After the flurry of activity at the weekend and then the renewed porn star accusations (thanks, Twitter), today has seemed comparatively uneventful. I’m sure a really, really uneventful day will come along to top it (bottom it?), but for now, this has been the calmest day in a while. Except that I have to run 10 miles; in my pre-marathon training days, I’d have been trumpetting for a week about doing 10 miles. Now – in a week where I have to complete 20 on Saturday - it’s a mere warm-up. How feckin’ dull. Oh, but I wrote a song…
I wrote a song. It’s very dark but then I have just been doing some Dexter recaps. My fist ever foray into comedy was in 1995 with a singing group called The Nualas. I played the guitar very badly and unhappily because I can’t play the guitar, but I was the only one who couldn’t play it best out of the 3 of us. My favourite comedy is stuff that makes you immediately feel happy and joyous, as if the comedian is attempting to make you happy or uplift you or something, but when you reflect, you realise you want to be sick. Unsettling? Is that the word? That’s how I like my funnies. And this first dark song IN YEARS makes me laugh.
I did a solo show a couple of years ago, and it had bits in it about home-surgery kits, and hacking your own bits off in the comfort of your own home, while storing the equipment quickly and easily under the bed. The cutters doubled as cookie-making implements, so you could share your experience with your kids. It was meant to be a hilariously scathing look at body image, marketing and infomercials (I did it in an American accent as Pammy from off of Dallas). People just said it was dark. It made me laugh.
You can’t please all of the people all of the time and I find it hard to please any of them any of it, but I guess dark is how it’s going to have to be. Black Flynn, they used to call me.
Back to the drawing-block.
