Hello there,
Welcome to my fifth blog. My entries seem to be getting more and more sporadic, but, thank you for taking the time to come back and read. Maybe, possibly, hopefully, it might be worth it in some way.
So, I've been in my new home for a month now. Our house warming was last Friday, it was a lovely night, old friends, new friends, drinking at a respectable level, an Abigails Party-esque buffet, and an aftermath so messy it made Haiti look like a jumble sale.
I both love and hate parties. I love them for their bringing together of people, the excuse to sleep in all day the next day, the hosting, the forming of new friendships and the ability to dance (albeit after a few drinks) to pretty much anything that is played on the party playlist (oh yes, we do things properly here).
I do hate however that sinking feeling of the text message after text message "sorry I can't make it". The invention of Facebook invites us to false hope that the whole cyber community will arrive on the doorstep holding booze, sausage rolls and packets upon packets of ever hopeful contraception.
Parties also remind us of all those people we probably should speak to more often, but don't, either because we feel we would be bothering them, or that we are waiting for them to "make the effort" when secretly we know they got in touch last time and we were too busy to reply. They remind us of the people we miss, and of the good times when we used to drink, flirt, play and laugh, when life was one long party that everyone came to, everyone was together at and for which everyone was care-free.
We are adults now, and things change.
But, as they change, we learn, or at least, we should learn, that sometimes it is for the best. I go back at Christmas time to where I used to live, and see the same old friends, in the same old pub, damaging their same old liver, to try and forget about their same old kids that they never intended to have in the first place but they did because they wanted to be talked about. Sometimes change is what is needed, sometimes it is the only thing that gives an excuse to break free of our daily cycle.
Starburst, sure they used to be Opal Fruits, but they learnt, sometimes we need something different to make us stand out. I was at a comedy club recently where an audience member got into a conversation with a performer about "Oil of Ulay" (don't ask me why) the comic looked at him, joked and fooled about his mistake, maybe Oil of Ulay meant better things to this person, life when Cocoa Pops were unaware of the Chocco Crispies fiasco around the corner, and when Jif was quite happily rolling off the British tongue, while in some marketing headquarters in seedy Soho, the Cif label was all ready to be created for the foreign market.
Sure, there are more pressing issues than sweets and cleaning products, but it is interesting how easily we move on and forget the little things that we just take for granted. Whether its our breakfast cereal, or the girl we used to walk to school with everyday, who we now no longer see because circumstances have dragged us apart.
I also remembered why you should never be a comedian at a party. Because everyone wants you to be "on form", whether it is the guy from your mates office who has always wanted to "give it a go" or the slightly too drunk Hoxton chick who admires your extreme bravery. All the while, the nurse who saves peoples lives everyday is being fingered in the loo by a man she just met because he wears a suit jacket and has a double barrelled surname, not because he likes her, or wants to speak to her again, but because he can.
As I sit typing, the music on my ipod nano (remember when they were cool?) is constantly changing, loud upbeat jolly music, slow melancholic chords, and that song that was cool three years ago, but now isn't because your dad can appreciate it's popularity.
Sometimes we look forward to the change, the not knowing, the belief that our problem clouds will clear, leaving space for a ray of hope.
I knew when, on my birthday, my new house mates made gingerbread men that something good was about to happen. It's a big step up from my ex-housemate making a birds nest crest of pubic hair in the bathroom. It speaks somewhat of more consideration and sincerity.
If you could change one thing in your life what would it be?
So, this week I have some big things lined up. I'm spouting more rubbish at my psychiatrist tomorrow. Maybe I should just read him this, and let the specialists cart me off, or let him remind me of any bodily imperfections I may have learned to forget about.
Thursday I am making a change, and going to a music gig. The thought of jumping around with a room full of people I don't even know has always been uncomfortable. I've been to two music gigs in my life. Oasis in Southampton some 5 or more years ago, a jam packed sweat fest of an outdoor gig, with flying cups of piss slowly fermenting under the summer sun, and a beautifully intimate performance by Vijay Kishore in Balham a couple of years later, an accidental gig, but a stroke of luck that a gig was cancelled and I caught this.
I'm off to see Kate Nash doing a warm up gig on Thursday, I imagine there will be no piss, so I am looking forward to the change of scenery and maybe I just might jump about.
I miss lots of things in my life right now, lots of people (Seren I wish you all the happiness in the world), lots of memories, lots of security, but I love my new home, new friends, new ambitions, and my new haircut is all right too. Less floppy, more sustained, thanks Toni and your gentleman.
I guess that's enough for now. Blimey. Serious huh? Hope you enjoyed, thought, questioned and smiled.
For any comedy types out there, I am MCing at Up The Creek in Greenwich this Friday, it's a massive weekend club, and they always have great line ups so if you can make it down, please do. Saturday I'm doing a spot at The Comedy Store, which, continues to quite rightly be one of the best comedy clubs in the world. Let's see if I can change that...
Until next time. Stay happy.
Mayo x
Monday, 8 March 2010
Wednesday, 27 January 2010
Chapter 4: Moving on
Hello there,
It's been an interesting and as usual, stressful month since I last wrote. We are now in 2010 (if you were not aware), a new year, and a new start (he says optimistically).
I saw the New Year in, as I usually do, on my own, watching fireworks out of my window, hoping that the year ahead will bring about something new, exciting and refreshing.
I have been attempting to move house for sometime. If you haven't read my previous blogs, you will probably not quite understand the rage I have for my current flat and its contents (minus my duck popcorn maker, which to be fair, rules). I'm not a nasty person, but I really want to make my next door flat-cunt fully aware of how hideously repulsive he is. I have thought up many plans, but can't bring myself to do them. As rebellious as I have mustered so far is to put a bit of water in his washing up powder box, so it clumps together... a bit. Yeah you take that motherfucker. That'll teach you for pissing in the bath, I've made your washing powder slightly stickier than it was supposed to be. The good news is, I have finally found a place. Having found somewhere previously, I am prepared for it all to go tits up, but, this time I have paid lots of money, so the evil flat bastards should give in to my shiny pennies. (I paid by debit card, but, if I had pennies, by fuck they would shine).
So, I move in on Saturday, to my lovely flat in Islington, a new year, a new start, all that jazz (which subsequently is not allowed in the house after 11pm).
I had my first re-call audition for a Coke advert this week which was lots of fun. The first audition consisted of me wearing very tiny pants, with a girl also in very tiny pants, flirting with each other and hugging. My second unclothed job this month. Either someone has received the wrong memo, or my agent is very bored and enjoying the thought of lots of footage of me in pants circulating Londons top casting agencies.
The re-call was much the same, different girl this time, but I was very excited to be called back, for a job which is shooting in Argentina for a week, on the beach, on my birthday. I am willing to show my pants to the world if it means a holiday, the last of which was a Butlins style camp somewhere in England, with the parents. It was fun, but it doesn't have quite the same ring as drinks, sand and Sun.
I want to explore a bit this year, I love the idea of seeing the world, but have so far seen most of England, and a bit of France, I need to broaden my horizons, so what better way than getting a soft drink company to take me there on their corporate bandwagon.
My mental health is improving. I now have a psychiatrist, so I am now a fully fledged, damaged comedian. All going well so far, though I was a little disheartened by his question "Do you worry about how you appear at all? For example...your nose is too big, your arms are too long?" Gee, thanks for the suggestions Doc, there's another two sessions right there.
I've also started this year in love, with, as mad as it sounds, a (beautiful) girl I have never met, who lives in Manchester. I like to make things as humanly complicated for myself, but as I am a believer in 'everything happens for a reason', I couldn't really be happier. The sort of thing you see in films, I would imagine, then, they get together, one of them kills the other one, and it's got a big twist, like, she was his sister or something. I'm hoping that doesn't happen. I reckon we'll probably meet up, and go out, that would be nice. Yes please.
I haven't had that feeling for a while, the feeling when you see someone that makes you melt, takes away all your stress and fears, and reminds you that it is possible for a moment, however brief, to feel perfect. Then I go and stub my toe on the fridge and call it a cunt. Still, those preceeding moments much outweigh the bad stuff, and for that I am eternally grateful.
I got back into gigging this week, with a couple of gigs for The 99 Club. You forget after time off, how rewarding it is to see a room full of people laugh. I'm working towards my first hour show for the Edinburgh Festival, so will be gigging away like mad until May. If you are reading this and can squeeze me on anywhere, please do.
I bought a Wii Fit Plus (I roll my eyes at this point as the knob next door just slammed his door for god knows what reason. Why slam, when you can close huh? No doubt he is spying on me through some sort of hole while he jacks off into a bucket which he will later absorb through his gills to give him the nutrients he needs to carrying on being a prick. Or something) which is massively entertaining. I feel like I am being healthy, but really I am just moving on and off a plastic thing and tricking myself. Though the digital lady says I am doing very well, so I daren't disagree. There is something slightly soul destroying though about being able to do Yoga whilst eating sausage rolls though. The software is creepily realistic. My "trainer" had to take time out the other day because she wasn't feeling well. I paid £90 for this, and they want a day off? Get. Running. Bitch. Currently my Wii Fit age is 20, so I am doing well. Up to 30 press ups a day. I can't feel my arms, but it's progress.
I realise this is a long rambly blog, but lots has happened, apologies if it is dull, but you get to switch off, I am stuck with this.
Tomorrow I am mostly putting things into black bags, removing the boxes of stuff I put under my bed when I moved in two years ago, all still packed, ready to move onto the new place. I will be living on the floor like a skank for a few days while I wait to order my bed (the place is unfurnished, I'm not anal about beds) so, I will be paying to be a squatter in my own flat. It could be deemed a political statement against the lack of housing, and the increasing cost of living in Britain, but really, I'm a tard, I'm lazy and I have my sleeping bag and pillows.
By the next blog, I will make sense, have a new home, no doubt be preparing some sort of housewarming party, and most likely be auditioning for a new brand of anal cream.
Until then, have a happy few weeks, enjoy yourselves, and in the words of the lovely Paloma Faith (seriously, go see her, now), "play on" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qp-vj35i1U8
Chris x
PS. If you enjoy reading my blog, please do pass it about, comment, link, tweet, whatever you may do. Many thanks x
It's been an interesting and as usual, stressful month since I last wrote. We are now in 2010 (if you were not aware), a new year, and a new start (he says optimistically).
I saw the New Year in, as I usually do, on my own, watching fireworks out of my window, hoping that the year ahead will bring about something new, exciting and refreshing.
I have been attempting to move house for sometime. If you haven't read my previous blogs, you will probably not quite understand the rage I have for my current flat and its contents (minus my duck popcorn maker, which to be fair, rules). I'm not a nasty person, but I really want to make my next door flat-cunt fully aware of how hideously repulsive he is. I have thought up many plans, but can't bring myself to do them. As rebellious as I have mustered so far is to put a bit of water in his washing up powder box, so it clumps together... a bit. Yeah you take that motherfucker. That'll teach you for pissing in the bath, I've made your washing powder slightly stickier than it was supposed to be. The good news is, I have finally found a place. Having found somewhere previously, I am prepared for it all to go tits up, but, this time I have paid lots of money, so the evil flat bastards should give in to my shiny pennies. (I paid by debit card, but, if I had pennies, by fuck they would shine).
So, I move in on Saturday, to my lovely flat in Islington, a new year, a new start, all that jazz (which subsequently is not allowed in the house after 11pm).
I had my first re-call audition for a Coke advert this week which was lots of fun. The first audition consisted of me wearing very tiny pants, with a girl also in very tiny pants, flirting with each other and hugging. My second unclothed job this month. Either someone has received the wrong memo, or my agent is very bored and enjoying the thought of lots of footage of me in pants circulating Londons top casting agencies.
The re-call was much the same, different girl this time, but I was very excited to be called back, for a job which is shooting in Argentina for a week, on the beach, on my birthday. I am willing to show my pants to the world if it means a holiday, the last of which was a Butlins style camp somewhere in England, with the parents. It was fun, but it doesn't have quite the same ring as drinks, sand and Sun.
I want to explore a bit this year, I love the idea of seeing the world, but have so far seen most of England, and a bit of France, I need to broaden my horizons, so what better way than getting a soft drink company to take me there on their corporate bandwagon.
My mental health is improving. I now have a psychiatrist, so I am now a fully fledged, damaged comedian. All going well so far, though I was a little disheartened by his question "Do you worry about how you appear at all? For example...your nose is too big, your arms are too long?" Gee, thanks for the suggestions Doc, there's another two sessions right there.
I've also started this year in love, with, as mad as it sounds, a (beautiful) girl I have never met, who lives in Manchester. I like to make things as humanly complicated for myself, but as I am a believer in 'everything happens for a reason', I couldn't really be happier. The sort of thing you see in films, I would imagine, then, they get together, one of them kills the other one, and it's got a big twist, like, she was his sister or something. I'm hoping that doesn't happen. I reckon we'll probably meet up, and go out, that would be nice. Yes please.
I haven't had that feeling for a while, the feeling when you see someone that makes you melt, takes away all your stress and fears, and reminds you that it is possible for a moment, however brief, to feel perfect. Then I go and stub my toe on the fridge and call it a cunt. Still, those preceeding moments much outweigh the bad stuff, and for that I am eternally grateful.
I got back into gigging this week, with a couple of gigs for The 99 Club. You forget after time off, how rewarding it is to see a room full of people laugh. I'm working towards my first hour show for the Edinburgh Festival, so will be gigging away like mad until May. If you are reading this and can squeeze me on anywhere, please do.
I bought a Wii Fit Plus (I roll my eyes at this point as the knob next door just slammed his door for god knows what reason. Why slam, when you can close huh? No doubt he is spying on me through some sort of hole while he jacks off into a bucket which he will later absorb through his gills to give him the nutrients he needs to carrying on being a prick. Or something) which is massively entertaining. I feel like I am being healthy, but really I am just moving on and off a plastic thing and tricking myself. Though the digital lady says I am doing very well, so I daren't disagree. There is something slightly soul destroying though about being able to do Yoga whilst eating sausage rolls though. The software is creepily realistic. My "trainer" had to take time out the other day because she wasn't feeling well. I paid £90 for this, and they want a day off? Get. Running. Bitch. Currently my Wii Fit age is 20, so I am doing well. Up to 30 press ups a day. I can't feel my arms, but it's progress.
I realise this is a long rambly blog, but lots has happened, apologies if it is dull, but you get to switch off, I am stuck with this.
Tomorrow I am mostly putting things into black bags, removing the boxes of stuff I put under my bed when I moved in two years ago, all still packed, ready to move onto the new place. I will be living on the floor like a skank for a few days while I wait to order my bed (the place is unfurnished, I'm not anal about beds) so, I will be paying to be a squatter in my own flat. It could be deemed a political statement against the lack of housing, and the increasing cost of living in Britain, but really, I'm a tard, I'm lazy and I have my sleeping bag and pillows.
By the next blog, I will make sense, have a new home, no doubt be preparing some sort of housewarming party, and most likely be auditioning for a new brand of anal cream.
Until then, have a happy few weeks, enjoy yourselves, and in the words of the lovely Paloma Faith (seriously, go see her, now), "play on" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qp-vj35i1U8
Chris x
PS. If you enjoy reading my blog, please do pass it about, comment, link, tweet, whatever you may do. Many thanks x
Tuesday, 15 December 2009
Chapter 3
Hello
Welcome to my 3rd blog. I've just had a mini cheese and ham pizza and a Gu Chocolate Pot (seriously...try them, amazing) and i'm raring to go. Not entirely sure what I'm going to write about, so it may just be a stream of consciousness or semi-consciousness at least. Words are lovely, if only I possessed the intelligence and patience to put them in some sort of enjoyable order. You can decide, thanks for reading...
It's been a weird couple of weeks, as is my tradition. I'm currently looking for a new flat, trying to plan my 2010, have been battling with my mental health and have been gigging all over the place like some kind of clown whore. It's been fun and i've been getting back on my feet in terms of writing and performing which has made things a lot more enjoyable. I will be potentially doing 3 shows at The Edinburgh Festival in 2010, so I'm busy plotting away for those. Probably Free Fringe again, then a paid venue in 2011 is the plan, me and Tom Rosenthal should be doing something together as we did this year and we'll be doing stuff at Leicester Comedy Festival on the 12th and 13th February, so, if you're up that way please come.
I started very scruffy and initial work on a sitcom idea with an Australian writer last week, which should start taking shape from the new year. This all comes after my plan to take things easy and say "no" a bit more. I will do, I just haven't decided when, or to what things I shall say no to, so for now, yes yes yes please. Will keep you updated on that as it goes along.
I've amazingly put on some weight, having lost half a stone through stress and anxiety, I got down to 8 stone, technically I should have declared myself a child, gone back to school and started eating crayons again (do they have many calories I wonder?), but instead i've been pigging out on lots of calorific goods and gulping down protein milkshakes like Jodie Marsh at a cum festival. It seems to have worked. I'm back up to 8 1/2 stone, just another stone to go, wish me luck.
My flat is turning into an endurance test rather than the quaint little dwelling it should be, it's currently infested with about every form of pest from frequently multiplying mice to the dick-nosed spaz-twat of a housemate who resides in the room next door. Someone actually had to put up a sign the other day saying "Don't piss in the bath, use the toilet", where else would that sign ever be necessary? I'm sure the Queen doesn't have a "Phillip stop shitting in the tumble dryer" notice, our house is genuinely failing on every level. There is currently a large spider hanging by one leg from the smoke alarm, I don't know how or why it is there, but I am just painfully aware that it is. I hate spiders, some may say hate is a strong word, and I say, yes, that is because I could not possibly have a larger fucking dislike for them. It's like a deleted scene from the worst series of I'm A Celebrity Get Me Out of Here. "Spend 20 minutes in Mayo's flat, infested with bugs, mice, the potent smell of disappointment and some ferociously dull fuck-spack who calls himself "Stanley", he may talk to you, he may urinate on you, it's all part of the fun, good luck, maybe you could cry a bit, viewers like that"
Still there are some positives, I've become mildly obsessed with Florence and The Machine over the last couple of weeks, every trip to hospital or the doctors or stomping down the high road in the rain to get some noodles and Lucozade (oh yeah I know how to live motherfuckers), has been made bearable by their music which is so powerful and moving. I can't recommend them enough, such brilliant and emotive writing, anyone who needs a good lift should get the album "Lungs", amazing stuff. Oh and anyone who wants to take me to see them, I will most certainly jump at the chance. For those of you who don't know their stuff, here are two fine examples...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TpLXQorSQe8&feature=related - Drumming Song
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1j07TL2Cxcg&feature=related - Rabbit Heart
It's great to find things that make you embrace life, whether it's good music, great people, or that episode of Jerry Springer where that freak married his horse. It's nice to be reminded of the positive things once in a while.
Speaking of which (the positive bit, not the horse bit), I am yet again grateful to my gorgeous friend Seren who absolutely deserves another mention in my blog for her continuing support and polite nagging. Love you miss. Can't quite express how hug-worthy she is. Suffice to say, a lovely lovely person.
Once you have wiped the sick from your mouths, we shall continue. All gone? Good.
So it's nearly Christmas, as I'm sure most of you are aware. Something about living in Tottenham, makes you forget that the world is actually spinning quite fast and we are rapidly approaching another seasonal holiday. I've not been massively into Christmas for the last few years, yet I will still trundle down to Oxford Street, huff and puff in and out of the shops and buy lovely things for my parents on the little budget that I have, I'll look at the lights and feel festive, and cry a tear of joy if a see a little dog in a santa outfit (ssh, it's adorable). I'll be going back to jolly old Hampshire for 5 days, laughing at my Dad's bad jokes, enjoying my Mums cooking, and spending time with my Grandparents as they show their festive appreciation by sleeping at any available opportunity. It may be commercialised, expensive, repetitive and stressful, but it's nice to just get together once a year with the people you love and remind yourself what makes you feel safe and warm. Oh and chocolate, yeah, chocolates nice, and those little mince pies, they're like the big ones, but smaller, like really small. Mmm, nice.
Anyway, whatever you are up to, have a lovely Christmas and New Year, spoil yourselves, have sex with people you will physically erase from your memory after the party, see friends, family, drink too much, eat too much, look forward to the embarassment of the slightly racist jokes your older relatives will inevitably tell and of course put stupid outfits on your pets, whatever makes you merry, it's Christmas, have a good one, Ho Ho Ho etc.
Bye for now.
See you in 2010 xx
Welcome to my 3rd blog. I've just had a mini cheese and ham pizza and a Gu Chocolate Pot (seriously...try them, amazing) and i'm raring to go. Not entirely sure what I'm going to write about, so it may just be a stream of consciousness or semi-consciousness at least. Words are lovely, if only I possessed the intelligence and patience to put them in some sort of enjoyable order. You can decide, thanks for reading...
It's been a weird couple of weeks, as is my tradition. I'm currently looking for a new flat, trying to plan my 2010, have been battling with my mental health and have been gigging all over the place like some kind of clown whore. It's been fun and i've been getting back on my feet in terms of writing and performing which has made things a lot more enjoyable. I will be potentially doing 3 shows at The Edinburgh Festival in 2010, so I'm busy plotting away for those. Probably Free Fringe again, then a paid venue in 2011 is the plan, me and Tom Rosenthal should be doing something together as we did this year and we'll be doing stuff at Leicester Comedy Festival on the 12th and 13th February, so, if you're up that way please come.
I started very scruffy and initial work on a sitcom idea with an Australian writer last week, which should start taking shape from the new year. This all comes after my plan to take things easy and say "no" a bit more. I will do, I just haven't decided when, or to what things I shall say no to, so for now, yes yes yes please. Will keep you updated on that as it goes along.
I've amazingly put on some weight, having lost half a stone through stress and anxiety, I got down to 8 stone, technically I should have declared myself a child, gone back to school and started eating crayons again (do they have many calories I wonder?), but instead i've been pigging out on lots of calorific goods and gulping down protein milkshakes like Jodie Marsh at a cum festival. It seems to have worked. I'm back up to 8 1/2 stone, just another stone to go, wish me luck.
My flat is turning into an endurance test rather than the quaint little dwelling it should be, it's currently infested with about every form of pest from frequently multiplying mice to the dick-nosed spaz-twat of a housemate who resides in the room next door. Someone actually had to put up a sign the other day saying "Don't piss in the bath, use the toilet", where else would that sign ever be necessary? I'm sure the Queen doesn't have a "Phillip stop shitting in the tumble dryer" notice, our house is genuinely failing on every level. There is currently a large spider hanging by one leg from the smoke alarm, I don't know how or why it is there, but I am just painfully aware that it is. I hate spiders, some may say hate is a strong word, and I say, yes, that is because I could not possibly have a larger fucking dislike for them. It's like a deleted scene from the worst series of I'm A Celebrity Get Me Out of Here. "Spend 20 minutes in Mayo's flat, infested with bugs, mice, the potent smell of disappointment and some ferociously dull fuck-spack who calls himself "Stanley", he may talk to you, he may urinate on you, it's all part of the fun, good luck, maybe you could cry a bit, viewers like that"
Still there are some positives, I've become mildly obsessed with Florence and The Machine over the last couple of weeks, every trip to hospital or the doctors or stomping down the high road in the rain to get some noodles and Lucozade (oh yeah I know how to live motherfuckers), has been made bearable by their music which is so powerful and moving. I can't recommend them enough, such brilliant and emotive writing, anyone who needs a good lift should get the album "Lungs", amazing stuff. Oh and anyone who wants to take me to see them, I will most certainly jump at the chance. For those of you who don't know their stuff, here are two fine examples...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TpLXQorSQe8&feature=related - Drumming Song
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1j07TL2Cxcg&feature=related - Rabbit Heart
It's great to find things that make you embrace life, whether it's good music, great people, or that episode of Jerry Springer where that freak married his horse. It's nice to be reminded of the positive things once in a while.
Speaking of which (the positive bit, not the horse bit), I am yet again grateful to my gorgeous friend Seren who absolutely deserves another mention in my blog for her continuing support and polite nagging. Love you miss. Can't quite express how hug-worthy she is. Suffice to say, a lovely lovely person.
Once you have wiped the sick from your mouths, we shall continue. All gone? Good.
So it's nearly Christmas, as I'm sure most of you are aware. Something about living in Tottenham, makes you forget that the world is actually spinning quite fast and we are rapidly approaching another seasonal holiday. I've not been massively into Christmas for the last few years, yet I will still trundle down to Oxford Street, huff and puff in and out of the shops and buy lovely things for my parents on the little budget that I have, I'll look at the lights and feel festive, and cry a tear of joy if a see a little dog in a santa outfit (ssh, it's adorable). I'll be going back to jolly old Hampshire for 5 days, laughing at my Dad's bad jokes, enjoying my Mums cooking, and spending time with my Grandparents as they show their festive appreciation by sleeping at any available opportunity. It may be commercialised, expensive, repetitive and stressful, but it's nice to just get together once a year with the people you love and remind yourself what makes you feel safe and warm. Oh and chocolate, yeah, chocolates nice, and those little mince pies, they're like the big ones, but smaller, like really small. Mmm, nice.
Anyway, whatever you are up to, have a lovely Christmas and New Year, spoil yourselves, have sex with people you will physically erase from your memory after the party, see friends, family, drink too much, eat too much, look forward to the embarassment of the slightly racist jokes your older relatives will inevitably tell and of course put stupid outfits on your pets, whatever makes you merry, it's Christmas, have a good one, Ho Ho Ho etc.
Bye for now.
See you in 2010 xx
Friday, 20 November 2009
Chapter 2: The little things
Hello there.
Welcome to chapter 2 of my blog "Chris Mayo's Personal Space" basically a rant in a box, thanks for all the comments and views and whatnot from the last one, good to know i'm not spewing out all this cyber bile to one man and his "lucky sock" (though if you are reading this, do keep it up, so to speak).
Welcome to chapter 2 of my blog "Chris Mayo's Personal Space" basically a rant in a box, thanks for all the comments and views and whatnot from the last one, good to know i'm not spewing out all this cyber bile to one man and his "lucky sock" (though if you are reading this, do keep it up, so to speak).
It's been a few weeks since I last typed away here and i'm starting to feel a little more my normal self (whatever or whoever that may be), still obsessing about my health, but just the three hospital trips this week. It is amazing how powerful the mind can be, even one as scatty and pessimistic as mine. Apparently optimists live longer (ha, yeah right), so I should probably get to thinking positive...
This blog is going to be about the little things, the little things that make me smile, the little things that wind me up (of which you may have already ascertained there are many) and the little things that make life that much more do-able. I'd be interested to hear yours, whatever they may be, so feel free to message me, or comment (this is imported to Facebook too for those of you who can't be arsed with the whole blog registering nonsense).
So, happiness, I guess is what we all strive for, and what I should focus on today, we all have our own views, our own opinions, we all make our own decisions and we all run our own course through life, dodging the shit that is flung at us and clutching onto the positive particles that we need to survive. I guess when we get to be 70, 80 or 90 years old and we look back on our life, each and everyone of us would be able to say that at some point or another, whether we realised it or not, we were happy. Whether it was getting sweets from Nan that Mum said we weren't allowed to have, cycling through the park on a summers day, our first kiss, our first fuck, our first pack of football stickers, our last cigarette, the way our mum used to smile at us and make everything feel better, the way we would stay up until 4am talking online to our best friend even though we had to be up at 6, the nights out that we never forget, our wedding day, our first child, our first home, and that impressive DIY shelf that we put up all by ourselves. Whatever it may be, those moments of happiness we often discard as a given, a moment, a brief memory or event, but it is those which we live for and for which we should be eternally grateful.
Of course it can be the little things that make us angry too. I was on a bus recently, as I tend to be when i'm not on stage or sleeping, life is essentially one long bendy bus of disappointment, and Death is the over bearing tinny essence of R&B that blasts painfully through our senses, blissfully unaware it is causing any trouble. Then the inspector gets on somewhere near the end, checks you over, quite unexpectedly and says "sorry son, your oyster card is fucked, end of the line mate, game over, piss off, you're on your own now".
The bus in question was quite busy, as they tend to be, a lot of people have lots of places they need to get to unfortunately not as urgently as I do, so they moan and they mingle and they get in the fucking way, like a dirty rain cloud obscuring the sun just to piss off the old couple who've decided to go away on holiday once again to the same place they go to every year, as they sit outside their caravan, look at each other and weep. I'm sat opposite a plain looking woman, plain in the sense that she has no distinguishing features, no anger, no happiness, no sadness, just a neutral stare that says "I'm on a fucking bus again, same as I am every day, I don't need emotions, i'm on a bus, nobody talk to me, nobody look at me, i'm just here, here on the bus".
Another woman gets on, and sits next to her, the two, quite uncomfortably sit, a small gap between them, as the plain woman gives a knowing look to the other, a look that says "do you mind? I was saving that seat for my ego". They both sit quietly, as the bus bumps and grinds along the road in a way that almost excites the lonely chav at the back of the bus, a mobile disco of the soul for him, a mobile chasm of shit for the rest.
The new woman who has joined us turns to the other woman, and says "Excuse me! You are sitting on my coat, can you move so I can sit properly" She glares at her. "What a cunt" we all think. The plain woman looks at her and rolls her eyes, an internal fight kicks off between them, "Just because your fat and can't judge distances, doesn't mean i'm in the wrong" thinks one, "You are younger and prettier than me, my life is shit and my daughter works in McDonalds, I hate the world, and you sitting on my coat confirms this" thinks the new woman. They both sit, staring straight ahead, their moods shift, their day ruined because of one little thing.
Part of me wanted to stand up and say, "excuse me, this woman may have no distinguishing features, but she has every right to get on a bus, and not have some fat woman complain about her seating position", but I didn't, I tutted in her general direction, and then disguised it as a cough, the thought was there, but I am constantly aware of Death at the back of the bus watching me. I keep quiet.
Friendship, a big, little thing, that keeps us going, perhaps the most important "little thing" we have...
Example 1: Tracey fucks your best friend, you feel shit, so Dave, your other friend (who works in accounts) takes you out to a strip club, it's free to get in, but they keep a small portion of your soul on the way out, oh and for twenty quid Janine upstairs will let you fuck her, you haven't got any condoms but you risk it because she has nice hair and AIDS died out in the 80s. Janine is pretty sure she's clean, because she showers everyday and only fucks guys who wear shirts, they both have a jolly good time, while Dave cracks one out and videos the whole affair to remind you what a good mate he's been and so that next time he crashes his car drink driving, you'll be there to bail him out yet again because you owe him one.
Example 2: Your name is Tracey, you've just fucked your boyfriends best friend, you feel terrible, so you call up Janine who works in Soho and says she's your best mate, when what she actually means is you'll happily lend her £20 if she needs it, so she's knows you are worth knowing, she'll say hello if she sees you in Primark and will often comment on how you "must go for that drink sometime". Alas she's busy tonight, but you should keep in touch as she's always thinking about you. You then call up Susan, Susan is your other best friend, well, the one who is always around, because she's mental and cuts herself but is ultimately reliable. She comes over to yours, has a good cry with you, you eat ice cream, of which Susan bought two tubs (not because she has feelings for you but because Iceland are doing a 2 for 1 deal, because the economy is fucked and everyone loves a jolly good tub of Ben and Jerry's "frozen hope" to get them through a financial crisis). You feel comforted, watch a film, have a cry, forget about the boyfriend, finger Susan, you're not a lesbian, you're just close, so it's fine, you laugh and laugh until Susan has an ashthma attack. You go with her to A+E because that's what friends do, you sit there looking at your watch, thinking I could be in bed now if I wasn't "bi-curious", a word which was invented by the media in 1997 so Channel 5 could be marketed as "educational".
Example 3 - The serious one.
Your name is Seren, you make friends with a London based comedian, who has the mind of a 65 year old man and the body of a 12 year old anorexic girl, you laugh at the reference because you read his first blog and have a keen eye for detail. You help him through his stupid mental issues despite the fact you have far too much going on in your own life to have enough time to look after someone you've just "virtually" met. You click together like two pieces of flint and create a spark, a spark which leads to great friendship, awkward flirting, comfort and happiness. The spark for which he is very grateful you created and to which he owes you a lot. You continue to be his source of happiness and inspiration and to which he hopes one day he can repay you.
I've realised through experiencing anxiety, stress, depression, worries, disappointment and feelings we all get, no matter how bad the big things are, the little things will always be there to make it better. Whether it's family, friends, sex, music, poetry, theatre, dance, Loose Women, Ginsters Spicy Chicken Slices, Mini Milks, Farting in bed or burping after drinking coke so it fizzes out your nose, enjoy them, embrace them and remember them, one day we won't have the future, but we'll always remember the past.
A busy, hectic few weeks, glad to be back on track, thanks for reading, it's now 3.15am and I need sleep.
Tip of the week: Do not stick your arm on a wire rack in an oven while it is heated at two hundred degrees, it hurts like fuck, and is the least glamorous of the burns (Who did that to you Grandad, were you in a fight? did you wrestle a bear? No dear, Goodfellas are fucktards and their pizzas are not easily removable from an oven, despite giving it a good go with a wooden spoon and a tea-towel. What's a fucktard Grandad? Go ask your Nan).
Please forward to friends if you enjoyed my blog, re-post, comment, subscribe etc.
Good night all x
You should listen to: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gw9wE1nutc4
You should see: Up 3D
You should see: Up 3D
You should come to: http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=181332047516&ref=ts
Tuesday, 20 October 2009
Hello
Hello there.
Welcome to my blog, "Chris Mayo's Personal Space".
I've finally managed to persuade my lazy self to write something on a regular basis, so here it is. I'm also hoping the blog will play a part in my Edinburgh show next year, but I shan't stress myself out about that just yet.
I wanted to write something as a way of exorcising my anxiety demons (of which I'll speak soon), and to also keep people up to speed on what i'm doing.
To those of you who don't know me, I'm a 22 year old comedian, with the grumpy mind of a 65 year old man and the body of a 12 year old anorexic girl.
I live in Tottenham in North London. It doesn't have a motto, but I think if it did it would be "Where every step is a gamble". It is pretty grim. I live round the corner from Tottenham Football Stadium which is essentially temporary housing for all the things I dislike in life. Sport, dicks and noise.
I hate noise, which is annoying as it is quite common. Where I live, every day, without fail, someone turns up next door and whistles outside the window to get the attention of the guy on the top floor. We're living in 2009 and people are communicating through fucking whistles. Surely a text message or phone call will do. Fuck it, throw a pebble. There is nothing more piercing to the soul than the sound of off-key repetitive whistling.
I sit in my room most days, listening to Florence and The Machine or something suitably modern, grinding my teeth. Occasionally I will slam my window shut in annoyance and look disgruntled. The combination of which apparently has little effect on such noise and acts as some sort of catalyst, sparking further cunt-esque activity.
The ice cream van comes by everyday. It's 2009 (my new catchphrase) and people are getting ice cream from a fucking musical van. Why is ice cream deemed such a necessity it needs to be transported alone around the country like the Securicor of ice based snacks . Can we not just have a travelling newsagent? Why does ice cream get the glory, and in October? in Tottenham? surely someone should adjust their 5 year business plan, mainly so I can go a day without hearing the tinny clang of the Cornetto song playing out of some pikeys pedo waggon.
I live with four other people. Three of whom are nice enough. I had no choice in who I lived with, but I was quite lucky in the fact that they weren't freaks, they weren't people I would ever be friends with, but I say hello to them, we discuss trivial matters in the kitchen, and we are civil to each other. However, flatmate number 4, is what can only be described as a ridiculous penis of a man. So bafflingly bizarre and unpleasant, the sort of man who could drive you to kill.
I am not quite sure what he does with his life, but he is a very very odd man. He has a daily ritual of banging around in his room, knocking into the walls, and huffing. I assume it is some sort of exercise or an overly elaborate masturbation routine. I have NEVER seen him eat in the 18 months I have lived with him, he never cleans up, he pisses with the door open, If he comes into the kitchen and you are in there, he will run up the stairs to his room and close himself in. He once let a drunk psycho midget Irish woman into the house, because she followed him home. She then threatened to kill him and we had to call the Police. Oh, and he spits.
Spitting is my pet hate. In my humble opinion there are only three situations where it is accetable to spit; the dentist, brushing your teeth, and if you are a judge at a masturbation contest and you happen to yawn at the wrong time. Those are the only exceptions.
It's nearly as bad as farting next to someone in a toilet. I'm not your friend, please don't assume it is acceptable to fart next to me, I feel sick, and I don't even know your name, please stop that.
So i'm here coiled up in my cosy room, in an otherwise nice flat in an otherwise grotesque neighbourhood. I intend to move somewhere a bit nicer in the New Year, but maybe i'll miss all the frustratingly awful shit.
Anger, stress, annoyance, all good launch pads for creativity, that's something I guess.
I suffer from Generalised Anxiety Disorder as well as Health Anxiety, or Hypochondria 2: Return of The Fear as I like to call it. It's a horrible thing to have to deal with, especially knowing you have to go out and entertain people and make them happy, when you are in the back of your mind worrying that you are dying (health wise that is). Part of the reason I got into comedy and performing was to distract myself from my massive fear of death and being alone. Of course I never tell anyone that, it's all about laughter, sex and being onstage, but ultimately, it takes you away from the stresses of life for an hour or so, like a good film, you get involved in it, enjoy it, and nothing is more comforting to have a room full of people relating to what you have to say and laughing (or you hope).
I had to take this week off, as I had a serious health scare (at least, in my head I did), waiting for test results had never been so terrifying, staying with my parents back near Portsmouth where I grew up I felt like nothing could hurt me, curled up in bed, too scared to eat, too afraid to talk to friends, while my Mum and Dad said everything would be OK. I've been in this position many times before, but somehow this time felt so much more definite. It turns out I'm totally fine, never have I been so relieved, so grateful of life, friends and family. I actually looked forward to coming home to Captain Cunt and his spitting, the ice cream vans dickish chimes and the yobbish racist cries of the "Yid Army".
Few days to catch up on the world now, and plan the next couple of months. Start new "happy pills" tomorrow, so if I spack out and go a bit loopy/miserable/confused/irritable over the next few weeks, apologies in advance.
Back down to Southampton on Sunday to MC The Nuffield Theatre with the lovely Phil Kay, and then up in Manchester next Tuesday (XS Malarkey), Lancaster University on Thursday and Manchester again Friday doing funny stuff. Maybe I won't do the "you know when you think you're dying of cancer" routine just yet.
Hope all is well in your world.
Oh and my tips for a good week:
Cherry Lucozade, Richard Pryor's Autobiography, Zombieland and Jaques Mixed Fruit Cider.
Mayo x
Welcome to my blog, "Chris Mayo's Personal Space".
I've finally managed to persuade my lazy self to write something on a regular basis, so here it is. I'm also hoping the blog will play a part in my Edinburgh show next year, but I shan't stress myself out about that just yet.
I wanted to write something as a way of exorcising my anxiety demons (of which I'll speak soon), and to also keep people up to speed on what i'm doing.
To those of you who don't know me, I'm a 22 year old comedian, with the grumpy mind of a 65 year old man and the body of a 12 year old anorexic girl.
I live in Tottenham in North London. It doesn't have a motto, but I think if it did it would be "Where every step is a gamble". It is pretty grim. I live round the corner from Tottenham Football Stadium which is essentially temporary housing for all the things I dislike in life. Sport, dicks and noise.
I hate noise, which is annoying as it is quite common. Where I live, every day, without fail, someone turns up next door and whistles outside the window to get the attention of the guy on the top floor. We're living in 2009 and people are communicating through fucking whistles. Surely a text message or phone call will do. Fuck it, throw a pebble. There is nothing more piercing to the soul than the sound of off-key repetitive whistling.
I sit in my room most days, listening to Florence and The Machine or something suitably modern, grinding my teeth. Occasionally I will slam my window shut in annoyance and look disgruntled. The combination of which apparently has little effect on such noise and acts as some sort of catalyst, sparking further cunt-esque activity.
The ice cream van comes by everyday. It's 2009 (my new catchphrase) and people are getting ice cream from a fucking musical van. Why is ice cream deemed such a necessity it needs to be transported alone around the country like the Securicor of ice based snacks . Can we not just have a travelling newsagent? Why does ice cream get the glory, and in October? in Tottenham? surely someone should adjust their 5 year business plan, mainly so I can go a day without hearing the tinny clang of the Cornetto song playing out of some pikeys pedo waggon.
I live with four other people. Three of whom are nice enough. I had no choice in who I lived with, but I was quite lucky in the fact that they weren't freaks, they weren't people I would ever be friends with, but I say hello to them, we discuss trivial matters in the kitchen, and we are civil to each other. However, flatmate number 4, is what can only be described as a ridiculous penis of a man. So bafflingly bizarre and unpleasant, the sort of man who could drive you to kill.
I am not quite sure what he does with his life, but he is a very very odd man. He has a daily ritual of banging around in his room, knocking into the walls, and huffing. I assume it is some sort of exercise or an overly elaborate masturbation routine. I have NEVER seen him eat in the 18 months I have lived with him, he never cleans up, he pisses with the door open, If he comes into the kitchen and you are in there, he will run up the stairs to his room and close himself in. He once let a drunk psycho midget Irish woman into the house, because she followed him home. She then threatened to kill him and we had to call the Police. Oh, and he spits.
Spitting is my pet hate. In my humble opinion there are only three situations where it is accetable to spit; the dentist, brushing your teeth, and if you are a judge at a masturbation contest and you happen to yawn at the wrong time. Those are the only exceptions.
It's nearly as bad as farting next to someone in a toilet. I'm not your friend, please don't assume it is acceptable to fart next to me, I feel sick, and I don't even know your name, please stop that.
So i'm here coiled up in my cosy room, in an otherwise nice flat in an otherwise grotesque neighbourhood. I intend to move somewhere a bit nicer in the New Year, but maybe i'll miss all the frustratingly awful shit.
Anger, stress, annoyance, all good launch pads for creativity, that's something I guess.
I suffer from Generalised Anxiety Disorder as well as Health Anxiety, or Hypochondria 2: Return of The Fear as I like to call it. It's a horrible thing to have to deal with, especially knowing you have to go out and entertain people and make them happy, when you are in the back of your mind worrying that you are dying (health wise that is). Part of the reason I got into comedy and performing was to distract myself from my massive fear of death and being alone. Of course I never tell anyone that, it's all about laughter, sex and being onstage, but ultimately, it takes you away from the stresses of life for an hour or so, like a good film, you get involved in it, enjoy it, and nothing is more comforting to have a room full of people relating to what you have to say and laughing (or you hope).
I had to take this week off, as I had a serious health scare (at least, in my head I did), waiting for test results had never been so terrifying, staying with my parents back near Portsmouth where I grew up I felt like nothing could hurt me, curled up in bed, too scared to eat, too afraid to talk to friends, while my Mum and Dad said everything would be OK. I've been in this position many times before, but somehow this time felt so much more definite. It turns out I'm totally fine, never have I been so relieved, so grateful of life, friends and family. I actually looked forward to coming home to Captain Cunt and his spitting, the ice cream vans dickish chimes and the yobbish racist cries of the "Yid Army".
Few days to catch up on the world now, and plan the next couple of months. Start new "happy pills" tomorrow, so if I spack out and go a bit loopy/miserable/confused/irritable over the next few weeks, apologies in advance.
Back down to Southampton on Sunday to MC The Nuffield Theatre with the lovely Phil Kay, and then up in Manchester next Tuesday (XS Malarkey), Lancaster University on Thursday and Manchester again Friday doing funny stuff. Maybe I won't do the "you know when you think you're dying of cancer" routine just yet.
Hope all is well in your world.
Oh and my tips for a good week:
Cherry Lucozade, Richard Pryor's Autobiography, Zombieland and Jaques Mixed Fruit Cider.
Mayo x
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