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Not a very convincing German | I am a deeply joyless person. I'm not sure when the fun died in me exactly. Perhaps it was when I got attacked by that clown. Or maybe it was when I was watching Punch and Judy at the seafront, and I got struck by lightning. But whenever this curmudgeonly seed was planted, it's since bloomed into a flourishing sourpuss, with flowers of distaste for entertainers in particular. So when I heard that I was going to have to go to the latest 'Laugh Lines Comedy Club' in the Queens Hall on Thursday the 8th, the prospect of oncoming amusement filled my soul with a resonant dread. I hate laughter, and wouldn't recommend it to anyone.
For some reason, the evening is becoming increasingly popular. This one sold out the day before, and I was told that many people were disappointed in being too late to attempt to get tickets. 'Lucky them', I thought. The next 'Laugh Lines' will be on the 12th of January, and no doubt that will prove as popular again.
So I went along, bought a beer in the hope that it would desensitise me, and prepared myself for the horror. The billed compere had to be replaced in the eleventh hour by a Geordie going by the name of Jason Cook. As he launched into his shtick about "the biggest animal you've ever killed", I began to feel uncomfortably tickled. And when he was heckled by a member of the crowd, shouting "You're not a very convincing German," I began to feel something faintly resembling mirth inside me, which I instantly repressed for fear of where it might lead.
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He does have long hair - I promise | The evening's support came in the shape of the curiously monikered Parrot, a lanky long-haired Scotsman. I was disgruntled to find that he amused me too. Probably because he was filthy. I can't really explain why routines concerning dead animals in a bap, eating kebabs whilst drunk (replacing salt and vinegar with Vim and Domestos), and micturating in one's wardrobe appeal to me - they just do. So let's leave it at that. There was also an unpleasantly humourous interlude where Parrot brought to the audience's attention that he was missing a finger, which he found was "like a speech impediment" whilst trying to communicate with deaf people. "How did you lose it ?" called out a member of the audience. "I'd love to talk, but I'm kinda busy right now," was the response.
The evening's headliner was a chap called Anvil Springstien; who - despite having lived in Newcastle for some time - couldn't really disguise his accent. "No Scouse gags later at the bar please - or I'll stab ya." I like to think he meant it. He then pre-empted a plethora of Scouse gags as examples of what not to tell him. "What do you call a Scouser in a white shell-suit ? The bride." I can certainly see why he wouldn't find that funny. My faith in miscomedy was restored. Oh, hang on - I did find it funny. Curses.
The pace didn't let up for the entire performance. We were treated (sorry - subjected) to an examination of what happens when dogs get drunk, lewd activities in zero gravity, a rant about Christmas, and a sublime (sorry - torturous) anecdote about a trick he once played on his children whilst dressed as Santa. He also told of a trip to Sellafield. A brief interchange :
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Don't let this man dress as Santa | Anvil : Has anybody here ever been to Sellafield ?
Solitary voice : Yes.
Anvil : Who just said "yes" ?
Solitary voice : Er... Me.
Anvil : What kind of a twat has ever been to Sellafield ?
Obviously I found the fact that the chap on stage had referred to my girlfriend in this manner considerably less than hilarious; but on this occasion elected not to batter him into a crunchy pulp. The Sellafield routine gave Anvil the opportunity to add a twist to phrases such as "Two heads are better than one", and "Many hands make light work".
Incredibly, the Narberth audience ("Narberth is surely the only place in Wales where the English add a letter," according to Anvil) seemed to heartily enjoy the evening's regalement. And so did I, although you'll never catch me admitting to it. So - if you want to be part of the contemptible fun next time round - it's advisable to book early. I may be there also; but if I seem to be enjoying it, I'm just pretending.
(NB - the good folk at Span Arts, who make this all happen, asked me to inform you that the 'Laugh Lines' on March the 9th will not be held at the Queen's Hall, but at the Nant-y-Ffin motel in Llantisilio. So that's what I'm doing.)
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