Zayn Malik Gave Me His Heart...

Former 1 Direction heartthrob Zayne Malik has rather oddly accompanied me to go and get a heart transplant. Now, no offence to Zayne but I’d probably plump for a family member over the former X-Factor chart topper. I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I would secretly wonder what Zayne was up to. I know he now has empty days to fill but I don’t even know the guy. This feels inappropriate. That’s mostly why I’m nervous and actually him kissing me doesn’t help. He says he knows I’ll pull through FOR A FACT. What are you up to Zayne? What’s your angle?

Anyway, ‘I come out successful’. That sounds a bit casual for major surgery. Is this Snappy Snaps? Presumably they just popped the dicky ticker out and slapped a new one in. Plug in and play. No recovery time, no hospital bed for weeks. In, out and put the kettle on. The thing is, I’m pretty sure I’d have a fair idea where this heart was coming from. Presumably there’s an organ donor’s waiting list I would have had to be on. I’m not rich or in the mafia or anything Presumably I’ve been on that for a while. I don’t think I’d just turn up at the hospital on the off chance they had a heart on the go. “Not today mate. Try again tomorrow.” Either way, Zayn has disappeared, which is probably for the best. In future, I think I will take family with me for major surgery.

But what’s this? I’ve found a gift! Found? I’ve come out “successful” so I must be leaving the hospital. Has Malik just left it outside the operating theatre doors – potential tripping hazard – or concealed it in a hedge in the car park? And how long has it been sitting there getting damp in the rain or being swept around by cleaners? It all sounds unlikely to me. A bomb disposal would be all over that. Either way, there’s a little teddy bear and a “card shaped like a card” or, to abbreviate, “a card.” Such imagination that guy! “Hey babe” – bit weird – “Sorry I couldn’t be there for you after your operation” – don’t sweat it, actually. “But, I will always be in your heart. Forever.” Sounds  a bit final, Zayn. A bit sinister. What can he mean?

I’m a bit weirded out by this so I ask the nurse and she says “Didn’t they tell you who the donor was?” FUCKING HELL! Zayn Malik gave me his heart. THAT’S FUCKED! Hang on! He was perfectly healthy when we went in together, so…the doctors killed him to get his heart? That’s definitely illegal. Even if he consented. I barely knew the guy. He must have been shitting miserable. Essentially he’s committed suicide really mawkishly. Oh God, that’s morbid. I’m not sure I want his boyband heart pumping twat-juice into my blood. I feel very sick. And also. Who the hell gets a teddy bear and a card-shaped card as their final token of sacrifice? You’ve got 10 million quid, mate. You could probably do better than Hallmark! I’m actually relieved he’s dead.

I’ve got a root canal next week and the McBusted Boys have asked to come with. They can all get fucked.

You can't spell BUBONIC without BBC.

When I moved up to secondary school I had a primary school friend with me called Daniel Goodall. Daniel was a smart, creative guy and a good friend. However within two weeks of secondary school he started hanging around with “the hard kids”. He started smoking in the playground, swearing profusely in the local Glaaashire (Gloucestershire) accent, bunking off and generally doing anything which would endear himself to these monstrously thick, violent kids. I had effectively lost him as a friend, and we both knew it. Sometimes, when we were alone together, something of his old self would re-emerge, he would allow himself to be eloquent and thoughtful and a little bit of shame would flash up in his eyes. But he couldn't sacrifice his new social position or fight peer pressure. He was weak and he knew it. I once said to him “If all the boys in this school started wearing dresses, would you?” He didn't even have to think: “Yes.” Some people choose to do that. They dumb down. They give up. They don't usually want to, but they feel they have no choice.

And that's what the BBC have done.

The stock expression of Ben Elton
makes for uncomfortable viewing.

I watched the first episode of “The Wright Way” on BBC One the other day. It was dreadful. It was basically Ben Elton using capable comic performers as mouthpieces to do a weak and curmudgeonly stand up routine about why shop assistants at the counter pick up telephone calls before they actually deal with people standing in front of them and why is it that young people always text and what is it with that Jafakin' accent that all kids put on these days. Elton's concerns are actually probably already 10 years too dated, but you kinda get the feeling that he's been sitting in his volcanic lair planning this for a while. Elton recently said that he's as excited about this sitcom as he was the Young Ones, thus further digging up the corpse of his legacy, crudely applying lipstick and parading it about it drag, just to make sure that no drop of credibility remains. Fortunately for Ben, he's timed his new low perfectly. For no matter how bad “The Wright Way” is (and there IS a camp guy in it who acts all camp) it'll only be the second worst sitcom on TV at this or any other time.

The BBC were able to sell the show on twitter by stating “Fans of Mrs Brown's Boys should check out The Wright Way.” YES! One crime covers the other. “Hey guys, I've projectile vomited all over the bathroom, so if anyone wants to go in and piss on the floor, nobody will be able to tell.” If you want to smuggle cannabis into a country, hide it in a big sack of heroin.

Mrs Brown is finally forced to watch Mrs Brown's Boys.

Mrs Brown's Boys is the worst comedy programme that has ever existed. It make Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps look like Fawlty Towers. Imagine Father Ted wri

tten by Roy Chubby Brown and then remove all of the jokes. Yet, it is INSANELY popular. It is so massively popular that the BBC have no choice but to keep making it forever and to roll around crying in the massive revenues that DVD sales alone will bring in. Even the continuity announcer has to pretend that it's good. “Now on BBC One...it's err...it's *cough* Mrs Brown's Boy's *cough*...what? I didn't say anything...can I go on lunch now?” When the BBC announce that it's on via twitter, they are barraged with heckles. Why? Because people who know how to use the internet without typing all sentences in capitals and who don't think that lol is the way to end a sentence HATE it. They have access to entertainment, they have seen things like Arrested Development and Parks & Recreation. They are incredulous that such a thing can even exist, like they have awoken in a parallel dimension where it rains diarrhoea and Little Chef is considered fine dining.

Perhaps I'm being a snob. Perhaps the awkward comedy in the mould of The Office has left a large amount of middle-aged suburbanites and lobotomy patients behind. I don't need to take the monster to pieces. Go on to youtube, watch a few episodes, and then look at the comments section. If anyone is unwise enough to suggest that the show is less than genius, there follows vicious attacks by loyal viewers which accuse detractors of being “too PC” (Oh yes! The defensive position of the cretin), of being homosexual and of having (and I quote) “GAIY BLACK ADES LOL.” Despie the fact that this is probably just standard youtubese there is still something very worrying about it all. The real concern is that there is a large section of British society that truly think the show is good. The idea of sharing a country with such people is bearable, but sharing a TV channel with them is beyond the pale. It's like sharing a flat with Peter Andre.

Andre: unrepentant
mayonnaise thief.

It's hard to tell what the commonalities of this demographic are, so it's not like we can intern them. It's not so straightforward as class or age. I know highly educated people who think it's great, upper class people that cry with laughter and yet plenty of slow-witted dole monkeys who think it's dismal. It's very hard to generalise, as much as I'd like to. Perhaps, if you've never read 1001 Jokes for Kids, you actively enjoy office banter or you think that Christmas Cracker jokes are the highlight of the season, you just might like it.

The comedian Jarlath Regan (who has no trouble writing a funny joke) actually defended it to me. He said “It's a live experience. You have to be there.” That's all well and good, so why broadcast it on national television?

I wonder what Daniel Goodall thinks of it. I wonder if he watches it in a dress.

The Fear Blog. Part 15.

Aug 19

A potentially worrying Sunday was saved by a curry at the Edinburgh Mosque followed by a 45 minute nap. I woke up feeling reassuringly seasick. I then did a fair warm up gig on a mixed bill before putting on easily my best show. Naturally my recorder didn't record the bloody thing, because that would have been the perfect version for my website. Big laughs from beginning to end. Huge fun. Everybody was so supportive from the off that I took my time and played about. It meant I lost the thread a few times and had to refer to notes, but no one seemed to care much. Two girls at the front were leading the laughter. In their eyes, I could do no wrong. They had planned to come and see me. Even had me on their timetable between two big stand up names. Without them it would have been a much quieter affair. With them, it allowed me to be good and to take risks. This is the benefit of gaining a following.

Stopped in at Anti-Hoot and saw Eric the Australian comic, who was brilliant. Erin K did the big willy song again and then there was a woman who got everyone to breathe and stretch. By mixed bill, they mean MIXED. Nick Sun got up and caused trouble. He only got onstage with 20 seconds to spare so then just counted himself down, claiming he had numerical dyslexia. When I saw him, I twatted him around the back of the head. Lach decided that he wanted to play to actual people rather than just playing to lights and chairs at the end, so played some stuff at the beginning. He's very good, and the crowd were into his counter-culture talking over guitar. We didn't stay much longer.

Zeinu and his friends were getting a bit antsy, and I knew there was an open-spot comic coming on who I didn't particularly want to watch, now that our flat has become a forum for new comics to talk loudly about how to be a comedian. My flatmate Josh came in looking bored. One of the loudest said: "Well, I wouldn't do rape jokes" and Josh said: "Well, don't then. In fact don't do stand up at all." If I said that, I would have had a shocked reaction. Josh has a nice sardonic tone so it was funny. I suggested that no one was forcing rape jokes upon him and etc. Ahhhh, those wacky comic flatshares.

I went for late drinks with Zeinu and an American comic called Lea. Lea had been at my show and had taken my 'bickering marriage' stuff about Zeinu a wee bit too seriously, so was expecting something to happen. She was sorely disppointed when there was no explosive action.

I woke up the next morning with a girl in my bed. This explains why all my dreams had involved eating hair, smothering and being elbowed in the face.