Thursday 29.10.09
Hall, Plazza, and Court, once again it's been too long since I've blogged, my friends.
I love the taste and rhythm of 'Hall, Plaza and Court', it raises expectations which I will now diminish.
On Monday, Nina and I made the half-hour drive over to the Wulfrun Hall in Wolverhampton to see comedian, Jim Jeffries. I think it may be the last time I visit that venue. The level of security bothers me. That's not the level of risk. Just security. The manner and numbers of black clothed security staff at the main doors, by the box office, and next to the stage. It's not that I have anything to hide in my bag, just that I don't understand the need. It all feels so dour, so oppressive, that it sucks the fun out of the night out.
It wasn't all that much fun anyway. I got the tickets because the stuff I've seen of Jim Jeffries on Youtube, and on panel shows has left me wanting more. I came away thinking that although he has stage presence and timing, a lot of the writing was sloppy and the thinking unoriginal. To paraphrase Frank Skinner, I like funny jokes, clean or dirty. Jeffries has a lot of dirty jokes, plenty of then got a shocked bark out of me, but they weren't funny. I wasn't particularly offended (although jokes about Katie Price's disabled child went too far in my opinion), I just wasn't laughing. Jeffries said it was an odd gig because it was a Monday. By this he implied that his audience weren't appreciative because they weren't drunk. Hmm. He made a big show of being drunk, and drank a pint and a half on stage. I don't think he was though, it all seemed controlled. He was at his best telling a story about taking his disabled friend to a brothel. Warm and funny, it was the high point for me, spoiled by a run into the Katie Price's son material and some awfully predictable stuff about how long it takes to turn a woman on. Certainly, he wasn't the man for me.
Picture a roman plazza, bright sunlight, fine statues, glittering fountains. Now picture me driving home the wrong way up the M6, turning around and finding myself unintentionally on the toll road. I reach the plazza, it is a row of un-staffed toll booths, correct change or card required. I put my card in the slot, the gate opens and I move forward, not collecting my card (no PIN required, you see?). Just in time, I reverse and claim my card. Home from the plazza after midnight.
On Tuesday, I drove H up to her girlfriend's home. She lives in New Brighton on the Wirral. Traffic was heavy and horrendous, so I abandoned plans to go into Liverpool. I needed to stop off though, so I decided to call in at the huge American-style shopping village just outside of Chester. I went there around 8 years ago with the family and enjoyed it. It as a time when I had cash to spend on discount designer stuff and came away with a few posh carrier bags, in fact, H still wears one of the cardi's I bought that day. My energy was very low, and I spent far too long driving about looking for a parking space, ending up at one point in the service area, being stared at by the security guard. I had thought I would have a nice lunch in posh Pizza Express. I had forgotten it was half-term. In sensory overload, I slumped into the food court, a high, over-populated echoing space in which to enjoy the proffered grease. There were no dogs on the floor to crunch the bones.
Hall, Plazza and Court, there's no place like home.
here is a good Jim Jeffries clip http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8j0QgFslqsQ
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