| London, December 2002 | home |
(22nd December 2002)
Back on the roads to the south, I passed a fairly uneventful journey with the aid of more "Chess", "Guys and Dolls" and some Pink Floyd. Deciding to recap on "Chess" as I entered London meant that I was suitably distracted as I meandered in bizarre loops round N1 and NW1. Being distracted was good - I had song and chewing gum, and did not get too impatient with the traffic and my certainty that I was near to my final destination, but never quite near enough. Unfortunately, being distracted meant that I did not really consider or calculate a route before I'd reached the moment where my bladder was complaining that the journey between rest stops had gone on long enough, and my sense of urgency, discovering that I'd reached the last hour of my three hour arrival window, both vied for my attention. Needless to say, I wasn't far from my destination, a state I'd preserved for the last 45 minutes or so. However, subtle use of the A-Z soon changed that, for the better. I parked, and welcomed the chance to avail myself of Oliver and Nicky's company and facilities.
Had I arrived sooner it might have been too early. My impromptu tour of Islington, Shoreditch and Dalston had given my hosts the time they needed to prepare. Within minutes other guests arrives and the soireé, nay party, was soon in full swing. The previous evening, I'd recited, in the style of its author (one Noel Coward), the ditty "I've been to a marvelous party". On this occasion, the words came true. Not all the words, thankfully. There were few instances of people wearing beards, swinging from chandeliers (indeed any forms of illumination) or bringing turtles. However, the fun was intense and there was a variety of interesting other guests to talk to (with, or at). Plenty of beer was consumed aswell.
I think I managed to circulate, which gave me chance to find out about the interesting attributes of many people I'd not met before, and also gave me the chance to talk shite all evening, moving on to other unsuspecting listeners once the current ones looked like they were reaching some sort of shite-listening threshold. The brand of shite I talk is fairly harmless, ranging from lifestyle tips, relationship advice and matters relating to my work-like activities 9though I try to ban direct discussion of computers... though I occasionally fail) all the way to the sublime ideas of relationships being like baking bread, and my being on a secret Geordie mission to spread Christmas cheer via the gift of my illuminated hat.
My hat was a triumph. I hope it might provide popular. I wore it all evening. It was a Santa Claus type of head-dress which had 5 red stars on its front. Push a button on the hat and, provided it has batteries, these stars flash in sequence. You must be careful with a hat like this. Use it wisely and much enjoyment may be had. Over use it, or try to make it seem funnier than it is, and everyone feels cheap - perhaps cheaper than the hat itself, which, coming from the Everything's £1 shop, was an unsurprising £1's worth of cheapness. Mind you, the batteries added 17 pence to that total...
The general rule, if you're wearing a comedy garment, is to think of how the Fast Show character "Colin Hunt" might wear it, and then do the complete opposite. You should not go all the way to curmudgeonly - that extreme would be just as bad. However, if your statement is "I'm mad me!", or "Look at my silly hat, isn't it funny?", the reaction you will get is cringing and embarrassment. A little subtlety and irony work wonders. I wore my hat as though it were completely normal, and only flashed the lights on request, or if the hat itself naturally became the subject of discussion. By denying the possibility that I was being amusing with such a hat, people's expectations were lowered such that £1.17's worth of Christmas illumination seemed to be something special and exciting. Oliver and Nicky's fridge full of alcohol probably helped with this too.
You can have a lot of fun with a hat like that. The previous evening's recital also involve the hat. Having lowered my audience's expectations with a little preamble, and having told them to watch for a "special signal I had devised", which would mark the end of my performance (my script not having a definite punchline), I needed simply to push a small button on my hat to trigger a rather over-generous round of applause for what had gone before. Call me a cynic, but I think I worked out how to work that crowd, and I think they were at least partly applauding themselves for spotting my signal.
04 February 2003
Ashley Frieze