April 25th, Friday. Gig No.20, Comedy Cottage, Redhill

After last nights toilet trauma, anticipation of tonight's gig didn't start too well. I looked in my diary and thought “Where the fuck is Redhill??” I asked another act and he said “Ah, Redhill. Coming just out of the bottom of London” Coming out of the bottom of London?? Ah, shit. Another toilet. Perhaps. The directions weren't too encouraging either. “When you come out of the station, head across the road and make straight for McDonald's. Take a right past McDonald's, and keep walking til you get to Poundland..” Wow. This is getting worse. I head out to the gig with a heavy heart. And a double decker drill, in case I get trapped in any toilets. Or if there is a DIY emergency in the middle of town, involving three distressed swimwear models and a really tricky shelf bracket. You never know! Optimism, that's my natural default.

As I get there, I see a Sainsburys. I walk in, and it’s EXACTLY like my own Sainsburys! I mean IDENTICAL. The layout is exactly the same. All the aisles are in the same places. (I'm even sure one of the shelf stackers works in the one in Hayes? Either he’s a twin or they're building clones. Now that would be creepy as hell. Mindless cloned droids working in stores all over the country, stacking cans of petit pois and stringy cheese) I found it all extremely weird. Dotted in towns all over the country are supermarkets that are all identical. Not just supermarkets - pubs, coffee shops, shopping malls. What kind of weird, sterile world are we building? Everywhere you go is a replication of somewhere you've been before. Everywhere is the same. I think if the place is exactly the same and you feel like you've been there before, your brain shuts down, you stop thinking and go into safe mode. You become a shopping Zombie. Which is ideal for supermarkets, cause they want what's in your wallet. But not ideal for their staff, cause you want their brains. (Maybe that's why they’re building clones?) They’re getting like gambling dens and casinos - they're all set up so that people lose track of time. There are no clocks and hours go by before you realise it's daytime and you've got nowhere to live cause the house has robbed all your gear. You don’t even own the clothes you walked in with. They chuck you out onto the street bollock naked with a lollipop up your arse. Fuckin fruit machines.

Then I get to the gig. And. Ahem. It's different! Nice different though, set in a nice little theatre. Most of the shows seemed to be 80's tribute band shows and psychic mediums. And most of the people there were older than Noah. This theatre was an Ark of middle of the road entertainment. And vermin scum who shaft grieving people with cold reading tricks and shiny lights. But the gig itself was refreshing. One of those rare gigs I do that are well run and have proper set ups. You know, like a proper comedy club. A sound engineer, decent seating arrangement, a stage, lighting. And paying punters up for a good night of comedy. Always fun to do those. It got decidedly less fun when I got out my double decker drill though. Apparently the people of Redhill don't do veiled threats and power tools. But if I pretend I'm talking to their dead loved ones and give them false hope - THAT'S FINE. (I hate psychic mediums, can you tell?)

Gig No. 20 done. MC and lovely lady Sajeela Kershi


Poster: