April 1st, Tuesday. Gig No.1. Walk in spot at Lion’s Den.

Before I write my gig report, a word or two about this challenge. First of all, last night I had nightmares about it. 3am, I lay on my bed in the dark, cowering as the weight of the task bore down on me like a sick, fleshy demon ready gorge on my shrivelled balls. It seems a bit of a task. Too much to think about as a whole. So, to make it easier, I shall approach it like an alcholic. Yes, an alcoholic: I’ll drink like a sub aquatic goat fish until my nipples have yellowed like a pair of out of date cornflakes. No. I’ll take it ONE DAY AT A TIME. Just one day at a time. One day at a time, all I have to do is: Do a gig. Thats it. One gig. For a year. Every day (ish). For twelve consecutive months. Until my hair has fallen out and I've lost all my friends. Right, the gig.

So, as I had no gig booked for this evening, after discussion with medium level semi retired jobbing comic Robin Cousins about our options (As a side bet we have challenged each other to see who can do the most gigs in a month for a 100 quid - nice little earner for me) which amounted to two: One gig that was recording all the acts on audio for internet consumption, and a gig in London that you had to queue up for and even pay 4 quid entrance fee just to get in. Naturally I despise pay to play gigs but the idea of allowing my new material to be disseminated all over the internet was about as appealing as Dappy’s dick. So, as a one off, and as we needed to do a gig on Day one, we chose to pay.

Arrived at half 6. Unfortunately, the queue had started and I needed a shit. I don’t want to get this blog off to such a tawdry, base toilety level but I genuinely did need a big poo and it impacted on my decision making for the next hour. I was torn between rushing off to find a poo toilet somewhere, and sticking. Robin hadn't turned up and I REALLY needed to go. (You shall learn a lot of my magically overactive bowels - just sign up to my emails and you‘ll have regular updates.) But if I left, I’d lose my spot. So I hung on, swinging around like sexually frustrated ape. Consequently I wavered a little, and allowed several little shits to push in the queue. When the doors opened they all surged forward and I lost my spot. Disaster!! The first thing I did, was find a toilet. As I sat on the seat ruminating on current events, I went over my options: I could try and persuade one of the acts to let me have their spot, or, I could have a spaz attack and smash the place up. Not an option, I thought - I’m a gent. Then I finished my poo and decided to go and cry and scream like a child. Lenny Sherman, one of the acts, empathised with me and informed the MC Kate Weston of my tragic predicament. She then went upstairs to see if she could squeeze me on. Then I followed, (I always follow women) and with this came my calling card: The 365 challenge. I told the promoter Mark Rendle that I was doing a 365 Challenge and that THIS would be my first ever gig of the challenge. He looked at me sceptically and went “REALLY? Prove it!”. So, I got my phone out and showed him this blog. (First thing that came up was me looking like a gimp) Then I showed him the all important gig number: 0. Convinced, he let me go on! Disaster averted. So I did the spot, and came off, elated to have done gig no.1! Photo below, gig done. I’m off for a poo.