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Look who’s talking

March 6, 2009

tv_staticPhew! I’m back. Gosh. That was a rather long holiday wasn’t it? Apologies and thanks to all those who wondered where I was and when I’d be coming back (yes, all one of you – fuckers).

So what have I been up to? Well if you really want to know Badger’s personal shit, then I’d suggest clicking on this here linky here. That’s my personal blog – although I would bother. I hardly ever update it and when I do it’s mostly drivel. In fact, I’m linking to it when I’ve not actually written what I’ve been doing, so if you do click on it, you’ll get the holiday sign.

No, here is where we talk about TV. And stuff. See? Just like what it says up there. So that is what we’ll do.

So… I’ve not really been watching much TV actually. Well, I have but nothing that’s been shite enough to blog about. I rarely see Eastenders these days and the only Hollyoaks I manage is about 20 minutes on a Sunday before I realise that, yes, I do actually have a hangover and crawl back to bed. However, I couldn’t agree more with this little ditty from el Guardian. Hollyoaks, above all other soaps at the moment, is brave and bold and unabashed. Yes, the models can’t act very well, but if you’re tackling such dark issues like anorexia, HIV, poverty, mental health, disability and debt it kinda helps if you’re looking at fit people while you’re at it (Enders take note). I am still a fully paid-up member of the Hollyoaks fan club – more so now especially as Enders et al are taking a massive nosedive into mediocrity.

herring1So, what to talk about? Culture, dahlings! Last night we went to see Richard Herring at Bath’s brand-new Komedia (I pronounce it Koe-media, by the way and not Comedy-a, like they want me to – I’m sticking it to the (Comedy) Man. Or should that be Koe-medi Man?) Anyway, it was all good stuff as usual. I think the show might work better on DVD if I’m really honest. It felt more ‘scripted’ and not as improvised as his other stuff. Of course, I know it’s *all* a scripted performance, but he usually makes the show seem a bit more ‘off the cuff’, whereas this time there were chunks that were more or less reamed off a bit parrot fashion. This might have been part of the act, though – the premise of the show is his experiences as The Headmaster’s Son – but it took a while to get used to. Maybe it’s because this is nearer the start of the tour than I usually see and he’s not quite relaxed into it yet. I dunno. But he was still very very funny – cackling a-plenty (poor, embarrassed Mr Tupper) – so catch him if you can.

The old cinema was packed with hundreds of peeps – a world away from last year’s Oh Fuck I’m Forty where we crammed into the Porter’s tiny downstairs comedy club. In fact, a world away personally for me too, if I might go there for a bit. This time last year I was about to make the rather huge decision and leave Mr Badger after six years together – it was actually his reaction to Herring’s show that culminated in the argument that was to be the last straw. So there you go, Herring.  You (or rather someone’s hatred of you) changed my life.

We turned up early and managed to get front-row seats. Afterwards at the programme-signing, I yet again reminded Rich of that time we shared a pizza before one of his gigs. He didn’t seem to remember at first and looked a tad confused.

I realise now that his ongoing conversation on his blog about Herring’s Third Law (if you buy sandwiches for a gig, there’ll be sandwiches provided; if you don’t, there won’t) might have thrown him – he might have thought that I was trying to talk to him about The Law, and cocked it up in my excitement, saying pizza instead of sandwiches (which you might think would be ridiculous – but actually, they both started as a meal with the bread as a ‘plate’ so actually, dumb ass, it’s not that big a jump to make when you look into it).

But it clicked and he remembered, and I think he was just about to wave security over when I shuffled off. Afterwards Rich (Pigott, not Herring) suggested that I drop the ‘pizza-and-anal-sex’ ditty in future as actually if I thought about the experience from his point of view, it wasn’t as cool as my rose-tinted memory.

“The poor sod wanted a quiet meal before his show,” he said. “You yelled at him in front of a busy restaurant,” – it wasn’t that busy, actually but anyway – “made him sit with us and talk to us about anal sex until the poor man felt the need to scoop half his pizza up WITH HIS BARE HANDS and rush off, just to get away from us. And it wasn’t even cold pizza by then. He probably got third-degree burns, JUST SO THAT HE COULD GET AWAY FROM YOU.”

I reminded Pigott that actually it was he who brought up the anal sex conversation and that Herring did seem quite interested in it. The conversation, not having anal sex with Pigott. But, hey, who knows just how experimental Pigott is…?

So anyway, we basically decided – or they decided for me – that any and all contact with Herring from now on should not include any mention of pizza (or anal sex for that matter) so as not to make me look like some sort of stalker, or weird fan who’s hopelessly clinging on to one brief and unsatisfying meeting in an Oxford eaterie a few years ago. I’m not by the way. A stalker. If I was, I’d be following Herring to his next gig instead of sitting here in my over-warm office finally typing my blog. I just think it’s quite funny to act that way. You know, subversively. Type thing.

But you see, what if I do stop mentioning it and then become just another face to Herring? Just another stunning and intelligent blonde that pops up in venues across Oxford and the West? Because, you know, I’m sure on his way to Bath, he was thinking “Gosh I really hope that chick I had pizza with a few years ago in Oxford is there tonight.” I’m sure he thinks about me all the time, in fact. He just keeps it to himself so as to not look like a weird stalker who’s hopelessly clinging on to one brief and unsatisfying meeting in an Oxford eaterie a few years ago.

2 Comments leave one →
  1. March 7, 2009 8:30 am

    I saw him do The Headmaster’s Son at the Edinburgh Fringe. I sat in the front row too, the bastard picked me out. It was especially embarassing because kiddy TV’s Kirsten O’Brien was in that night (who I quite fancy) and would have been laughing at Herring laughing at me. Bah!

    I was surprised at how short he was.

  2. March 12, 2009 11:40 am

    yes he has very little legs. and hands. child-like hands.

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