So hitting a comedy club in London was a mistake. My companion had selected a venue in the capital which promised much but delivered... oh so little. It did provide opportunity for a damn good chinwag and some quality people watching. Unfortunately, with increasing consumption of beer comes increasing volume of voice and as such I apologise sincerely to the slightly camp individual whose gender orientation we speculated on and to the strange purple haired girl with him who we loudly suggested might be something called a "fag-hag" (yes, I learnt another new phrase at the weekend.) I think the music drowned out our raucous conversation, but if not then I sincerely apologise.
I'm not going to apologise to the chap with dyed yellow hair styled into a mullet as beloved by pop acts of the early 80s. Pointing this out was surely helping him. Right?
Did I drink too much? Interestingly, if you start to key 'smirnoff' into my mobile phone it suggests 'poison' as an alternative spelling. I'm starting to think Sony Ericsson have a direct link to my subconscious. Poor them.
Incidentally, the town where I live (normally noted for its vast array of how-do-they-stay-in-business? antique shops) also has a comedy venue. Intriguingly, its located in a Masonic lodge (which are not noted for their humourous value, unless you count the silly handshake and ridiculous costume.) I have a feeling that this will lead to the compere standing on stage demanding: "Laugh, you bastards. Or my mate the Chief Constable will see you fitted up good and proper. Got it?"
