Beer Goggles

There’s something special about an ageing comedian.


ageing fruit pic – a Creative Commons image shared by

There’s something especially special about one called Nigel, who claims to be ‘the only antique that isn’t overpriced.’ And what I really like is that, whilst I’m sitting here wondering how many more of the hairy parts of my body will have turned grey by the time he has finished his lament, Nigel scans the room to seek out something youthful. He’s just been ranting about the time when he pulled in a nightclub and arranged to meet the target of his desires for a re-run the following morning. It was one of those familiar moments when, in the clear light of day, without the involvement of beer goggles, you look at your date – suddenly, they are ‘older, fatter and uglier’. Only in Nigel’s case – that ‘moment of enlightenment was hers’! Nigel’s looking for some sympathy from the younger generations; his eyes inevitably settle on moi:

‘Bet you don’t have this problem, do you?’ he says.

‘No,’ I reply. ‘No, never, I’m too young!’

I really love this man – Nigel is my favourite comedian ever!

Things start to look up even further during the interval. I’m sitting, pencilling an observational sketch of the up and coming vegan comedian, Kahn Johnson, when the aforesaid just happens to mention that he’s approaching the grand old age of forty-four. Nigel, comedian extraordinaire, is shocked. ‘No, you can’t be!’ he protests. ‘You’re older than I am!’

I can’t believe it. This is wonderful stuff for the old ego. I’m feeling light of foot, and my skin is glowing. No need any more for the anti-depressant effects of serotonin-stuffed bananas. No need for Boot’s No.7 restorative ‘Age Renew’ cream. This is all I need. Kahn is forty-four and Kevin, who’s sought out the youth in me is even younger. I’m all made up. And all puffed up… On my next birthday (and, no, it’s not tomorrow!), I will be ..

… forty-eight!

This is cause for celebration. I head to the bar for another pint of Aspall’s.

It’s now obvious to me that my alcohol consumption is no cause for concern whatsoever. I’m rushing headlong towards the big fifty and, according to Kevin, I’m still a youth. I really like this man. But there’s a nagging and persistent voice in my head that keeps on replaying the words ‘beer goggles’ over and over and over again. And I momentarily wonder how many pints of beer Kevin downed before he got up to perform his set. No … that’s not possible. He’s a teetotaller – I’m sure he is. By his own confession, he turned down the offer of a ‘Goblin’ by the barmaid. A complete teetotaller …

‘Aspall’s please! No, no –  not a half! A pint! No, make that two pints – it’ll save me a return visit. Got a touch of rheumatism in my ….’

I settle myself back down, swapping my bar stool, for a high-backed armchair. I need to be comfortable – Jason Ventris is in on next!

Jason Ventris slapping away the Blogger

The last time I saw Jason, he was modelling for a Plus-Size Walmart fashion shoot – in The Brewery Tap of all places! Reckon he’ll feel more at home, here in Long Melford’s Working Men’s Club. The old folk here need a bit of a joke, a bit of a something to rejuvenate them (us), and there’s certainly enough of Jason to spread around.

It all starts to gets a bit too much, however, when Jason tells us about the time when he queued for a fast-food burger and listened to the serving staff give all and sundry the option of either a ‘large’ or a ‘super-size’ burger, then got to Jason and said ‘super-size?’! That really is mean and, in empathy with Jason, as a New Year’s resolution –  I’m never going to go shopping for beef burgers again. I’m a devotee of the self-help book section in Waterstones. NEVER SET YOURSELF A GOAL THAT IS UNACHIEVABLE. NEVER SET YOURSELF UP FOR FAILURE. And I’m a vegetarian. Also,  this is an excellent strategy for avoiding an over-consumption of bananas and, likewise, an over-excretion of diarrhoea (yes, it is true that vegetarians suffer from this problem, and that any savings from the non-purchase of meat products, are countered by an over-spend on extra-soft and moistened toilet wipes).

Jason’s bombed out. There wasn’t enough of him to spread around after all. But he was great. I love a bit, or even a lot, of hot fashion. (Which, PJ*, is why I’m going to accept that offer of a high-paid job blogging for Gucci. Suffolk Punch Comedy Club will just have to find itself another slice of youthful talent. This one’s now a fully-baked cake! (Will sit on the offer of the being slave labour for Walmart, until the Gucci letter arrives.)) And, in the interim, Chris Jones is here!

He’s here, in Long Melford, and he’s looking tropical in an orange t-shirt and a green jumper. With his cute beard (Must perform my ‘Why I hate beards!’ rant for Suffolk Punch Comedy sometime – watch that space, PJ!), fine head of curly hair, and trim figure he’s the perfect victim for consumption by my Minus-Size fashion blog. I forget all about listening to Chris’ jokes and start on a detailed sketch of his personage. What wonderful cheekbones and what a handsome beard. My sketch soon resembles my the best-ever explorer, Francis Drake. (The best because the surname Drake appears on my family tree, and the best because Drake’s beard is ginger – the only hair colour worth blogging about!). As Chris Jones becomes one with old Francis, I’m brought back to reality by a voice that insists on being heard through the fog of my brain …

‘And the life expectancy is just fifty-three …’


‘.. in Glasgow!’


‘So at twenty-nine I’m ripe for a mid-life crisis!’

Now, hang on Chris Jones. At twenty-nine, there’s no way that you’re stealing my anticipated mid-life crisis from me. I’m forty-seven, heading for fifty, and I’m still a youth. Get away with you! I was looking forward to daily visits to the gym, a new wardrobe of teenage clothes from the Size 12 is really a Size 6 shop, H & M, and I was looking forward to embarrassing my kids by letching at every man in the twenty-five to thirty-five age category. Please don’t steal away my pleasure, Chris! Get away with you! Get on out of here! Hang on a mo’! How old did you say you are? Twenty-nine! Hang on a sec – I’m getting on out of here with you!

Chris? Chris Jones? Where are you? PJ?

PJ? Any idea why Chris Jones just bombed out and disappeared? Did he catch sight of my sketch? What’s that you said? Can you please repeat it? I’m sacked! Hey, hang on a mo …

Ah well, there’s always tomorrow’s post to look forward to – the anticipated letter from Gucci …

Another couple of pints of Aspall’s please! No, make it three pints this time …..

Hi, Kahn! You on next? 



Sleazy Vegan, Kahn Johnson

And Kahn’s off on one. Claims he was married once. His wife made him sign the marriage contract in blood. It was a bit of a one-off for an off-the-edge vegan, hence, in return of the favour, Kahn asked his loved one to prove her devotion by ‘trying out something new‘ with him. She declined. She came back with another paper to sign – in blood again – either ‘have sex with me, or give up your veganism’. He declined the former. Hence, the divorce. I can sympathise with you about the divorce, Kahn. PJ wants me out of the comedy club ….

What’s that? PJ the booker says I’m not allowed to blog about you? Just remember this, Kahn, PJ’s not really your friend – he’s a carnivore! Us herbivores need to stick together. Stick with me and I’ll book you in for my break-off gig at ‘Jay Cool’s Launch Pad’. As you said yourself, ‘Try something new!’

Copyright owned by Jay Cool, November 2017

Disclaimer: Suffolk Punch Comedy Club has no known association with Jay Cool’s Launch Pad. Our usual venue at The Brewery Tap in Sudbury only sells meat pies, courtesy of Kahn’s barber,  and our up and coming big events will include mutton-burger and chips, with a Cooling spattering of ginger spice,  in the ticket price. 

But if, in spite of the disclaimer, if you wish to support our Suffolk Punch Comedy Club events, be at The Brewery Tap, East Street in Sudbury, on Thursday 4th January to welcome in the new year with some healthy laughter.

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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