Bubbling Over at Leestock

Gavin’s gone. Gavin’s gone and I’m gutted.

I’m sitting in the comedy tent at Leestock and I’m feeling the loss. Some irritatingly loud and guttural singer is trying to interrupt my solace. But I can only see and hear Gavin Milnethorpe.

Gavin should still be here. It should be him -not that guttersnipe – up there on the main stage, sharing Gavinic melodies with the world. But, it matters not, because I can remember it all – word for word! ‘Fun, fun, fun, fun, fun; Pun, pun, pun, pun, pun!’ and I’m not a greedy person. I’m happy to share my experience.

In fact, I’m going to go right out there – now! I’ll march down the field, through the deluded crowds, and get myself right on up there – on the stage. I’ll grab the mic, shout out ‘GAVIN MILNETHORPE! and then launch into a personalised rendition of his best and only song. The only song that matters. The only song that …

But, PJ, the Suffolk Punch Comedy Club’s manager, has read my mind:

“Chooky, Don’t move! Stay right where you are! Junior Simpson’s on next! And you’ve got a job to do!”

I know that I’m supposed to be plugging Junior Simpson at this point, but PJ said just the right thing to cure me of my earworm. It’s crawled out and another’s crawled in. ‘When ya got a job to do, ya got do it well!’ And I really like Paul McCartney.

“Chooky! Notebook? Pen? Junior’s here!”

‘And when ya gotta job to do, ya gotta give the other fella hell!’ But, PJ’s right, Junior’s here. And I can well and truly feel (and hear) his presence.  He’s bemoaning the fact that PJ didn’t give him a grand entrance to the accompaniment of music. It seems that, being a black man, he’s usually introduced via a fanfare of rap music! On speaking out against such ‘labelling’, the usual intro’ rap song, was replaced by ‘The Ace of Spades’ and the exit song by ‘The Darkness’. But, what’s this? Junior’s trying to convince us that he was ‘white’ before he ‘went to Bahrain’! This really makes me wish I’d known all this beforehand, because I’d have gladly welcomed Junior in with my own stereotype-free version of Gav’s bit-time hit: ‘Simpson’s fun, fun, fun, fun, fun .. when in the sun, sun, sun, sun, sun!’

Okay, point taken, PJ – perhaps not! And I’m starting to think that PJ’s not the only mind-reader around here, because Junior’s now carrying on about how, in Bahrain, he witnessed ‘white, freckly, ginger people exploding all over the place!’ I check out my skin – it’s bubbling! He can read minds! Can he also do voodoo magic? Oh s***! I’m stereotyping again. And I really do need to invest in some Factor 1000 suncream! Junior’s spurting forth some wisdom, stating that racism is pointless because we all are ‘all born’ and we all ‘die and s*** the same way’!

This does all seem to make perfect sense, so I’m nodding my head in agreement, but my skin’s still bubbling, and with an eruption imminent, all I can see is Junior up there looking as cool as the ice-blocks in my Hotpoint freezer, and, in a moment like this, all I can do is play my last card: ‘Dear God, you remember how I used to be a really good vicar’s daughter, who prayed to you every night, and asked you to bless all the Nannas and Grandads, cousins and Auntie So and Sos? Yeah, well, I think I forgot to add myself to that list, so can you please ….errr …?


Copyright owned by Jay Cool (alias Chooky), who sadly …… in the month of May, 2017

POSTSCRIPT: I would like to completely disassociate myself, from the pink wig that some litter lout has left lying around in my comedy tent! And I exonerate myself from any liability related to the method with which it is about to be disposed of. Yours, PJ.

Get your tickets quick for tonight’s big event! At havingalaughforcharity.co.uk/index2.html


Published by The Silly-Savvy Salopian

Freelance writer and descendant of the cave dweller and outlaw, Humphrey Kynaston. Banished from Shropshire for my eccentricity, I have made my home in Suffolk. I write poetry, short stories, travel journals, comedy gig reviews and non-fiction articles. My wish is to write my way back into the heart of my birth land. All writing commissions (and free holidays in Shropshire!) considered.

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