The Bench. 2 page sketch.

We were asked to write a two page piece called The Bench…

THE BENCH. 2 PAGE SKETCH

The year is 2061. We are in a central London park. Bernard a representative of OneCorp is processing the final sale of a park bench to Raymond a Scot.

Bernard.   So here’s your investment Raymond and if I do say so a canny purchase.  There are seven benches up for grabs at auction this month and a snip at seventy thousand. This has one previous owner, don’t worry we’ll have the brass dedication plaque to the previous owner’s wife removed. A sorry affair, he was a suicide I believe. All quite common these    days sadly but it does slow down getting these things to sale. Obviously the park is owned  by OneCorp, well we pretty much own the city. As a customer of ours you’ll have daily   access to your property. There’s lots you can do with this my friend, enjoy the view,            treat a friend or perhaps romance a lady eh. Hell I like it so much I could happily live on it.

Raymond. Yes…Live on it. That sounds like a good idea.

Bernard.   Err… I was joking sir. I mean technically as the owner you could indeed live here…but…well I’m assuming if you can afford a bench you’re perhaps in one of the more spacious units in a OneCorp Megastruct. You’re not living in one of the camps are you? You’re a Scot aren’t you? I’m assuming you’re now down here because of the accident.

Raymond. Ah yes the accident.

Bernard.   Yes, jolly bad luck that was. Such an irony as well to think you put all that effort into trying to get rid of nukes then one of the bally things goes up in the air and straight back down on half the population. Bloody awful state of affairs. I hope you didn’t lose anyone.

Raymond. We all lost someone.

Bernard.   Indeed. I am sorry.

Raymond. So you think it was an accident?

Bernard.   I do indeed sir. You’re not one of those conspiracy nuts are you?

Raymond. A conspiracy nut? Conspiracy’s an interesting thing isn’t it? People have studied them for years. Pearl harbour, the Kennedys, Princess Di, nine eleven…a nuke lands on Scotland. Pearl harbour is one that interests me. You know some believe the American government let the Japanese bomb them so it would galvanise the country into joining the war in Europe.

Bernard. Well it’s an interesting theory but…

Raymond. Yes it is and seems entirely plausible to me. Now what if you took that theory and applied it to the “accident” as you call it.

Bernard. Well I can understand your anger old bean but I don’t think Scotland’s in any fit state to mount an invasion.

Raymond. No…not on their own. Anyway who says it would have to be an invasion.

Bernard.   I’m not sure I ascertain your meaning?

Raymond. You see the trouble with people like you and OneCorp is you see Scotland and the Scots as a geographical point on a map, as an accent, a nation, a right pain in the arse of the old empire. Sure when nationalism first arose in that part of the globe it was self-serving and inward looking. But we expected that. We planned for that. But then that        nationalism matured as we knew it would. The idea became more egalitarian, eventually it started asking not just for in independent Scotland but a better type of Scotland. A            fairer Scotland, a country that treated all as equal. Whether they won the independence      or not was a moot point. You see the thing is the idea of what it was to be Scottish would   spread. Next thing you know Iceland have sacked and imprisoned their bankers, and that   was just a start, another example that the world was watching. Freeing Palestine was the big one. That really shook up the old order…But we needed something bigger. Something  that would galvanise not just a country…but a planet.

Bernard.   I’m sorry you say “we” expected that…who the hell is we?

Raymond. Well I suppose you would call us conspirators. Trust me I don’t think that’s quite fitting enough for what’s about to happen.

Bernard.   Right I’m sorry sir but this is sedition you’re talking here and I’m well within my remit as a OneCorp representative to hold you here for questioning.  I’m just going to run a background check on my pad…what’s going on here? Bloody net won’t…

Raymond. Won’t respond. Yes we’ve just taken it. The internet invented by Tim Berners-Lee. A great and noble man, and one of us.

Bernard. Are you insane we have armies.

Raymond. Ah the armies. You know two thirds of the homeless are ex services? I’m afraid your stock isn’t too high with them. Maybe should have looked after them a bit better on your various corporate excursions.

Bernard. The capital, the resources and the banks. You don’t have banks! We have the money! That’s the way of things.

Raymond. The money isn’t real my friend. It isn’t a real resource. Here’s how we look on that. Thanks very much for lending us your invisible wheelbarrow…here you go you can have your invisible wheelbarrow back now.

Bernard.   And what will become of OneCorp? What will become of me?

Raymond. We have everything. We’re on every board of every bit of business that’s of use to us. Look on this as a not too hostile takeover.  A velvet revolution is what they used to call it. As for you…Well this bench now belongs to me, you’re than welcome to spend some time at my place.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Britain celebrates Brexit with new pound coin.

meme-99

So the pound has sunk even lower this week and all UKIP can offer to fix the problem is to punch each other in the head. God help us if they are ever in charge of anything. Saying that UKIP MEP Steven Woolfe shows no signs of a blood clot on the brain. But then how do you clot something that isn’t there.

I was given the UKIP version of Cludo as a gift this year. That’s the one where it doesn’t matter who did it you just always blame the immigrant.

Theresa May has announced new trade deals with the Chinese. Yes I remember they came to visit earlier this year and David Cameron presented them with quite an unusual welcome gift. The entire British steel industry.

As those opposed to Jeremy Corbyn Tweet #GoodbyeLabour perhaps at the same time we should all be texting #GoodbyeScotland.

In other news UKIP have announced they’d like to deport anybody who refuses to speak English. That might prove tricky for the Welsh.

John gets Mad, Class and Elites.

I was doing a gig in a posher bit of town the other night and an elderly lady came up to me and asked, “Why is it that all comedians are on the left?” I replied that there are conservative comedians nowadays. And if you think not so long ago lots of comedians were  right wing or Tories. Just look at Jim Davidson and Bernard Manning. And she replied, “Yes but they were horrible.” I said, “Yeah I know. I wonder why that was.”

I miss the simpler days when there were just three classes. Upper, middle and working. Now we’ve got

  1. Elites
  2. Upper
  3. Middle
  4. Working
  5. Oh my god he’s wearing Crocs.

Class really does inform your sense of humour. here’s a genuine conversation I had with one of the Cambridge Footlights at The Edinburgh festival this year.

ME. So yesterday my front row was four 13 – 14 year old boys.

FOOTLIGHTS. That must have been difficult.

ME. No. They were great. I had a great moment when I did my money bucket speach. I said to them. You young guys don’t have to pay…But I do want a blow job. Don’t worry you still get the free CD.

FOOTLIGHTS. Good God! And the audience were OK with that?

ME. Yeah. Err…It was one of the biggest laughs of the night.

FOOTLIGHTS. Im shocked.

ME. That’s nothing. I shifted another 4 CDs and got a blow job.

FOOTLIGHTS. ( Gazes into the middle distance…. Then goes inside)

ME. Sniggers…

I recently quite inadvertently stumbled on a way to make yourself feel like an Elite. I was in the park and had eaten a bag of pistachio nuts. Obviously when you finish pistachio nuts you’re left with a bag of hard empty shells. Just as I was about to clear them away a gust of wind came and scattered them over the ground. I suppose it looked like I was throwing out grain as a flock of pigeons descended on them… Well, suddenly I felt like the chancellor. I thought “You think you’re getting something. But it’s nothing but empty shells. That’s trickle down economics for you. I get nuts, you get empty shells. Know why? Because you’re vermin.”

And there was this one pigeon that couldn’t fly because it had a broken wing. Well…It was making out it had I broken wing. But I knew better than that. So I started kicking it, “Come on you, you can fly, you’re not fooling me.” Eventually I just picked it up and threw it in the air. It came down with a thud and died. I said, “Fair enough. You’ve passed the assessment.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

John Gets Mad. Bi-Polar Tales 2. Introductions and so who’s really mad?

Here’s another part of a new stand up show I’m putting together on mental health…

I was actually really reluctant to do this at first because unlike physical disability mental health still carries a lot of stigma. Mind you we’re getting to a stage now where comedy audiences at least are starting to go, “Oh…another Bi-Polar comedian…that’s original.”

It’s fair to say there are a few of us out there. I was thinking of gathering us all together, forming a jazz band and calling ourselves Mood Swings.

I actually get quite jealous of the physically Disabled. They get an entire Olympics. We get a Stephen Fry documentary every ten years.

When Stephen did that first documentary on Bi-Polar. I watched it and was gobsmacked to see we both had the same psychiatrist. I though, “Well I’ve not had his comedy career, but when it comes to shit mental health I’m up there with the elites.”

I do love the Paralympics and trying to figure out what the fuck is going on at times. One night I tuned in I genuinely thought they were having a three legged race. It turned out to be the blind sprinting. They have a guide running beside them. One guy was actually disqualified because the guide was hauling him along. Mind you he was strapped to Usain Bolt. Poor guy was screaming “Help! I think I’ve be tied to a Cheetah.”

Saying that, those guys don’t get it easy either. Now that the Paralympics is over I’m sure they’ve all been declared fit for work and sent to do time in some Mike Ashley style workhouse.

My Bi-polar is a bit different from Stephen Fry’s. He’s Bi-Polar Two I’m Bi-Polar One. Not that I’m saying here…Hey! My Bi-Polar is better than yours. Mines has gold epaulettes, brass buttons and is here to save the planet. Although being the centre of the world is a common delusion of BP 1. It’s not until the finally get you into a psyche ward that you realise, “The Masons are after me.” is quite a common delusion among the mentally ill. Which initially doesn’t help. “What is this place? They’ve managed to catch you as well? Is this some kind of holding facility for those that know the truth?”

You meet people with other mental illnesses as well. I feel for the schizophrenics. Bi-Polar is quite trendy now but those guys get bad press. Sadly it’s a condition where very rarely AND IT IS VERY RARE something bad happens and someone gets hurt. Saying that if Katie Hopkins is ever to go on QI could we maybe get the Yorkshire Ripper as guest host.

Those guys have auditory hallucinations. They hear voices. That must be absolutely awful. What gets me is the voices seem to tell them to do bad things like kill the neighbours. Why do they never say sensible things like, “Hey, maybe it’s time you tidied the house….Feeling a bit anxious? Perhaps you should give your mum a phone…or hey this is God. Have you ever thought about switching to a cheaper energy supplier.”

But you tell me…Who’s really mad. Those with delusions in a made up world or those with delusions in the real world? That’s right we’re about to make someone like Donald Trump the most powerful man on the planet. He shows all the characteristics of a psychopath and you folks think that’s a vote winner. People were surprised recently when he showed some concern for Hilary Clintons health. Yeah but we never saw that on camera. He issued a statement. I can guarantee there was some fucker putting a gun to his head going, “Just say the fucking words on the paper.”

We have our own deluded type in this country. The Working class Tory. What the fuck is that? You know what that is…remember those missionaries who used to head up the jungle, meet a tribe of cannibals and go Hey we’ve got some new friends and they’ve invited us to dinner. All the time not realising they’re on the fucking menu. That’s what a working class Tory is.

So you tell me. Who’s mad?

 

Scene from a play. (I/Mmature student 4.)

I imagine I’ll regret posting early stabs at stuff up here as things go on. Bugger it. We’ve been asked to write our first wee scene. We were given this start… 

A man enters and finds a letter. He opens the letter, reads it and tears it into little pieces, then leaves.

And then to develop some physical action to follow this and then to produce a scene. I admit this is a bit hack and obvious but hey it’s also about having fun. Any resemblance to real life characters is purely coincidental. Oh and one other thing if you want to see me live I’m hosting Stand Up for Corbyn at The Tyne Theatre Newcastle tonight.

THE CLEANER.

Scene  1.

A man enters and finds a letter. He opens the letter, reads it and tears it into little pieces, then leaves.

A woman then enters. She is cleaning. On the wall are two paintings, one of Winston Churchill and one of Margaret Thatcher. She dusts the Churchill then blows a raspberry and makes a rude gesture towards the Thatcher leaving it uncleaned. She then finds the letter and starts to piece it back together.

Mrs Ribble.  Ee…Someone’s not popular. There must be about two thirds of that shower asking for his resignation. Shower o’ shite the lot of em.

The man re-enters. He finds the cleaner with the letter.

Mr Radisson.   Err…hello. Are you the new cleaner? You really shouldn’t be reading that you know.

Mrs Ribble.     Divin’t worry pet. Your secret’s safe with me. Ah haven’t got that git from the papers lodging in me spare room to cover that friggin’ tax o’ theirs.

Mr Radisson.   You mean Rupert Murdoch?

Mrs Ribble.     No the one that does the gossip column. Piers…something…Anyway he’s gone right doon in my estimation since he was hacking all them phones. How dare they, and Hugh Grant was such a gentleman aboot it all.

Mr Radisson.   Yes but I really must stress the severity of this. If one word gets out…err…Mrs, Ms?

Mrs Ribble.     Ribble. Like rabble but with an ibble as opposed to an abble.

Mr Radisson.   Well Mrs Ribble I really can’t emphasise enough how what you’ve read mustn’t be spoken of outside this room. I have to prepare a statement in response. You do realise this is what we call a political coup? There’s every bit of a chance I might not even be in this office this time next week.

Mrs Ribble.   It must be hard…

Mr Radisson. It was expected. You see I’m trying to take the party back to…

Mrs Ribble.     No I mean on your feelings. It must be hard on your feelings. There’s a lot of people on that list I’m sure you regarded as friends and yet here they are putting the knife in. That must be hard. I reckon a lot of folks don’t really see you as a real person. Just another face off telly. To tell you the truth Mr Radisson I’ve never really been interested in the world of politics but that was because the world of politics was never really interested in me. But then you arrived and I thought you had some nice ideas. I’d like cheaper trains. I have to get the train here every day and it costs a bloody fortune. It’s no wonder they’re called Virgin ‘cos no bugger wants to ride on them. (LAUGHS)

Mr Radisson. (LAUGHS) Oh that really is quite good…

Mrs Ribble.   Ee maybes you could use it at the next Prime Ministers question time.

Mr Radisson. Well… perhaps not. Look, Mrs Ribble that really was the kindest thing I’ve had said to me in months.  I am a person and yes this betrayal is causing all sorts of pains. These ideas of mine aren’t new, if anything they’re quite old fashioned. They’re what this party is supposed to stand for. However much a brave face I put on this I really am not sure this is a fight I can win. Too many of own party have a lot to lose.

Mrs Ribble.     Well I for one hope you take them on and fight this oot. And there’s a lot of folk feel like me aboot you. You’re a proper fresh breath ye are. If it helps there’s a saying we have in my family, I don’t know if it’s become popular, but we say it a lot. It goes, Divin’t let cunts put ye in a mincer.

Mr Radisson.   Err…I think that might be, don’t let the bastards grind you down.

Mrs Ribble.     Trust me pet. I know what I mean. My husband came up with it after he saw that film Frago.  Anyhoo I best get on. I’ve got a pile of overtime on since we did a Brexit. Most of the other cleaners have buggered off back to where they come from. And who can blame them! (LAUGHS)

Mrs Ribble exits leaving Mr Radisson in contemplation.

SADO SCOTTISH NATIONALIST POEM.

The following is a poem by an imagined character called Rubber Burns who is a sado-masochist and Scottish Nationalist. He has no resemblance to the author AT ALL!

MY SAFETY WORD IS FREEDOM.
My name is Rubber Burns, Poet, Sadomasochist and Scottish Nationalist.
Although freedom is confusing when I’m bound both legs and wrist.
I discovered these quirks as a teenager, robust and in fine fettle.
When I felt a stirring doon below after falling in some nettles.

It is the Scottish bondage dilemma, for self-government we do hanker
So let’s give a right good thrashing to these effete and Tory wankers.

Because I prefer a battered sausage shared with the clan McLeod.
So bust my Willie with a bicycle pump. It’s what gets me aroused.

Years of bourgeois rip off rules has left the north with no pot to piss in
Even though being beat for mercies sake is the Scots default position.

When I shout Freedom it means stop this, for that’s my safety word.
Having leaders we never voted for to me seems quite absurd.
And I hold nothing personally against the good folks that live down south.
But how can I tell you I love you when you’re pissing in my mouth

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Ladies of Greggs (poem)

If you’re reading this outside the UK I should explain Greggs are a nationwide chain of bakers who originate from the city I live in Newcastle. I’ve heard several locals refer to them as a good employer. I can’t vouch that 100% you’d have to ask the staff. But the notion of employers treating staff well is a dwindling standard across the globe with some large areas being shoved back to slavery. I think that’s what the deliver us from evil line is about at the end…

 

THE LADIES OF GREGGS.

The ladies of Greggs work hard on their legs.
To bring us those pasties that keep us all fed.
The ladies of Greggs rise early from bed.
They’re the best of all mothers Ive oft heard it said.

With a smile and a cheery, “There ye gan pet.”
To say they seem happy is a fairly safe bet.
But why do they bother to bring us good service.
Most workers these days of their jobs they are nervous.

Because Greggs are an employer of decent repute.
Thats why you dont find them in industrial dispute.

For the cakes that they bake pay a good hourly rate so happiness at work is these ladies fate.

So we’d like to show thanks to the people at Greggs.
Deliver us from evil with our daily bread.