What's your name and where d'you come from?

We’ve talked names before, but where you're from also says a lot about you to other people. Yes, the assumptions may be unfounded, but admit it - the stereotypes pop straight into your head when you hear where someone lives. Especially if they happen to hail from Hell (yes, there are several Hells on earth – three of them at last count).

Hell is a perfect example of my favourite kind of place (that sounds wrong somehow...) I am a big fan of those places with names that conjure up so many images and preconceived notions that your brain starts to melt a little. Anyone up for a trip to Cocks (Cornwall), Muff (Donegal) or Sandy Balls (Hampshire)? *snigger*

On a slightly more innocent note, there’s Pucklechurch. Sure god love us. All I can see is little old ladies having fetes and cake sales. Whereas Shirehampton is just full to the brim with hobbits - in my head at least... As for the people of Merrijig - they must be a happy lot (and quite fit too, I'd imagine, what with all that dancing).

And then there are the places that are just fun to say. I give you Auchtermuckty as a perfect example. Go on - say it out loud. Let it fire around your mouth. One of life's simple pleasures.

Speaking of simple pleasures (and minds). My brother and I were endlessly entertained when we were younger by Ballydehob. Could there be a more Irish-sounding (a.k.a. culchie) place? Perhaps. I think Drimoleague, Carrickfergus or Ballindereen could give it a run for its money as being the actual birthplace of leprechauns.

I can imagine living in a place with a novel title gets a little tiresome, and the residents could be in danger of the odd sense of humour failure when they've heard the same lines trotted out at them for the 4,739th time (so what do you do for fun here in Dull…?), but if you're lucky enough to live somewhere with a fantastic name - embrace it. And embrace your stereotype while you're at it - it's much more fun (it is for me at least. I'm Irish, so I get to drink a lot and eat a lot of potatoes).

Cape Foulwind - I know a few people from there...

Festive frolics

As the Edinburgh festival was kicking off last weekend a small gaggle of us were out taking in the atmosphere (and the beer) and a friend, let's call her Sabriena (because that's her name), decided to 'help' a performer whose flyer-hander-outer had clearly shirked their responsibilities and left the whole pile on one table. Now Sabriena has an impish streak at the best of times, add wine and naughtiness is guaranteed - so out came the eyeliner and said performer, unbeknownst to himself, was soon offering free shows and discounted tickets, not to mention taking on new personalities. Imp-girl then began distributing the flyers to passing punters, forgetting that Edinburgh is a very small place…

It took no less than three flyers before Sabriena was handing one of her special flyers to the performer himself. Caught rotten. He did see the funny side, but there was a definite tone to his good-natured repartee when he realised just how many of his 'very expensive' flyers imp-girl had ‘amended’ (see also: defaced).

So, by way of penance for the sins of the imp, if you are in the vicinity of Edinburgh I encourage you to go and see Trevor Browne – he is, apparently,  'probably the greatest folk-rock musician of all time’, ‘brilliantly funny’, and he's low on flyers - so tell your friends.

As you can tell, you don't have to actually see any shows in the festival to enjoy it, but it’s worth it all the same. Last night we went to see Mark Watson: The Information - the geeky non-welsh, non-Jewish funny guy from Never mind the Buzzcocks, 8 out of 10 Cats and Mock the Week (in his words; a 'non speaking role'). His show features plenty of audience interaction (the mark of a fine comic in my book) and the better half even got kudos and a big laugh for the comic timing of his interaction. This was not heckling, I hasten to add, for heckling rarely comes off well for the heckler - the hecklee generally takes the chuckling glory, and rightly so, because the majority of hecklers are an embarrassment.

Just two statues, shootin' the breeze

We followed Mr Watson with a mime act. Yes – I said a 'mime act'. What’s more, it was bloody brilliant. Words I never thought I would hear, much less write, in connection with mime. Had you said to me a guy could keep an audience totally enthralled and entertained for an hour without uttering a word I would have been skeptical at best, but that is exactly what The boy with tape on his face bloomin' well did. He is a man, but the boy title suits him so much better - and I say that with the nicest possible intentions, because he clearly hasn't lost his childhood imagination. There are lots of positive words to describe the show, but lighthearted does it best. Go and see it - you will come out with a BIG smile on your face.

People watching gold

Its ability to surprise, with the likes of good mime acts, is one of the many reasons I love the festival. I’m also a huge fan of people watching and during the festival it is absolutely golden. Maniacs, midgets and massive cows – its got it all, and more. My 9-year-old nephew put it best when he said 'Edinburgh is weird sometimes'. Yes it is. Weird and wonderful.

This is NOT how gingers should be treated

moooo!

Onwards & Upwards

I have the dubious pleasure of frequenting airports on a weekly basis at the moment (less carbon footprint, more carbon body-slam for me), and I do find it rather hard not to let the green-eyed monster possess my being when I see the happy holiday makers hopping on their planes and jetting off to sunnier climbs. I know that in a few short hours they’ll be sipping their first poolside cocktail while I’ll be slurping bad coffee in a stuffy office. Hmpfh, pfffpt and woe is me, etc. But then I give myself a gentle shake and remember I have it kinda damn good really.

Yes, the weather is crap, eejits roam freely to annoy us and my bum is too big, but it could be a hell of a lot worse - as I've said before; in this world, if you know where your next meal is coming from and you’re not having the arse shot off you, you’re doing pretty well.

My glass is half full, and when it’s in danger of nearing the empty stage I try to find something to look forward to (as well as ordering another drink, obviously…). They say the best cure for post holiday blues is to book another holiday. This isn’t always possible, but there’s always something to find for a similar result and just a little bit of excitement can go a long way. Just look at the effect the Olympic opening ceremony had amidst the recession gloom and the wettest summer since Noah built a boat.

I like to keep a little list of happy things in my head to keep me going (worry not! I am not about to break into ‘Raindrops on Roses’, but you get my meaning…) It’s not big stuff. Generally it’s the standard (Friday always features heavily) and sometimes the thing I look forward to most is doing nothing (yes – I am that lazy).

Monday morning will be with us soon, with its misery, moaning and melancholy, but onwards and upwards people – there is plenty to keep us cheery if we think about it, even if it’s just a nice vat of Wine.

Festival fun is nigh, something Pleasance to look forward to...

Lessons never learned

There are some questions for which my brain has been pre-programmed with a ‘yes’ response. These questions include, but are not exclusive to: ‘Large?’, ‘Same again?’ and ‘Ah you’ll have one more!?’ The latter being more of a statement than a question of course.

The afternoon after (I didn’t see much of the morning), the clichés are flowing forth at a rate of knots. ‘Never again…’ ‘It seemed like such a good idea at the time…’ and, my personal favourite, ‘that last drink was served in a wet glass…’ (© my father)

Given the conditions I’ve found myself in over the years, you’d think I’d have learned to exercise some restraint by now, but no, once the first drink goes down that special brand of alcohol amnesia kicks in, along with the ‘yes’ reflex.

So there’s nothing else for it but to place a cold facecloth on my forehead, cram my face with comfort food (potatoes, naturally) and settle in to ride out shuddering waves of ‘the fear’. While I’m at it, I may as well place a cherry at the bottom of my spiral with a great big dollop of blasphemy…

All fiends who art the hangover,

cursed be your name.

Thy sickness come,

thy suffering be done,

on the couch, if we can make it from the bedroom.

You give us this day a pain in our heads,

and highlight our drunken trespasses,

as we blame those who piled us with drink.

Next time, lead us not into temptation,

and deliver us from the evils of booze.

Amen

This is about as sensible as it gets

TV to numb the mind and soul

Flicking around the TV in a '537 channels and there's nothing on' style, I began to notice that channel-hopping was entertainment in itself. Yes, as you may have guessed, I too am loving this delightful summer weather we’ve been having. Hard to believe my last weather chat involved the now oh-so-illusive concept of sunshine.

There really is no limit to what they'll make a programme about these days (Million Dollar Otters anyone?) I have previously cited the nation’s unsettling propensity to get their bits out on TV - but there's more!

I’ve always wondered about Four Weddings - why on earth would you want to invite three strangers along on your 'special day' with the sole intention of judging/bitching about it? I don’t get it, free honeymoon or no free honeymoon (and I LOVE holidays!) 

Now I see they've gone one further – go on Battle of the Brides and you get to share ‘the most important day of your life’ (according to the wedding circus mafia) with complete strangers, and their ‘crazy’ theme ideas, in a double wedding. Seriously? Yes they pay for your wedding and weddings are ludicrously expensive, but guess what? You don’t have to succumb to the multi-million pound industry. Move away from the bridal magazine and switch off the TV …preferably before Bridezillas or Bridalplasty. <shudder>

But be sure to switch the TV back on to peruse the truly delightful titles producers have come up with to draw attention in a crowded marketplace. I would love to have been a fly on the wall of the ‘brainstorming session’ (‘scuse the corporate twaddle there) that produced ‘Help! My house is falling down.’ Snappily done people, whoever you are. Perhaps the same creative geniuses (or genii, if you will) that came up with ‘Love Shaft’. Subtle.

My ultimate favourite though? Pawn Stars. Yes people – cash converters just got sexy. You heard it here first.

Come out from behind those clouds sunshine,
and save us from soul-destroying TV!