Well what a few weeks it’s been. I’ve had the honour of opening for the amazing comedians Tom Wrigglesworth and Boothby Graffoe. I’ve been chosen to take part in the BBC Radio 4 New Comedy Award. Plus – and this is the big one – I’ve been groped by The Young’uns”> very own Sean Cooney.
Obviously I know you’ll all be principally interested in the groping news, but firstly I’ll briefly take care of the admin and then we can get on with the juicy bit. “what? He groped your juicy bit?” You’ll have to keep reading to find out. But first, news of a damp squib. “What? He groped your damp squib? Come on, stop it. I expect better from you. And don’t claim that you didn’t actually think any of that, and that I’m fictionalising your imagined double entendre based thought processes for mild comedic effect, because quite frankly, that argument isn’t washing with me.
In my last blog post I announced that I had a mysterious gig entry in the diary that simply said, “Hyde Park gig” on 12th June. I was given no further details, but this was given to me by a pretty established comedy agency, so I assumed that the gig must be a fairly big deal, and would be taking place inside the actual Hyde Park, where they have the big festivals and events. Two days before the gig, I still hadn’t heard anything more about the event, so I got in touch with the person who booked me to do it. Finally a day before the gig I got an email. It turned out that it was actually taking place just outside Hyde Park in a pub. And then, the day of the gig, I got an email to say that the pub was pulling the gig because they hadn’t sold any tickets, which is hardly surprising given that none of the performers, let alone a prospective audience, knew where the gig was.
I’d already booked the train, so it essentially cost me £16 to not do a gig, which might sound like it should be rather frustrating, but it was actually a bargain because it would have cost me £50 if I had done the gig, as I’d have needed to get a taxi to and from the station. At the moment I am still new to comedy, and the whole thing is proving a very costly hobby. For a psychological boost, I might sign up to do free or low paid comedy gigs, then cancel the gig and gleefully watch the money not roll out.
Last week I received an email informing me that I’d been chosen to take part in the BBC New Comedy Awards, a competition that has helped launch the careers of some of the UK’s most-loved comedians. Past finalists include: Alan Carr, Nina Conti, Rhod Gilbert, Julian Barratt, Daniel Kitson, Lee Mack, Marcus Brigstocke, Peter Kay, Josie Long, Shappi Khorsandi, Jarred Christmas, Rob Deering, Russell Howard, Justin Moorhouse, Gary Delaney, Andrew Lawrence, Danielle Ward, Dan Tetsell, Caroline Quinlan, Sarah Millican, Angela Barnes, Joe Lycett, as well as my good friend, the excellent comedian Silky, who I’ve frequently performed with and is well worth seeing.
There are fifty of us competing and my heat will be in Leicester on 3rd July. It will be broadcast very soon after on BBC Radio 4 Extra. I am currently working on my material for the show. Rest assured I’ll be sending all my jokes to be vetted by Nigel Farage.
The semi-finals and final will be held in August at the Edinburgh Fringe. Obviously I don’t know if I’m going to make it that far, but I have had to put plans in place just in case. This has by no means proved an insignificant and painless undertaking. I was meant to be flying to America the day before the date of the final, ahead of a two week US tour with The Young’uns. We have therefore had to move the first of our gigs, which was due to take place on the day of the final, to the end of the tour. I am now going to have to fly out the day after the final. The other two are flying out from Dublin on the 15th, which is only costing them £430. But I am going to have to fly from Edinburgh on the morning of the 16th to get in to Philadelphia hopefully just in time for our first performance. The cost of this flight is around £1000. So it’s going to cost me over £500 more in order to be able to take part in the BBC New Comedy Awards. And of course, I might not even make the final. I might not even make the semi-final. But the flight prices are increasing everyday, so I can’t afford to wait.
I have therefore had to book this flight, which doesn’t have a cancellation plan. So as if getting knocked out of the first round or semi-final isn’t going to be upsetting enough, to add insult to injury I will still have to go to Edinburgh regardless, in order to catch this much more expensive flight. The flight is early in the morning, so I’m going to have to stay in Edinburgh the night before which could also prove a rather costly exercise given that it’s the Fringe and accommodation prices are crazily high. Still, on the plus side, at least I saved £16 last week by not playing Hyde Park.
My opening spot for Boothby Graffoe in Ilkley was a delight to do. Following that gig Boothby asked me to support him on some more of his gigs. A couple of weeks back I opened for him in Stockport, and we’re doing another gig together in Bristol some time in August. Details will follow soon.
But I’m aware that you haven’t really been concentrating on any of what I’ve just written and that you’ve merely been skim reading to get to the promised groping story. Well, here you go.
The Young’uns are currently doing a two week schools project in Cambridgeshire. Each night we are sharing the same three man room in a Travelodge. It’s one of the perks of the job. On the Monday night, all seemed perfectly normal: nothing appeared untoward. We’d done our usual Young’uns pre-bedtime routine: light bit of yoga, story, prayers. I was just drifting into sleep when I felt a pincer like movement on my shoulder. My brain wasn’t fully engaged, as I was on the cusp of sleep, so it took me a few seconds to fully register what was happening. IN the meantime, the pincer like movement travelled up and down my arm. I turned over in bed to investigate. Sean slurred a “sorry,” and immediately began to snore rather loudly; a little too loudly I would say, as if pretending to be asleep so as to vindicate his actions as being an innocent, unconscious sleep-based act; but he didn’t fool me.
I lay awake musing upon what had just occurred. Perhaps Sean had heard my recent blog post entitled, A Grope In The dark, in which I recount the story of how I had to grope a series of men in a dark youth hostel in order to locate the one empty bed in the dorm. Maybe this blog post had given Sean ideas.
In the morning, the excuse that Sean gave was that he’d had a panic dream in which his 13 month old son was falling out of his cot. I pretended to believe him so as to preserve band morale. If Michael should think that Sean’s groping of me was an intentional act then he would likely fly into another of his jealous rages. So for the good of band relations I accepted this story of Sean’s.
If Sean’s explanation was true and it had been a panic dream involving his son falling out of his cot, then I suppose I had gotten off lightly. After all, it could have been a panic dream in which his son urgently needed a nappy change. I jokingly made this observation to Sean and Michael in a bid to relieve the tension, but I think this remark of mine only served to fuel Michael’s imagination.
The following night I was woken to hear Michael making strange noises. He was seemingly trying to assimilate the quiet whimpers of a thirteen month child, but alas for Michael, this ploy failed to dupe Sean into thinking it was his thirteen month old son, and so Michael was left wanting, untouched and unfulfilled.
But Michael is the determined sort, and the following night he took things one step further. In addition to his baby-like whimpers, he elicited a disconcertingly noxious stench, presumably in an attempt to emulate the contents of a child’s nappy. My suspicions were confirmed when I noticed an empty packet of rusks in our room’s bin. Michael must have eaten them in order to make his emissions more akin to a baby’s. But still Sean didn’t fall for Michael’s bewilderingly desperate methods of trickery. Sean was clearly on to him, but not in the way that Michael was hoping.
I will of course keep you updated on developments, both in terms of comedy and groping anecdotes.
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