April 11th, Friday. Gig No.10, T Bird Bar, Finsbury Park

Mmm. OK. Died on my arse. Went down to total earth shattering, awe inspired silence. Yes I went on 2nd. Yes, it was a dry, quiet, sober room. But I’ve seen enough comedy to know good ideas, good jokes and good acts can always wrestle laughs out of those situations.

Actually thats a complete lie.

I‘ve been monitoring my readership on this blog, and I’ve noticed one major thing: People will click on and read an entry if they’re interested in what I say in the first paragraph, which is displayed on Facebook. And in the last 9 posts, the most popular by far, is the one that began as above. So THAT’S what my readers want! They want me to die on my arse! Not just once in a while, not even all the time, but definitely MORE OFTEN. No one wants to hear about how well my act is going. They want to hear about the pain, the humiliation, the locking myself in a room and burning myself with candlewax. Well fuckers, I’m sorry to report I didn’t die on my arse tonight. I had a serviceable gig - serviceable, not brilliant, but not bad either - and so I won’t be inflicting hideous pain on myself with scented Pomegranate Noir bathroom wicks.
I’m not boasting about this gig, I should stress. I don’t need to boast. I’m a man of many accomplishments, and I’m not such an insecure/weird egomaniac that I need to create an online blog and write about my many achievements and rack up likes on Facebook like a squirrel hoards nuts. (I wonder if squirrels get a little bit arrogant about how many nuts they’ve collected. I bet when they’ve had a good day they’re well annoying. The hubris of squirrels, a theme for our times.) Saying that, I will mention the Spaghetti Bolognese I made the other night. It was, though I say so myself, food made for Dionysian Gods. It had an intoxicatingly delicious, fulsome flavour, and every element came together like lovers entwined in orgiastic appreciation of each other’s trembling flesh. Well, apart from the Ragu. Let the side down slightly. (The God Zeus spat it out. Ungrateful prick.) I make a mean Bolognese, and thats just one food recipe. Imagine what I can do with other things, like golf clubs and toilet ducks. (I could mention the time I cleaned my toilet three weeks ago, I did a smashing job.) Anyway, enough of this drivel. This is my first weekend off of this challenge. 10 gigs done in 11 days. I’m off to reward myself with wine women and song. Oh wait a minute, I don’t drink. Milkshake, women and song. Actually I’m single. Milkshake, self pleasure and song. Oh wait a minute, I sing like a goat. Milkshake, self pleasure and silence. Mmm. Where’s that candlewax?

Gig No.10 done. Promoter Miriam Muruako