The Archive

Giggidy Giggidy

It's that time of year, when strawberries cost £356 a punnet (does anything else come in a punnet? Or is it purely a strawberry affair?), Britain's upper middle class women of a certain age discover a passion for sport, and our great hope to lift the trophy fails to quite cut the mustard.

Or does he? For 'Tiger' Tim of the girly fist pump and pre-pubescent appearance has been replaced by dour Scot Andy Murray, who is tipped for success this year.

Yes, Murray seems to be unflappable, possibly because one needs a personality in the first place in order to flap (see also Lewis Hamilton).

Yes, Murray has shown the form required to make us believe that tennis is coming home.

Yes, Murray shares a name with a popular mint, although I'm not sure how that's going to help him at tennis.

But, Scottish or not, Murray is a British tennis player and I firmly believe that, for all the shouts of support, a British crowed is simply incapable of believing a Brit can do it, and all that massed doubt produces psychic negatrons (waves of negative emotional energy) which blast out at our plucky player, making them incapable of making that final breakthrough to victory.

Or maybe I'm wrong. We'll see.

In other news, I did a gig last night in Derby.

The gig itself went, ok I guess. I didn't exactly storm the place, but I did manage 9 minutes with enough laughs to not feel too bad, even though it was the hottest gig I've ever done and towards the end the sweat was pouring down my face like an overweight Northern Man's club comic.

Oh, and I nicked a copy of the flyer, on which my name is printed just before Rhod Gilbert's. Ha!

Top, seemingly random, conversational opener in the car on the way home... "I had sex with a ladyboy once."

I love doing comedy.

posted by Peter The Great @ 11:33 AM