It turns out a quick snap I took with my phone after my last haircut has been shortlisted to be the face of Stomp Models.
Please, please, please, vote for me. It takes a second. xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox
Literally the worst advice I have ever heard
I’m totally dissertating right now. But I have plenty of stupid things to update once I’m done, including a special on Poorly Named Companies I’ve spotted around York. Bye!
A couch for incest doesn’t sound very comfortable
Whenever I log in, I always imagine that Old King Hamlet is imploring me to click the ‘Remember Me’ button. I might be the only one who does this.
What every Edinburgh Fringe flyer looks like to me
Don’t get me wrong; I love the Edinburgh Fringe. It’s been relatively good to me. But I’m not going this year because I don’t have the time or money. Which is lucky really, as although I think it’s a wonderful festival, I’m less excited about it than I used to be.
Here is how I translate every flyer I get given:
A vain attempt at a professional sounding name for a group of friends (who come september will never want to see each other again) pretending they’re a proper company
Present
A show whose title is a hodge-podge compromise of a name because the deadline for the programme was getting unbearably close
Described in a by-line that promises two metaphysical concepts and a novelty item
Further sold by
A quote that has been slightly lifted out of context to make it sound more positive about the show
And
A quote that is genuinely positive but applies to a show that one of the people was involved with three years ago
Showing at
A venue that isn’t used as a performance space 85% of the year
Price:
Far too much given all of the above.
But what’s great is that despite all this, there are some truly outstanding shows. Against the odds, fantastic theatre is being made by bright young things who should, by rights, be lazy, insensitive, bored and boring. But they spend months fundraising, risk their own finances and sanity, spend the month of August living five people to a single bedroom and compete against companies doing exactly the same thing to get an audience every night. And despite this, everyone still seems to make friends and play nice.
Good luck to all of those at Edinburgh this year. Keep doing what you’re doing. Although if you’re the company who did that abysmal musical about the credit crunch last year, please stop.
Fingers on buzzers
Quiz special! Comedy sketches based on ridiculous quizzes, and finally, my favourite real-life-quiz-show-wrong-answer.
I would be loathe to contradict you sir, but my father is a gentleman and he congas with the best of them.
Apologies for absence. I hope Robert Webb screaming what everyone wants to say to Miss Bingley makes up for it.
Warning: faith schools may lead to creepily misinformed religious leanings and a bad prose style
I’m at home in Hampton tonight, and I just decided to look through my old desk drawers. I’ve had this desk for about 15 years, although I’ve barely sat at it in the past five or so because there’s too much stuff on it.
Anyway, I found a story I wrote when I was in Junior School. There is no title, but I don’t think that’s what matters. This is all copied out verbatim – yes, my comma use is impressive for a child. Far better than it is now.
Charlotte was spoiled and stuck-up, and her parents gave her whatever she wanted.
You would think that Charlotte would be happy, but it was not to be.
She would throw tantrums at least twice a day.
She would kick over chairs and break vases.
She would scream and cry and stamp her feet.
When Christmas came, all she talked about was presents.
She would tell people exactly what she wanted, and yell at them if they couldn’t get it.
She fell asleep on Christmas eve, hoping she would get the most presents that anyone had ever been given before.
That night however, she had a strange dream……
She was in a draughty stable. She looked around and saw a new-born baby in his Mother’s arms. A young man, the Father, was standing near. Cows and sheep were crowding round for a look.
Charlotte realised that the baby was Jesus.
The scene whirled, and she fell to the ground. She stood up in a daze. It was Christmas day! But then she saw herself, screaming at her parents because there weren’t enough presents.
Charlotte felt terrible.
The scene went as quickly as it had come, and Charlotte was, this time, in what looked like India. It was Christmas day there as well. The people there were starving, and no-one had any presents.
Charlotte felt so sorry for the people, but once again, the scene vanished.
Charlotte woke up in the morning and remembered the dream at once.
For the first time in her life, Charlotte realised that Christmas wasn’t about presents, but about being together and celebrating the birth of a very special man, known as Jesus.
Charlotte was as good as gold all through Christmas time. She was polite and helpful, and in some ways like an angel.
So, basically a rip-off of A Christmas Carol (which I would have known in its Muppet incarnation) with a bit of India thrown in. And no lame puns about graves and gravy.
