What can I say?

Dear Blog it’s been ages since my last confession, so here goes. I had a big fight with a Christian in Nottingham. To be fair he was carrying sweets in a basket and walking nicely in tan leather shoes and offering sweets to strangers in the town square. But when he gave me a leaflet that states “Come pray with us we are outside Debenhams and we can cure cancer and every illness including headaches”
I snickered as it added headaches as an after thought. The man sat and smiled beatifically the offered me a sweetie. I said “No”.

“So if I go pray with you guys outside Debenhams I can stop my friend’s cancer right here today?” I asked smiley man.
“That’s correct” he said.

“Ok, you know that’s a big pile of shit” I replied.

We then debated God’s role in curing cancer and his ability to dish out sweets. He tried to say that how will I know my friends cancer wont be cured unless I pray, I told him I have prayed and he still has cancer and my brother still has cancer and HIV and I don’t think if we change the location of the praying e.g. outside Debenhams that it will actually work.
God’s healing rays aren’t unusually strong near a Blue Cross sale…are they? Does God like department stores?

“You know I think God would think you are the worst PR for him in the world, you are clearly mental and he is really famous and possibly good at stuff but you aren’t really representing him in a good light, God must be raging at you” I told him.

“God loves me” he smiled and offered me another sweet, surely I will end up with toothache and no amount of praying would fix that, it’s why we have dentists.

“I believe God does love you I just don’t think he wants you spreading his word as you keep making really big awfully giant PT Barnum type claims about cures and suchlike tosh” I spoke.

Just then a woman wearing a big floppy hat, a small shabby sundress, red fishnet tights with big flappy sling backs and pulling a tartan trolley stuffed with hand knitted teddy bears came near and smiley God botherer stood up and hugged her close and they chatted and started singing.

Somewhere up there God (if he is real) looked down and said “Yep, that’s the man who represents me, Looney Bob and his buddy Sadie the sandal slapper” I think if less people spoke about God I would probably like him more.

My trip to Nottingham was fine the shows were fine but the journey back was fucking hell on earth. I arrived at East Midlands Airport at 1pm on Sunday, my flight wasn’t until 4pm but I planned to just sit in the sun outside and read my book. On arrival I was told my flight was delayed TWO FUCKING HOURS! These are the people who charge you TEN quid to check in and then offer you THREE quid for a coffee for your inconvenience when they fuck up.

The airport was full of drunken women who had been on hen nights. Their pink glittery cowboy hats were all askew, their make up was all dragged and they stank. Yet they shoved more pink gloopy booze down their throats and sang “I will Survive”
In the bar was a clutch of hung over stag parties, all sticky, sad and falling about. It was a fresh hell, just being stuck in this building with such a clump of drunken scummy folk made me feel raped of my soul.

They kept singing and falling about, the women were kissing the drunken men. The music blared and a few girls were crying into phones and the info board simply stated GLASGOW FLIGHT DELAYED-RELAX AND SHOP.

I didn’t relax or shop, I silently seethed.

So anyway, I am home and happy. Ashley is packed up for her Big Trip to London and I am feeling bereft. Though I am down there this weekend and we are planning a Groucho drinks party Saturday, I will meet up with my girl.

The Stand gigs were awesome; the show got great review in the Scotsman.