On How Life Is

Great though it is to live opposite the biggest Morrison's in central London (I don't get out much) it isn't a patch on visiting a provincial Asda store. Those of you who've seen episode 1, series 2 of "Phoenix Nights" (like I said, I don't get out much) but haven't experienced Asda first hand are missing out. As you go into Asda in Yeovil you are greeted by the welcoming smile of David, whose badge proclaims him "Happy to Help". David is I would say about 70 years old, but I suppose it's nice to get out of the house sometimes. David is standing just inside the entrance and has a microphone and muzak playing on a stereo behind him, and he seems to think he is hosting the cabaret on a cheap Mediterranean Saga holidays cruise. He is quite excited by today's offers.

"If you like Burger buns then we have eight - yes, eight in a pack here for just 48p! That's just 48p."

What more could you need?

"And if anyone needs a small fridge then we have one down the front here in a slightly damaged box for just £38!"

I wonder if many people came to the supermarket today thinking "Gosh, what I could really do with is a small fridge in a slightly damaged box."

My mum is scornful, telling me he isn't a patch on Arthur, who is in his late 70s and introduces the offers on Wednesday mornings.

Other than this, and the fact that VH1 are running a "Best of the 80s" weekend to which I have access at my parents' home, Somerset is a bit of a come-down aftre Friday night, Soho Theatre's first Script Slam, which Rachel and I went to with a large entourage of parents, friends and Mariachis band members. It was a bizarre event, where the writers all seemed to be either 14 or 24 with hardly anyone in between. The 14-year-olds' sketches showed that they had just discovered sex and swearing, and all ran something like "You f***ing stole my girl", "No I F***ing didn't", "Yes, you f***ing did!" Said teenagers laughed uproariously then proceeded to heckle through everyone else's, which were both brilliant and bizarre almost without exception, and, thankfully, because my mother was in tow, contained less swearing. One in particular made me smile (those who know me and have read this blog will know why.) The week the Pope dies, a woman who works in a bookies goes to her boss (who has an inexplicable but extremely good Lancashire accent), rosary in hand, to ask if she can have the day off for the funeral. When he says no she pleads "But it would mean so much to my family in Ireland."
"What family in Ireland?"
"You don't understand the pain of losing our spiritual leader."
"They'll find you another one."

Yep, Benedict XVI. But let's not go there again.

But as Rachel has said, I'm a happy bunny, having had a whole room of people laugh at my sketch (except the kid behind me whose mobile went off in the middle. I don't think he's seen "Trigger Happy TV", because he answered it and yelled "Hello? I'M IN A THEATRE!")

Hope you all enjoy the bank holiday.