Groundhog Day at Leestock

Suffolk Punch Comedy at the Leestock Festival

Suffolk Punch Comedy’s show, hosted by the emcee Pauline Eyre, every child’s nightmare of an embarrassing yes-I-think-I’m-funny mum, gets off to a cracking Sunday start:

     Why did the baker wash his hands?
     We don’t know Pauline Eyre! Why did the baker wash his hands?
     Because he’d kneaded a poo!

Imagine being a Blogger, located in a comedy tent at the Leestock Festival, sandwiched between a battalion of Portaloo cabins and a beer tent … and you start to get the picture.

1) As it is extremely hot, and as the comedians on today’s billing are also extremely ‘hot’, the Blogger’s priority is to make a short trip over to the beer tent to secure a sample of cider. Being a logical sort of person, without the least-tinsy bit of sense, she starts at the top of the extensive list of consumables with a request for ‘Black Dragon’. As it’s a charity event, the barman refuses to hand over any free tasters, so the Blogger is forced to purchase half a pint; the alcohol content is 7.2%, so this is a sensible start to a big (long) day.

2) The Blogger returns to the comedy tent, eager to lap up a dose of Adam the Bailiff. Instead, this is what she gets – Pauline Eyre and a second dose of:

    Why did the baker wash his hands?
    We don’t know Pauline Eyre! Why did the baker wash his hands?
    Because he’d kneaded a poo!

It was humorous enough the first time but, thanks to the ‘Black Dragon’, it is now really funny and it even starts to sound as if it might be a Pauline Eyre original.

3) Adam the Baliff’s first on, and he soon sweetens up the Blogger with his associations between orange-faced Essex girls and Sunny Delight, but the Blogger is impatient – she wants more of the real stuff – as a Tipexed-white-faced Suffolk-Shropshire hybrid, she’s feeling unwanted, redundant – almost lonely. So Adam is abandoned ….

4) As it is extremely hot, and as the next up and coming comedian is going to turn the ‘heat’ up a notch, the Blogger’s next point of call is  …. the beer tent. She makes a second attempt at securing a free taster, by homing in on a different barman – but he’s having none of it either. So out comes the purse, and a request for half a ‘Dog Dancer’ (only 6.5%, so perfectly acceptable).

5)  The Blogger returns to the comedy tent eager to lap up a dose of Tom Caruth. Instead, this is what she gets – Pauline Eyre and a third dose of :

    Why did the baker wash his hands?
    We don’t know Pauline Eyre! Why did the baker wash his hands?
    Because he’d kneaded a poo!

It’s now not just humorous, or really funny, or a possible original – it’s ground-breakingly fresh and 100% orginal! The Blogger starts to spit and splutter. Everyone in the audience gets a taste of the ‘Dog Dancer’.

6) Tom Caruth refuses to do an impression of C3PO, so the Blogger gets that sweaty-under-the-long-armpit-hair feeling that she always gets when Caruth does his French Chewbacca performance. And, she does a little wet-dog shake to relieve herself of the excess.

7) As it is extremely hot, and as the next up and coming comedian, Carl Denham, has made a point of asking for a generous press review, the Blogger’s subsequent point of call is  …. the beer tent. She makes a third attempt at securing a free taster, by homing in on a bar lady (sure to be more generous than her male counterparts) – but she’s having none of it either. So out again comes the purse, and a request for half a ‘Farmhouse Scrumpy’ (only 5.3% this time).

8) The Blogger returns to the comedy tent, eager to deodorise herself with the sweet music of the James Arthur doppelganger, Carl Denham. Instead, this is what she gets – Pauline Eyre and a fourth dose of:

    Why did the baker wash his hands?
    We don’t know Pauline Eyre! Why did the baker wash his hands?
    Because he’d kneaded a poo!

It’s now not just humorous, or really funny, or a possible original, or even ground-breakingly fresh and 100% original! The raucous laughter that now emerges from the Blogger’s mouth is so Earth shattering that Organiser PJ‘s deckchair, gives out a creak and a crumble. Inspired by the effect she has on others, the Blogger considers launching into her own rendition of the ‘Apple Crumble’ song as a kind of Britain’s Got Talent Preview. But, a little shell-shocked by her own earthquake, the Blogger decides it might be kinder to check on the well-being of the next I’ll say-and-do-anything-to-get-into-the-press comedian.

9) But Carl Denham turns out to be a blood-sucker, with a thing about ‘Twilight’ – and a morning slot just isn’t really him. He’s a repellent, rather than a deodoriser, telling his audience to come back later on – the glare from the Blogger’s sunny pink hair disturbs him. The Blogger takes the hint and leaves.

10) As it is now sizzling, due to all the hot lava, and as the next up-and-coming comedian, Alex Oliver, is going to show a snippet of his best Edinburgh peek show, the Blogger’s subsequent point of call is  …. the beer tent. She makes no effort to secure a free taster, as all of the bar staff are looking like we-all-need-some-of-this-cider grumpy, and this time she has double-the-usual money ready. Slurring out of the Blogger’s mouth comes a request for a pint of  ‘Two Trees Perry’. (Only 4.5% alcohol, so why go for a half, when she can practice her ‘doubling’ skills?)

8) The Blogger returns to the comedy tent, eager to lap up a dose of the young and dashing Alex Oliver. Instead, this is what she gets – Pauline Eyre and a fourth dose of :

    Why did the baker wash his hands?
    We don’t know Pauline Eyre! Why did the baker wash his hands?
    Because he’d kneaded a poo!

It’s now not just humorous, or really funny, a possible original – or even ground-breakingly fresh and 100% original, or earth shattering. It’s explosively – flat! The loud bomb-like sound that let loose out of the Blogger’s a***, has made an impact crater beneath the stage (the vegetable crates) and the safety of the young Alex Oliver is in doubt.

9) Alex Oliver screeches and squeals and squeaks, not because he’s fallen through the flimsy crates and into the crater below, but because – his mum votes Conservative! Worse, he hasn’t even got a dad with ‘long hair’ to make up for it! He’s so much into slating his mum and dad that the Blogger, now with a thing about doubling,  makes a note in support of Alex’s declaration that he’s two twelve year olds stuck together. But doing the doubling undoes the Blogger. If two twelves, make twenty-four, then two twenty-fours make … No – that means that Alex is half the age of …. The Blogger makes haste …. desperately in need of a refresher ..

10) As it is now scorching, the Blogger’s has-seen-better-days skin is shrivelling, and she needs something to plump out the wrinkling effects of mathematical-brain overuse. She dives under the cover of the beer tent. Perhaps things can be ironed out a little before she has to face the next comedian in the line-up – Si Deaves! She goes for ‘Autumn Magic’, a cider which seems aptly named – a spell out of the summer sun, without venturing into the dark shades of a Carl Denham winter. The Blogger doesn’t hesitate this time – she orders a pint and a half. (It’s only 4.0%, so the extra consumption makes perfect numerical sense!)

11) The Blogger returns to the comedy tent rejuvenated, and keen to share her tips for a do-it-yourself-with-a-pint-of cider tips for a face lift with Si Deaves. Instead, this is what she gets – Pauline Eyre and a fifth dose of :

    Why did the baker wash his hands?
    We don’t know Pauline Eyre! Why did the baker wash his hands?
    Because he’d kneaded a poo!

It’s now not just humorous, or really funny, a possible original – or even ground-breakingly fresh and 100% original, or earth shatteringly flat – it’s – it’s really something. In fact, it’s kind of sensual … The thought of the baker with his large hands kneading the same old dough is all just a bit too much … The Blogger turns to Si Deaves and is drawn to inspect his hands – they are tiny! Tiny Si turns out to have Tripophobia – a fear of small holes close together. The Blogger does her calculations: lots of small holes getting closer make one big hole or one massive crater, and Tiny Si is standing directly above his very own Room 101. She’s not going to be the one to tell him; she’s off …

12) As it is now tropical, the Blogger is hallucinating. She thinks it’s Happy Hour at the beer tent and demands a barrelful of ‘Thundering Molly’. It claims to have a ‘well-balanced finish’, and the world at Leestock looks a little topsy-turvy, so the 5.2% cider ought bring the Blogger back into the centre of things.

13) The Blogger re-enters the comedy tent refocused and with an ambitious plan – to stay upright during Martin Westgate’s Leestock debut! But, instead is confronted with a renewed bombardment of  …..

    Why did the baker wash his hands?
    We don’t know Pauline Eyre! Why did the baker wash his hands?
    Because he’d kneaded a poo!

It’s no longer just humorous, funny, nearly or wholly original, flat or sensual – it’s now … a killer! The Blogger is knocked flat. She’s on the ground and out for the count. She’s actually a bit of an embarrassment, especially as her pink wig has flown off into the crater, revealing her in all her ageing baldness. PJ sees the Blogger. There’s not much of her left. She hasn’t made much of a mark. And she’s a bit of a liability. He looks down into the crater beneath the vegetable crates. No-one would notice if ….

14) But PJ’s feeling generous. Martin Westgate’s jumping up and down on the vegetable crates playing ‘Spot the Difference’, inviting the kids to shout out every time uses a substitute in a once-was-a-space-for-a-swear-word in his jokes. PJ, thinking that he’s an adult, excuses himself.

15) He wanders over to the beer tent and purchases (with his last intended-as-a-pay-off-for-a-comedian-but-kept-for-himself beer ticket!) a couple of barrels of ‘Black Rat’. At 6%, it ought to finish the Blogger off good and proper.

16) PJ returns to the comedy tent – his very own comedy tent – and is welcomed with a chorus of:

    Why did the baker wash his hands?
    We don’t know Pauline Eyre! Why did the baker wash his hands?
    Because he’d kneaded a poo!

It’s all a bit much. The cider would be wasted on the Blogger, and anyway she’s snoring! So PJ cracks open a barrel, puts the other aside for later, and settles in for the Headline Act.

17) It’s Janet Garner. She’s sharing her romantic candle-lit meal recipe for corned-beef-and-malteser omelette – PJ guffaws as loudly as a Gruffalo! Janet admonishes her errant husband (foolish enough to be in the audience) for his tactless rejection of her lovingly-made sausage roll curry – PJ’s guffaws are transformed into a kind of unable-to-breathe-choking sound.

18) Janet, a qualified first aider, jumps down from the vegetable crates and rushes over to PJ’s side. And Pauline Eyre, always ready to be a distraction, steps in and up to offer some relief:

    Why did the baker wash his hands?
    We don’t know Pauline Eyre! Why did the baker wash his hands?
    Because he’d kneaded a poo!

19) PJ vomits.

    Why did the baker …..?

As the official blogger for Suffolk Punch Comedy Club, these are the kind of conditions within which I am forced to work. Please give generous donations to our charity, so that PJ reaches his target, and so that I can retire from blogging and take up my true vocation  – as an immortal cider taster, destined to prop up the bar of The Brewery Tap for ever more.

And please visit the Brewery Tap on every first Wednesday of the month to see each and every one of the Suffolk Punch Comedy Club shows. Free entry, but all donations for Prostate Cancer Research are gratefully received!

 

 

Toying with the Dark Side at Leestock

Now that Chewbacca’s facial hair has taken its leave from my throat, curtesy of a half a cherry cider, I’m feeling pretty chippers. I’m so chirpy that I’m thinking the brand name for the cider, Cheery Old Dudda, is more than apt. The aftertaste of sweet cherries has certainly put a spring into this old Dudda’s step. Of course, I’ve got no idea what a Dudda is, but like the sound of it, so I make a note to Google it later – if there is a later, an after-the-cherry and gooseberry and rhubarb and apricot cider later!

Before the later, I decide to amuse myself with the next stand-up comedian, Carl Denham. I know that he’s supposed to be amusing us, the audience, rather than us amusing ourselves with him, but he is a bit a of a fantasist. And, as such, I think we have the right to do what we will with him. After all, as our great Prime Minister Theresa May, herself said: We should not be providing safe havens; we should be stamping evil out. And Carl’s here, at this very moment, in the lovely, safe, dry and cosy comedy tent, at Leestock – and he’s a self-confessed supporter of the dark side.

Just listen to him! He’s telling everyone that, on dates, he avoids eating garlic bread for starters. And this is because he needs to save his delicate taste buds for the effort involved in the build-up to the main course. He’s likening the whole relationship process to a series of energy-zapping swimming lessons. Hasn’t anyone told you, Carl? You’re supposed to give, give, give in a relationship; not take, take, take, or – in your case – suck, suck, suck!

And now you’re telling us to rate your looks on a scale of 0 to 4, at the same time as asking whether we believe in haunted houses and ghosts. You tell us your brother’s the good looking one, but forget the plea for the sympathy vote, and tell me this! Does your brother suck? And, as you prod around your fangs with a pick, ask yourself, as you vie with each other for attention, what’s really at stake here? Who’s really the one with potential?

Confused Carl? Well, let me enlighten you with a few facts about our men, facts obtained from the website: http://www.devon.gov.uk/mens_health.pdf:

  • Men are not very good at looking after their own health, rarely visiting the doctor.
  • 40% of men are still likely to die prematurely (before 75) .
  • Many of these men will die of undetected health problems, such as cancer, heart disease and strokes, in part because more than 50% have failed to attend basic health checks in the last year.

You see, it’s all pretty obvious. All women desire long-lasting partners, full of energy and zest, and low on medical maintenance. This is why, with your immortal genes, you are truly irresistible. So, please, Carl – please come back to Leestock next year! We want more! The women of Suffolk are happy to feed you and our men absolutely need you.

Keep us all standing up!

Keep us all wanting more!

Copyright owned by Jay Cool, June 2017

Please visit The Brewery Tap, Sudbury, Suffolk; first Wednesday of every month from 8pm – and be a part of the fun. Help our men to stand up by supporting the efforts of Suffolk Punch Comedy Club to raise funds for Prostate Cancer Research.

Note: I just looked it up on ‘Babynology’ and have made the fascinating discovery that, if I am a ‘Dudda’ I am ‘creative and try to do too many things’. It also says a lot about my sexual needs, but I won’t share these with you because it would not be right and proper, and none of that is, of course, true (see for yourself on http://www.babynology.com/meaning-dudda-m20.html). But what really is interesting is that ‘Dudda’ is also an alternative word for ‘cloak’ or ‘mantle’. This is all quite wonderful because I now realise that Carl Denham is not, after all, alone in this world. I too, am immortal. I have been immortalised by a half pint of Cheery Old Dudda cider. Thank you, Leestock!

Please also head over to the author’s family history/travel blog:

Credits: image: http://www.freeimages.co.uk

Chewbacca Takes a Bite of the Cherry at Leestock

Poor wee Adam. So tiny before being sucked in by the comedy tent. But once sucked in and licked up a bit, he did start to expand. And, once elevated up there onto the stage, he blossomed. And, once he looked down and saw all the Suffolk lasses, without a single ‘orange’ Essex complexion betwixt them, I’d even go so far as to say he became quite animated. Okay, perhaps that’s pushing it a bit, but the point is – Tom!

Tom Caruth’s taken over. He’s a fine upstanding young lad and the Suffolk girls look smitten. And poor Adam. Poor wee little Adam – all shrivelled up in a corner now! All shrivelled up and deflated. I really need to tell him about the cider. But right now, I’m all Tom. I’m all Tom and the girls are all Tom, so we’re all a bit surprised when he tells us about his track record with the ladies. Last time he kissed a girl, she did a celebratory gesture to her friends, before totting up the figures on her tally chart. Seems that he was just one of many. There I was, just seconds ago, feeling all sorry for wee Adam, and now the wily Tom’s added his name to my ever-growing list – the one I’m passing on to my therapist friend later (he runs the cider tent)!

Still, at least Tom’s got one fan left. One fan and she came all the way to Leestock from Limerick to see him perform. His granny, who is apparently not a clinically-insane-alcoholic-ginger-relapsed Catholic who loves potatoes! Shame really, because I think I might have had quite a lot in common with his gran’s nemesis. So much in common with her, in fact, that I now realise why Tom was looking at me with such evil intent when he came out with this particular string of adjectives. To give him his due, though, for such a young guy, then Tom’s really quite perceptive. But, he got the Catholic bit wrong – and I might be old enough to be … but …….. No! Absolutely not!

But – he’s back! Chewbacca’s back! Tom’s doing his world famous Chewbacca impression and, today, Chewbacca is French. It’s a good impression, so convincing, that I start to drift a little … Now, what would it be like to be French kissed by Chewbacca? I start to choke at the thought of it. All that hair. Disgusting. Gross.

I’m sorry, Tom. Yes, you are here, and you are very funny, but I’m dying. I’m choking to death like I’ve just been smothered by a triffid. And I need to clear on out of here. Out of here and out of you and … I need …

… a Chewbacca clear-out.

Cider.

Cheery old Dudda? A ‘sumptuous’ cider with a ‘sweet cherry aroma’?

Cheery old Chewbacca and cherries? I go for it!

Copyright owned by Jay Cool (alias Chooky), June 2017


Please help out with a good cause by attending a Suffolk Punch Comedy gig, in aid of Prostate Cancer Research, at The Brewery Tap in Sudbury, Suffolk. First Wednesday of every month at 8pm. Free entry. Donations welcome.


Now head over to the author’s family history/travel blog:

Credits:  image: http://www.freeimages.co.uk

 

Royal Redheads Raise the Standard at Leestock

Adam.

Adam’s arrived at Leestock. And I do believe he’s booked in as the first comedian of the day, but I’ve just downed my ‘Five a Day’ breakfast drinks (I’ll post up the cider menu later!) and I’m feeling re-energised, so I’m taking a short walk to the lovely Leestock lavatories – in an attempt to beat the rush hour!

The Portacabins don’t look quite so pristine as they did yesterday – some idiot’s blu-tacked comedy club posters all over the doors. But comedian Junior Simpson’s beautiful smile tempts me in to give one of the loos its first Sunday Christening ceremony.

 

The cabin’s interior is clean enough and there’s more of that squidgy, squirty gel stuff to mess around with, so I’m in a reasonably good mood when I begin the return journey. I’m about to run; I’m keen to see Adam. But something, something very large – very large and very upright – stops me dead in my tracks.

Yesterday, I spent all day standing in the comedy tent looking up at the row of loos, but now I’m at the top of Mount Leestock, looking down a cliff at …..

And, no I’m not just looking down into the comedy tent at Adam – he’s tiny and he’s not at all upright! In fact, he’s looking like he needs his own ‘Five a Day’, because he’s looking down, examining his toes – and shaking!

I know I really ought to go and offer Adam some calming words of encouragement, but the view from here is incredible. Why didn’t I notice it yesterday? At the foot of this cliff, stands the magnificent Melford Hall, and it really is grand.

 

Not only is it grand but, I’m now feeling grand because, by rights,  I’m the guest. Very few of you will believe this (and, even though, as a vicar’s daughter, I’m as honest as they come – I don’t either), but many, many, many ions ago (I don’t know what an ‘ion’ is either, but you get the gist of it!) my fourth-cousin-fifteen-times-removed, Elizabeth I, stood right here before me. Well, before me and just a little bit below me, almost at my feet, at the foot of this cliff, in the sitting room of Melford Hall, being entertained by one of her male admirers … Gavin?

No, not Gavin. And not Adam either; my Elizabeth bore no responsibility for Adam’s wilted state. The man who sought to please my cousin was Sir William Cordell, none other than the former proprietor of Kentwell Hall. By the standards of the day, I reckon he was a bit of a floozy, because he’d been around my bunch of fourth-cousins-fifteen-times-removed before. Mary I was so impressed with Will’s performance that she granted him Melford Hall as a reward. Little did she know that he’d be on to her sister, Elizabeth, before Mary was even cold in her grave – shocking!

Yes, it’s all very upsetting and the fine contemporary ladies of Suffolk wouldn’t behave like that – allowing ourselves to be entertained by men; especially  not  by one with such a serious expression (Take a peek at what Sir William Cordell has to offer at: http://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/melford-hall/lists/melford-halls-ownership-through-the-centuries). There is also, in my humble-and-honest-vicar’s-daughter opinion, good reason to disbelieve various historians who have concluded that Sir William Cordell, of Melford Hall, died childless. Just take a look at his ‘ginger’ hair and ‘brown’ eyes. It’s more-than-evident to me that, something seedy occurred between Liz and Will. Look at the visual evidence! Two people with ginger hair and brown eyes are going to make a child with ginger hair and brown eyes, who will have descendants with once-was-ginger hair, brownish eyes and poppingly-explosive white skin. And – here I am! Yes, here I am, blogging about …. Oh! Apologies. Back to …. Adam.

Adam, who seems to have somewhat cheered up, now that he’s finally got his platform. Seems this is an opportunity to make jokes about the low wages that go hand in hand with standing in a remote location in the middle of a field. And he’s pining after the ‘orange’ girls of his hometown, Southend-on-Sea, at the same time as throwing a nearly-forgot-about-her mention of his girlfriend into the banter. Guess he’s suddenly remembered that he needs her to pay the bills! Not sure what’s going on with Adam now, though, because he’s going all morose again, boasting about his ‘supportive’ friends, before remembering that none of them have turned up today. But … it’s okay, Adam!

It’s okay, because I’m here, PJ’s here, Tom Caruth is here, and … and what more do you want? We’re here and we’re standing up in front of you, and at least three of us are male. And, as you are quite rightly pointing out, it is 2017 – the Year of the Cock. With you and the three others – that’s four cocks. And that’s what we’re all here for … isn’t it?

 

 

Please take a look at the author’s family history/travel blog:

 

Sermon at Mount Leestock

Sunday.

Okay, Dad, so I’m not in church, and I know you brought me up to be a regular kind of a vicar’s daughter – the kind who helps out at the local Sunday School. But it is Sunday and I am helping out and I am being an educator, because I’m dishing out some really sound and sensible advice to the masses (me):

1) If you are a once-was-ginger, or even a still-am-ginger, white-skinned, freckle face – do not attend a music festival, on a scorching hot weekend, without Factor 2000 suncream.

2) If you drank too much rhubarb, gooseberry and apricot cider on the Saturday, do not bother getting up on the Sunday, and be stupid enough to return to the very same patch of grass in the very same comedy tent that, yesterday, was the scene of your demise.

3) If you are stupid enough to ignore 2) and you are hungover, and a little dizzy, and ever so slightly hallucinatory, then pick up your pink wig (You’re standing on it – you left it there to mark your territory!), tell PJ, the Comedy Promoter, that you are nipping to the lovely Leestock loos, get onto your Nimbus 2000 – sorry, slap on some Factor 2000 – and fly over to the beer tent to secure yourself a healthy breakfast drink. The Fruit Bat cider contains strawberries, raspberries and blackcurrants, so counts towards your ‘Five a Day’. Have at least a pint of this, and hang around long enough to down a half of Farmhouse Cider; the latter contains apples and wood, so this will bring you up to a total of ‘Five’. With that quota fulfilled, you can eat whatever junk you like for the rest of Sunday. And you won’t be anywhere near as p****d as you were, when you were twelve and had to drink your first Communion wine.

4) If feeling reinvigorated, thank your dad for building up your tolerance to alcohol, but avoid doing this via the Church newsletter.

5) Stop starting your instructions with ‘If’ – always vary your sentence starters!

6) Shut the **** up and do the job you came to Leestock to do! You’re supposed to be blogging about the comedians – not talking to yourself!

Point taken.

Gavin?

7) It’s Sunday, not Saturday – Gavin Milnethorpe was on yesterday!

Will Jones, the Tom Hardy doppelganger?

8) If you fail twice, stand up and try again!

Adam? Adam Joyce? Pauline Eyre? Carl Denham? Martin Westgate? And …

9) Keep going!

And the headline act?

TO BE CONFIRMED  …..

Is it ….. PJ?

It’s Sunday. I’m Jay Cool. I’ve retrieved my pink wig. And I’m back!

The blog?

Okay, I’m getting on to that ……

later.

Copyright owned by Jay Cool, June 2017

Now head over to the author’s ‘Back to the Myddle’ blog:

 

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 …?
*******!!!!!!!

Gavin?’

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

 

Getting into a Flap at Leestock

 

 

Unbelievable! Not only has the beer tent at Leestock run out of rhubarb cider, they’re now down on the apricot too! So I’m trying out the coffee.

But, it’s a roasting hot day, and the milk content in this drink is so minimal that even Kahn, the vegan comic, would approve. The paper cup’s so hot, I’m about to drop it, I’m taking a shower in my own sweat and, with thoughts of Why didn’t I go for a cooling pint of gooseberry cider? on my mind, I’m barely in a fit state for what’s still to come. Or, rather, who’s still to come. Because next up is my ‘cousin’, Ali Warwood!

According to my best mate and lover, Ancestry.com, everyone in or from the Midlands and Shropshire, is in my genetic family, and is, therefore, my cousin, so just thought I’d do a bit of finding fame by association (celebrity stalking!) and add Ali from Wolverhampton to my family tree! Why not?

But I fear that I’m a little premature in my haste to get back to see Ali, because she appears to be in a bit of a state. Surely my pink wig isn’t that off-putting? It’s not all about me, after all, though (in fact, none of it’s about me), because the real source of her anxiety is soon made clear. She’s telling how, as a lesbian, she is particularly susceptible to stress because she likes getting into a flap. Unfortunately, it’s not very windy today, and the tent is pretty secure so I’m not sure that we’ve got too much excitement to offer her, here at Lees …. Oh! Sorry, I’m a bit slow today … the dulling effect of cider. Need some more.

 
Something has just occurred to me. I auditioned for Yaz Fetto’s (one half of The Monks), new TV sketch comedy earlier, and was turned down. He said he wanted young, black and skinny, not a sunburnt-red- faded-ginger-middle-age-spread type. But I’m thinking that maybe it was the cider inside me that was the real barrier to my success. Still, a pink wig and a pint dulls the pain of rejection … See you later, Ali!
 
But there’s a real-cute little toddler, with a very angry face, blocking my exit – Ali’s offspring! And there’s a Size 6 blonde-model-type – Ali’s wife – struggling to hold the cutie back. I feel that an attack is imminent, so I’ll stay for the rest of Ali’s set. And, you never know, the Size 6 babe, might be on the lookout for other gorgeous babes, of the pale and pasty, once-was-ginger variety, to pose with her for her next shoot. So, yes, I will stay. It’s all about networking!
Ali’s offering some sound advice. She’s saying that having a toddler gives you access to Parent and Child parking, which is almost as good as having a disabled friend. No, Ali, I’ve just seen your daughter – she has the power to give you sole access to all the privileges the world can offer, and she’ll write off all your enemies in the process. If you want a full audience, take that kid with you – everywhere!
But, it is time, Ali, to love you and your family and leave you … No, she’s still there. Still blocking my exit. Looks like I’m staying for the next act.
Just as well, because Gavin Milnethorpe’s my all-time favourite comedian. He plays guitar and has an extensive vocal range – I model myself upon Gavin’s example (’tis okay – I’m not going to steal the limelight here with another rendition of my Pea song, but I do have another …. No?).
Poor Gavin. I do feel sorry for him. His wife’s just left him and shacked up with a Fitness Instructor. But that’s no reason  for him to tell us all about his ‘big willy’ and his fetish for ‘detachable breasts’. I’m feeling kind of embarrassed for him, when I suddenly realise how attractive he is. He doesn’t snore and he only poos when he’s at work  … no, I misheard that (hallucinatory effects of cider) – he only poos on an evening or a weekend! So, no ladies, if you really would like to keep your ensuite toilet odour free, steer clear of Gavin!
I really am enjoying all of the jolly sing-a-long-with-me routine. Even when slightly inebriated, it’s easy to remember the lyrics. ‘This is fun, fun, fun, fun, fun …. in the sun, sun …’ Oops, correction needed – he was singling about the ‘pun, pun, pun, pun, pun’ – not the sun! But, that’s okay, because I can use my new lyrics for my own set, without being accused of plagiarism. Cheers, Gav! Just off to write that down before I forget ..
No, I can’t leave yet. She’s still there! Perhaps it’s my pink wig? If I take it off, will she let me pass?
NO!
And how can I leave at this point in the proceedings anyway? The Headline act’s up next! It’s the Big One! No, it’s not your willy, Gavin …. it’s …
JUNIOR SIMPSON!
Copyright owned by Jay Cool (alias Chooky), May 2017
If you like a ‘big willy’, or fancy seeing someone in a ‘flap’, you can see Gavin Milnethorpe and Ali Warwood in action by attending our forthcoming gigs – keep checking the billing lists – as these two are regulars, who keep coming back for more!
 
  • Be quick, if you want tickets for the Big Comedy Night on Wednesday 31st, at the Ipswich Hotel. They are available via: havingalaughforcharity.co.uk/index2.html

Peeing for a Miracle at Leestock

The mustard’s hot but the sun is scorching and I need to get back into the protective shade of the Comedy Tent, before the The Monks take to the stage. The beer tent just happens to be en route – it’s almost as conveniently placed as the Portaloos! So I take a quick look at the cider list and decide to go for a cooling pint of rhubarb cider. It’s heaven! It’s so good that I’m only just in the nick of time to see The Monks opening their set.

And they’re telling us how they narrowly avoided a prolonged trip to heaven themselves. Proud of their Christian identities, they announce their faith to the world  – a few small children who’ve been deposited in the comedy tent by their parents (who’ve no doubt taken the opportunity to nip next door for the rest of the rhubarb cider!) – before taking a long pause in which to gauge our reaction …………

There is no reaction – the children are engrossed in games of Pokémon on their parents’ phones. Great tactic – leave your phone with the kids and they can’t ring you whilst your midway through your pint – or the next pint – or the next …! Just as I’m about to boo The Monks off the stage (Just kidding – my dad’s a vicar!), they start to tell us how welcome they feel, because at one horrific performance, on making this very same announcement, they were booed off the stage (Glad I restrained myself!). Apparently, that was the last time ever that Yaz Fetoo peformed in a mosque!

But, mosques aside, then I am starting to feel a little empathy with these guys. I did, after all, have similar experience myself once, when I dressed up as pea pod to take to the stage at a Park Resorts’ talent context, to sing ‘Peas, Glorious Peas!’, accompanied by my ukulele.’ I’ll do a little rendition for you now – you know you want to hear it – and here are the lyrics, so you can sing along:

Peas, glorious peas
Don’t eat us with custard

We’ve been bound
We’ve been gagged
We’ve been sealed in a pod
And we wish we could be ….
Free like a ….

Peas, glorious peas
You won’t taste us with mustard
We’re not so disgusting
Just give us a chance

We’ve been picked
We’ve been tagged
We’ve been sealed in a tin
And we wish we could be ..
Free like a …

Peas, glorious peas
Don’t think that you’ve sussed us
We’re not so revolting
Just give us some pants

We’ve been popped
We’ve been bagged
We’ve been sealed in a fridge
And we wish we could be ….
Free like a ….

Pee!

As you can see (’tis a blessing you can’t hear it!), then it was pretty good and highly original (and I’ve even got several variations on the lyrics, and on the combinations in which to play the three chords), so I’ve got absolutely no idea why I was heckled off the stage. And, I gave it another go the next year – the reaction was rather similar, but I’m still going up there again next time. So my advice to The Monks is to ‘Get back in there! Never give up! What’s the worst that can happen?’

Oops, got side-tracked. So sorry! Forgot I was supposed to be promoting Suffolk Punch Comedy Club, rather than myself (You just can’t get the right kind of volunteers, can you PJ, these days?). And The Monks didn’t need my advice, because they’re here aren’t they? Here at Leestock and the crowds (the crying children) are absolutely loving them! But all I can think about is the detention that one of these unfortunate kids is going to get after their next RE lesson!

“And today, children, can you put your hands up and tell me how many days it took God to create the universe?”
“Six days, Miss!”
“Yes, and isn’t it wonderful that God can perform such miracles!”
“But he hired a comedian, Miss!”

Yas Fetto – the children of Sudbury love you! And this still-to-grow-up-middle aged lady loves you! Please come back again!

S***! I’m back at the beer tent and – can you believe it? – they’re out of rhubarb cider! But, it’s no matter, there’s still a barrel of apricot cider and it’s got 0.5% more alcohol in it than the rhubarb. Sorry, PJ – just taking a quick break – my muscles aches from all that note-taking – will be back later …

Copyright owned by Jay Cool (alias Chooky), May 2017

If you fancy dallying with some of your favourite comedians, please attend one of Suffolk Punch Comedy’s forthcoming events (just don’t bring the children, or Pokémon!):

  • First Wednesday of every month at The Brewery Tap, Sudbury, Suffolk – a free event (donations welcomed in support of Prostate Cancer Research)
  • 31st May at the Ipswich Hotel – Junior Simpson is the headline act! Book your tickets at: havingalaughforcharity.co.uk/index2.html  And be quick!
Or, if you are a comedian (Strictly, no peas, please!), come and perform your set for us! Contact PJ at: suffolkpunchcomedyclub@zoho.com
 

Bank Holiday Monday Newsflash!

I did it. I really did do it! I got back up there (actually, because I was up bright and early with a bit of a headache, I did a short rehearsal of my set on my front lawn this morning)! My neighbours are friendly types and this is what happened to one of my body parts:

 

Standing up with the Hot Stuff at Leestock

 

Get this. Some guy in the Thailand made MSN headline news after he, rather vainly, took a selfie on a coach trip. Not because he was a dish, but because the photo featured some British girl’s stinky feet. A pair of feet rudely perched upon the unfortunate guy’s headrest. You may be wondering why I’m thinking about this news now, whilst standing in comedy tent at Leestock, admiring the fine specimen of ripened tofu who stands on the stage before me – the honourable vegan Kahn Johnson! But there you have it, or I have it!

 

Because there’s a rancid odour wafting up my delicate nostrils, and it seems to be all around me, so I’m having some trouble establishing its origin. Kahn was hyper just a few moments ago and, whereas it could be that the odour’s drifting in on a heatwave from the Portaloos, I’m swaying towards (and leaning away from) the alternative explanation. Everyone who’s anyone knows that vegans fart a lot! And it’s apparent that, as Kahn leaves his platform, he is somewhat deflated. Is this what he’s left us with? Because, if Kahn is the source of the stench, then I’m thinking that perhaps I could turn my back on him, and take a quick Kahn’s-arse-in-the-background-capturing selfie and, if I share it to MSN, it could still make this evening’s headlines.

 

So, have I succeeded? No! I check my photo storage APP, and all I’ve managed to do is capture a view of the Portaloo cabins. It’s a fine scene, but a wasted opportunity, so I make a mental note to ask one of the young folk how to put the camera into selfie mode! But, right now, there’s no way I’m going to miss the next big moment. I’ve heard a rumour that the next comedian on the billing, Adam Bromley, has, like myself, a bit of an obsession with caves. So, in an exploratory kind of way, I’m really looking forward to what’s coming ..

 

But the truth turns out to be quite a small big moment. Because Adam’s tiny. He’s tiny and he looks like Frodo Baggins. He’s got a full head of hair (No, I don’t mean down there!); it is kind of cute and curly but, to be honest, I’m feeling like I’ve been duped. I had plans to invite him back to my own dilapidated cave (Yes, I know you know what I mean – you live in a Bovis home too!), and persuade him to partake in a little maintenance work, but he’s carrying on about how he’s always too drunk to prove his manhood. His last attempt at fixing a shelf to the wall for his wife’s books, resulted in the books being stuck to the wall with gaffer tape! What a flop! Sorry, ladies, we ain’t gonna be helping any men stand up, if we get too close to a Bromley.

What with all that mature cheddar, rancid tofu, and slices of over-ripe and over-soft Bromley’s, I’ve gone right off the idea of a healthy lunch. And, I was never that keen on Ploughman’s anyway, so I head over to the burger tent to check out the offers. After lots of prevarication, I opt for a veggie burger – the only option for a would-be-if-I-could-manage-without-my-full-cream-Jersey-cow-breakfast-milk vegan! But all is not lost on the variety front, because I’m offered some fried onion additions, and I top it off with some of the hot stuff – no, I haven’t got the Tom Hardy doppelganger comedian with me – it’s the tried-and-tested, and always reliable, Colman’s mustard. This is okay, because Yaz Fetto are on next, and they’re a Christian comic duo, which means that as a vicar’s daughter, I’ve got to be good …

 

Hence, I’ve forgotten all about Will Jones (alias Tom Hardy), Tom Caruth, Kahn Johnson and Adam Bromley – and I’ve forgotten all about my helping-men-stand-up project – for now!

 

 

Copyright owned by Jay Cool (alias Chooky), May 2017
 

 

By order of Chooky, please visit havingalaughforcharity.co.uk/index2.html to find out more about Suffolk Punch Comedy Club’s next big event!
Please note that I did intend to return to this blog and include a direct quote from the Thai bus news article but, since my internet temporarily went down, due to last night’s storm, BT have decided that an article about smelly feet is not appropriate for one such as myself, and have now blocked it from ever making a comeback!
http://www.brightgram.com/rude-backpacker-refuses-to-move-her-rancid-smelly-feet-from-disgusted-passengers-head-rest-on-a-bus-in-thailand/  has been blocked by BT Parental Controls because the account holder has Custom filters on.
Seems that smells are now in the same category as swears – b*****!

 

Loving the Loos at Leestock

Portaloos. Ports for pooing in are a great idea, especially when they are located right next to the Comedy Tent at the Leestock festival. The sensation provided by massaging the disinfecting gel into my sunburnt hands is almost quite enjoyable, and I feel like staying a little longer.

The Portaloo’s Cabin is really quite well fitted out. There’s a mirror on the door, so I feel it’s only right to indulge in a little bit of a lot of self-love. It’s as well that it’s the right thing to do, because I have no choice about it. I’m hovering above the loo seat – there’s no way I’m sitting on someone else’s bum cells – and the space is so confined that, as my torso tips forward, I find I’m practically kissing my own reflection. This would be okay, except that it’s one of those magnifying mirrors, and I’m instantly enlarged …

There’s a great big thick black hair adorning a massive mole on the middle bulge of what I now realise is a triple chin. It’s no good. I’m about to witness the one and only Tom Caruth do his Australian Chewbacca impersonation (Yes, I’ve seen it before – several times – but I’m not a stalker!) and I just can’t go through with it – not in the company of this ginormous black hair!

I tug and tug – and tug and tug some more – but, unlike in the Magic Turnip story, there’s no mouse to help out, and  it’s not going anywhere. It’s well and truly embedded into my middle-chin mole and what’s more, I’ve now stretched it. There’s nothing I can do. I mentally detach myself from my chin, my mole, and my hair and move on out.

The light’s a little dimmer in the shade of the tent, so I’m thinking that nobody can see the hair. But my chin jerks downwards. I realise I’ve just trodden on the hair, which now seems to be about five foot long! Focus. I must hold my head up high, painful as that might be, and focus. Focus on Tom …

And Tom is in full throttle – he’s now well into his Chewbacca impression, but I feel convinced that he must have the same car as me -an ancient Renault Espace, because it’s exactly the same guttural gurgle that my beloved car made on it’s way into the Leestock car park earlier, when it stalled, at the very moment I realised I was about to drive it into the exit. I don’t very often thank my Renault for stalling but, on this occasion – I still didn’t thank it – I thanked the Lord! Because out of the exit (my entrance) emerged a chauffeur-driven limousine, quite possibly the very vehicle which had, until a few moments ago, had the rear ends of celebrity artists on its leather upholstery. Ed Sheeran? James Blunt? Or, more likely, James Faulkner, today’s Headline Act. James Blunt. James Faulker. James …. Focus! I must refocus … Tom. Tom Caruth.

And I’m back and Tom’s back, or rather Tom’s here, here in the Comedy Tent at Leestock and he’s now telling us all about his girlfriend, about how she complains that he doesn’t understand her, but that he doesn’t even know what that means. It’s okay, Tom, I can help you out there! I know all about young women – I was one once – and experience counts for a lot. I can put things into simple step by step language that you will understand and go through it all with you, slowly. Very, very slowly. But, we’ll put that one aside for now – it can wait awhile. It can wait and mature, so to speak, because next up’s Kahn – an old hand! The mature type. Mature, like a rich-smoked strong cheddar cheese.

But, what’s this? Kahn Johnstone’s babbling on about tofu. Turns out he’s a vegan! A smoking vegan. An old smoking vegan! An ancient piece of fossilised vegetable, fantasising about burlesque-feathered lap dancers. Hah! Seems he likes a bit of pigeon pie after all! And, for some unknown random reason, the pigeon lady’s song – from my favourite musical, Mary Poppins – comes into my head (Actually, it’s been stuck there on replay for a very long time – since I looked, a few minutes ago, into the mirror that never lies!) ‘ Feed the birds, tuppence a bag. Tuppence, tuppence. Tuppence a bag.  Feel my mole, tuppence a pluck! Tuppence, tuppence. Tuppence a pluck! Listen, listen, and … give me a pluck.”

Come on, Kahn … you’re a celebrity and I’m an old bird. Please, help me out ….!

Copyright owned by Jay Cool (nickname: Chooky), May 2017


If you’d like to see Tom Caruth and Kahn Johnstone in action for yourself, please come to our forthcoming Suffolk Punch Comedy events:

First Wednesday of every month, at the Brewery Tap, in Sudbury, Suffolk. Free entry. Donations welcome for Prostate Cancer Research.

31st May, at the Ipswich Hotel. Tickets available now at: havingalaughforcharity.co.uk/index2.html





Newflash! Seems that Trump has a little ‘mole’ problem too! tinyurl.com/yaph792p Might see if I can liaise with him about his techniques for mole-hair removal! WATCH THIS SPACE!


Please also head over to the author’s family history/travel blog: