45 pence a mile

Something that most comics have heard is the old chestnut “you get paid loads for just 20 minutes on stage” I suppose that person who is seeing me in High Wycombe and hears that unmistakable English accent of mine probably thinks Ive just strolled up to the gig. They don’t realise it’s a 780 mile round trip for myself and I’ll attempt to sleep,while driving, for 2 seconds at a time on the way home. On Tuesday I had my regular soul destroying journey to Aberdeen. I’ve driven a lot further for gigs but I can honestly say getting a blowjob from Miss Venezuela while driving would not make this journey any better. At least on most journeys I can go into auto pilot while thinking up hilarious anecdotes to tell the adoring fans who are ¬†waiting at the Bowling club ,but not on this journey. It seems 284 speed cameras are needed for this stretch of road, meaning I have to pay attention at every fucking stage of the drive. Now most people reading this will be thinking I’m exaggerating the number of cameras. Of course I’m exaggerating the numbers,I’m from Glasgow so it’s allowed. “There was hunners ae the cunts!!” when looked at seriously will always result in the number being less than 6.It’s allowed though. Another thing that annoys me about this drive is the amount of road that does not have lights. Ideally I want lighting that cunts from that space module can see. It doesn’t help that my shitey car has the light power of 3 scented candles. ¬†Even on full beam I never get flashed by other cars, simply for the fact they don’t notice. I have thought about getting spot lamps put on the car but seeing as I drive a Citroen estate and not a 1970’s Ford Escort I will give that a miss. Of course after all this stress of the journey I then arrive at Aberdeen. Everyone knows that the stereotype of the tight Scots is a pile of shite. Everyone except Aberdonians. I’ve genuinely met some who in the words of my wee mum were as tight as shite in the neck of a bottle. I recently met a women on a plane who after boring me to death for several hours about her big time oil working husband and how well off they were, then told me she lost her book she took on holiday, but she made sure she stole 2 from the hotel.

So my gigs this weekend range from a comedy club to a sun bed shop works night to a Castle. I’ll probably just use the word cunt at one of the gigs. Cheers