VSX, A shadowy flight into the dangerous world of a man who does not exist: Starbuck Powersurge - a young loner on a crusade to champion the cause of Viper Squad Ten, a long-disbanded group of stranded timetravelling troubadours, formed to help finance repairs to their time-machine. Now very much stuck in C21...
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The Watchman and The Walker
Aaargh, I've just done that thing. That thing that I'm sure most of us do now and again, most of us living comfortable lives free of fear and persecution anyway.
Following a late lunch* I was wandering fairly aimlessly around near my workplace, when I suddenly found myself compelled to stop sharply, look at my wrist-watch, and then start marching with intent in the other direction (back towards work as it happens).
The whole thing was totally out of my control. Why oh why do people do this? And what's with the watch thing - is it because our subconscious cares about what others might think about us and it needs to find a transparent excuse for the sudden about-face? I know that it's not just me, friends have admitted the same, and I've seen total strangers caught within the same compulsion.
Just a mild example of how fragile the human programme really is.
* "Late lunch" - cue** the "Late Lunch with Mel and Sue" theme tune on my internal jukebox. ** Sentence containing the words "cue the". Cue the opening titles to "Cue The Music with Mike Mansfield" (not QC), where the silver-haired old-music supremo said "Cue The Music" from his position at the TV studio gallery mixing desk. Cue also memories of the control desk berks *** sitting in the background being amusing behind the stern-faced record producer. *** Cue amemory of straining those drunken late-night eyes to determine whether one of the berks was comic impro actor Tony Slattery**** **** Cue a comment on just hoe woeful Slattery's "Norfolk" accent is on the very amenable Sunday night drama series "Kingdom with Stephen Fry". I don't know exactly what it is about Kingdom - on paper it really shouldn't be a Starbuck must-see - but it just seems to warm my cockles. Apparently I smile alot whilst I'm watching it!
Sometimes when you’re on tour, death does seem an enticing alternative.
The gig was another one that was slightly hard work and there were more walk-outs – one bloke leaving during the potarto bit which is only 20 minutes in – I don’t think he can have been too offended by that and just thought I was shit (incidentally I saw an Agatha Christie film yesterday afternoon in which Tony Curtis said "potarto" so that’s who it is who does it- slightly ruining my joke, the bastard). I can’t work out if I am doing something differently or if I have just been unlucky to have three slightly more reserved audiences in a row. I am a bit tired and ill and being a little more bitter in performance and pushing some of the naughtier ideas a bit further. Is it too self-indulgent? Have I stretched the elastic too far and broken things? Or is it just that I have had three slightly more middle-class, middle-aged Arts Centre kind of audiences in a row. The Free Beer Show in Oxford tomorrow should sort out the confusion.
The second half picked up a bit and someone put some white powder in my water which made it look like monkey semen. I wasn’t going to risk drinking it, it could be a date rape drug or poison or monkey semen. But the old people on the bonfire, perversely decided they would try and murder me by drinking some of the concoction. Why do they hate me so? Apparently they are rather like the kind of characters who talk to schizophrenics in their heads, becoming increasingly unpleasant and self-destructive. I don’t think I am mad though.
Review by Starbuck Powersurge: The Studio at Warmington-on-Sea's certainly not a good venue - the audience always seem dangerously exposed to the comedian on "stage" (or "floor", to be accurate, and the front few rows of the audience actually share the "stage" with the audience, scarily for them), so those not familiar with the lovely lovable Herring might admittedly have felt a bit intimidated, especially with the more caustic material. And anyway, the Sunday night Arts Centre comedy crowd are often a bit quiet I find - let's call it "reverential".
Those of us in the safety of the "rear" seemed to all be having a whale of a time, however - fucking brilliant stuff, as Brian Sewell might put it. Even Mrs Powersurge really enjoyed it, and she's a hard audience to crack (though Rich wasn't the person she thought Richard Herring was going to be; perhaps she was confusing him with Rich Hall having spent the duration of that gig asleep a few months back).
And talking of the "safety of the rear", of all the blasphemies that comedians have launched from the stage, and most of them seem compelled to flaunt their despicable atheistic credentials, Rich proved to be the blasphemer of blasphemers, even topping Stewart Lee's "90's Comedian" tour for gross-out Jesus abuse. Very naughty, and perhaps not an ideal show for St John's Church Westwood's monthly cultural outing, but very funny for the heathens amongst us...
Blogroll update [with a few tears and cheers along the way]
The whirlwind life associated with being a jetsetting Powersurge has rather curtailed my time sitting in front of this old steam-powered Analytical Engine of late, with the result that my last 6 posts consisted of 28 words between them, of which only 16 were unique (post titles excepted).
Hell, I don't even know whether all of the above are still active, let alone what's going on in their ever-interesting lives at the moment. They might have all been killed in a freak internet accident for all I know. Not having been able to keep in touch leaves a strange sense of melancholia. Much more so than when I've simply not having heard from friends or family members in months or years, which must be nice for them to know. I can't explain it - must be a blog thing; much like I can't explain the fact that I've started this paragraph with the expression "Hell", and I'm not even American.
Talking of "Blogthing", I doubt you remember failed manufactured Brit girl-group Girlthing, but I did something to their telephone line once. But I egress.
With my recent online reading activity being strictly limited, so much so that I'm not even reading these words as I type, it would seem like a strange time to add anyone to the blogroll, but contrary as ever (or something very similar) that's exactly what I'm going to do. Jeez, I've got old draft posts dating back from years ago just waiting to get published on VSX, but I'm not going to let this one slip any further. And yes, I really did start that sentence with the word "Jeez" (I once read a blogger do something similar, but obviously he hadn't made the Jesus connection, as he started his sentence with "Gees", which sounded amusingly like "geese". But anyway)
So new to my list of lists, its Ron Lyre's Forked Tongue, a second outlet for Ron's never-ending and much-envied wit and wisdom (and its a pleasure to see his second outlet, let me tell you.) I was round Ron's parts just earlier today, by the way. His home-town I might add, fearing that my stream of innuendo may well just be getting too much to bear.
Secondly, may I welcome to my sidebar Diary of a Wage Slave, and its a pleasure, since we're all wage slaves of one sort or another, except those who are lucky NOT to be. Bastards.
And finally, its Mr Biffo's Blog (the blog formerly known as Biffovision, by the writer formerly known as Paul Rose). I can't tell you how excited I was to find this - I was drifting on the winds of Google some weeks back, wondering why there was so little information available about the reversible sedgewick (little did I know that I was mispelling it as "sedgwick" - bah!), when I stumbled across my former breakfast teletext buddy's blog...
This man and his televiddy chums made me who I am today. Him and the Big Breakfast. They've got a lot to answer for.
And quite scarily, by matter of coincidence my wife bought me Mr Biffo's book - Confessions of a Chatroom Freak - for a recent anniversary present. Who said romance is dead?.