2015 was the first good year I’d had in 15. Sure there were parking meters that made more of a financial contribution to GDP than me. Ok I didn’t get laid for the whole of it. Alright I was 35 and still living at home with my parents. Look, in the intervening years between 2015 I’d either been sued, clinically depressed, going out with someone who hated me or constantly having to put on a foreign accent when I answered the phone in case it was someone I owed money to. 2015 was a walk in the park. I was optimistic about 2016 and as the history books will show I was right to be...
My Facebook got deleted because someone hacked into my account and used my debit card to advertise knock off Polo Jeans. At the time of writing Facebook still do not believe I am me and all my memories, pictures and statuses from the last ten years have vanished from the internet. I am the living embodiment of Marty McFly in the photograph from Back To The Future, I’ve disappeared and I had to stop my mum from having sex with me (that story is for another time).
If the existential crisis of having all your memories deleted off the internet wasn’t trying enough also in January My dog was diagnosed with terminal cancer.
In a rare show of pity I managed to convince a girl to come back to my parents house.
“Yeah I’m house sitting”
There was a girl lying naked in my bed all I needed to do now was lean over to my bedside table and retrieve one of the many unused condoms left over from my previous relationship. Ahh my previous relationship. It had all the negatives of being single and none of the positives of being in a relationship, like having sex or being loved. Anyway the condoms weren’t there. Let me tell you the dancing around your room looking for condoms that aren't there for twenty minutes dance is not an aphrodisiac.
The quest for sex continues.
In an attempt to lose weight and have more energy I decided to give up sugar. Pancake day was a complete disaster without sugar. Buckwheat pancakes, they tasted like a refugees shoe. I cooked some fruit that was so sour I’d have had a more pleasurable eating experience if I’d slept with a lemon in my mouth. Refugees shoe with sour fruit, disgusting. If that wasn’t bad enough my dog died.
One evening in March I gate crashed a 40th birthday party, within a minute of being there a very attractive girl started kissing me. All my friends then left. I’d say approximately 30 seconds after they left she stopped kissing me and then began ignoring me. I never asked her to kiss me and now I’m alone at a 40th birthday party where I didn’t know anyone. I stayed for 10 minutes, why? I still have no idea. What was I waiting for? An invite to the 50th? Someone to ask me to cut the cake? Did some Facebook research the next day, the girl was married.
After finally going as low as I could go in 2014 and coming to terms with the hell of the last 15 years it was time to get some momentum off the back of the good work of 2015. I decided to read a self help book maybe I could have some spiritual growth. One of the exercises I had to do was recount childhood achievements, so I asked my mum what mementos she had of my childhood achievements. She pulled out a box, opened it and there was a swimming badge for one width. Not even a length. A width. There was nothing else in the box.
Spurred on by my childhood achievements and In an attempt to stimulate my live bookings I launched my bue set in April. Blue comedy is a genre made popular in the 1970’s by working men’s club comics. It is adult in it’s nature, traditionally containing swearing, sexual content and often a racist overtone. I’ve dropped the racist overtone which left plenty more room for filth.
The blue sets first outing was at world renowned pervert and comedy promoter Martin Beserman’s night at the Holiday Inn. He made me perform it to an audience that contained two seven year old children. As karmic punishment for this I forgot my keys and had to spend the evening in a 24 hour McDonald's in North Finchley. I woke up at 7am and a crow was staring at me from the car park (You can read in detail about my experience with Beserman here).
Bad couple of days so ate some sugar as a treat, this induced a panic attack that made me unable to walk across the Embankment bridge as I had a compulsion to jump off it. Why were you walking across a bridge in the first place if you have a fear of them? Because until this point walking across a bridge had never been a problem. I had to close my eyes and sort of walk crawl on all fours the rest of the way over. Someone threw 10p at me as they thought I was a street performer.
I turned 36 and can now add walking across bridges to my list of irrational fears that includes horses (don’t trust them, arrogant), kites (the swishing) and spiders (I’ll manage the insect population myself thank you)
June 2016 will forever be remembered in my mind as my summer of romance.
One evening when I was leaving Aces a very attractive young lady stopped me on the door and asked me not to leave. I asked her why she wanted me to stay, to which she replied “because my mum likes you.” If you handed out a 1000 surveys that had the question if you were leaving a bar and a young girl asked you to stay because her mum liked you would you stay I’m pretty sure you’d have 100 surveys back saying no. 1 hour later back at the mums flat I’m on the verge of ending a period of 16 months of celibacy when mum made her first sensible decision of the evening and put her clothes back on before saying “I can’t have sex with you because my 27 year old son is in the next room and I’m embarrassed.” I thought I was the embarrassed one, at which point I put my trousers back on and wished her and her son a nice evening