will have read about “Gamers with Jobs”, a website dedicated to wannabe social-shut-ins who can’t get away with staying playing games all day because of other life altering commitments like family, who we all know only get in the way of having fun.

They talk quite well about topics of the day and more recently their obsession with Age of Conan, which in case you are wondering, the age is 12. (Hahahaha etc, I made the nerdy joke, I’m the king of you all….help me please, I need to get out more or less, whichever is better)

But a little while ago, because the planets were aligning and all the chickens had been sacrificed to appease the Mayan gods, a group of strangers from the website decided to venture down to the capital to meet up, be shocked at each other’s appearances, cry and then talk about digital happenings over nice warm beer.

Well, I was in the neighbourhood so why not?

Well, let’s examine that very point to start with. Why not meet up with a potential group of homicidal maniacs hell bent on introducing you to Mr. Knife and Mr. gun, leading to afternoon tea with Mr. Doctor or his brother, Garth Undertaker the third (body twice removed).

Let’s be honest, we’ve all heard the horror stories of various people hooking up on websites from around the world only to have their hopes dashed on living the next day, or at the least finding out that the person you were hoping to meet doesn’t in fact look like David Hasslehoff but more like Marilyn Manson.

That indeed is a far point to make, but remarkably as a result of being down in the capital for more than five minutes so far (the year is young), the prospect of meeting these people was a lot less scary than the strange fella I sat next to on the tube back from the center of town, who for some reason decided that the air was annoying him and decided to affirm his manhood by shouting at something we couldn’t see. Perhaps we needed the little kid from the Sixth Sense to join the dots together to make the bouncy castle?

So given that choice, it was fairly obvious what to do. Hide….no wait….

Having sat in the pub for a while reading the Evening Standard, trying in vain to blend into the background with the other socialites, who were in smart business attire, all pretending to be the IT crowd, I began to wonder if it was all made up.

Then I noticed a “touristy-looking chap” outside looking like he was about to cry because he was left alone. The dots were joined.

This chap went by the name of Vrikk, and yes if you change the V for a P, you have a misspelled naughty word. As time went on, others came to the place of drunken woe and in the end, there were 5 worthy warriors in the group, and well I can only go by the forum names;

Haakon7 + Wife (Sorry forgot your name!)

Vrikk

WanderingTaoist

and finally the proud Lord of Leisure of whom they had heard so little about. Now would be the time to educate, after all no-one expects the spani….wait that joke’s been done before somewhere….

It was rather strange, a feeling I had become comfortable with since coming down to London a short time ago. Here we all were, never seen each other before and only exchanged brief messages on a forum online, and we were talking like it was going out of fashion about well, anything.

Of course, for the first hour or so, you would tend to discuss differences in culture, such as everything smells like wee (I tried to find B.O. basher but never mind) and crying over the fact that money was in short supply. American dollars to pounds = not a good thing… And of course where would we be without talking about TV shows, gaming and of course politics, everyone’s favourite subject next to Jihads.

One thing which was gutting was that we ordered some food, and as a result missed out on the pub quiz downstairs. How dare they hold back from showing our utter lack of knowledge? They shall pay! (Hang on, who are they?)

After a while, Haakon7 and his lovely wife wandered back to Hampshire (I think, it was somewhereshire anyway), the three kings of road wandered towards the west end where due to a malfunction of the bladder, we stayed around “O’Neill’s” where further topical conversation was had, mainly about journalism, a small bit about my appearance on the podcast, how good was Peter Gabriel and the fact that Genesis was rubbish after he wandered off, the usual.

I suppose after the early fears mentioned earlier in the post, the one thing I took away from the evening, aside from the fact that man love was a beautiful thing, was that something as simple as an internet site (not counting the naughty dating sites) brought random people together and somehow you were able to have a brilliant time.

Of course they could have all been serial killers which certainly would have s**t all over my point, and that would have meant I wasn’t able to write here, but never mind.

Again, Monday night was another bonus off staying here, and it for the present time, the time spent in London town is going from strength to strength.

With all the current excitement out and about in the southern city which no-one inside the UK really likes and the only city anyone outside the UK has heard of, you may be wondering:

“Paul, you hideously erotic creature from the 6th dimension, you’re not leaving us out in the cold without giving any details of your gaming prowess and skills?”

Well fear not gentle and slightly aroused readers, for I have half-heartedly stumbled like a drunken man onto a slightly bizarre yet comical adventure / RPG / Bugger knows game known as “On the Rain-Slick Precipice of Darkness, Episode One” and yes, the title is long-winded.

It’s been rather bizarre that this has taken up some of the Lord’s time rather than EA’s all singing all dancing space sex “shootorama” with a story, “Mass Effect”, which arrived on British shores a couple of weeks ago now or indeed the excellent looking but proof will be in the pudding, “GRID” created by Codemasters, who has taken it upon themselves to create a console style level racing game for all platforms and it rather works well on the PC by all accounts.

Let me explain.

Adventure games with a story have always peaked my interest. You may have gathered that from the man love which gushed over the Sam and Max revived games created by Telltale Games a few months ago, and frankly the story if presented in a right way and also if it is compelling enough for you to forgive a fair number of the gameplay issues that may crop up during play.

“Mass Effect”, of course has been billed as having such a compelling story that people forgave slightly the hideous inventory screen or team mates who about a dangerous in a gun fight as a tin of spam.
But there is a subtle difference.

“On the Rain-Slick Precipice of Darkness, Episode One” or OTRSPODEO for short was a tenner. “Mass Effect” is £30. Pure economics win. And so far it’s not been an overly bad choice.

The story started off with your character following a giant robot after he squashes your house and then you catch up to the other main characters who are the people who are drawn regularly over at Penny Arcade (it’s their baby, you see) and then you go through some clicking combat things, occasionally using a cat who licks himself and then runs away after apparently hurting the little sexually active juicing machine who you fight a lot.

That’s truly all I can say at the moment, because I have only just ventured into a woman’s bedroom who knows about things. Not the first time I’ve said that sentence but just like in real life, I don’t what happens afterwards. That’s the fun to be had afterwards! I guess that when I’ve played through more of OTRSPODEO, I can give a fully scathing, ridiculous and purely made-up idea of what the game is to you, the drug-crazed, pregnant public.

Another game which was purchased a long time ago but only played once and then confined to the digital dungeon of the Hard Drive is “Sins of a Solar Empire”, the independent strategy game which gave a lot of people pleasure over the fact a typical game lasts about 78 years and has lots of buttons which do things.

Considering the fact I’ve rarely been at home long enough recently to actually play a game like that for a long time at once, it appears this purchase has been a bit of a disaster. However, never to let people down, it will be the next game up for review on Gamers’ Corner on the podcast, if only to make sure that the lingering feeling that I’ve wasted my money for nothing will go away.

It’s important to make time for things that waste time, don’t you agree?

You may have noticed I used “” quite a lot. Never mind….

So after a massive two day week, what better way to celebrate the fact that you haven’t been fired than with a trip on the town? OK, I will concede there are better ways such as flying a plane, travelling around on a yacht sipping overly priced liquid, or if you are lucky to have a significant other, roger them silly until they can’t walk any more.

Having none of those options open to me at the time, a trip on the town was the next best thing, and why not?

There was a greater purpose to the weekend’s wanderings, as Saturday had an exciting event which lots of people would be celebrating greatly or at least in their own middle class manner, clap politely and say what ho. Oh I see, aside from the Queen’s birthday which also had some celebrations going on.

Terry Prachett was in town.

The creator/writer of the Discworld novels, Only you can save mankind (personal favourite there), and countless other books was down on the Southbank store of Foyles signing books, being recorded for the BBC and also it appeared taking a small amount of time to chat with people there as well as he penned away. And as I arrived, the queue seemed absent and with no real queue, you think you’re sorted.

Unless you arrived at the wrong store.

I was at the Tottenham Court Road store instead thinking it was there, and only by looking at the poster at the store, the true location became known. Bugger.

So after the confusion was lifted and the sprit was lowered, off we trundled to the south bank, where upon arrival you did see the queue and at least you had a queue that either Terry was there or the cafe next door made incredibly good tea.

However the queue was big enough for you to wonder if your next birthday would be celebrated with a bunch of strangers who had became your friends and possibly lovers, with a family being brought up on the street all wondering how it all started…

So what do you do when faced with standing a big queue possibly for the rest of your life? You start talking to people seeing who you can either arose or scare.

And that’s where a charming, bright American woman called Diane stepped into fill the conversational void. Yes, perhaps you may consider that to be an oxymoron (bright and American in the same sentence) but I can only assure you it’s true.

During the endless queue, we chatted about Hydraulics, Forestry, how to fail miserably to annoy your parents, Terry Prachett (well it’s rude not to talk about the author you’ve come to see!) how to attract people with award winning lines such as “You’re a either a woman or a man who’s really let himself go.” and finally remarking about the endless procession of aircraft flying overhead over the river, which was ordered for Her Majesty.

When you have your own air force, perhaps it’s nice to have them fly around where you live once in a while, just to see if they are any good or perhaps to settle an argument or two.

And then it was time to finally spend 30 seconds with the man himself. It was both surreal and interesting. Of course I was making an arse of myself like I do with most people, but I never expected to chat with him about picking up ladies in book signing queues.

After asking if I had got someone, I pointed to Diane, and after a chuckle, he said he knew someone who met their last three girlfriends in book signing queues. Of all the things to actually talk about, we got on that. It was more than worth it.

At this point, after such a meeting, the chatter continued between the American and the Lord of Leisure at some place on the river over a pint, and during the exchange of silliness and ideas, it occurred to me that the afternoon’s happenings basically were what London’s more about.

You come here to mingle and talk to different people and see what happens as a result. It’s not the place to keep yourself to yourself, no matter how hard you want to try.

After parting company, I wandered back to the West End, rather happier than I had been in a few days, the whole adventure so far have lifted sprits to a level more suitable. The debate than began as to what to do now.

On one hand you have the West End, filled with glitzy restaurants, bars with people dressed in well, clothes. There are also clubs selling silly named drinks, over-priced cinemas and the smattering of comedy clubs all vying for your hard-earned pound.

And on the other hand, you have sitting at home in front of the computer, watching repeats of Top Gear and then thinking about playing a game before retiring to bed, having eaten all the Penguin biscuits in the house first.
Decisions, decisions….

Having enjoyed some quality food at one of London’s top restaurants (Pizza Hut), the time was then taken making the way towards the Comedy Store, a place where lots of people go to see people stand on a stage and spout off endless amounts of crap in the hope that you will laugh, otherwise bad men take them out the back and beat them. Basically what happens when I fail to write something funny on the blog or podcast…

The first two were a bit rubbish and had a bit of a silly time dealing with the seamen on the front row. They were from the navy you see….But an unlikely champion came to the rescue in the guise of Will Smith.

Having been disappointed that it was the bloke from the fresh prince of Bell-end, he then proceed to actually make great jokes at his expense and wonderful stories, all written down in his notebook as to what was said, which was fantastically done when used to describe what two asbo hoody people on a bus was saying about bitches.

The final two chaps were a Scotsman who was only 21 yet still managing to create some great humour and a black American bloke who sounded drunk yet clearly knew what he was doing, and basically the last three acts were the reason for paying the admission price. The compare bloke was happy taking the michael out of the navy blokes and it was best left there.

After that chuckle, the new impression of London, being some place to keep going about the place and meeting people, to maintain that momentuim, it appears the Lord of Leisure’s presence was requested to some random person’s house in North London to drink and watch Muse, then changing the DVD to Max and Paddy. It was some fella called James who had people round for talking about stuff, and to be honest, I remember looking at photos of his lithuianian girlfriend, whose name escapes me now, who was also there along with my flatmates and frankly I can only remember making not much sense and being slightly withdrawn.

The withdrawn bit may have been left over with getting on a bus not really knowing where I was going and having a Gordon Ramsey lookalike in dirty trousers wanting to talk to me and I was still getting over the creepyness.
Still one sleep later, we left and then got back to the flat after some shopping for the week. Rather strange that just doing things willy-nilly allows you to encounter both scary and funny things all at once. Hell of a weekend, one can only hope it continues in the same fashion.