May 15th, Thursday. Gig No.34, Man Da Laughs, Midlands Hotel, Hendon

The barmaid in this venue is hot. I mean, super sexy. Is it professional to turn up to a venue and start chatting up the bar staff? Most definitely not, but life’s too short, I thought, and sometimes you have to go out there and grab what you want and worry about the consequences later. Then I realised Rolf Harris had the same outlook. Killed my buzz right there. Not to say she was under age. But she’s just a hard working girl putting in her hours. What the fuck does she want with some randy little comic making inappropriate sexual innuendos while she’s trying to get though her shift. Fuck it, I thought. I’ll save the innuendos for another time. Besides, I have a gig to do. Oh, yes, that!

Sometimes, you have to be honest. There were no punters here. Two people. Two blokes who’ve just finished work, and popped in for a couple. And a gig started. They were kind and gracious enough to get into the spirit of it. The acts abandoned the sanctity of the performance space, and moved in front of these poor blokes at the back. The gig was happening everywhere. The whole pub was the performance space. It wasn’t a comedy gig, it was a ‘happening’. It was a happening, and we the performers, were healers - spiritual shamans bringing both performer and audience into a glorious metaphysical union through the joy of laughter. Was it fuck. It’s a gig, it counts. Lets move on.

The 'Happening'


Gig No. 34 done. Me and depraved individual MC Alex Martini