After a poetry gig like that, it begs the question ‘Should I have persisted with rugby as a child?’ despite the fact that I was scared of tackling, slower than the average girl and couldn’t catch a cold. But did get pneumonia when i was ten, possibly twelve? Who gives a shit?

Perhaps if I had gone up on stage and straight away announced that I had fucked every one of the audience members’ grandparents that I would have at least received a response. All be it a negative one. But at least it would have been one – just even the slightest of alteration in facial expression would have been a result. Even possibly from the guy in the front row who couldn’t have resembled Little Britain’s Andy Pipkin any better if he’d tried and had left his wheelchair at the top of the stairs before bounding down them to take his seat right in front of me whilst Lou had his back turned. Every time I looked at his ever glazing over, non-responsive expression I felt like I might aswell have been reading my poems backwards, with a potato in my mouth and from inside a shut, melting whellie bin, in hell.

Perhaps returning to the sausage and mash restaurant where, up until having major bowel surgery in July, I’d previosly spent eight miserably arduous months working as a waiter/toilet cleaner, had meant that my usual feeling of joy, passion and lust for life that I usually get when I walk on stage had upped and fucked off into a pit of the mundane everyday,- that of microwaved mash, Bisto and the minumum wage perhaps…

Ok, so the feeling of self-harming in a luke warm bath whilst masturbating into a handful of broken glass (with the other hand) might sound to me fractionally more appealing and far less painful than both last night’s gig and tonight’s, certainly, but without these the good one’s would no longer be good, presumably. Michael Jackson played to packed stadiums and arenas of screaming, crying, adoring fans for most of his life and, well, need I say more?

Note to self: A set list is always needed; write it before getting to the gig and don’t lose it seconds before walking on stage. (2) Do not ever drink til 3 in the morning the night before a gig. (3) When it appears that you’re going down like a lead balloon before an audience, enjoy it, cherish it, keep pumping it out and revel in their misery. Life is far too long to get upset about what absolutely everyone thinks of your work. (4) don’t have any expectations of anything. Ever. Or to sell any of your £1 books again. You might sell 23 at one gig and get your first publishing offering and then none at the next. Ooh, life’s such a rollercoaster! And (5)

“Stop sulking and blaming the audience and go to bed”.
“Not yet Mother”
..because first I must just state how much I loved Lemn Sissay’s performance. Genuine, funny, energetic, inviting, passionate, and really engaging. A must see if you ever get chance. I just wished I’d done him justice and actually done my job as a support act and warmed the audience up for him rather than increasing their level of verging autistic hostility towards the stage. Thankfully, due to his many years of experience and natural charm and charisma he swung it round and they adored him. I’m certainly pleased I got to see him at the very least.

Goodnight Doctor. x

ps. Xander, thanks very much again for the help with CV editing/printing mallarkey. On reflection, your idea to leave out the list of twenty three swimming certificates that I’d previously included was probably a good idea and even for one’s CV would be regarded as blowing one’s trumpet a little too loudly. I wouldn’t want rejection from potential employers on grounds of being over qualified! If you’re up for a cup of tea today then give us a text. Cheerio, G

hello, it’s me, “Mr Regular Blogger” with this week’s bi-annual update of the last two months occurrences.

So, en vacances dans aout pour tres semaines. First port of call, down to Devon for two weddings on consecutive days. (Hold on, I need to go and kick the washing machine to stop the bleeping). So, as I was saying, went to the first wedding on Friday, died from a Man Cold and irritated IBS on Saturday and then flew from Exeter to Edinburgh on Sunday. Edinburgh was alright and certainly better than last year as I went without any books or expectations but to see some stuff and to be away from where I am normally. I did miss the supermarket, though…like a nail bomb going off in my small bowel.

Went to some of the dirtiest bars in the city and learnt not to pretend to be Scottish,
in the first one. Despite having a cold throughout the duration o fthe three weeks off I continued to play hard and make the most of being in my favourite City during the month of the year when it is artistically plugged into a million volt socket. Although the majority of a lot of the many venues do not appear to get many of the volts through…Ooh, look at me – bitchy reviewer!

So I saw plenty of comedy that actually was funny, but you have to pay for it. Also saw a piece of physical theatre called “Dear Theo” about artists’ survival and letters between Van Gogh and his brother Theo, I think. But I’m not entirely sure (which is no reflection on the play) but i had to dip out for a crap, half way through and so I think I might have missed some crucial bits. Anyway, so I left feeling confused, lighter and moderately cultured.

I saw other bits but I can’t be bothered to mention them. I’m not fucking TIMEOUT. I did one of my best received sets at a venue called the Bongo Club on the last night. And was accosted by two reasonably fit American Ladies afterwards who, despite being married, basically wanted a bit of me. “Georgie’s Doggerell – COME ON LADIES!”

Right, where can you se mee next? I hear you scream whilst lobbing pairs of knickers at my head…Well:

On Tuesday 14th October (next Tues)

@The Green Note Club, Camden, North London
£2 before 7:30pm a Lady Godiva (£iver) after

(A fine looking line-up and the re-locating party of “Utter” hosted by Richard Tyrone Jones).

………………………………………………

On Friday 14th November

@ The Royal Seven Stars, Totnes, Devon (bottom of the Street)

part of the “Wondermentalist Cabaret” hosted by (Radio 4 regular) Matt Harvey

(a line-up well worth making the journey for).

…………………………………………….

On Thursday 27th November

@The Thunderbolt, Totterdown, Bristol

John Hegley, Tony Curtis (possibly) and Me (definitely)

(tell your Bristolian friends about this one, please, otherwise I fear it might be to an audience of local death metallers only..)

Also I’m planning on doing a couple of other things up in London, one in Finchley and the other in Kings Cross. Dates to be confirmed bu tin the next couple of Months.

And that’s it for now as I’ve got to go and serve sausages and mash to millions.

Bye,

GC x