Comedy
Congratulations, some of you who are reading this article, have almost made it through to the end of “Dry January.” A whole month without booze, they’ll certainly be a celebration when it’s over. Not just for you, but for the rest of your family too. They have had to endure a month of your miserable face sulking round the house, looking at all that left-over festive booze and moaning about not being able to touch a drop.
Comedy
Next year I am 40. I can’t quite believe it. I remember my mum and dad being this age, I didn’t think it would happen to me. I hoped I would be like a Yorkshire Benjamin button, a pound shop Peter Pan, but here I am, clinging onto the remnants of my thirties like a terrified toddler clutching their mothers’ hand on that first day at playgroup.
Comedy
I can’t wait until I retire. It can be the glory years. Just think about all the things you can do. The joy you can get from just paying the world back one day at a time for all the misery it’s caused you. I’d be getting up at 8am every morning, getting into rush hour traffic and then just getting in everyone’s way, towing a caravan behind just to annoy people further. Then I’d go home, listen to Gardeners world, before popping out at lunchtime to go a stand in the post office queue, clogging it up, just for one stamp, glorious!
Comedy
There is a simple fact that children have a much bigger impact on your quality of life than say smoking or drinking. But when you buy those products there are warnings on the packaging for the consequences on your health. They should do that on the stuff you buy when you are trying to get pregnant, imagine walking into Boots, picking up a packet of Folic acid and on the back is a picture of a couple having a lie in, that would make you abandon the idea in an instant. There are probably other images you could use, but how do you capture in a photograph someone strangling your dreams?
Read more “Stress and The Sea Life Centre – Monthly Musings 8”
Comedy
Recently I gave up a career to follow a dream to be a stand-up Comedian. Part of this deal was that if my wife was going back to work I would share some of the childcare. This meant that I was launched into a brave, new, intimidating world, the world of the Playgroup.
Read more “The only Daddy in the Playgroup – Monthly Musings 7”
Comedy
My name is Scott Bennett and I am a comedian. That might seem obvious to those who have seen me onstage (unless it was that one night in Wigan which we have all tried to forget) but it’s taken eight years for me to realise this dream. I say it’s a dream, that’s the thing, when you are eighteen and you say you’re going to be a comedian people encourage you, “reach for the stars” they say. When you’re thirty-eight, with a pension a career, a mortgage and a young family, people think you’re having a crisis. I’m still stunned that I have actually made the decision. I’m notoriously risk averse. I was recently in conversation with some other comedians and I asked them what the riskiest thing they’d ever done was. One of them said they do the Pamplona bull run every year in Spain, he said being pursued by a live bull though the streets makes him feel alive, the sky seems bluer, the beer tastes sharper and presumably your soiled underwear smells stronger. The other comedian, climbs frozen waterfalls, his life hanging in the balance with every swing of the axe. They asked me what the riskiest thing is I’ve done to date was. All I could think of was standing in my wheelie bin every week to compress the rubbish, pathetic. Although its worth it for that post bin day beer.
Comedy
Dear readers, its official, I am a proud “Young Fogey.” This body I inhabit is too young for me, don’t get me wrong I’m thrilled with its agility and thick, majestic blonde hair (my best feature by a mile) but the old guy in the control room is at least forty years ahead. I’m like a new model of Terminator, made from clothes collected from the PDSA charity shop, powered by Horlicks and pockets crammed full of Werther’s originals. This new model, lets call it the “T-with two sugars”, spends most of his time tutting about the younger generation and obsessing about all the trivial annoyances life throws his way. It doesn’t help that I’ve just bought a car primarily driven by pensioners. I didn’t realise this until I was in the dealership and I said to the salesman, “seven years warranty, what happens after that?” he said “I’ve no idea Mr Bennett, no-one has ever made it.”
Comedy
As summer approaches a strange phenomenon sweeps across our great nation. People of all ages, turn their backs on their brick built cosy weatherproof dwellings and choose instead to spend their nights huddled under thin canvas sheets, on a airbed that squeaks like a chipmunk being throttled every time you move, with a slow puncture that leaves you with chronic sciatica; in the arse end of nowhere. They do this bizarrely as a holiday, a chance to get away from the stress of everyday life and become one with the natural world. They swap this for the stress of living like a road protester, angry about the development of a new bypass. We’ve done it for years and these days it’s as popular as ever. A recent survey conducted by Go Outdoors revealed that 58% of Britain’s campers go camping more than three times a year. The same survey also revealed that given the chance to pick your perfect camping partner men would choose Ray Mears or David Attenborough whilst the women would go for Bear Grylls. I can’t help thinking that the men didn’t quite think that question through. I’m guessing that whilst the men would be off in the woods asking ray to whittle them something from a tree branch, naughty old Bear would be in the tent with your other half, doing some whittling of a very different kind.