Sasha starts stand-up

Struggling with working from home again today.

Besides going to the gym for 90 minutes this morning, the most productive thing I'll have done by the end of the day... getting my eyebrows shaped. At least I will look good, while no-one can see me, huddled over my computer, not working. 

Bad. Must find solution.

I came across this quote from poet philosopher, Lord Bryon.

"Like the measles, love is most dangerous when it comes late in life."

Shit.  I’ve neither had measles, nor found love. Dangerous.

Especially because I probably couldn’t distinguish the symptoms of one from the other.

Fever, red eyes, spots in the mouth, rash.

The measles rash starts off rosy, gets progressively darker, then disappears. Definitely like my love life.

Am I suffering from rubeola, or rheumatoid romantic crapness?

I feel muddled. Confidence is very low – in terms of writing, stand-up, the way I look... and I can’t tell if it’s for real reasons or just noise. It’s why I haven’t written here for a while, anyway, but now I’m attempting to do so in an effort to clear my head and start off new.  

Why is confidence low in terms of writing / stand-up? Because it’s hard, I’m pretty far out of my comfort zone and I’m not quite sure where I fit. It’s hard to do stand-up as an individual – to make a funny 5 minutes and be confident enough to deliver it. Sure, I can write stuff which is pleasant and amusing enough to read. But I’m not sure I’m suited to the relentless punchlining required in stand-up. Or resilient enough to withstand the punches packed by impatient audiences while I’m not very good. I started doing it because I wanted that instant audience feedback – but now I’m just wanting to disappear behind a laptop, with a large packet of HobNobs, and write something else, some chick lit or something, for fun.

It’s  also hard to write a part of a group, as I’m doing with 3 others for an Edinburgh show. Doing so really pushes me. I’m a team player, they are individuals. I’m underconfident, they are overconfident. I am good at writing whatever content is needed, to brief, where they excel in coming up with ideas but not necessarily developing them. For our weekly meetings, I always prepare some draft material on topics we’ve discussed, even if I don’t think it’s brilliant, and email it round in advance so we can take it further in person. I hate doing this and am profoundly uncomfortable with sharing my ideas – but I see it as part of us developing material together. They just turn up with stifling egos, wanting to spend the evening gossiping about inferior others, sharing a few sentences of brilliance then going separate ways. I can see now that they are focussed on becoming brilliant as individuals  and just hoping it all comes together as a show by August, whereas I have prioritised writing for the group over writing for myself. I also know I spend more time on prep for meetings, because I strongly feel I’m the least funny. But I am the best at getting on with things and making them work. So it’s a frustrating mismatch. They are probably frustrated by me not being as funny as them.

The reason I feel underconfident about my looks? Mainly because I’ve started resorting to an old habit. This makes me sound very odd, but since 1995, at times of stress I have pulled my own hair out - literally. No, this isn’t a joke – it is called trichotillomania - see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trichotillomania  I had been really pleased over the last few years that I had completely stopped doing this and, for the first time in my adult life, had a full head of hair with no dubious patchy bits. Something clicked in my brain in December last year and I started doing it again. Just over the last few weeks it has got really bad, to the extent my parting and crown are increasingly thin. I am scared of going down escalators before friends, standing near tall people, even sitting at my desk at the paper, because colleagues go past and might see. Also, my scalp roars with pain during and after and I feel very ashamed that I can’t stop, like any rational adult would. I also feel like my skin looks old and ropey, my face manky, my figure too plump, and when did my nose get this big? I don’t actually think any of these things are really more pronounced now than  before – I’m just feeling them a lot more, for some reason.  Could again be related to the comedy show. The boys I’m working with are much younger so I feel a bit old and ugly. And like I should have achieved more by now. Also we have a photo shoot in less than a month, which worries me and my slightly bulging jeans...  

So much is brilliant. I have several jobs I love (I’m self-employed) – some for the money and some because they’re 100% what I want to do. I love my house, my friends, my life. I am financially secure / mature for the first time ever – having organised my finances until September and even found enough spare this month to buy my Mum a boiler. But somehow I just can’t pull it all off without becoming an unconfident mess.

If i were a friend reading this I’d just say – give up the show, give up stand-up. But I really feel I should keep trying – as much as I criticise them, the boys are brilliant and I know I can develop with them, even if the route there is harder than originally anticipated. If I feel insecure, it’s not the boys’ problem, it’s mine. It is good to be pushed. I know it will open doors for other kinds of writing, which I may prefer over stand-up itself. And i’m just not good at standing still.

So – I’ll carry on as I am. But with a little more clarity about the fact I have to be more selfish. Develop myself and my writing, then let it fit in with the boys, rather than vice versa. Sounds so easy – as easy as not pulling your hair out.

Sorry this is so long and self indulgent – I’m just trying to clear my own air. I promise cheery funny stuff soon.

x

“It's not the changes so much this time. It's that it all seems to be ending. You think kids want to come with their parents and take fox-trot lessons? Trips to Europe, that's what the kids want. Twenty-two countries in three days. It feels like it's all slipping away.” I’ve always loved the way Max Kellerman sums up the closing scene of Dirty Dancing. The climactic excitement of one night, tinged with the sad impotence of an era ending around you – it’s-moving-too-fast-and-not-in-my-direction...

That’s pretty much how I felt last night.

I was a member of the live studio audience on ‘Eurovision: Your Decision’ – the show through which the UK chooses its Eurovision entry. I LOVE Eurovision. It is one of the most enjoyable and significant events of my year. I even dumped a bloke I lived with in 2003, because he didn’t want to dress up for a Eurovision party. I idolise Terry Wogan - and think he’s at his very best when surrounded by the whiff of immature cheese that is Eurovision music. Let me underline. I LOVE Eurovision.

So - to get audience tickets I diligently enthused about the contest on the application form. I answered their questions in ways which rivalled some of my masters degree essays in terms of depth of research, structure of argument and word count. And was rewarded with.... standby tickets. Hhmm. Undeterred by our second-class status, me and two mates decided to queue from early-afternoon, to ensure we could get upgraded. We quickly succeeded! And with two hours left until doors opened, installed ourselves in a nearby pub. To keep ourselves in celebratory Eurovision mood, we decided to drink nothing but Buck’s Fizz (geddit? Buck’s Fizz!) until heading back to the studio. Eurovision excitement!

We should have realised the day was somewhat doomed, when the bar staff informed us that no such drink was available. Oh well, blandy beer it is then. Went down well, but not quite a sparkly as we’d hoped. Which is exactly how the evening’s competition ran.

The acts were actually really entertaining – I won’t overanalyse them here because:

a)    You’ll have seen them already on TV if you’re into that kind of thing

b)    They came out so so differently live to on TV: the ones that worked really well in the studio (especially The Revelations) just sounded a bit rubbish when we watched the show at home and vice versa.

I will mention one pivotal moment though. The show was structured like this – two acts go head-to-head, Terry and his two co-judges pick between them, and then the public votes on which of the three selected acts is the eventual winner. Cue the second head-to-head. The lovely ballad of Rob McVeigh (failed Joseph) pulled lots of traditional Eurovision heart strings, I thought. But the judges shunned him in favour of a pretty rubbish song by Simona something (failed Maria). She was dressed like a turkey in a burlesque pantomime – and really didn’t perform that well. I don’t want to sound all ‘Daily Mail reader’, but I think the judges chose her ‘cos she’s Romanian and they thought Eastern Europeans would vote for her. Succumbing to the new Eurovision politics – shame on you.

Then the biggest disappointment – my hero, Mr. Wogan, had a wild card, meaning he could bring one of the acts for the public vote. Surely he’d hear my cries and choose lovely Rob? No – he went for Andy Abraham’s abomination - which was meant to be funky but just sounded plain dated, and not in a good way. Sung well, but song awful. And he went on to WIN the public vote! Meaning he represents the UK in Belgrade this May... Bad Terry! I know we will never win, but in the certain absence of victory we could at least do something interesting. Not even the fact that Terry touched me twice during filming (TWICE!) and even signed my ‘standby’ wristband (swoon!) ameliorated my pain. How could Terry betray the very contest he has so brilliantly built up during the years?!

I will always be loyal to the Eurovision and avidly fight those who say ‘its just a joke nowadays’. I don’t care if a bunch of plastic-faced monsters won two years ago. Or if a turkey puppet with a spoof song about getting ‘douze points’ is entering for Ireland this year. As long as it’s interesting. But it just seemed slightly depressingly ‘end of an era’ last night, in many ways.

The end of an era for Andy Abraham’s career. His pre-song video clip showed that he’s recently built a massive house in the country – a long way from his Hackney dustman roots. And you get the feeling the Eurovision was like a suicide mission, to make sure he could hold on to the mansion, even if it’s at the expense of his long-term career prospects. He co-wrote the song, so will cane the royalties in pretty nicely in the run-up to the contest. But as soon as he bombs results-wise in Belgrade (and he will...) that’s game over for him as any kind of artist. At least last year's act, Scooch, are remembered for being interesting. He will be remembered for, er, nothing really, except possibly his backing guitarist’s sparkly blue lycra leggings making a future ‘Eurovision fashion disasters’ compilation.   

The end of an era for Wogan’s helmsmanship of the contest he’s become synonymous with. Word behind the scenes is that Wogan’s on his way out of Eurovision. He did indeed take less of a leading role last night - Claudia Winkelman oversaw events, with just a slice of Wogan on the side. A few BBC people reckon this is the start of a path that will see him handing over to Paddy O’Connell, who currently presents the Eurovision semis. This would just be rubbish. As my housemate pointed out, it’s only really the likes of Vernon Kaye who could step into Terry’s shoes and keep Eurovision the cult phenomenon that it is. 

I don’t care that Eurovision now takes in 43 countries in five days (two semi-finals, to accommodate all the entrants, stretch from Tuesday 20^th May until the final on Saturday 24^th May.) I am well up for translating that into 3 Eurovision parties. And we’ve already pencilled in a trip to Dublin for next year’s contest, on the premise that the turkey puppet probably will win. But I hope that Andy and Terry between them haven’t helped it slip away just a little bit quicker, for those who were already haveing doubts.

Sasha

PS another important end of an era belongs to John Barrowman's willy. He was one of Terry Wogan's judging panel, and part of the show's script inevitably revolved around his reputation for having 'the biggest cock in showbusiness'. Not true, according to a lovely guy we made friends with in the audience. He dated JB a few years ago and it's pretty average, apparently. More disappointment, for all involved. Boo. 

Hello all. Short on time, so I’m just going to write a random collection of things that annoyed me today.

- Ewan McGregor, doing an advert for Davidoff Adventure. Now, I love cheese, but this is just wrong. Where has your edge gone, Mr. McGregor?

- ITV News holding a one-hour special of the 10 o’clock news, in honour of Prince Harry revealing he’s been serving on the frontline in Afghanistan. I’m not sure what event last prompted them to add on an extra half hour, but surely there are a million moments that merited it a million times more than this. (Oo, almost got political there. Can I salvage myself by saying this: it might be worth watching, because he IS rather swoonsome...)

- The voucher in today’s Sun, for a free packet of High School Musical 2 panini album stickers... It’s only retrievable in Asda. Today. There is neither and Asda near me, nor can I leave the house today. Sulk!

Hope none of you are facing such monumental irritations.

I couldn't sit here watching Magic's 50 best Power Ballads (see previous post) without passing further comment. I just LOVE them! They make me all tinglily nostalgic, like hearing Robin Beck 'for the very first time'. Especially:

- Roxette, Must Have Been Love. I'm sure I'm not alone in being transported straight back to the closing scene of Pretty Woman on hearing this. Even though that screen kiss on the fire escape must be among the worst of all times. Had Julia Roberts and Richard Gere not been taught that the point of a kiss is that lips actually CONNECT? Not to mention her body language looked like she was snogging Sloth from the Goonies, rather than an international sex symbol...

- Wilson Phillips, Hold On. This prompts two memories for me. First - my high school disco, 1990. The slowies start and I'm crowded by blokes... all of whom want to ask if my big sis is here and will she dance with them. Really. I'm over it, honest. Because - now the dominant memory this song brings to mind is... The Conway Sisters singing it on X Factor, before being controversially saved by Louis Walsh over series favourite Maria Lawson. Not only is 'Hold On' a favourite song of mine, it is now also an integral part of what I judge to be one of the top 3 most entertaining reality TV moments of ALL TIMES. Is this actually more shameful than not being able to get a slow dance at the age of 13? I don't care - long live mediocrity, whether in the form of my (still) limited romantic skills or my (definitely) dubious taste in music.

Brits follow-up: albeit almost a week late. I was so pleased to see Take That win a few! And Paul McCartney obvioulsy deserved his lifetime award too, lifetime achievement blah blah. But - his performance on the night left a lot to be desired. Did Heather Mills-McCartney get part custody of his vocal chords, perhaps?

Ok, I had promised to post every day and I haven't actually written since six days ago. Bad me. But I return in my characteristic style... of tears and laughter.

Tears: I'm not embarrassed to admit it. I just watched the Hollyoaks where OB finally says goodbye to Max, Tom and the life he has known for the last 18 years. So so sad! I was blubbering until snot almost came out. And it's bloomin' Hollyoaks! AND - now I'm following up with Magic channel's 50 greatest power ballads, just in case I haven't purged myself enough. Talk about letting myself wallow! 

Laughter: I've purged plenty, cheers, no more tears here. Actually it was really nice to have a cry over Hollyoaks and then... just be able to stop. I'm really happy, because while I've not been blogging this week I've actually had a really enjoyably productive time. I've worked REALLY hard and also written a load of comedy stuff, both for myself and the Edinburgh show I'm doing with the boys (who are behaving themselves nicely at the moment. Good.) We're starting to get offers from venues who want to put our show on, which is GREAT news, as it is all so competitive at the Fringe venues. If they want us it means they think they can make money out of us = they think we'll be good. It looks like we're going to have a choice of about 3 places, which is an excellent position to be in. So so happy!

Well, I know it's very boring to be cheerful, so I'll sign off now and come back when I'm more miserable and interesting. Scorpions, Winds of Change has just come on the Power Ballad show - that'll help. "Let your balalaika sing, what my guitar wants to say." Classic lyric. Cry!

x

It’s the Brit Awards in a few hours – hoorah! I’m very pleased that Take That are featuring so heavily, with four nominations. I adore them musically (especially the old stuff, sorry). I think they’re lovely, lovely men (unlike stupid Robbie). But most of all, I love that they came back, ten years later and with real dignity. Hope for all of us late bloomers out there.

Even more gratifying, though, is that rubbish James Blunt has been knocked out of the race for Best British Single, for ‘1973’. How did it even make the shortlist? When I heard the track, ‘best’ was the last superlative that sprung to my mind. It is actually a very very wrong song, for several reasons.

-       Rhymes. Or lack of. Blunt – with all that education of yours, you should realise that ‘Simone’ (even if pronounced ‘Simona’) doesn't rhyme properly with words such as ‘older’ and ‘sober’. Especially with ‘known that’. I’ll allow you ‘been’ and ‘skin’, because it works in certain south western dialects, and you did go to university in Bristol. But ‘now’ rhymed with ‘gone’? ‘Tune’ with ‘song’? A few letters, or a meaning in common, does not a rhyme make.  

-       Theme and characters. The song is about crazy clubbing times. Colonel Blount, singing this, is about as credible as Winehouse singing about sobriety, Britney about sanity. Especially given that his imagined ‘crazy clubbing’ escapades are apparently with a girl called ‘Simone’. That’s a German name – a nation known for staying in with their sauerkraut, not getting their Lederhosen wet at foam parties.

-       Climax. Presumably a song, as with a night out clubbing, should have one. But this song has all the sense of climax of Mel C and Bryan Adam’s hit ‘Baby When You’re Gone’. None at all. In both cases, the artists seem to think that persisting with very easy harmonies, just increasing their shriekiness throughout the song, makes a climax. Pity their poor lovers, if this sense of ‘peaking’ translates from the song sheet into between the bedsheets.

If you want to know real climax, real craziness, and REAL RHYMES - like ‘be’ and ‘see’, ‘eyes’ and ‘surprise’ - look no further than Take That’s best single nomination, ‘Shine’. It even comes in a ‘Dancing on Ice’ version, possibly the most entertaining thing I have ever seen. (www.youtube.com/watch?v=aa9TTE7NuOs) Who can NOT love the pink hula hoops, little Mark Owen’s piano jump, and Jason Orange BREAKdancing on ice, before entering a high five slide with skating legend Christopher Dean? Now THAT’s a climax, Blunt boy.

x

PS, if you must, here are links to the video and lyrics for 1973. I would avoid looking at either though, for fear of damage to yourself and further over-inflation of Blunt's ego.

Lyrics: http://www.metrolyrics.com/1973-lyrics-james-blunt.html

Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uWeqeQkjLto

How did you celebrate Valentine's Day?
Submitted by Stephen.

I didn’t want to celebrate it at all. I find Valentine’s Day a little like having herpes. They both share the initials VD. They’re both painful, inappropriate, and infectious. Both of them result in discomfort, if they’re excessively rammed down peoples’ throats.

But my local Indian restaurant claimed to have a cure for my cynicism. A sign in the window said: “Valentine’s Day Dinner. Book now to avoid disappointment.” So I did. I booked my table for one right away. And ended up VERY disappointed, as the restaurant filled with couples. The sitar player wouldn’t even sing for me, because I was all alone.

So as I returned home, to drink my economy gin straight from the bottle, I mused... It’s a grand claim – that a dinner can help you avoid disappointment. “Daddy doesn’t love me” – all better, courtesy of a Murgh Mangalore from Finchley Road’s Curry King. “I’ve got Thrush again” - the cucumber yoghurt dip is quite a comfort. Not so much, the lime pickle. “I came a poor 7^th in the 1984 Mid Suffolk interschool sack race”. Some wounds will never heal.

Don't be fooled, people. Curry can cure many things, but disappointment is not one of them.