What does £2k get you at Great Ormond Street

So, they're building a new hear and lung wing over at Great Ormond Street Hospital which costs a fair few pennies but your kind donations are all going to help that cause.

At the moment the ward there is so cramped that there's really just enough room for the beds and the equipment. Once the new ward is built, kids will have room by the side of the beds which means doctors will be able to tend to them there and really importantly parents will be able to come and be beside them.

Also there's a new machine called an Ecmo which helps artificially keep their heart and lung going when they need a transplant and replaces something exceptionally scary sounding called a Berlin machine, which is you're going to have to be attached to a machine, doesn't sound like the sort of a machine you'd want to be attached to.

So that's where all your hard earned sheckles are going/went.

Thanks and gawd bless.

Matt x

DBD? Three 'jokes'.

So there I am in the pub minding my own business and nursing a pint and I hear in the background a noise, faint at first but getting ever louder.

It's a lonesome voice, questioning, pleading?

Dbd? Dbd? Dbd?

Then a small Asian man, who has got very close to me, unbuttons his big coat.
Dbd?

I'd read about this.
He's an illegal consonant seller.

Dbd?

But I wasn't short of D's. Or B's for that matter, so I let him go on his way.

---

I think Crimewatch should do a nationwide search for a missing person called Dbd.

Whoever they are, and I'm sensing it's a foreigner because it's not exactly an English name, they're sorely missed, and there's an army of people out there looking for them.

And maybe it would help if there was some sort of photo fit for them, because the people looking for them clearly have no idea what they look like.

The amount of times I've been minding my own business in a pub and someone's come up to me and a small Oriental man has approached me inquiring "Dbd?".

"Dbd?"

I shake my head.

He looks forlorn and moves on to the next table.

"Dbd?"

Will they ever find poor missing "Dbd"?

Come on guys let's get it on Crimewatch and let's make the difference.

(Baaaa-jshhh) Bhs joke.

---

The weakest Dbd joke.

The first time I was in a pub and a small Asian man came in selling DVD's. I thought he was selling a jacket with great DVD storage capability.

Body language experts

If you're ever dealing with someone who's an expert - or even someone who's just read a book on - body language then it's fun to take advantage of them.

So, things happen in what's called gesture clusters. So for example when someone folds their arms it could mean they're being defensive, or it could mean they're cold.

But then. Breakthrough! If this gesture is combined with another like this one, (crossed legs)

** Maybe could get a chair from the audience for this 'un.

Then that may well be defensive positioning. That they're a bit uncomfortable. or that they think you're a cunt.

So if I'm ever in the company of someone who knows body language (it's a bit like 'knowing' Karate isn't it?)

[Japanese accent] You know body language?

If I'm ever in the company of such a person then I'll slip in a bit of this.

Just some weird shit.

Of course there's always the playground classic, too.

(slip the itching your face bird or coming your hair v's]

---

When I'm saying all this stuff, is it really, really obvious that it started life with doing the bird and the v's and trying to think of some context or some story I could tell you just so I could do that on stage.

Because it's really obvious to me.

And the thing is, and I can GUARANTEE this based on actual statistical FACT, 34% sometimes rising to 38% of the people here today will actually use that before the week is out.

You will.

And think of me.

Five minutes

So, I've been getting into running recently.

I told someone I was going to run a marathon and a got this response.

[acting out wide eyed - keep it long]

Really?

Which was encouraging I thought.

Similar response really to when I said to a couple of my friends that I was going to become a stand up comedian.

Same look.
Different person, but Exactly the same look.

That person then tentatively asked "Do you have a comic persona?"

My response was pretty much, "errrrrrrr. Me?"

I then got this response. (lips together, wide eyed).

Do you think I need a comic persona?

The slow nod. (act out)

Which was all very encouraging. Like the running.
People can be so helpful, you know really lift you up.

So, with the running I started off just running a bit here and there and then

And then I started running more and more, bigger distances. I appreciate I'm telling you this as if it's amazing information you'll never be able to grasp and I'm the first person who's ever gradually increased their running distance, and I apologise for that.

So as I'm building my distance I started telling more and more people about my running, which is pretty fucking annoying I know.

And I told someone and he said (adopt Fulham horsey snort).

"So, like, what are you running away from, man"

"I dunno. A really fat version of myself? Daytime TV? My house?

So, all of this running then culminates in me entering a half marathon. An actual race.

If this was blind date that would be the moment you went 'Ooh'.

[story about how running has made me addicted to applause and me chiding the non clapper].

Stop laughing

Before we get started I'd like to start with a disclaimer.

My biggest problem, as a comedian is that I am only able to make people laugh unintentionally.

And worse, when I want people to laugh, they won't.

So, if there's anything I say tonight that makes you laugh, it's pretty likely, very likely even, that I didn't mean to.

So if you're laughing and I'm looking cross, that's what 's happening.

This also applies to grins, smiles, smirk and even internal laughter which I'm also very adept at spotting, some of you are even doing it now, as well as actual laughter.

To anyone out there who is not laughing right now, and has no plans to laugh. that's good. Well done. This is a disclaimer and is not intended to be humorous in any way whatsoever.

ENDING:

(pull out whoopee cushion) Make a fart noise.

(depending on reaction) Some of you/you have passed the test.

Parma ham and melon

Do you ever wonder what it would have been like to go round for dinner at the guy's house who invented the Parma Ham and Melon starter before he invented Parma Ham and Melon.

Don't get me wrong, Parma Ham and Melon is an unlikely, yet somehow effective taste combination.

But what combos did he have to try out to get there?

Re-enactments

Heard a thing on the radio where this guy rang in to do a music quiz.
He said he was into re enactments.

Also said he worked in a factory making shoes for disabled people.

Was into rock music, predominantly.

---

But also loved Erasure.

---

Hmmmmm......

---

Creates more questions than answers wouldn't you say?

---

Could you ever take a decapitated human head to a re-enactment or would it be in bad taste?

What about a Viking re-enactment. Could you do a little bit of raping in the car park before you turned up to do the actual re-enactment which is mostly just pillaging?

Terrorism

You know what really really gets my goat about Islamic Fundamentalists
and the threat of terrorism?

It's that now, the most accurate word that describes what happens when someones daughter chases their dad with a water pistol can no longer be used.

And there's no more accurate word than terrorises.

Stop terrorising your poor father with that water pistol.

And when anecdotes are told about the summer's day, again, they are recounted without the word terrorism.

"Oh, it was such a nice day. Sun was out, barbecue, Little Lois was chasing John with the water pistol".

Not really cutting it is it, chasing.

Of course, all this begs the question. What happens at at an Islamic Fundamentalist barbecue. Don't get me wrong. I don't mean to be politically incorrect. An Islamic fundamentalist halal barbecue.

Phew. Feel like that's cleared the air a little.

I mean they're in the same boat.

If you were describing a barbecue on a beautiful summer's day outside a cave in Afghanistan you'd be in the same boat.

"Oh it was such a nice day.
Sun was out, barbecue, Mohammed jnr was terrorising MohamDad with a water pistol all day long. So funny."

"This does not sound like a fun barbecue. Why is Mohammed Jnr terrorising his Islamist father. Were there no infidels there to terrorise?"

"Oh silly me. I have used the wrong word. He was not terrorising his father with a water pistol. He was water boarding him. Language is such a funny thing. Always getting me confused. What a numptie I am. And what a strange, probably not at all accurate accent I have"

character acting/writing vs stand up

Have realised that some of the things I was most entertained by in Edinburgh were actually character based stuff, like Al Murray or Colin Hoult and his carnival of Monsters and Seyomour Mace's Sundayland come to think of it.

Colin Hoult's Karate Guy from Derby? who'd been trained by Sensei Steve.

The martial arts guy from Seymour Mace's show, have you ever wanted to do this 'Get fucked!'. Etc.

Worth thinking about as I pursue different forms of writing, it's fun making and creating a character and giving them little turns of phrase, voices, back stories and so on and so forth.

Hmmmmmm........

food, glorious food

Some unrelated food things

Twix's have their guideline daily allowances split per bar. Now I'm not someone renowned for willpower especially when it comes to not eating chocolate but come one people.

Do you know anyone who's ever had a twix finger and then put the other finger aside for later?

Does this really happen?

---

Unusual food combos. I've been getting quite obsessed recently by the guy who invented, or first tried out parma ham and melon.

[could you do a gig where people had miniature tupperware boxes under their seats with said foodstuffs in?]

My Psychiatrist hung himself

Remember our little career change friend who on the back of doing some career counselling realised it "wasn't for him".

Hee hee.

Well, he's back and he's writing a book and not least of which because he gave me a refund I'm going to help him along.

---

Some interesting things came out of our initial chats though.

Interesting thing ONE

1. People can sometimes look to their careers to give them too much of what they want/need. A hobby can fill in a lot of the missing bits if you know what they are, where to look for them.

This has always struck me as v.interesting I reckon.

2. Po Bronson's book, he reckons is a good 'un for Career Change inspiration.

3. If there's a kind of work you're good at/trained in, it might just be rather than you not enjoying it, you don't enjoy the way it's structured. So for example, his scenario with career counselling is that he doesn't like doing it face-to-face, or rather than not like, it's just not cost efficient.

So, that's his thing, he wants to do it but on his terms, his terms being over the phone. Whether he can then persuade clients of the value of this is another question but it's good that he's worked out what he wants at least.

---

That's all for now.

Peace.

x

Panini Confusion

Going to tell you about a shop called panini confu-sion.
A place where the notion of choice is just an illusion
Which is a great 80's song by Imagination

But can be rather annoying
If you're ordering some luncheon

'Cause when you go out for lunch and order a panini
What you get in your bag is a 100% mystery.

You could have asked for parma ham, rocket and mozarella.
And walked out out of there with tuna and mortadella.

Mortadella's an Italian sausage, I got nothing against it.
But if you wanted parma ham you're going to be a bit miffed.

You see a panini decision is not lightly arrived at.
You think, wonder and muse.
before selecting ingredients that.

Complement one another in an unsual way
Or are a risk free combo you have every Tuesday.

Like tuna mayonnaise with lettuce.
It's a safe choice.

If you're in a place where you need a panini that delivers safety over inspiration.
Go for that one.
Unless you're not into fish.

But that kind of goes without saying really.
But I've said it.

So there.

----

Panini Panini
Confusion Confusion

The notion of choice
is just an illusion

Panini Panini
Confusion Confusion

Your chicken avocado
Is just a delusion

Which is similar in a way
To just an illusion

But delusion means madness
So literally speaking
It's closer to confusion

And panini confusion will drive you mad if you let it.
Like when you get exactly what you ordered
But minus the lettuce

And you think to yourself
Did I order lettuce?
I'm sure I asked for lettuce?
Did I order lettuce?

And the thing is you did.
It's just in panini confusion
You're going to bid
Farewell to any ideas of choosing or choice
And go with the flow
In the randomness rejoice

You see panini confusion is much more than just food
It's a code for living
It's an idea and lesson
One to learn if you're shrewd.

It says in the panini of life
We don't always get what we want
But it takes away the pressure
Of a bad choice that haunts.

These days I order whatever I think
Tuna and sausage or melon and brie that stinks
It's not like I'm getting the combo I asked for
And frees me up in my order to not be such a big bore.

It's a new way of living when you're stuck in a rut
Try out some new fillings,
Experiment with your gut

You see Panini Confusion is not a bad thing
Sounds like a Genesis b-side,
With Phil Collins is king.

Panini Panini
Confusion Confusion

The notion of choice
is just an illusion

Panini Panini
Confusion Confusion

Your chicken avocado
Is just a delusion

The Grande Olde Duke of Yorke was a right bastard

Read:

The grand old Duke of York,
He had ten thousand men;
He marched them up to the top of the hill,
And he marched them down again.

And when they were up, they were up;
And when they were down, they were down,
And when they were only half-way up,
They were neither up nor down.

In this day and age. I don't think nursery rhymes about armies with
bi-polar disorder is appropriate.

And while I certainly

have a degree of admiration for The Grande Old Duke of York in not only clinically diagnosing 10,000 people with bi-polar disorder but also assembling them into an army and then marching them up a hill, I cannot condone his exploitation of people with mental illness.

Glad we've cleared that up.

100m sports commentator

That's got to be a pretty good job, right?

You get to travel all over the world. Stay in nice hotels. All expenses paid.

Then when it comes to actually doing your job you don't even need any proper training.

10 seconds of commentary. Less than.

"And they're off. And Bolt's in the lead. And he's won"

Then you look at the score board. Is is a new world record, isn't it a new world record.

And Usain Bolt has broken his own world record with a time of 9.17 seconds.
And the world record has not been beaten on this occasion, but Usain Bolt wins the race with a time of 9.37 seconds.

How hard is it?

I'm so in the wrong job.

I mean, granted, you could build up your commentary distances to 200m and maybe even 400m at a real push, but I think you'd want to specialise in the shorter races.

Nothing more than 400m, which is less than a minute.

You could busk that. 50 seconds, no one's going to know you don't k ow what you're doing.

And if someone busts you on your commentary just be clear. Say you're more of a 200m oand really a 100m commentary guy and 400m commentary's a little outside your comfort zone.

And as for 1500m.

Never, ever even attempt that. You'd be exhausted. Those commentaries sometimes run to over three minutes.

Three minutes!

You could pull a vocal chord or something.

Gig One

Stand Up and Coming, The Hideaway Tuffnell Park

10.07.2009


It's a typically English summer's Friday in early July, slightly muggy and half arsedly raining, and over a year since I've done my first Stand Up 'gig' when the email pops up. I click on it, knowing fine well what it's about but just to see it in black and white.

----

Hi everyone,

This is a reminder that you are booked to perform at Stand Up and Coming on:

Friday 10th July

For some of you this booking was taken quite some time ago, so if you can no longer make it please let us know asap so that we can fill your place and get you a new date to suit.

This month's line-up

Daniel Simonsen

Shaun Carse

Gwilum Argos

Gavin Inskip

Hatty Ashdown

Albion Gray

Dave Bailey

Naz Osmanoglu

Anthea Neagle

Sunna Jarman

Bob Slayer

Matthew Janes

Headliner: Mike O'Leary

Compere: David Gibson

----

My name is up there, in there, amongst them. To the untrained eye it's lost amongst lots of other names you've never heard of but I can see it. The last name on the list, under the title 'Line Up'. And just above two other equally frightening words, 'Headliner' amnd 'Compere'.

This is really happening unless I excercise the right to lame out of it.

The email's chatty opening gambit 'Hi everyone' literally could not be any further away from the icy feeling of fear gripping my heart, neck and nether regions. It's a mixture of emotions though, somewhere within the abject horror of what I have agreed to do is the warm glow of personal pride that I actually am doing it.

But that warm glow can only really be basked in once I have done it, so for now the icy fear wins out.

The reason I used inverted commas to describe my last 'gig' is not because I enjoy winding people up by using inverted commas willy nilly - this is something that really winds me up as I'm never sure what the other person actually means, but rather that my last 'gig' - see there I go again, was really more of a 'showcase' - that's the last time I do it, I promise - with twelve or so people who'd attended a six week comedy course doing their five minutes of stand up to a crowd made up exclusively of friends and family of the acts.

Since doing the course I've met quite a few people who went on to pursue a Stand Up career one way or another all of whom affectionately reminisce of that night as the "warmest crowd you'll ever get". "One of the best gigs you'll ever do". And so on and so forth.

Maybe subconsciusly that's why post showcase, where many of the course's alumni trotted off and hit the Open Spot circuit, circuit just being one of the many comedy world I'll be dropping in witout any sense of self-deprecation no matter how strange it feels to write then, I never did another gig.

I mean, why would you?

If you've just done "One of the best gigs you'll ever do" why sully it with any lesser performances, or let's face it, reactions, as it's reactions are what performances are gauged by.

But now compelled by a strange sort of 'why not' feeling I've decided to give it another, or more accurately a whirl.

And so I desperately try and learn my set.
Again, another comedy world word dropped in for your delight.

Really all a set is is some material you try and learn to the best of your abilities so that when you're up there fumbling with a microphone and staring at some vague audience outlines throuhg a light that's burning right through your retinas, you'll have something to say so you don't feel like a complete spoon.

What no one tells you and there' absolutely no substitute for experiencing first hand is that how much of a spoon you feel up there looking out a sea of expectant faces, they want to laugh, you want to make them laugh, at that precise moment more than anything on god's earth, but you can't.

Comedy impotence. It's no laughing matter.

So I try and learn my set, I record various bits and bobs on a dictaphone, play them back, try and imagine that I'm not mental talking out loud to myself in my flat, wonder if my neighbour who's a photographer that seems to spend quite a lot of time in his flat can hear me.

Try and time it all it out.

Try and imagine the laughter.

Imagining the laughter was also something I had to do at the gig itself , but more on that later.

So, I'm good to go. I've dug out my floral Liberty's "He looks like he could be funny, but he isn't" shirts. I selected and then de-selected a grey velvet jacket which looked a little too gameshow, a little too 'Faking It' but if truth be told I de-selected it mainoly because I was travelling to the gig on a motorbike and so a leather jacket over a velvet jacklet wasn't going to work for me.

So, off I shot on my Kawasaki 650 out of Harlesden, right at IKEA, onto the North Circular and off to North London.

Nothing funny happened on the journey. There was light drizzle I like to remember. I was going top havde to rely on my set.

So I get there, to the fabled The Hideaway pub which I'd never heard of and went in. I'm there at 8.20, which meant I was pretty much the last comedian to turn up and ensuired I got my rightful place of last on the bill, which ensures you can't really enjoy any of the acts or the night as all you're doing is pooping yourself about going on.

As someone who's tardiness is not his best point I realise, one gig in and not even done yet that that's a part of the bill I might be seeing quite a lot of on the open circuit unless I can sort my timekeeping out.

So, it's a nice boozer The Hideaway, a nice North London boozer. Upstairs people are milling around doign their thing. They've got nice imported beers like Sierra Nevada and Cooper's behind the bar and they're deliciously cold, and, and, and how I wish I was spending the nigth supping them with some mates, talking bollocks and relaxing after a week of so-called work.

Instead, I'm waiting to stand behind a microphone in front of a group of strangers trying to trigger their laughter glands. Which as you'll no doubt suspect fromt he quality of thsat last sentence means I've got my work cut out. can tell from that last senr

introduce myself to the promoter(s) - who are very warm and friendly people, promoters. More on promoters as we go on. So nervous am I that I actually re-introduce myself to one fo them, he was kinf enough to tell him I'd just come and said hello

Emailing someone who lives in the same house as you

Emailing is weird.

I think it's conclusive proof that people don't really like speaking to other people.

You would have thought with the success of phones and stuff that people do actually like speaking to other people but the success of emailing shows that that's not really the case.

Nowadays, given a simple choice between emailing and calling, people would rather email.

They like the sound of their own voice better in an email. And it means they can take their time yto make their voice sound better, more witty than it actually does in real life. When you're emailing you can look up words and facts and include them and think to yourself "I'm so fucking clever. Check out how eloquent that last sentence was. It was fucking great. And so am I".

But of course all emails are are speeded up faxes. Which is why they are so gloriously inefficient.

It's a bit like ringing someone up, saying something to them, then hanging up, then waiting five minutes for them to call you back, they say what they've got to say then they hang up.

Or they just call to say, did you get my email.

"No"
"Email me when you do"

You know the whole email culture has got out of hands when people who live in the same house, and retired people at that, start emailing each other.

My mum and dad, who are retired and live in the same house email each other.

And check this out, they both share the same computer so they have to wait 'til open person gets off it to email the other.

I'm not saying their marriage suffers from communication problems.

OK, scratch that. That's exactly what I'm saying.

Having said all of that, I don't want you to think that I'm anti email, that couldn't be further from the truth.

In fact, if anyone here's got any heckles, feel free to email them to me.

My email is I'matwat@I'mabigtwatwithnomates.com

No apostrophes.

And if you type that into a computer, hood luck to you.

I broke the internet this afternoon

I typed Google into Google and somewhere far, far away I heard a distant explosion.

Kind of like a whumpf.

I think it was probably in California.

About 11 seconds later I got a phone call from Steven Hawkins. He said.

(SH voice). "Have you just broken the internet?"

I said "No."

He said "Are you fucking taking the piss.
Who do you fucking think it is. Delia Smith?"

I said
"To be perfectly honest I thought maybe you were the speaking clock?
It did confuse me as I always thought that was a recording"

Anyway. I was getting scared so I hung up. And I ran straight to this gig where I was hoping to be safe and find some kind of sanctuary.

If anyone was hoping to use the Internet when they get home, or maybe later in the week, I'm really sorry.

I'm afraid you're going to have to go back to Argos catalogues now and if you want to
compare insurance quotes online, well, tough shit.

I'm sure someone can fix the Internet.

After all, Arnold Schwarzenegger is the mayor of California and Bill Gates lives there so they've definitely got a head start. But in the meantime probably best to stock up on stamps and biros.

Seinfeld Says

And whether you like him or not, this guy should know.

Comedy. Proving something trivial with rigorous logic.

Really, really good comedy is a dialogue. You've got to allow time for the audience to laugh. Their laughter is their dialogue. You let the audience breathe, they let the comedy breathe, and so on and so forth.

This is when comedian's get into a 'roll' when this rhythm works.

On persona. Figure out who you are and express it well.
It's hard.

(His style). For me, the little things are the big things.

The theatricality of shop assistants

Does anyone here remember a time, I think it was back in the middle ages, shortly after the wheel had been developed but before the credit crunch, when you went to a shop to pay for things using a card and all you had to prove it was your card was sign your name?

Does anyone here remember that?

[Anyone here under 25 is going [whisper] I think that man up there needs professional help. He's talking stupid talk]

Now of course, no one signs for anything any more.

It's all chip 'n pin. Chip 'n pin. Chip n'pin.

I don't have a problem with Chip n' pin, but around the same time they brought chip 'n pin in, did they re-staff every shop in the country with bad amateur dramatic actors.

Because every time I go to pay for something and it's the moment to put my pin into the machine the assistant goes

[physical acting: the most hammy look away you can possible imagine].

Which if you think about it, is really quite strange.

Is the assumption that I think they look like a criminal?

Are these people who since Chip 'n Pin find the temptation of card fraud overwhelming, maybe it's got nothing to do with me, maybe it's just their way of protecting themselves from committing fraud.

Of course, I find the idea of anything that happens to me not being about me almost impossible to imagine.

Actually, not almost impossible.
Just impossible.

And it's not just fraud they would be committing.

First they'd have to commit robbery possibly, possibly with aggravated assault.

Because let's not forget, presuming they do see my pin number, they still have to get the card off me. That part of buying things hasn't changed. You still you get your card back. They do actually need your card to buy things.

Something else I've noticed about this theatrical gesture is that actually it's pretty impractical. Because all this turning away and not looking means that you don't actually know when the transaction has happened.

So unless shop assistants do that thing that children do when they want to watch a scary programme on TV but when they do so feel safer watching it from behind the sofa, and then they do this.

[physical - hand over one eye, then just ease the fingers apart].

Of course, as a customer, if you need to spice up your day at all. And I find there's very few days in my life when that's not a requirement, you have the option of not putting in your pin number at all.

This then means when the shop assistant does the child watching TV thing, you can be looking directly at them and meet their gaze. And with that gaze throw in some raised eyebrows, I can't do it myself, but if you know how to do the one eyebrow thing, so much the better.

The unspoken assumption that passed between you both is that they're trying to steal your card.

They're about to commit fraud, possibly with aggravated assault.

Then, the only option available to them is an even more theatrical gesture.
And you've got to wonder at this point whether as they're turning away and shielding themselves from the temptation of stealing your card whether they're thinking

(thespian voice) "I wish I'd started smaller with the first gesture, then I would have had somewhere to go, that last one really was too much, too over the top".

Of course, if you're having a particularly boring day, or just feel like needlessly playing some kind of cat and mouse game with another human for your own childless gratification, you don't have to stop there.

At some point they're going to snap again and do the fingers thing.

And then you do the eyebrows thing again. But this time you can combine it with the slow nod. The nod that says,

"I'm onto you buddy. I'm watching you. I'm watching you, watching me.
But this is one Chip 'N Pin you're not getting.
This Chip 'N Pin is mine, so you best look away one last time while I key it in, and this time none of that peeking through fingers crap.

When it's time for you to look, I'll tell you to look".

Has that ever happened to anyone here. Does anyone get that?

** SIDE THING** Of course now when you do go on holiday and you're asked to sign for something it's like being an Aristocrat in the 1920's. A time when a man's signature was more than enough proof of his means to pay.

Oh how I miss those days I was never a part of.

People think I'm gay

[PARACHUTING IN]

What's your name. Where you from. Having a nice time, la la laaaa. How easy do you think it is to determine someones sexuality from the way they look. Do you think for example by looking at you now, the clothes you're wearing, the way you're sitting on that chair, I could tell if you're straight or gay.

---

Opener:

People think I'm gay.

There it is. I've said it. I'm not gay, and I don't mind if someone is gay, or if someone isn't gay, it's none of my business, but what I do mind is when the people who think I'm gay, think I'm gay they just think I'm gay.

There's no, "Oooh, well he could be, he might be, hard to say, if he's not full blown gay - because that's the kind of thing straight people say about gay people - then he's probably Bi. Or Bi on the weekends. Part time Bi.

Part time Bi?

I'm not a sales assistant at B & Q.
Bums and Queens.

I don't do Bi shifts Tuesdays - Fridays.

No.

I've always thought anyway, as a, and I don't know if I need to emphasize this any further, as a straight man, that bisexuality is a bit strange. Again, speaking as a man, and this is a very personal point of view, I kind of think when you suck another man's penis, you've crossed a line.

A pretty big line.

A big throbbing purple line.

And I'm not saying it's impossible, but I just think if you've gone into Penis land, I would think for women it's less easy to take you sincerely.

"I like dicks, but I still like chicks"

Now if you say that on a first date, that's a line a lady will have texted verbatim to at least one of her friends by the time the night's done.

Probably the moment you go to the toilet she'll be on her phone texting like her life depended on it.

While you're in the toilets looking for Bruno.

---

So back to people thinking I'm gay.

And right now in the audience and I pretty much guarantee this, there'll be someone who is either about to whisper to her friend, or maybe even already has.

"I think he's gay"

---

No.

I'm not.
Part time B & Q.

Definitely.

Nothing more.

---

So, I'm at someone's housewarming party at their flat in Chelsea. As you do. Everyone there's pretty well-heeled, and I knew a few people - be a bit weird if I didn't right - and over the course of the evening chatted to a few more people.

And got talking to this bloke who was so posh he almost couldn't speak.
He made Prince Charles sound like a bare knuckle gypsy boxer

"I'll fight you for a fiver"

And he started telling me this story about his girlfriend. And bless him, he was obviously having, or about to have a very modern moment. Before he continued with his story, realising that clearly I was gay and that the sooner that was mentioned the more we could all relax, he said,

"you know how it is when you want to do one thing and your girlfriend, or partner, wants to do another"

"I mean, you're a gay man , right"

What?
Que?
You're a gay man right.


And then he said "Oh, mate, maaaate. I'm so sorry. It just that my girlfriend said there's no way a man dressed like you could be straight"

What, just because I'm wearing a chain mail singlet, arse less leather chaps and noshing off some gorilla of a man, he thinks I'm gay.

No, not that. Extraordinary. I was wearing a purple cardigan and I am starting to think that purple is one of those colours that (finger quotes thing) "Let's people know"

So, I'm in Sainsbury's right.

And my friends, my dear dear friends have just had twins and I've proudly been made the godfather which is such an honour. And they're always looking out for and after me, so I thought, I'm going to go round to there's for some Sunday lunch but I'm going to make them a nice fish pie so they don't have all the hassle of making food themselves and they don't have to leave the house which is a hassle with young kids.

None of this actually happened by the way.

I'm just telling you to make you like me.

Or on the off chance there's any women out there who are considering having sex with me, you know 'turning me', this might be the story that pushes them over the edge.

Of course it happened.

I would never play with your emotions like that.

So I'm waiting at the fish counter in Sainsbury's. As you do. And I got talking to the woman behind me and once I started ordering the fish she said to me

"Are you making a Fish Pie"

And, possibly in an over sharing kind of way, I then told her the story I just told you.

And you know what. At the exact moment when I said

"my friends have had twins and I'm making a fish pie, she smiled and raised her eyebrows" in a way that just said, without saying it

You're gay.

Not you might be gay.
Not even maybe he's part time B & Q.
But he's gay.

And then when I told her I'd been made a godfather of those beautiful baby girls her eyebrows went even higher and her smile broadened in a way that said.

He's unequivocally gay. I'm in fact now going to allocate him as Full Blown Gay or FBG which is one of those gays that does bottom sex. Not just a holding hands gay. A full blown one.

Full time B & Q.

Probably a B & Q manager or something.
Worked his way up.

And I just don't know how to react.
Maybe I've misread the signs.
I haven't.

But I just want to say to her "You think I'm gay don't you. Not that I have a problem with that, but I'm not gay. And frankly I don't welcome the judgement that just because a man bakes his friends a fish pie to take round to their newly born twins, and noshes off someone he met on the night bus, and keeps poppers and magazines like Hard Bodied Man and Man Muscle '(insert gay porn reference here)' that he's gay.

The last things I made up.

So, I'm not quite sure how to deal with this problem. I suppose one thing could be to stop wearing purple. You might even argue that's a sensible solution and I'm sure it is.

There is another idea I've been working with, but I'm not sure whether it's direct enough. And to be honest, I think maybe if I was going to re-do it, I would pick another colour than purple.

But I just find myself so drawn to purple.

Really, I do.

[T-shirt reveal]

---

Thank you, you were truly wonderful, I was Matt Janes.

---

Back to mic.

I'm not gay. I just heard someone say that as I was walking away from the mic.

Who said that?

Yeah. Well, Please don't say that.

I'm bringing my own gong

Go to a Gong show but take your own gong along.
One of those Chinese ones, maybe even a pocket gong.

None of you fuckers are going to gong me.

I'm the gonger of me.

I'm King Gong.

Then walk off

G.N.N. Geordie News Network

Now as you can tell from my accent, I grew up in Newcastle.

Newcastle Upon Tyne.

Rarely a day goes by without someone remarking on that fact.

If you're wondering why I haven't got a very thick Geordie accent, it's because I only lived there since I was thirteen, so I only really developed one so I was able to go to some of Newcastle's dodgiest estates and buy hash.

"How man, have you got any tack. Aye fiver deal?"

"Do you want to come in for a bucket" served as hospitality in those days, a bucket is a mind bending way of consuming hashish smoke, if doesn't really matter what it is, but suffice to say you never really have more than one bucket in your life.

Unless you're mental.

So that's why I had the Geordie accent.

Because I then moved to London and wanted to get a job in something other than the doorman industry, it seemed like a good idea to drop the accent.

I was also now able to buy drugs just by asking for them in a normal voice, so why bother.

I love Newcastle. Newcastle is a great, great city.

Geordie's are by far the most positive people you'll ever meet.
Normally, the consensus is that Americans are the most positive, that's not true.

I once saw a documentary on the Bigg market, Newcastle's infamous drinking, vomiting and fighting square mile and a Geordie Bar Man came on and looked straight to camera and said

"Some times you speak to people and they're depressed and that. And I just don't don't understand it. Get a bar job man". Mint. Trebles for singles. Blarty. Yeah. Keegan. Toon Army." Etc etc.

Of course if you ever find a Geordie that's emigrated to California, you're going to have the most positive person, in the world, ever.

"Just like sometimes you speak to people and they're depressed and that and I just divvent get it man. Get a bar job in California. Sunshine. Bikinis. Pina Coladas. Arnie Schwartzy. Miiiiiiint!".

I did once ask a Geordie why they thought Geordie's were so positive and they said "Well, there's fuck all else to do."

Which, having been to Whitley Bay is fair enough.

Anyways, what with Geordies being so positive and the news always being so negative I thought maybe the two could balance each other out.

Everything always sounds so much more upbeat and positive in a Geordie voice so why not have a Geordie News Channel, staffed only by Geordie Anchormen.

No, hang on, let's think bigger, let's go International.

Let's have a Geordie News Network.

G.N.N. we could call it.
See what I did there?

"And today in Quala Lumpar, there's been a muckle big bomb gone off and that, and lerrdds of people have been incinerated in the ensuing fireball that swept through the city. It's not good. Is it. But, at the end of the day, there's no use sitting around moping aboot it, get a bar job man. Miiiint!"

"Swine flu is shaping up to be a global pandemic which threatens world health as today the United Nations upgraded the threat to Defcon Five. But, at the end of the day, there's nee point getting depressed aboot it. There's nowt you can do. So you might as well just, get a bar job man Miiiint!".

"Global recession is biting hard in the UK now with pub chains Wetherspoons announcing 400 job cuts in the next quarter. Well, fair enough,m like, it's not great news, but, just get an Unpaid bar job man. Miiiint!"

Songs that start off really exciting

Do you ever get that thing with songs where the start of them is just really, really, exciting.

Like they've sat down and thought, how can we make this song really, really exciting, so that when it starts, people just feel all tingly and they've got butterflies in their stomach and say they're at a wedding disco or something and they just go a bit crazy, they jump up, maybe spilling a glass of beer on the way, grab their friends who are perfectly happily having a normal conversation and then once you've dragged your friends out onto the dance floor and forcibly wheeled your friend in a wheelchair out onto the floor knowing he had no choice in the matter, that's when the song starts proper.

It's like the actual start of the song was a false start, it's like it's an advert for the song but it's not the actual song.

And then you're into the song proper and you're standing on the dance floor with your friends and you know, it's in your eyes, that the song's not really that good, and then you, slightly embarrassed, because you've dragged everyone there, then have to over compensate for the song and start doing all this crazy dancing to try and get everyone into it, but you know.

And they know.

And you know they know.

And no amount of disco pointing or inane grinning or spinning your wheelchair bound friend around is going to disguise the fact. The start of the song was the best bit.

It's a bit like going for a curry.

You sit down, you order, you have poppadoms and a cold, lager. You order all manner of bhunas and kormas and baltis that you think you want and then you're eating the poppadoms and drinking the lager and thinking, "this is great, why don't I come for curries, like all the time, why don't I eat curry for breakfast?"

And then they take the poppadoms away and the main course comes and you just don't want it. And then they bring another dish and another dish and you think, did we really order all of this.

And then fleetingly the idea comnes into your head, do we have to pay for everything we've ordered if we don't actually eat it, could we send some thing back, because of course, if you ran a restaurant and someone ordered something and then when it came they said they no longer wanted what they'd asked you to cook do they still have to pay for it,of course, if that were you, you'd be cool with that.

So that's the thing.

It's the same thing with poppadoms and the pointer sisters. And there's a sentence you don;t hear too often.

The first bit's always the best bit.

But you never learn. I never learn. If the pointer sisters came on right now, despite knowing all the things I know I would still be consumed by the start of the song, and try and grab someone, the nearest person to me and get them to get up and dance.

I have an infinite capacity for forgetting lessons learned.

(then as I walk off, track starts again and do this, adopt maniacal look and try and grab some poor bastard from the audience.)

Bonding with the audience

One thing which is important as a comedian is to always try and bond with the audience, so, if you're about to tell a story, or an anecdote as sometimes they're called if they're not very good, as I'm about to do, then you might start of by saying

"Did anyone here follow Wimbledon?"

See, I haven't even asked the question yet, I'm just talking about a question I will ask later, and already, couple of people nodding, few flickers of recognition.

So wait 'til I do actually ask the question. This place is going to go interstellar. Especially now I've prompted you before I've even asked it.

The idea of involving the audience in this way of 'bringing them in' (put your arms around the audience and bring them in) is that people listening, the audience, you, think, ah! this is relevant to me, this chap's talking about something I can relate to, there may even be some laughs to be had in what he's saying. I'll prick up my ears and set my laughter glands to high alert.

Really, what I'm doing here is just giving you a few tricks of the trade.
Just so you can see some of the deliberate decisions being made behind what I'm saying.

Like, here's another one.

Does anyone here work in an office?

I'll ask again, because I think there's more of you out there.

Does anyone here work in an office?

Shit isn't it?

Now, that's a technique which I don't recommend. It's known as inviting the audience into your home, into your living room, then not offering them a drink and then just saying "It's time to go now".

Then giving them a kick up the arse on their way out of the door.

Right.

Let's go back to method A.

Has anyone here been watching the tennis at all?

Don't worry, don't be shy.
I'm not going to say it's been a bit shit, because I've really enjoyed it.

So, let's go again.

Has anyone been watching the tennis?

Have you ever seen the look on a man's face when he's selecting some reading material to take in with him to go and have a number two ?

It's very similar really to the look of a shoplifter.

I suppose you could describe it as over natural acting.

(do physical impression of this)

Already, the man's in a slightly heightened state, given that his body is telling him it would like to release a little packet, so time's not on his side.

He doesn't have a big window to act in, and he knows this.

But, still, he reckons he's got enough time to nonchalantly look for something to read, pick it up, as if he's not about to go and have a shit, which kind of looks a but like this.

(more physical stuff)

If there's more people around, and the thickness of the material allows it, you might be lucky enough to witness the fold into four and put in the back pocket, which, let's face it, is almost identical to shoplifting.

If you're very lucky, and you're watching a man who's misjudged the thickness of the reading material, your perception may be rewarded with the man trying to fold the magazine into a pocket-sized square - say he's gone for a World of Interiors rather than a Nuts or a Zoo, and then realising this isn't going to happen he'll sheepishly pretend he was trying to fold it for some other reason than taking it to the Thunderbox - one of my favourite Australianisms for toilet - for a poop.

What other reason that might be, unless he's trying out for The Strongest Man in the Worlde, is never really explored or discussed. But the man might try and do a couple fo re-folds of said material, not because he thinks he can do it, but because he thinks if he dopes that and you see then you'll think 'Oh, I thought he was trying to fold that to put in his pocket to discreetly go and have a poo, but it turns out he's just checking the tensile strength of World of Interiors, what an unfair assumption I made about him".

When a man gets caught trying to fold something he cannot, it really is the shoplifting equivalent of being caught buy the security guard trying to detach the alarm tags.

The shoplifting equivalent then resulting in said shoplifter, under the watchful gaze of the security guard, trying a couple more tags of other products in the shop and giving the security guard the thumbs up, as if somehow, the shoplifter is actually doing the same job as him, or her Reg, or her, but in a plain clothes capacity.

Of course, to what extent a man tries to disguise the fact that he's taking some 'literature', as men specifically refer to reading matter that is bog-bound, depends on how in touch with his feminine side he is, or indeed how Australian he is.

Another school of thought entirely is the man who takes the newspaper out of your hands while you're still reading it and announces, normally over the back of his shoulder "I'm just heading for a shit, love. Be about five minutes".

This of course will be the same man who comes out of there five minutes later, hands you back the paper, and gently advises "probably best to give it ten minutes love, unless you've got some high end breathing apparatus".

A joke, which unfortunately for you as a women, he will, never, ever tire of.

The indignity of Goldfish poo

Goldfish are the aristocrats of the fish world.

In terms of pecking order they're pretty much at the top, which is why it's very, very, very funny, that when they make poo, kit trails behind them for up to four times their length.

I mean, can you really imagine, do you have any inkling whatsoever the embarrassment that must accompany having a shit that's five times longer than your own body for the whole world, which in the case of a goldfish is really just the whole fish tank, to see.

If would be difficult if the goldfiosh were not an aristo. If the goldfish were a normal, blokey fish like the bottom feeder, which is the fish equivalent of a cross between a bin man and one of those council workers that cleans graffiti off underpasses with a jet washer.

If those fish did the equivalent of thirty foot poops they'd just employ the classic bloke mentality.

"Oi, Nipper. Check out this shit. That's got to be a personal best that. That's a monster"

"Way!"

"Way"

"High five"

"Er. can't do high fives mate. I've only got tiny little pectoral fins I'm afraid."

"alright, alright. Don't get all hoioghty toighty with me mate. Bloody pectoral fins. Who does he think he is. Ideas above his bloody station that one"

They might say to one another.

However, the lot of the long poo is not destined for the bottom feeder such as the Cory Catfish which emits perfect pellets of poop from his tiny little fish anus hole.

No sir.

The long poop destiny awaits the goldfish who is particularly nonplussed and embarrassed about all the lesser fish of the tank seeings his ablutions.

That's why in aquariums you often hear

(ultra posh voices) "Er..... mate"

"Yes, mate":

"Errr, have you done number two's recently"

"Yes, mate, about half an hour ago, why do you ask?"

"Well....errrr...mate......it's just that you have....errrrrr.....a 30 foot......adjusted to human scale......pooo fixed to the end of your anus"

"Oh mate! Not again. I was just over there putting in a bit of quality time with that new goldfish and I thought she was looking over my shoulder, I thought nothing of it"

Of course, the worst part of all of it is that what with Goldfish having a seven second memory and all they keep forgetting they've done the poo, so they get annoyed and disgusted about the poo and then swim off and then catch another glimpse of their little orange bottom in the reflection in the mirror and they're disgusted again

and they're like "Oh, mate!"

And then they forget about it all again and swim happily off and then it's more "oh, mate".

Maybe the reason why they've got such long poos all the time is just a direct bi product of their seven second memory.

They quite simply forget to wipe they're bottom. Or by the time they do remember and go and look for the goldfish poo paper they get there and can't remember what they were looking for.

Not that it would matter anyway because as earlier discussed it' not like they have any hands.

They've got pectoral fins haven't they.

If you take nothing else from the last five minutes, take that. Unless you had it clear in your mind already in which case consider it re enforced.

---

To add in: a bit about the fact the poo can in no way be cut.
Maybe they should have a revolving door with sharpened steel edges in the tank, or maybe just an exceptionally sharp pair of scissors.

But as discussed earlier.

Goldfish don't have hands they only have pectoral fins.

So if you put in a revolving door they'd just peer out at you, the owner and with their liitle goldfish eyes say to you

"Is he fucking winding us up"

And then seven seconds later

"Oh. Mate. I'm being followed by a thirty foot poop"

And then seven seconds later.

"Where did that revolving door come from?"

This place is weird.

I could have sworn some poo was just following me a few seconds ago but I can't remember bnow".

Andy Murray's Mum

It's not new news when I say to you that professional sport's a way of releasing primal agression in a controlled way. In a way that's more acceptable to society than just going out and smashing someone over the head with a brick.

So when we're watching sport, and someone starts shouting and yelling either at how well or how badly they're doing, we're cool with it.

It's fine.

We get it.

But there's something about seeing that level of aggression in someones mum that, I don't know, it's just wrong somehow.

When Andy Murray's Mum watched him play the Marathon match against Stansilav Wawrinka to get into the Semis, she was not holding back in her showing of emotion.

Every time he hit a winner, she was up out of her chair going.
(complete with actions - tearing head)

"come on, get him, fuck him up"

"fuck that fucker up"

"rip the dirty little Swiss bastard's head off"

"tear off Stanislav's balls and make him choke to death on them"

I mean, a lot of this stuff I'm garnering from lip reading, or a combination of lip reading and body language analysis.

Let me show you some of the stuff I saw and try my best to ape the body language and I'll see if any of you can guess what she was saying.

The person I felt most sorry for in all of this, apart from Andy Murray's dad, and Andy Murray, she doesn't look like the kind of mum that would take too kindly to your only contribution to the housework being lifting your feet up off the sofa as she hoovered around them.

No, the person I felt sorry for was Andy Murray's fiance. I mean, what is the correct way to behave in such a situation with your future mother-in-law.

Andy Murrays' Mum had raised the bar sufficiently high that the only option of out-doing her on the aggression/love/support scale would be to take out an actual heart from a Tupperware box she had in her Hermes handbag and actually start gorging on it while mumbling

"Rip out the heart of his first born Andy, destroy him, kill him, eat his kids".

As blood dripped down her pretty white camisole.

Which I think we'll all agreement that this would have been a little strong. So she just had to do the right thing and let the mum be the Alpha female supporter, and she could just take a supporting back seat.

I'm not looking at your pin number

When you buy something in a shop and put your pin number in using chip and pin have you ever noticed how unneccesarily theatrically the assistants look away to demonstrate that they're not looking at your pin.

The inference being, presumably that they're not thieves.

And then there's this kind of 'do you think that I think that you're thinking about stealing my pin number, cloning my card, stealing my identity then burgling my Gran?'

"Is that what you think I think you're thinking about?"

Which is odd because when I'm buying petrol or something, the idea that someone's not a thief is kind of my first instinct really, that's my starting point.

Not a thief.

That's why they've got a job, right. I think if you were a thief and you took a job you'd be a pretty low-grade thief.

I'm sure they do exist though, people that have bar jobs and take money from tills but maybe that's different, the kind of thief we're talking about here is someone who defrauds you, takes your card and gets money out in your name.

I've always thought it's kind of strange though the theatrical thing.

Sometimes I just take an uncomfortably long amount of time to put my digits in just to see if, like a child watching something scary on tv and covering/uncovering their hand, whether they're going to sneak a peek to see if I've finished.

Of course, this game always ends up with me shooting them a raised eyebrow glance as if to say

"Are you looking at me putting my pin number in?"
"Are you thinking of cloning my credit card and stealing my life's savings"
"Are you?"

Which always then elicits an even more theatrical look away as if there's no possible way, on heaven's earth that they could possibly, in any way, ever, be looking for for your pin number.

Which I never thought they were anyways.

But when someone's so overtly not looking at your pin.

You've got to wonder don't you/

Are they trying to steal my pin number, clone m,y card, steal my identity and burgle my Gran?

Makes you wonder doesn't it.

Makes you wonder.

A very british noise/upper class noise/topical (not any more)

So, watching Andy Murray's Wimbledon match which earned him his place in the quarter finals I was struck by a quintessentially British moment when a Wimbledon line judge, got hit in the tit by a tennis ball being served by Andy Murray and travelling at 127 mph.

Now I don't have tits - (I heard that) but I wouldn't want any part of my body hit at 127mph by anything, especially not an area that's tender or delicate in any way.

So, my question to you, is what word, beginning with 'F" did this line judge shout at the top of her lungs after being hit.

Was is that word that rhymes with truck?

I think swearing can be socially acceptable in some situations, especially getting tit hit by a tennis ball travelling 40 mph over the speed limit.

Or was it a mum-style swear word like 'Fudge' which other mums, and everyone else comes to think of it knows the real meaning of, but it allows you to say it without actually saying it. It's something they Teach you in Mum Club 101, if you're quite cross, like you stub your toe for example say "Sh-ugar!"

But if you're really cross then opt for a 'Fudge'

I don;t think I've ever heard a Mum say Cuuuu-star Creams but maybe they don;t teach this one. Maybe that's too crude a bit of mum code.

Anyway, so the word i heard this lady utter, this line judge was quite simply 'Fault!'.

That's it.

She just carried on doing her job. She in no way referenced the tit hit and just carried on line judging without any reference whatsoever to the event that had just taken place.

Stiff Upper Lip? Stiff Upper Tit more like it.

I think if I wads Andy Murray I would have spent the rest of the game trying to serve directly at her juts top see if any more direct hits would garner some sort of other reaction. But I suppose that's why I'm not a professional tennis player.

That and the fact that I'm not a professional tennis player.

I also noticed that some of Andy Murray's biggest fans sound like archetypal drunken Scots. I say his biggest fans, they might as well be his biggest enemies.

As having someone, just as the judge has quieted evryone down and you're about to serve shout 'Cimoon Andy" miust be about the most off putting things that can happen to you.

Also, and.

Are there any other professional sports when it's OK for yoiur mum to come and watch?

You don't see it alot in football do you?

Automated Checkouts

Do you ever look around at the world and thing that the future actually happened while you weren't looking.

When I go to my local Supermarket - let's call it Sainsbury's for that is its name - I'm not broadcasting on BBC radio or on any BBC medium come to think of it, I can endorse whatever brand I want - I was in Tesco's - I was in Sainsbury's - I was in Costcutter.

I was hoping that last bit would feel more liberating than it actually did.

Anyways, so I was in Sainsbury's and I had my bachelor style basket, which you'll see lots of single men carrying around Sainsbury's which is a basket with a tower of stuff teetering at the top, where there's normally something potentially explosive, like eggs at the top, and I was looking for a checkout.

All pretty normal supermarket fair so far, I'm at the checkout area of the till, with shopping looking to pay for it and leave.

Stick around, this story is only going to get more exciting. Or at any rate, and this is a cast iron guarantee, it's not going to get more boring. Or if it does I'll kill myself on stage.

Just as a side point to any women in the audience who may have spent some time wondering why said men - like me - haven't just employed a modicum of forward planning and got a trolley, and I can give you a very simple answer to this question.

When a man walks into Supermarket he thinks to himself. I don't need anything. There' s load of stuff in the cupboards, I'm not really sure what any of it is, but I'll just get a few bits and bobs for tea tonight, I'll be fine.

And then a man walks around a supermarket and the Supermarket presents to him all manner of things he might need and may well have run out of, but because he has literally no idea what he has at home he just buys everything.

For a man, a supermarket is a giant aide-memoire of food and groceries. For a woman, or a man who inhgerited the very rare 'planning ahead' gene, couple of men nodding alomng in the audience there. I see you're pretty pleased not to be tarred with the same brush as all these other men and frankly, looking around, I can see why you'd feel that way.

The only slight downside though of having the very rare planniong ahead gene is that it is almost always coupled with the tiny cock gene.

Oh well. It's not lenght, it's girth, that's what the ladies say.
Unfortunately though this is the tiny cock girth gene.

Oh well.

So, the fact that most men lack this gene is this is why men end up with tiny baskets laden with goods. And women walk around with trolleys with everything sort of pre-ordered before its packed even, and mark my words, nothing soft at the bottom getting squashed.

Whereas there's a minimum of one squashed lettuce at the bottom of every male bachelor's tower of goods in a basket. Guaranteed.

So, I'm looking for the checkout. Trying to steady the centre of balance on my tower of stuff so that whatever fragile object at the top - it's either a tiny jar of mustard which I buy every single time I got to the supermarket and then get home and put it in a cupboard with all the other tiny jars of mustard yet miraculously every time I go to the supermarket, just somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind is a voice that just will not be quited.

"Have you got any mustard Matt?
Might be worth picking up some Mustard,
Have you got any mustard?"

Even if I do manage to quiet the voice by saying
"I'm sure I've got Mustard now leave me alone" the voice waits a while and then comes back "are you 100% sure you've got mustard".

So I buy mustard.

I don't even eat mustard.

And I hardly ever use it in cooking. it's just the idea of not having it in the kitchen I seem to have set up as some kind of adult anxiety when someone comes around to the flat and says "have you got any mustard" and I, shame faced, say no.

But this is even what I want to talk about. The more alert of you will remember at the start I was talking about the future having already arrived while no one was looking and this is what's happened in Sainsbury's.

Because now, you can check your own stuff out, the need for a checkout person has gone. You have the opportunity, and who knows why you'd want to take it, to become your own checkout person.

I'm sure you've all seen this, but you go over to these checkout units. Put your bags down and then ring through the bar codes and put them in another bag.

Now, I can put my hand on my heart and say, and I've wondered about all manner of useless stuff in my time on the planet so far, but I have never, ever, wondered what it would be like to be a checkout person.

It's just not something I've wondered about.

Maybe because when you buy things and see the checkout person all the information's already there. You can see what's happening. You know what a bar code is. There's no magic at work here, no slight of hand.

It is what it is.

And now, I can exclusively reveal, having tried my hand, quite literally at checking stuff out, it is, if anything, a tiny bit more boring than I thought it would be.

But it being a self-service thing and all it manages to combine boredom with incredible frustration. After you've beeped one of the items, if you then put it in the wrong place a rather officious voice shuts the whole thing down and says

'Item incorrectly placed. Please remove from the bagging area'.

And then you get incredibly frustrated. I wonder if they test those voices in military situations to come up with the most annoying tone they can possibly find.

I think it's the combination of being a bit posh, and sort of soothing but in a situation where a soothing voice only annoys you especially if you keep making the same mistake and it's repeated over and over and over again.

"Item incorrectly placed. Please remove from bagging area."
"Item incorrectly placed. Please remove from bagging area."
"Item incorrectly placed. Please remove from bagging area.".

It would be much more humane if in the first place it was a real voice, by which I mean someone normal, maybe a Geordie voice would be good. I think Geordie voices are underused.

(Geordie accent) "Your shopping's not where it should be. Move it"

And then if you keep making the same mistake

"Look, I know I know I sound like I'm repeating myself but move your shopping, will you.
Y'daft knacka.".

I think the Geordie recorded voice option needs a bit of work there.

Once you've messed up leaving the shopping in the bagging area , the next part is then having to call over an assistant for a bit of help so you can continue shopping. Basically, she comes over and shows you how to "move the item from the bagging area" ,or more pertinently she shows you what and where the bloody bagging area is and you can move on.

This old dear was doing self-service checkout next to me and was suffering the same fate as me. "move your item from he bagging area" and she was really losing her rag. She got the Sainsbury's woman to come over five or six times to explain to her what the bagging area is and let's face it, who really cares".

And then the woman went away again and this old dear's ringing though some Sherry and the machine says to her

"You must be over eighteen to buy this item. Please call assistant"

Over eighteen? She was over eighty. And she was staring at that machine like she was ready to tear it apart from the ground up.

And fair play to her, if she'd have started I think I probably would have joined in.