The Sky Tower in full Summer glory!


31st December 2006

In the first instance, this was written on a plane so spelling mistakes and bad grammar might be all too present. Not dat it isn’t neway is it? So I will try 2 correct it l8er if I cn B arsed.(Which reminds me that New Zealand exam boards are now accepting text speak as an officially recognised method of writing answers in exams now. I lie not!)

Where do I start? An apology, I think, just in case any of you were wondering what happened. Did I simply drop off the face of the Earth? Had I been catapulted into the World of celebrity after my ground breaking appearance on Shortland Street so that I no longer wished to associate with mere mortals such as yourselves? Had my second night at the Classic Comedy Club in Auckland gone so bad that I had literally “died” on stage, a la Tommy Cooper? Answer, none of the above. Sorry to have left you all in the dark. My explanation follows.

After landing in Auckland and taking the big deep breath that I recounted in my previous postings, I slipped into and beyond “normal” existence and mundane routine. I did perform for a second time at the Classic and was seriously thinking about some gainful employment for my remaining time in New Zealand. Tracey Collins, our Mad Kiwi Accordionist, had been fabulous in making me feel welcome in New Zealand, as had her friends and fellow mentalist great people, Cat and Neil. However, as is often the case with the International Man Of Apathy, doing nothing seemed like the best option. Is it better to allow a large dog to maul an infant so that you don’t upset the “don’t be cruel to animals” people, or do you kick the Alsatian right in the face and become the hero of the NSPCC? There is always the third option. Walk away and pretend that you didn’t see the marauding canine, mouth a slobbering as it imposes its vice like grip on the victim’s throat, knowing that out of the two, the dog is less likely to stitch you up. Having carefully considered all three options, I opted for the most apathetic one available and went for a beer. I know that I will one day have to face up to the responsibility of my own decisions. Not today though. Tough luck junior, and try to keep it down, your strangled whimpers are ruining my brandy.

So I went for a beer. In Los Angeles. With Scott. This may seem like an absurd way to do nothing, to travel 13 hours on a cramped aeroplane for a beer, but I have no responsibilities on this trip. Well, none other than enjoy it. I wasn’t enjoying “it” in Auckland for one simple reason. I needed a mate to talk crap with. Tracey could talk crap, and often abused that privilege, but it isn’t the same as your oldest mates. I had become friendly with a comedian from the Classic called Ben, but he moved on to Sydney and wandering Australia. I just got to thinking, “what am I doing here?” In truth, the answer was nothing of any note. A great deal of that was through my old fashioned laziness, and a lot through worrying about what I should be doing, i.e. get a career and a life sorted. Silly boy. I can already hear Fenners, Kev and Jeff shouting at me. I know, but when your head gets infested with the guilty wasteful nonsense it is a bugger to shift. I needed to be somewhere else and with a friendly face. So that was that.

I didn’t leave without a couple of odd things to report. Oh by the way, this is going to be a huge entry by the looks of it. Better get a flask and hide the sharp objects. I was asked back to the Classic to do what was to be my final gig in the two gig run. I wasn’t nearly as nervous as before, barely breaking a sweat on stage. This was a little disappointing as I had written a gag to account for this phenomena and it lays wasted now. I even threw in a couple of new bits and jiggled the order but it didn’t phase me. I still had the cheat sheet on the table on stage but I didn’t refer to it as much. The reception from the audience, numbering more than 12 this time, was quite good. Again, I am not the finished article, but I was enjoyed and was told so afterwards. Just got to relax more and involve the audience more rather than approach it like a monologue. The greatest thing about the second gig was that one of the acts on after me was really confident. Too confident. He was giving advice to us all, including the very talented and well established Penny Ashton who was the compere for the night. He was stating fabulous things like “ I don’t bring family to my gigs as I want honest laughs so I can gauge how well I am doing” and “ I only go for the intellectual humour as the other stuff is just too base!”.. He was even having a go at other professional and famous comedians for their work Oh how all of the comedians in the green room silently placed imaginary pool balls into long socks and formed a visceral queue as was last seen with Ray Winston in SCUM! He was to be our soap filled pillow case target, ain’t that right , Private Pile? The problem is that you HAVE to be supportive of the other acts. Anyone who has been to a comedy club on a few occasions will have been lucky enough to see someone die on their arse. Some may report that I did, but they would be liars and probably mentalists with a history of violent crimes too. But I rest assured that, should I carry on and do more gigs, I will die at some point and probably more often than I care to imagine. At least I have done it and know that on at least three out of the four times I have attempted something like it I have at least got a few laughs or better. Tumultuous applause might be pushing it a bit far, but in all honesty I have not embarrassed myself too badly.

I was second on the running order. A blessing and a curse. It meant that I got my bit over and done with so less time listening to others while waiting for my turn while trying not to listen. Less time to panic and forget the opening line. More time to sit back and enjoy the other acts with a cold beer in hand. But it also meant that my time was coming very, very quickly! Penny opened and was very good, the first act was a little flat but did ok. As he came off the stage I congratulated him, more on survival than a barn storming act. As I descended the stairs towards the stage, I over heard Private Pile begin to dissect the first guys act with suggestions and explanations about how it could have been better. I put that out of my mind and got on with the job in hand. Once again the groaning jokes got a groan, the disgusted oohs and ahhs came at the right time and the gay fish doing “jazz hands” was well received. Penny came to resume her role as I had over run my time slot. I got all my act out, over ran a touch and genuinely felt over the moon that I had done a good job. Private Pile saw things a little differently. Apparently I was a bit too focused on bodily functions, poo, sex and the odd reference to onenism. That’s masturbation but there is no way I writing that word in my blog. And I was talking about Michael Jackson and David Hasselhoff at the time and I challenge you to talk about either without thinking “wanker!”.

So, I came off stage, not sweating and assumed a seat in the audience to drink beer and support the other acts. All was going well. Diane, from my first gig, was on again and was brilliant again. I am certain that she will make a name for herself. Ben was also great. Private Pile was introduced and took to the stage complaining about the amount of foreigners performing that night and that he was 100% Kiwi. The mixed audience weren’t sure how to react, and the opted for no reaction. Great! This bloke had criticised everyones' act that was on before him and he started badly. Still, plenty of time for his “more intellectual” wit to lift high above the heads of us one liners and poo storytellers. Next line…I kid you not and this is almost verbatim….” Aye, what if I had a heart transplant with the heart from a Maori?? When I woke up, would I start claiming loads of land?” Now that is not funny for so many reasons. Primarily because of the Maori people in the club and also performing that night. There is an issue with claiming of land rights from the Maori and the Pakeha (whites) and it is open to ironic teasing. In fact I have seen such on many occasions. But the delivery of this line and the stunned, offended silence from the audience had me cringing and celebrating all at once. His whole act followed this pattern. Not one laugh from anything he said. He was visibly desperate and search around for something to say that would get a laugh. Nothing! To understand this, I want everyone who reads this to talk for the same 5 minutes that Private Pile did, without stopping and trying to ignore a sea of totally blank faces. Do it. Talk about nothing for 5 minutes with no one responding to you. No songs allowed. Just talk. Then look at you watch when you think you are on about 3 minutes and you will see the second hand click one notch every 20 of your “brain seconds”. Time stands still. It takes forever. And he kept going! Not one laugh. And it wasn’t the audience being mean, he just had no comic lines at all.

I looked to the balcony where the comedians can watch the show and every one of them was lined up gleefully enjoying every minute of this imbecile crashing so spectacularly that I half expect his mum to stand up and yell “ You’re Crap!!! Tell us something funny!” And that is how it went. I HAVE seen people die on stage, but even they get the odd pity laugh or uncomfortable titter. Nothing. Not a murmur. The crowd were a very friendly and supportive bunch to everyone there that night, except Private Pile. He had not one punch line, joke or anecdote. I never want to see a man crushed as I wanted to see him crushed. And crushed he was. The memorable last line of his act? “ You lot obviously don’t get this so I am off!”. Exit stage left. It turned out that he had never performed before and was probably trying to convince himself rather than us that he was funny and experienced. Worst night of his life. One of my favourites! He walked off the stage and straight out of the club. I think I love him. Even when I do die horribly, it can be nothing like that. Silence from beginning to end. And the best bit was that every other comedian was dying to talk about how awful he was and how happy we were that he had humiliated himself but no one dare be the first to throw the muck.. I stepped into the breach and the floodgates opened! Nice!

After having a disastrous haircut from a Japanese hairdresser, I was reaching the depths of my apathy and said all too brief goodbyes to Tracey and some of the other people that I met in Auckland. Despite my expediency in leaving, I was genuinely sad to go with some much undone. But I had to do what I wanted and that meant going to see Scott in LA. I will miss Tracey, Cat and Neil and I will miss White Lady Burgers from the van just off Fort Street, best in the World.


I think I will be back, rejuvenated and refuelled with apathy. But the right kind this time. The right kind.

I thought that everything might be a bit much in one go so more catch up installments to come........