Wow... what a week.

After spending what seems like an age down in London I'm finally back home, for a while at least.

On Wednesday I had the pleasure of seeing my script performed by Martin Freeman, Amanda Abington, Simon Day, Joe Tracini, the one and only Una Stubbs, Geraldine McNulty, Stephen Wight, Terence Maynard, Kerry Godliman, Naomi Bentley and John Kirk at the Comedy College showcase, in Studio 8 at TV centre.

I'm still reeling from the night. It was brilliant.

Can I just say I really don't mind the new layout of Facebook.

Anyway, obviously my blog gets loads updated when i'm stuck in a hotel with nothing other than vodka and cable TV for company.

Just been reading through the sparse comments on my posts - it's good to know that some people other than my five subscribers (who I adooore daahling) actually read this - and one was an old colleague from my tabloid journalism days. I say colleague, his name is Robin (hello mate) and we worked for rival agencies in Manchester/. It was always a race as to who was first to a story.

I say 'first to the story' what that translates to is usually first to a Broughton council house where someone has been murdered/kidnapped/attacked etc.

God it was a horrible job. I'm glad I gave up on the tabloids. I was no good at it anyway.

I worked for Cavendish Press, an outfit who operated from an office near the Hacienda run by a red-faced man called Brian Whittle who a few years ago dropped dead in the bar of the Crown and Kettle in Ancoats. His 2IC was called Jon. He wore permastubble and was quite funny when he wasn't being a cock.

Robin worked for News Team, an operation who had office in the Manchester Evening News building and were run by a fat polish scouser called Jo. who is still alive I think.

I had one great moment of victory over them in about 1998. It was very shortlived though.

It was on a story about a family whose fat daughter was being taken away by social services because they over fed her, and - Robin had left by this time for a life of smuggling people inside hollowed out Donkeys in South America - I was up against their chief reporter, Dave... something. Anyway the long and short of it is that I locked him out of the house and got them signed up on an exclusive contract while he tapped on the window saying 'let me in'.

I was so chuffed. Really a little bit proud of myself. So proud that as I drove through Ancoats on the way home that night I didn't notice the car in front had stopped.

I went right into the back of it.

It happened right outside a pub The Burton Arms, in fact it happened just about
HERE

Who should be the first people out of the pub to witness the accident... the whole of News Team who then helped push my car to the side of the road, somehow proving they were the real winners.

Zen Algebra

in the north we're brought up to think Londoners are rude. Well I've got news, they're not. In fact they are very friendly. the reason they appear rude is because in London no-one speaks to anyone. And there's a good reason for that: It's due to the disproportionate number of nutters who seem to live here.

Waiting for the lift from Lancaster Gate Tube yesterday, the man behind me was holding a box and talking very loudly about how he didn't care where anyone else was from, but that he was better than all of us. I checked he wasn't talking on a bluetooth - i don't know if that would have made it worse or better - and then discretely wondered off to take the stairs.

I felt bad while I walked up the stairs, not because I'm overweight and under-fit - well there was that as well, but because i'd reacted like that towards a person with mental health problems. Maybe he was talking to the voices in his head, keeping them under control. I thought for a moment I should find him and talk to him to make up for my rudeness. But I didn't. Because... well that would be silly. What would I say to him? Hello I just ran off because I thought you were a scary mental, but I realise the error of my ways, my name's John how do you do.

That's not going to help either of us is it.

Anyway I bet he doesn't pick stuff out of bins. I did.

I was on my way to meet Ben at Tiger Aspect when I noticed a load of rubbish outside a house in Bayswater, and there popping out of the top of a box was a Global Knifeblcok. I know it was a global knifeblock because I paid £100 for one a couple of years ago.

I checked it was definitely rubbish and then - yoink - off we went, the Global Knifeblock and me. Now I was cutting it too fine to go bakc to the hotel and dump it there, so I popped int a shop and paid 20p for a plastic bag and took it with me to Soho Square. But I couldn't take it in with me. Conversation would have gottens around to it somehow and I wanted to avoid the subject of rummaging through bins. There's o good way to explain it. Even if it's a profitable enterprise like the Global Knifeblock - going straight on ebay when I get home - it still doesn't excuse the fact that you're a dirty bin-dipper.

So I paid a homeless gentleman £2 to mind it for me while I went into the offices. He was a bit mad as well so somehow I feel I've redeemed myself. Not sure how, it involves some complicated Zen algebra, but I'm definitely up on the deal.

shop local... my arse

I'm in London... again.

Been down at the Two Pints rehearsals this week - very funny episode written by Coming of Age's Tim Dawson. Didn't make today's tech rehearsal though because someone farted on the Circle Line and they had to close it down until emergency services were able to determine just who exactly it was that let Polly out of prison

Today is Wednesday March 18. A bad day for meeting anyone from the telly business as they are all too busy throwing up free booze and canapes from either:

1. Armando Ianucci's premiere of In The Loop
2. the corden and horne premiere of lesbian vampire ... ooooh!
3. the RTS awards.

I was invited to none of them.

I did however, go to see a show on Monday written by Alex Horne at the Soho theatre which had Mark Benton, James Pearce and the fat girl from Titty Bang Bang in it. It was alright. quite funny but I spilt a pint on my trousers halfway through which took the edge off, if you know what I mean.

Second show that night - it was a new comedy writing thingie - was a mad Irishwoman... hold on I've got the thing here somehwere.... Teresa Jennings that was her name. What's the best I can say?... I've never been to Edingurgh Festival, but I imagine that's what a lot of it is like.

Best bit was when Michael Legge came in late and got dragged onto the stage so she could humiliate him. Needless to say he sort of stole the show.

Teresa if you google and read this, the acting was good. just get a writer. And don't script banter with the audience., it's just wrong.

what else???

last time I was down here, staying in the same hotel - the Park Inn, Lancaster Gate - the people in the room next to me kept having noisy sex. this time I am in that room. I don't know how to feel about it. it's a bit like turning up to a party after everyone has gone and sitting drinking on your own knowing that all the fun has already happened.

The toilet seat doesn't stay up and either tries to remove my penis or pats me on the back. neither of which are good. And the local bandits, sorry I mean shops, tried to charge me £2.33 for TWO oranges. Shop local my arse I'm off to Tesco Metro you robbing shits.

writing wise I have sent my screenplay treatment to a few places, next wednesday is the showcase for all the comedy college scripts, I've spent all day rewriting sketches for CBeebies. tomorrow I shall be writing more stuff for Scallywagga and putting together an idea I came up with during coffee this morning. it's ace. or it could be really shit. Must get in touch with David. I've found a slot for one of our ideas.

I haven't had a single pie since I've been down here. Found a top Thai place on Queensway, Bayswater