Before I start, I feel the need to mention that I’ve got a comment in my spam queue at the moment that intrigues me. It’s clearly spam, because it’s from somebody called Trisha Seduction, who’s website is apparently, an adult movie site. Clearly then, what you’d be expecting from somebody of such a variety would be some kind of comment along the lines of ‘lol I’m on my webcam why not come watch rofl sexzord’ etc, the kind you get from spam bots on Twitter, ‘omg I’ve burned all my clothes in the wok and I’m making trifle in my underwear, come watch on my webcam lol roflmao xxxxx’ however, this is an altogether stranger message, something that I was not expecting from one with such a name as Trisha Seduction, a woman whose name implies that so good was she at seduction, that they named the art form after her. The comment reads: ‘March 09, Very nice tumbler fits very well in the hand and standard cup holders’.

I’m not entirely sure what she was expecting to be honest, it’s certainly the strangest attempt at seduction I’ve ever come across. Perhaps I should email her and ask. “So, these cupholders you say? They sound pretty sexy Miss Seduction. I presume that it’s Miss Seduction, or is there a Mr Seduction? I do hope not. Maybe we should meet up sometime and discuss the logistics of getting cups into various storage units. I have a cupboard into which I can fit at least 5 cups. It’s practically porn. Cupboard porn. Sexy shelves and arousing drawers, cutlery tempresses and salad tong harlets. You’d love it. I know I do.”

I don’t know why she’s felt the need to specify that the tumbler fits well in the hand either. Of course it fits well in the hand, it’s a tumbler. It wasn’t crafted for lung storage. Also, she seems to be using ‘standard cup holders’ as a unit of measurement. What the hell is a standard cup holder? Standard cup holders, what’s the deal with that? (cue whooping, cheering, over-excited vomiting and 35 minutes of uninterrupted canned laughter) I fear that such a sales approach will fast be torn apart by somebody with eyes. I shall therefore not be going out of my way to acquire any of these products. Unless I happen to need any particularly well-tailored tumblers in the coming months, in which case, the local brothel will be my first stop.

Today I got up at 5 to continue to live the dream of working at One Stop. Apparently the Chief Executive was coming in to visit our shop today, though they didn’t come in whilst I was there, which was probably for the best as I was pretty much falling asleep at my till. At one point instead of taking cash off somebody I took the Yorkie they were holding in their hand, presumably having convinced myself that chocolate was now legal tender. This was greeted with bafflement on both sides, for them as they wondered what the hell I was doing, and for me as I couldn’t seem to fit the Yorkie into my till anywhere. The stand-off was resolved peacefully though, which brought an end to that spectacularly boring adventure.

After I’d finished work I went out to get some lunch. On my own. I went to Wagamama, a place for people to be sociable. I think I was the only person sitting on their own in a busy restaurant. It was interesting. I think people tend to think you’re strange if you go out to a restaurant on your own. Thankfully I managed to deflect this attention by giving the impression that I was there to compete against myself in an eating contest. I ordered some tasty starters and a big meal and finished it all within about 5 minutes of it arriving. It wasn’t a deliberate effort to eat quickly, but I was rather hoping that when people saw me eating quickly they would get behind the effort and start chanting my name before I left in triumph to applause. “Oh, he’s not just some mental loner, I see what he’s doing, he’s trying to earn himself a trophy! Now that’s a man we can get behind! Andy! Andy! Andy!”

“Thanks guys! See you next week when I eat alone again! But for now I’ve got to be off to sit at home slumped in a chair trying to write what will inevitably turn out to be complete bobbins! Oh, me!”

And that’s where I find myself now. The script I’m writing is either complete rubbish, or I’ve become so desensitised to it that I just can’t tell if it’s good. I’d like to think it’s the second, but we’ll find out soon. I know I said I was going to start sending it out about two weeks ago, but I wasn’t entirely happy with it. I’ll fix it soon. Ready by next week, then onwards to further projects, including the surely soon to be BAFTA winning/critically panned L’Homme Radiateur. That’ll be special. I also want to start work on a second sitcom script soon. That’ll hopefully be good too, but we’ll see. It might be terrible. One day I will start sending out Milky Bars though. I’ll have a Milky Bar themed party in my sky castle. Yes.

Bye.

Another gig last night. More fun. I decided to do an entirely new set that I’ve never tested before. It consisted of a single story, leaving me no fallback point if people didn’t happen to like it (I do this a lot now). This was, at once both worrying, and potentially hilarious, though in the end it went quite well. It wasn’t the best ever, but it was still reasonable. I was also told that I had ‘a gift for language’. This was very nice, though at the same time, wrong (though they weren’t to know). I have a few fairly long words in my vocabulary, and can often use them in the correct context, however, if questioned I will not be able to explain to you what they actually mean. I think there are probably around 20 words in the entire language that I can properly explain, and I’ve gained all those from the ‘Spot the Dog’ series (not my favourite children’s book, that accolade goes to ‘Not Now Bernard’ or ‘Bears In The Night’). Anything outside of those and I’m just throwing random words at a situation and hoping it makes sense.

I also gave a tramp some money and offered him my bottle of water as it was a warm day and he had a dog, but he said he already had some. The first time I walked past him I gave him a pound, then thought that perhaps this wasn’t enough. Nobody else seemed to be giving him money, so I turned around, walked past again and gave him another pound. Basically, if I hadn’t had a gig to get to, I think I could probably have done this all day until my bank account ran out. At one point I thought about giving him £20 so that him and his dog could have a tasty meal, though in the end I realised that if I didn’t rein it in then I’d just end up going too far and pawning all my worldly possessions to buy them a house. “Good news trampy friends, I have acquired you a penthouse suite!”

“Who are you? And where are your clothes?”

“Hey! Don’t question my methods! Just get in the penthouse and start drinking champagne!”

Actually, that sounds wrong, like I’m getting naked and plying a tramp with alcohol. That wasn’t the impression I was going for, nor is it something that I’d endorse. The idea was that I’d pawned my clothes to buy him a luxury apartment. That was what I was going for. Not tramp seduction. No. Not unless they were a particularly sexy female tramp. Then we could eat spaghetti together. Lord and the Tramp. Though I’d require some kind of honourary title to make this work, otherwise it would just be Tramp and the Tramp. Tramp Squared. That’s not a film anybody would watch. Even then, I’m not the plying with alcohol type, that’s just evil trickery. I prefer to just let my personality speak for itself. And that’s why I’m single.

Anyway, I tend to act like an idiot with my money. I figure that I’m not spending it as I have no life to attend to, so when I am given an opportunity to utilise it I do tend to behave like an eccentric billionaire, even though I should perhaps be saving some of it and maybe paying off my obscene student loan debt. I can’t help but think that if I do ever get a job where I’m actually making a decent amount of money, I’ll just go crazy and be like the Milky Bar kid buying rounds of chocolate for everybody in the vicinity. I look forward to it.

I had a gig last night. It was much fun. It was at a place called Ginglik in Shepherd’s Bush. Apparently, the website for the venue boasts something about this being Jimmy Carr’s favourite place to play in London, and I can see why. Not necessarily for the room you understand, I mean, it’s all very nice, and there was a friendly crowd there tonight, but what really impressed me was that not only was there a green room for the comedians (I’m a low-ranking comedian, I’ve never been ushered into a green room before), but that this green room had a SNES, a Mega Drive, and a NES. A NES FOR GOODNESS SAKE. I nearly exploded in a blue bolt of geekiness when I saw this, and tried first to convey my excitement to the other comedians, who didn’t seem interested in the slightest, and then, having got little response to what I believed was something truly fantastic from them, I then got on stage and told the audience. They also seemed less than thrilled. Perhaps they knew that the consoles didn’t actually work. That might have been it. I mean, I didn’t actually try them, because I thought ‘I really should practice my set a bit, I don’t know it that well, and let’s be honest, the audience aren’t going to be too forgiving if you come out on stage and say “Hey everybody, bad news, I’ve forgotten my set, but on the plus side, I did just lap Toad on Mario Kart”‘.

In the end, I didn’t completely forget my set, and it went quite well. It was a competition gig though, and I may have blown it with perhaps one of the worst jokes ever crafted by a human being at the end (which for some reason I always seem to dig out even though it’s never gone well. I’m a masochist of sorts and I find the lack of any response kind of funny actually. Tragic, but funny.) I perhaps shouldn’t hold my breath about hearing back from them, especially since I got a little bit told off for giving the terrible joke a spectacularly long build up. I found this telling off even more hilarious, and may now have been tempted to write an entire set based around this single joke. That’ll be Death City, but on the plus side, I’ll be living in the Maverick Metropolis suburb.

Also, London fell apart in the rain. I don’t know what happened but the whole place was just carnage. Evidently the architects behind London made the foolish mistake of crafting every building out of salt. Even Noah didn’t make that mistake, and he was fictional. Fictional people tend to have less of a mind. That was the link there. Perhaps I should explain the terrible joke I do. I think everybody would agree that having to explain jokes invariably makes them even funnier. That’ll do it, yeah, I see no way this can possibly go wrong. I’ll let you know how it goes.