September 2010

Yay! Check out!

We jammed ourselves, once more, into the BMW, and headed down that misty road in search of another show. And we could be any happier if we tried.

Filthy Bug Encrusted Windscreens

On tour, as John C said from the driver’s seat: “every day is just: another day, another kettle.”

I pondered that thought, looked at down at my orange

breakfast

and remembered the great B&B, in Carlisle.

Lovely Margaret, of the Cherry Grove Guest Suite

Not all kettles are born equal.

Then again, kettles aren’t born.

But if they were, I wonder which came first: the kettle or the egg?

The debate is over.

At home (in Canada), today is Labour Day: a holiday in which people desperately try to cram in one more summer experience before resigning themselves the inevitability of autumn. It‘s one of the sadder holidays of the year- second only to Acceptance Of Mortality Day.

“Why is it that one day the coffee tastes better than the day previous?”

said John

“Why didn’t I have this headache yesterday?”

said Christine

Are we being followed?

said I

Touring is lost time- the kind of time you spend on an airplane or commuting. Some people think it’s glamourous, but there are way more glam jobs.

See?

I’ve had significant moments in pubs,

Demon eyes. Demonize. Demon ayes.

at the theatre,

Too sexy for the stage.

making an unexpected friend of a cat or dog

Sweet little purr-buckets

But, like blogging: it’s casually significant.

Whenever anything different happens out here it’s like a foreign holiday: “What’s all this about? Free fried squid in the piazza?!  Hooray for Free Fried Squid in the Piazza Day!”

Sports Cars,

Cool.

Lorries,

Beautiful, beautiful, majestic, trucks! (wipe a tear from my eye)

RV’s

Why don't little cars do this in North America?

Horses

Yup.

– all of us- crossing paths, passing each other, giving way, mid-adventure, starting out, or heading home.

A whole bunch of hotel rooms. Trees, sheep, cows, and fences.

Cows? Bison? Dogs? Chickens?

Sorry, these are the chickens.

High streets.

Times Square eat your heart out. "What heart?" "Oh, sorry, nothing."

Lists of other things- not many variations.

Breakfast list.

It gives the impression that there’s only one road leading to the one and only city in the world.

Luckily for me, all roads eventually lead home- even though I live on an island (which you can’t drive to, per se).

Luckily for us, you are all so different.

See you at the movies!

Well, long time no Blog. I’m sure the world has continued to rotate in spite of my laziness.

The sun rises on a new tour.

I’m happy to report that since my last post, I’ve had at a thousand offers for Viagra and other potency/male enhancing meds. All of which I’ve ingested, resulting in a slight growth on the side of my head and shoulders- I now look like this:

More manly for sure. Pour homme plus masculine.

No worries however, I’m out on tour in the UK again, in many ways I blend in. People think I’m giving a dog a ride on my shoulders.

This tour takes us to 27 cities in just over a month. We’re traveling by car: a BMW sports wagon…or something. Nice car. Gets dirty very quickly.

Our first show was Sheffield, as in the Full Monty, and in honor of that film I did the entire show naked.

We’re lucky to have a fast car.

The posse is smaller this time around: as always there’s Christine Fisichella as Tour/Stage/Lighting Goddess,

Lighting queen- she glows in the dark- just like Glow Worm (batteries sold separately).

John Cooper (my Comic Rain Man) and me (Mr. Dressup).

Hot muffins, or what?

We’re at Bradford (near Leeds) tonight.

Pretty Bradford.

I’ve played here at the cavernous St. George’s Hall before.

The theatre is so big I couldn't fit it into a single frame. It's like Jupiter, without the red spot. Or the moons. Or radiation. It's big, though.

It's hard to photograph three levels of 1800 seats. It's the kind of place where Tom Jones and Bill Bailey perform. I'll be happy to fill the first two rows.

The last time I was here in Bradford, it rained incessantly and the sounds of gunshots rang out every five minutes. The shots were actually a part of a trend where guys would loosen the mufflers on their cars so that they’d intentionally backfire.

As stupid as it may seem, in my youth, I’d have enjoyed watching people jump, duck, and defecate as I’d drive past.

Maybe we’ll loosen the muffler on the Beemer and see what happens.

So, the show goes ever on and on, and I couldn’t be happier about it.

Some people are happier than me:

Happy!

Yup.

And even if I should ever find myself getting down there’s always this:

If you can't get satisfaction from TV, you can still get pissed. There's always hope.

Here’s hoping the TV sucks.

See you soon:)