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Wednesday 27th July 2016


I am a machine at the moment, getting loads done, proving my theory that I work best when I have way too much on. Today on the train ride back from York I wrote yesterday’s blog and two Metro columns. I seem to work better on trains than I do in the back of a car, though generally speaking it’s not really practical for me to travel by train as I have too much stuff to transport and I like to get home on the night if I can so I can fulfil my fatherly duties. But if I can write one more column then I am far enough ahead to be able to enjoy my upcoming holiday without work commitments (other than my blog obviously - if all goes well and there are no last minute slips ups then I should hit blog 5000 whilst I am in America). 

The only bad thing about the train was that it was pretty packed (and a little late, meaning I missed the chance to take my daughter swimming, so got no hugs this week) and a man got on at Newark and took the seat next to mine. He didn’t seem to have any issues about personal space and was happy to let his bare arm touch mine. There was not much space to manoeuvre, it’s true, but I had to keep contorting my body to avoid this unwanted contact between two pallid, hairy, middle-aged men’s elbow vicinity skin.

Why was he not ashamed of himself? I don’t think he was getting off on it. He just didn’t feel it was an issue to get so middle-arm intimate with a total stranger.

As I got off the train, a woman passed by and said “Hope you get the part next time.” I wondered if she’d been watching the slow flirtation and was disappointed it didn’t progress beyond the nursery slopes of romance. But too late I realised that she’d obviously been reading my Metro column this morning, about how I am being typecast and failing auditions. I noticed the man opposite me had been reading the paper too and waited for him to do a double take when he looked up from uproariously laughing at my brilliance to see me looking over at him. But he didn’t laugh at all, so must surely have missed my column somehow. That’s the only possible explanation.

I can't believe they're letting John Hinckley Jr out. What if he tries to shoot Reagan again? His example has at least shown me that shooting a president is no way to impress a woman I've probably never met and certainly don’t know, who has a different sexuality to me. Or maybe Jodie Foster was only unimpressed because the assassination attempt was unsuccessful. She doesn’t want to be seen with an attempted assassin. So we’ve actually learned nothing. Actually killing a President is probably enough to get any woman to fancy you. But if you want to put it to the test please wait until Trump has been victorious.

Talking of which I watched John Oliver’s take on the Republican Congress and it was funny enough, but mainly utterly fucking chilling. Michael Gove’s comment that we’ve had enough of experts was clearly a deliberate policy coming out of some research as to what people want to hear, as in America they’re using the exact same technique, arguing that even though the facts say one thing, the feelings of the public say another. It’s terrifying that politicians have now got to this point, not where they’re bending statistics or cherry-picking data, but just claiming that facts are unimportant. All that matters is getting elected, no matter how diabolical and insane what you have to say to get there. And by encouraging these feelings of largely unjustified anger no one seems to care about the emotions they are unleashing. I think we might be fucked. We’re not all going to get through this one folks. Christ knows where it will lead, but it doesn’t look good and I can’t help thinking that the UK voting for Brexit was the straw that broke the camel’s back and destabilised the world enough to send us cascading towards a massive pit of fiery shit. Good luck. You’ll need it.

Ha ha ha. I am a funny guy.

Audio version of RHLSTP with Vic Reeves is now up on British Comedy Guide 

and iTunes

Video versions are in usual places


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